Every Story Has a Moral

Hello ladies and gentlemen of the creepypasta world. For my first ever post I decided to give you a true story from my own life. The fantastic thing about this particular story is the fact that there is a definate defined moral at the end of this story. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the fragmentation of my completely distorted and sociopathic mind.

It all began on Halloween 2004, and the events of that night have haunted me every Halloween since. I was sitting at home enjoying some of the candy and watching "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" when everything went wrong. I heard strange growling noises outside of my window. I shrugged them off at first, thinking it was the wind or something along those lines. In any case it didn't seem to really matter and the movie was just getting weird so I dismissed the sounds outside.

About 5 minutes later I heard the growling again, only louder. This time there was no way I could ignore the sound and I looked out my window. What I saw terrified me to no end. All over the streets were these monsterous creatures walking about. I knew that there were kids on the street trick-or-treating but these little demons were not in costumes, they were walking about in their most natural state. I was terrified for all of the children outside, and for my own life but I couldn't do anything except sit and stare at the horrific creatures before me.

That's when everything changed. One of the monsters knocked on my door. I was so scared I nearly pissed my pants. I refused to open the door but kept looking through the window at this monster. It was then that I noticed something in the demon's pail.

There was some candy and other treats, but the majority of the pail was filled with dismembered body parts. Fingers, toes, ears, noses, lips, and eyeballs half filled the pail. I was nearly sick when I noticed my best friend's class ring was on one of the fingers in the pail. It was then that I snapped. I grabbed my coat and ran toward the door. As I flung it open, the demon toppled over backward, dropping his pail. I grabbed it and ran as fast as I could to Jake's house.

I let myself into his home and ran to his room. I stared down at the bloody body of my closest friend and tears filled my eyes. It was then that I heard the growel again. Only this time it came from Jake. I froze as his body sat strait up and his head turned my way. His eye sockets were consumed in flames and an blue liquid dripped from where his fingers used to be. "What once was is lost, your blood will be the cost," was all he said to me before lunging at me. I swung the pail as hard as I could, sending body parts flying as it crashed into Jake's skull. His head shattered and a chunk of it flew out and struck my temple, rendering me unconcious.

The next morning I awoke in Jake's bedroom. I could smell coffee so I went toward the kitchen. He was there. All of his pieces were back where they belonged. It was as if nothing had ever happened. He began to relay the details of the night before. As it turns out, he was the demon. Because of the temperature outside, he was wearing a hoodie underneath his jacket, distorting his face. The pail full of body parts was just fries and burgers with ketchup. The skull fragment that hit my head was Jake swinging the "pail o' parts" at me for fear that I would do something crazy (or crazier). As for everything else I saw and heard...well that was just an over-active imagination I suppose. The reason this incident has "perminantly scarred" me is because I cut my head open when I blacked out and have a small scar above one eyebrow.

Now friends, you may be asking just what the moral of this particular story is. Because I promised you one, I will enlighten you to what the moral of this relatively rediculous tail is. NEVER DROP ACID ON HALLOWEEN.
[[Category:Demon]]
[[Category:Death]]
[[Category:Halloween]]
[[Category:Horror]]
[[Category:Monsters]]
[[Category:Dismemberment]]
[[Category:Fuckin' Awesome]]
[[Category:History]]


The Golfer



I was only 15 when it all began. I had the whole world before me and a “bright promising future” playing golf, but one week after my 15<sup>th</sup> birthday, everything changed.


Some friends and I had decided to go to the course and mess around. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for us to do at all. In fact, most weekends we would be out at the course, weather permitting of course. Anyway, that day we decided to take my dad’s truck rather than ride our bikes all the way out to there. Yeah it’s illegal, but we were teenagers, and teenagers are invincible right? Besides, my old man had been teaching me how to drive it; and it is better to ask forgiveness than permission right? In any case, we took the truck and headed out to the golf course. We never really played a serious round when we were together. Usually we just wanted to see who could hit the long ball, or who could hit James when we were chipping.


