There are seven words in every Gideon's Bible - y'know, the ones they stuff in every hotel room - that can't be found in any other bible.
If you repeat those seven words to yourself while grasping the doorknob to your room, the door will open to any hotel room in the world.
Of course, if you want to control where you're going, you'll need to know the Gideon's Key - one more inserted word, unique to each copy, that acts as an index for each room.
There's a small, inconspicious building called "Padraic Willoughsby and Co." in the industrial district of Birmingham, UK. Most of the time, its doors are locked and the windows are draped. However, on February 29th of every leap year, there will be a small plastic container outside the front door containing business cards. On the front of the card it says in large capital letters, "PADRAIC WILLOUGHSBY AND CO. ENGLAND'S THAUMATURGICAL SPECIALISTS". On the back, in nearly inelligibly small type it says "The blood of the innocent." Any night after midnight one can come to Paidraic Willoughsby and Co. and slide their card through the door, and the door will instantly unlock. Inside there is an empty room with white walls. No light reaches this room, except for a small sliver from the other end of the room. When you approach this room you will find that it is actually another door. When you knock on it, a voice will ask "What makes a man become exalted?" and you must respond with the phrase on the back of the card: "The blood of the innocent." The door will open and you will come into another room, a kind of lounge. Inside it you will find around 5-10 people, depending on the night, sitting around smoking and drinking brandy, all in late Edwardian period dress. There is absolutely no conversation at all in this room and, it is nearly silent except for the phonograph which plays the exact same record over and over, ad infinitum. If you attempt to speak to one of the patrons, they will promptly ignore you and pretend as if you were not there. Towards the south wing of the room you will find a large, round table, slightly different from the others. On it will be a quill pen and a document. The document shows all of your personal information: name, birthdate, place of residence, criminal record, greatest fears, etc. At the bottom of the document is a long line that asks for your signature. No one knows what happens after you sign it.
There are exactly 17 people on this earth fated to kill you. If you somehow manage to avoid these 17 people during your lifetime, you are taken to a place of monumental beauty where you are stripped of all clothing and branded on the space just above your navel with a name. When you are sent back to earth, it's your mission to kill the person branded on you.
The images we see in the mirror are the pure incarnates of evil. They are only allowed to exist in the area reflected in the glass. To them, life is like a neverending hell, rotting away in the same room day after day. The only release from this purgatory is death, and the only way for them to die, sad to say, is if YOU die.
Fortunately, they are bound by a code. You are their master, and they must mirror your every movement and expression. To do otherwise would break an unbreakable law, unravelling the space-time continuum. However, there is a loophole, and it can only be triggered by you, the master. To force them into error is to free them from their contract; after you let them out of your view, you're on your own. Know this: when you watch them, they're watching you back. They're watching. And they're thinking.
The next time you're alone in your room, turn down the lights. Think of something on your body that varies in length, such as hair. It must be clearly viewable from your perspective. Grab a ruler and, looking in the mirror, quickly grab a hair at random; you must confuse it. Hold it in position as best you can and note the length. Look down. Yours will be different.
Don't look back up.
Don't turn your back to that mirror ever again.
The next time you wake up groggy and tired, don't move. Take a glance at your mirror; if you're lucky, you might catch a smile.
All mirrors are actually windows to another world.
This world cannot be reached, and shouldn't be reached, as all our mirror-selves are extremely malicious.
Try watching the edge of the mirror after sneaking into a room.
If you're good enough, you can see your reflection, pressing against the glass.
Ever wonder why the vampire myths say they don't cast reflections in mirrors?
That's because a mirror isn't a mirror to them. It's a door.
Don't delve deep into their business, do not draw their attention, do not invite their wrath. And if you do, cover every single mirror you own.
You ever wonder just WHY people don't like mirrors so much? It's not because they're afraid of the strange world on the other side, no. I'ts because, deep down, they know that a mirror reflects THIS world, just as it is. Too look and see yourself as you really are, that is what everyone's afraid of. The truth.
That doesn't mean there's not a world on the other side, though. And those that inhabit it would dearly like to cross over. If you get yourself alone in a room with a mirror, dim or extinguish the lights and generally make the atomosphere calm enough, they might just stop their charade and talk with you. They'll usually offer you some sort of deal - vast wealth, special powers, love, happiness, whatever you want, in exchange for a few years with them in your place, and you in theirs.
The catch, though, is that you've only got their word that they'll let you back out when the time is up. And it's not really THEM making the offer, but YOU. So before you accept the mirror's offer, ask yourself... if it were YOU trapped in the mirror, and you got out... would YOU keep your word?
The Third of December is coming On the 3rd of December in the evening when it's close to 11:34.. if you just happen to have a hand held mirror, something about the size of your face. Cover your face with the mirror, walk into the bathroom, turn the light on, and stand in front of the mirror. Do this preferably before 11:34, so when 11:34 hits raise the mirror upwards, somewhere about your head. What is in the mirror will not be staring back at you, nor will it be your reflection..
It is preferable you never lower that hand held mirror.. because then it will realize what you've done.....
At 12:17 am, on any given night, arises the opportunity to awaken an alternate soul. The most common way of viewing them? Through a mirror.
It is through said medium that the process must take place. Begin at exactly midnight. By no light but that of a single candle, stand before the selected mirror. For ten minutes you must concentrate in silence, focused entirely on your reflection. Do not look away from the eyes; for it will be interpreted as weakness and you will be overcome.
After ten minutes have passed you must draw blood to smear in a line across the eyes of your reflection. Doing so will blind it, and you will watch as your own features begin to warp. Slowly, gradually, they will mutate into a frightening creature--one beyond the comprehension of those who have not experienced it. You must not look away through the entirety of the change.
Soon the writhing movements of the image will cease. By now an echoing, inhuman sound will resound all around you--the creature will begin to ease toward the mirror's glass. You must keep watching as it approaches.
If you do not extinguish the candle at exactly 12:17, the creature will escape.
Be warned, should you succeed; through any polished surface--be it mirror, wood, or window--your reflection will always be watching.
Rumor has it that every Halloween during the hours of 2am and 5am, there exists a void. You must stand in front of a mirror in a pitch black room with your gaze fixated on the mirror. If you remain in the room when the moment arrives, you will feel a chill seize your body. Place your right hand on the mirror and whisper "I accept." If done correctly, in the mirror there will be a faint image of a fleshless infant with pitch black eyes. He will stare directly into your soul and you will hear the buzzing of flies and nervous whispering. You will not be able to make out the image in the mirror but you will be filled with unspeakable terror. The infant will ask you five questions about events that have occurred within your life. His voice will sound like the rubbing of sandpaper and will be devoid of all emotion. For each question that you answer incorrectly, one of your five senses will be consumed. For each question that is answered