James was a small nerdy kid who worked around the driving range. We’d been fucking with him for a long time because he had come out of the closet when we were all 13. Hell, by now he was probably so used to us flipping him shit that he didn’t notice but it was always a good laugh to see him duck and run when the golf balls came sailing toward him. At least until that one afternoon…


The game was going as usual and as we played up hole #9, which runs parallel with the driving range, we saw James picking up balls. We all glanced at one another and laughed as I dropped a ball down and grabbed my wedge. Poor son-of-a-bitch never saw it coming. One minute the ball is sailing in the air, and the next we see James twitch and fall to the ground. Finally one of us had hit him! We all stood laughing and high fiving over the accomplishment. We then noticed that James hadn’t gotten up yet. I told the other two to finish out the game and I’d meet them at the truck as I ran to see if he was ok.


When I got to James, I noticed that there was blood coming out of his head. I shook him a little to see if there was any reaction. He groaned a little bit and I sighed in relief. As his eyes opened I noticed they were completely blacked out by his pupils. “Shit,” I thought, “I fucked him up pretty bad”. First I thought about taking him to the hospital but didn’t want to explain how this had happened. I couldn’t just leave him there, and I know that if I took him back to the truck my friends would never let me hear the end of it. I’d be called faggot, lover boy, and all kinds of shit for the rest of my life. It was then that I decided to kill him. It was as if his black eyes could see directly into my soul and discover the darkest secrets I held. I had to make sure no one knew these things about me, especially not him. I stood up and looked around. The guys had finished and were back at the truck waiting. I had to make this quick. I raised my wedge above my head and brought it down as hard as I could into the side of James’ head. I struck right against the temple and saw his body go limp. I felt for a pulse and found nothing. I even felt for his breathing but there was none. Knowing I wasn’t the only person on the course that day, I hurried to grab my clubs and get to the truck, leaving James there all alone, dead.


That was just the beginning though. It was as if I had now developed a thirst for blood. It has been 7 years since I killed James at the golf course. In that time I have killed 10 more people. All of them were strangers from the city not far from where I live. All of them with a different style. I’ve strangled, slashed, gashed, shot, bludgeoned, drowned, and gassed people until I found exactly what “gets me off”. I have to admit, this method won’t be an inexpensive one, but then again, what hobby is?


This was taken from a letter delivered to the Rhode Island State Troopers in 2002. After searching for unsolved murder cases between 1995 and 2002, police found 11 cases. They were all killed in different manners except for the last three. Those three were struck in the face (always the left) and then had the handle of a golf club shoved down their throats. The victims in all 11 cases were male, between 13 and 17 years of age, and all named James.
[[Category:Reality]]
[[Category:Death]]
[[Category:Fuckin Amazing]]


Holy Shit

Thanks to this site I have learned how to write the ultimate scary story. This is an attempt to master the skills I have learned. ENJOY--BenNasty--&nbsp




Once there was a boy named Lewis, and he loved to climb trees. He would spend hours and hours in the woods outside of his house climbing tree after tree. He could even jump from one tree to another like a squirrel.

One day while Lewis was climbing trees and jumping branches, it began to rain heavily. He knew he should stop climbing but he was having too much fun. As he was about to jump from one tree to another one not too far away, he lost his footing, slipped and fell out of the tree. When he landed he broke his right arm.

Later that day, while sitting on the couch at home, his mom asked if he could grab the broom for her out of the broom closet. He agreed and was taking the broom to his mom when all of a sudden, he felt bony fingers grab his wrist. He stepped back terrified...and then a skeleton popped out!
[[Category:Horrible Troll Pasta]]
[[Category:OC]]


Oh the Memories

Jan 25, 2000&nbsp


I'm in love! Her name is Kylie and she's beautiful. Dark brown hair, green eyes, a nice athletic build and a smile that could warm your soul. I would do anything for her. Hell, I would kill for her if she asked me too. It was Kylie that figured out what was wrong with me. You see, I've always had fantacies about cutting people open. I think of the feel of their warm blood between my fingers as I pulled out their insides. This thought always excites me. I don't do anything about it. I mean I have never killed anyone because of these thoughts. Hell I'm just a kid with a sick way of getting off. That's not a big deal. Happens all the time. I love her and would never do anything like that to her. As long as Kylie is mine I could keep my fantacies in check.



Jan 27, 2000

Kylie and I made love for the first time today. The whole time I couldn't stop thinking about ripping her open! What the hell is wrong with me!?!?! Here I am naked with this beautiful girl and all I can think of is how much I want my hand on her heart when it stops. It makes me sick to think of! Sick, angry, and...increadibly excited. What the fuck is wrong with me?



Jan 30, 2000

She asked me about my fantacies today. We were talking about the other day and how "into it" I got about midway through. I didn't want to tell her. I couldn't tell her. I just said it was a bondage/domination thing. How could I tell her I wanted her blood all over my body? I love her, I can't kill her. I have to prevent myself from thinking about this any more!



Feb 9, 2000

She's gone. She left me. She said that I don't really love her. That I'm it's impossible for me to feel anything. She said normal human emotions won't register with me because I'm psychopathic! Can you believe that? I love her and she say's I'm psycho! I'm so upset I can barely type this. I have to get her back. I just have to...NO MATTER WHAT



Feb 14, 2000

She came back to me! I knew she would. It's Valentine's Day after all. The day when love conquers all. I have to keep this short. She's upstairs waiting...tied to my bed. She said she wants to make all my fantacies come true. Well ok, maybe not says with her mouth (the gag prevents that) but her eyes say it all. Her perfect green eyes...



Jan 25, 2010

Has it already been 10 years since I got rid of Kylie? Wow, first love was so long ago. She opened up so many new doors for me! Oh the memories...It's funny, I commemorate my first love and expression of my deepest desire every year. 10 Valentine's Days spent the same way. 10 women playing the part of my beloved Kylie. 10 funerals to mourn the loss of first love. But it is all worth it. Worth having the connection to my Kylie again.



Feb 14, 2010

Her name was Amber and she was beautiful. Brown hair, athletic build, and her eyes..........perfect green eyes.
[[Category:OC]]
[[Category:People]]
[[Category:Items/Objects]]
[[Category:Dismemberment]]
[[Category:Death]]
[[Category:Mental Illness]]
[[Category:Fuckin Amazing]]
[[Category:Reality]]


The Man in Black


I was raised in Southern Arizona but as a young teen I ran away from home and found my way even deeper south, toward Mexico. Young and with no money I found myself living on the streets and prostituting my body for food. Eventually I started using any drug available, my favorite being heroine. For a few years I had gotten used to the lifestyle and even made a few friends.

One of my friends, Alejandro, was probably the only person I had met while on the streets who wouldn’t take advantage of me. He seemed like he was raised in one of those God fearing families. His morals, though limited, were there between hits of whatever drugs we got our hands on that day. We soon became best friends.

When the two of us ran out of money for food and drugs we liked to spend our time under the shelter of the church at a little mission out in the desert. On summer nights instead of going inside we sat against the wall and watched the orange sunset fall behind the mountains. It was one of those evenings that we met the Man Dressed in Black.

He approached us quietly and actually had startled me a bit we he turned around the corner of the mission wall. As he reached us I noticed how strangely the man walked. It was quite a limp but it was a normal walk either, to this day I couldn’t explain it except that maybe he wasn’t quite human…

Anyway, I had donned him the name “Man Dressed in Black” because of his clothing. Despite the walk, the man looked like a rich man. His jet black hair was slick back nicely. He wore a dark black suit and tie. His eyes that looked Alejandro and me over were even black. Black as is it gets on a moonless night.

As soon as he reached us a chill went down my spine. I knew this man was up to no good and when I looked at Alejandro I could tell he did too. In fact, Alejandro had a look of fear on his face. I was confused. The Man Dressed in Black wasn’t that scary.

“You’re hungry,” the man said before even saying any sort of greeting. In his hands was money which he handed to me.

Quickly I reached for it and stuffed the bills into my pockets. Alejandro, though, didn’t reach for anything. He kept his eyes on the man’s legs. “Don’t take anything,” Alejandro whispered to me in a warning tone. I ignored him and continued to grab money even though I could feel a strange chill going down my spine once again.

“Don’t take his money!” Alejandro said once again but louder. I turned to him angry that he was embarrassing such a generous man. “Shut up!” I told him and when I turned back to the man, he was gone.

I got up to see where he had gone but when I looked around the wall there was nothing except strange, inhuman, footprints in the dirt and that was when I could feel true fear creep over me. “Didn’t you see his feet?” Alejandro asked me as we left the mission. “Of course you didn’t. You were too busy looking at his hands, what he had for you in his hands. You didn’t even try to look at his feet. That man was the Devil!”

I didn’t answer him, still shaken up from my experience with the Man Dressed in Black. I just stood there looking at the man’s footprints. And sure enough, they looked like something that had a chicken foot and a hoof had been there.


Opossum



The strangest thing about the situation, Andrew reflected, probably wasn't the geometry. (Though that itself was certainly noteworthy. Any cubical room where it's possible to roll a ball from the floor to the ceiling without crossing any of the walls has something going wrong.) It wasn't the bicycle, either; Azathoth knew, he'd seen stranger modes of transportation around the city. Spheroid wheels that squished too much for comfort were really quite commonplace.

Even the sight of Great Cthulhu, still dreaming-dead, sleepwalking around the city — well, that was less ordinary, but it did happen. At least that meant that some of the wilder, more obnoxiously shrieking squamous things would cower quietly in corners instead of howling Andrew’s ears off as he passed.

No, the strange thing about the procession careening down the impossible streets of R'lyeh was the fact that Cthulhu wasn't sleepwalking, He was sleepriding.

On the bicycle.

Pursued by, of all things, an opossum.

Andrew stopped dead in the middle of the street, his feet planted squarely on the green decaying cobblestone, to let the sight sink in.

Cthulhu. On a bicycle. The Elder's ponderous bulk, easily bigger than most of the buildings, completely dwarfed the tiny human contraption beneath Him. He looked, if the Great Cthulhu could ever be described as such, completely ludicrous.

His great bony legs pistoned, cranking the grotesquely slender pedals. Judging by the possum's mad scramble, He was actually making very good time, probably rolling along at a good ten miles per qar'hrlg. His sheer size drowned speed, though: something that big couldn't look fast until it was outracing a flying Mi-go.

Andrew stopped. Squinted. Something about the sleeping god wasn't right.

As hard as it is to read expression from a writhing mass of tentacles, Andrew had had some little experience with that face. It never changed — not when He lay in His crypt, not when He stood and opened dead blank eyes to sleepwalk, not (they said) when He would wake to reshape the world for His Elders' coming.

Now, though… The eyes were still dead, the tentacles still slowly creeping, the skin still mucous and sickly shining. But unless Andrew was completely mistaken, the taut batrachian skin of Cthulu's face was actually a little bit crinkled around the mouth and eyes.

His Great Old One was afraid.

Of an opossum.

A pang of worry intruded briefly on the observer's shock. If something can shake Cthulhu, any denizen of R'lyeh has cause for concern. But the twinge faded as quickly as it came. Even gods have their nightmares, it seems. And not every dream has any meaning.

Humans dream of showing up naked to work, Nightgaunts of being eaten alive by a thousand singing jeweled caterpillars. Andrew himself had an awful recurring nightmare involving the ancient depths of icy space and a rotten ham sandwich (extra mustard), which despite its farcical plot never failed to wake him screaming. If Cthulhu's dead dreaming involved being forced to flee small mammals while trapped on a bicycle, who was he to judge?

He'd much rather get out of the road, sit back, and enjoy the show.
[[Category:Weird]]
[[Category:Lovecraftian]]
[[Category:Dream omens]]
[[Category:Cryptids]]


Benjamin Franklin

A mason, Benjamin Franklin's links to occult secret societies have long been known. In the clip below, the History Channel talks about his involvement in the Hellfire Club, a secret society that conducted black masses and orgies. These bizarre, occult practices are still going on today in secret societies like the Bohemian club. In 1998, workmen restoring Franklin's London home dug up the remains of six children and four adults hidden below the home. The London Times reported on February 11, 1998:


"Initial estimates are that the bones are about 200 years old and were buried at the time Franklin was living in the house, which was his home from 1757 to 1762, and from 1764 to 1775. Most of the bones show signs of having been dissected, sawn or cut. One skull has been drilled with several holes. Paul Knapman, the Westminster Coroner, said yesterday: "I cannot totally discount the possibility of a crime. There is still a possibility that I may have to hold an inquest."
&nbsp
[[Category:People]]
[[Category:Places]]
[[Category:Death]]
[[Category:Organization]]
[[Category:Cult]]


A Dark Joke

It was a cold night at the end of March.
A man sat praying in front of a delivery room.
"Please God, save my wife and child."
The man's wife was having a Cesarean section. She had always been physically frail, and they didn't know if she could survive the operation.

Throughout the night, the man continued to pray for his wife and unborn baby…

After what seemed like an eternity, the door to the delivery room swung open.
The doctor appeared at the door, saying"It was a very complex operation but both your wife and child survived. Congratulations!"

The man, crying with joy, rushed into the delivery room.

However, what he saw inside was his wife lying dead in a pool of blood on the operating table, and his child who had dropped dead on the floor.

"April Fools!!"shouted the doctor behind him.
[[Category:Death]]
[[Category:People]]


Happy Meals

The McDonald's Happy Meal was introduced in 1977. One of the original toys available with the meal was a small plastic tumbler with Ronald McDonald on the side. Children who drank from these tumblers allegedly suffered varying effects including hallucinations, emotional and physical outbursts, blisters around the mouth, and increased physical strength. A 5-year-old girl from St. Louis, Missouri reportedly was able to "toss… a car with such force that several pedestrians [were] critically injured…" No person over the age of fourteen was affected by drinking from the tumblers.

Most of these tumblers were either destroyed by McDonald's franchises or otherwise lost. Every few years one of the tumblers will show up on eBay, but the auction is usually deleted from the system within minutes of being posted.


The Newsies Strike

In April of 1898, the United States entered into the Spanish American War. During this time, New York City’s newspaper giants, Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst, raised the prices of the newspapers to the delivery boys (newsies) to 60 cents/100 papers from 50 cents/100. Now, during the war, this wasn’t a problem as the newsies were able to sell more papers. You see, if a paper  had a good headline story, the paper sold much better than with a bad one and war always gave good headlines.


The problem came after the war. The headlines were not good and rather then bringing the price back down, Pulitzer and Hearst left them where they were. This lead to the Newsboy’s Strike of 1899. The story is simple, the newsies wouldn’t sell papers and would “soak”, or beat the crap out of anyone who would sell the papers. This ultimately lead to the paper giants dropping the price again for the newsies.


What many people don’t realize is that the newsies had a bit of unholy assistance. The strike was mostly lead by a young man who went by Kid Blink. It is believed “Blink” got the name due to a patch he wore over his left eye. What people don’t realize is that Kid Blink wasn’t a kid at all, but in fact an ancient evil that stems out whenever there are children in trouble. While others would be “soaking” the newsies still selling papers, Blink would break into the homes of Pulitzer and Hearst, killing pets and destroying furniture. Now you wouldn’t normally think this an evil thing. More like a group of rowdy vandals.


The difference in the typical newsboy vandal and Kind Blink, however, was this. While newsies would trash papers and fight, Blink would hold an old pistol to the heads of the sleeping paper men, threatening their lives if they didn’t drop the price. Eventually the prices dropped, the newsies sold papers, and Kid Blink disappeared. It is said, however, that he will always reappear whenever children are being mistreated in New York, and every time he has to come back, his violence will intensify.


 I warn you friends, be careful how you treat your young workers! For even now, as I write this, there is a boy of about 14 behind me, knife to my throat, and pistol to my head. It is only a matter of time before he hnfg;ldsanva;duf


[[File:Kid.jpg|thumb|left]]
[[Category:OC]]
[[Category:People]]
[[Category:Death]]


Play

I was deposited to awareness with an abruptness normally reserved for the newly born, and much like them, my first view of the world was enough to send me in to wracking sobs. I attempted to recoil, to fall back to the nothing that I had came from, but found myself frozen, my body not my own, only able to watch and look in horror at the world I now found myself in.

Cracked bricks and blocks formed an endless road before me, while behind laid only a flat mass of black more dark and empty then the place I had already come from. Stones and clumps of masonry floated here and there, as if frozen after being flung free by some massive explosion. Yawning tubes dotted this narrow, cyclopean highway, and the road has even crumbled away in sections, to reveal gaping maws of oblivion.

It was not this alien landscape that filled with me horror. While it gnawed and gnashed at the edges of my strength of mind, it was the subtle…awareness of the place that cause me to recoil in my frozen body. Everywhere, half-perceived faces leered from the bricks, the ground, the clouds. Everywhere eyes, dull but gleaming with a mocking, predatory awareness, seemed to watch, their vapid emptiness vanishing when perceived too closely.

Faced with the blank nothing behind me, or the unknown horror before, I forced my unresponsive limbs forward, each step a jerky ordeal. I kept my eyes locked ahead, seeing only the next step, the next stone, never looking at the impossible islands of floating, decayed brick that drifted over me, nor at the mocking faces laughing at my plight from every crevice.

Merely steps in to my journey, I froze, nearly recoiling back to beat at the blank nothing-wall behind me rather then take another step. Where before had been naught but the crumbling road, there was now another traveler. It shambled forward, slouching low under its own rotten weight, pulpy black lumps of feet slowly dragging it along the road. Two staring, blank eyes floated in the bloated, fungoid mass of its body, fixed on me with the unseeing focus of a mind as alien to mine as a deep sea worm.

I stood, frozen and uncomprehending as it slowly strode forward, its wheezing body barely bigger then that of a child. Its glaring eyes were fixed on me, the pulpy thing slowly drawing closer. I could not move. To retreat would result only in eventual capture by the thing, but to advance would mean crossing it, and the thought of touching that…thing…

The decision was made for me, for as the thing drew close, I was galvanized in to action. By horror or rage, I leapt forward, screaming nonsense, and struck at that bloated body. I kicked and stomped at it, crushing the flabby and far too soft flesh under me, sobbing in horror as I felt the flesh touch me, then melt away, rotting to nothingness in seconds, but leaving such a unclean memory in me that I knew I would feel that dull, soggy weight against me long after even the sweet, cold embrace of the beyond.

After that, I ran. I ran and cursed whatever black fate had brought me here, and obliterated my memory, my life, and left only the road, the eternal road. I would have cried, had balled up and thrown myself down one of the endless pits that had broken open the road, but I was compelled to continue, legs continuing in a jerky rhythm that propelled me over the crumbling brick, leaping across the pits even as I secretly wished to fall in to their depths and obliterate the road, the faces, and myself.

As I ran and jumped, I came to one of the thick, twisted tubes that dotted the claustrophobic landscape. I thought to look in for a moment, curiosity fighting to overcome my almost manic desire to be free of this place, but upon hearing a strange shuffling and gurgling, coupled with a deep, bass pulse from the bowels of the black pipe, I decide against it and squeezed around. As soon as I was past, there was a sudden rush of air behind me, followed by a sharp, oddly muffled snap, as if to iron bars wrapped in cotton had been thrown together behind me. I did not turn, merely using this to further galvanize my stuttering walk, ignoring the continued snapping and rustling as it faded behind me.

Far ahead, I saw a long, glossy stair, leading up, and beyond it what looked like a squat dwelling made of the same crumbling brick as the road. While I feared what may lie inside, the idea of someone else, some other person with which to share this horrible place with filled me with the first hope I had felt in hours. I ran, eyes fixed on that stair, and soared across the final gap. It was mid-way across the abyss when I saw the thing waiting on the other side.

It was a twisted parody of some kind of reptile. Its elongated face was filled with a dim sort of menace, and his mouth yawned in anticipation of my reaching the other side, the jagged edges glinting as it made a choking squeal. Its body balanced on two squat, shapeless legs, a shell of hard, cracked flesh encasing the bulbous torso. Two stunted limbs projected through the flaking shell, coated in fibrous growths, and slowly shifted in a sick mockery of wings.

I screamed and twisted, trying in vain to return to the far edge, but it was too late, and my struggles were enough to bring me short, slamming in to the hard wall of the pit, the thing above me shrieking in frustration as I fell. Down, and down, spinning in to the endless blackness, I felt the dark enclose around me. However, seconds before the emptiness could provide me its final solace, I suddenly remembered.

Endless roads, lakes of fire, crumbling tombs filled with the rotting, shambling bones of beasts, hazy forms of glowing slickly light following in the dark, floating networks of ancient wood drifting in a hot sky, it all came back to me in a flood, the remembrance of where I had been, what I had done, and knowing that it would continue.

I do not know how long I have done this, nor what I have done to earn this.

Only that I must walk the road.

Forever.[[File:Death_of_mario_bros_03.jpg|thumb|268px]]
[[Category:Video Games]]


The Pendant

You jolt awake to some noise off in the distance. You look at your red lettered clock: 3:21. You hear it noise again. Someone’s knocking on your door.

There’s no reason to be afraid, you remind yourself, but you can’t imagine any reason why
someone would be up this late. You quietly walk over to the door.

“Hello?”

Knock, Knock, Knock

“H-hello? Are you home?”

Knock, Knock, Knock

“I… Please be home… Hello?”

She mumbles something

“I need your help!”

Knock, Knock, Knock

You recognize her voice and look out the window. It’s your neighbor, she’s wearing her pajamas and some shining pendant around her neck. She sees you.

“Oh!”

She looks afraid at first, and then puts on a worried smile.

“I.. can I use your phone? I need to come in.”

Why can’t you use your phone?

“Mine is Brok-”

She pauses.

“…I think someone’s inside my house”

You pause for a moment to look at the fear on her face.

When you open the door it slowly dawns on you…

Whoever it is isn’t inside her house, he’s behind her, and what’s shining by her neck isn’t a pendant.
[[Category:People]]


Monumental Disaster

<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt">September 11, 2001. Every American citizen knows the date. It was on this fateful day that all hell broke loose in the country springing the United States into a war. The fighting forces of the United States military found themselves shortly after in Afghanistan. In 2003, they wound up in Iraq as well to overthrow their dictator Saddam Hussein, remove insurgency and terrorism, and bring peace and order to the region. American forces fought and died in Iraq for over a decade. That is not, however, the main focus of this tale.</p>
In 2010, my unit was sent to southern Iraq, stationed on a crappy little base known as Camp Adder. The camp is located next to the town of Tallil which has one small claim to fame…the ancient city of Ur. Ur is described as the birthplace of civilization by scholars worldwide. Being smack dab in the middle of the Fertile Crescent, this area was once a lush green land perfect for growing crops and raising livestock. Ur was famous for another thing though, the Ziggurat. A ziggurat is a temple built to worship one of the pagan gods of the area. In Ur, they worshiped the Goddess of the Moon. The temple still stands to this day and is visible from nearly every point on camp Adder. While I was stationed there, I was afforded the opportunity to visit the ancient city. It was an opportunity I should have declined.
The tour started out just walking about the streets of Ur. I saw the remains of the palace, the tombs of the kings, and even the house in which Abraham (as in biblical Abraham) grew up and lived in before venturing out into the desert. Upon crossing the threshold into the house of Abraham, I felt this presence. I couldn’t tell if was my imagination or if there was something there but I suddenly felt rather uneasy. I decided to go out onto the roof the try and get some fresh air. As soon as I stepped outside I felt better. I thought it was just the heat playing with my mind so I took a couple of long drinks of water to prevent dehydration. Afterword, it was time to go up to the temple and ascend the 50 foot staircase to the top.
On the mile walk from Abraham’s house to the temple, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was being followed. I knew this was ridiculous and probably just a trick of the desert heat but it was still very unsettling. I continued to drink my water none the less out of fear of passing out. Upon reaching the temple, I adjusted my armor and helmet, checked my weapon and ammunition, and started up the stairs. I had barely made it half way when I was overcome with exhaustion. It felt as if my legs were made of lead and my armor increased by 50 pounds. The feeling passed as quickly as it had come on and I was able to finish my climb. When I reached the top, I took a few pictures, walked around a bit, and made my way back to the vehicle to return to base. All in all, it seemed like a relatively successful trip. Until about three days ago.
I have been plagued with nightmares. The most horrific things I have ever seen. I’m afraid to go to sleep because of the horrors I see when I close my eyes. They know this. They know that I’m refusing to sleep. I can see them looking at me in the reflection of this screen. They look like your typical local Iraqi citizen, aside from the scars running across their throats and down their bodies. Men, women, children…all of them follow and haunt me, begging me to join them. I cannot hold out much longer. If I do not do it myself, they will do it for me. I can hear them sharpening their stone knives and smell the fire starting to burn. They will cut me open, tear out my intestines and burn them in front of my eyes. They will reach into my chest squeezing my lungs and heart until it stops beating. They will hang me upside down and slit my throat to drain the blood, and I will join their hunt, back where it all began, for all time.


The Nature of Possession

Many people do not believe in demonic possession. How can they all be so foolish? After all, what else could I be but a demon?! I am there with every caffine headache. I am there with every need for a cigarette or stiff drink. I am there with every desire to get high, low, or just "chill out". I am Addiction, and I posses the world!
[[Category:OC]]
[[Category:Demon/Devil]]


Immortal Revenge

<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt">It has been nearly a thousand years since I have seen the light of day.</p>
I was trapped you see, by my wicked youngest son deep in a cave, surrounded by death as my only company.
It was my curse to spend all eternity here in this pit.
My body severed into a hundred thousand pieces while my immortal mind is forced to suffer, forcing out the last little pieces of my sanity.
The spirits of my brothers were all stripped of their physical presence and cast to the furthest reaches of the world.
But what my foolish child does not know is that I am regenerating my body slowly.

<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt">In another thousand years I shall be complete again and strong enough to rise from this torturous pit that has become my eternal prison.</p>
And on the day that I am finally strong enough to rise up out of this cave, I shall restore my brothers to their former strengths and we shall reap havoc across the known universe.
By our might alone we shall overthrow the kingdom that my son has created, forcing all mankind to question the authority of their “mighty ruler”.
All mortals shall be forced to choose sides in this final showdown between father and son; and all who stand against me shall receive no mercy.
It is at my mighty hands that they shall fall, sending their puny mortal souls into the depths that once were my prison.
The pieces of their own bodies cast about the cavern, and their souls spread across the land, as my son did to my mighty brothers.
No one in heaven or on earth has what it would take to stop me.
The kingdom shall crumble and fall, and my foolish child with it.
Say goodbye to the gods of old, for I am Kronos, King of the Titans and my foolish son Zeus, along with his pesky family must all be destroyed. Olympus shall be mine at last!

<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt">None can stop me.</p>
[[Category:OC]]
[[Category:History]]
[[Category:Gods]]
[[Category:Dismemberment]]


Miasma

“Ohfuckwhatwasthat?!”

The ground’s gone out from under you. No, wait, there it is—explosive acquaintance with your tailbone. You splay out your hands behind you, feet scrabbling at the grass , trying to scramble away.

Where’d it go? Shit — it could be —

A noise like a blender full of once-live things and a carrion finger dragged down your face. Your head is immersed in a blinding, nauseating greenish cloud, the color of everything dead and rotting.

“Ohfuck!” And it’s gone. You couldn’t have drawn breath to yell if it wasn’t.

Now you’re on your feet (how’d that happen?) and running. They mowed the grass this morning; great hanks of it are clogging between your toes. The park has never seemed so big.

— another rush of death-stench, you’d choke on it if it wasn’t already gone —

Still running. Your harsh panting is threatening to resolve into words: you cough the impending meaning away, rejecting whatever you might’ve said. Somehow you don’t think the words would’ve been your own.

The night dew’s been gathering for a few hours already, and with the grass stuck to your feet you’re slipping. Can’t get good footing. Once you pass the old cottonwood you’ll be out on the street, safe, you’re sure of it — the pool of lamplight on the sidewalk is a beacon, it’s Shangri-La —

Rot and decay. You can’t breathe. You can’t scream. (No time to: it’s gone before you could try.)

And then your feet hit concrete. You backpedal to a halt, scraping your soles bloody on the rough sidewalk. Bent double, panting over your knees, you look back into the park.

It’s there.

Hovering. Right at the edge of the grass.

The rotting miasma, reeking of mortality, roils sickly in midair before you. The hum of the light behind you could almost be words…

You won’t get to contemplate them: now that the cloud can’t reach you, you’re doomed. It’s only another moment before the lamp falls. Broken glass: you’re bleeding in too many places to count. The sidewalk heaves. Great chunks of concrete: you’re bludgeoned off your feet. Sickening crunch of bone, more felt than heard.

Your last thought (before it’s all a rush of red and crackling) is to wonder: since when does death preserve?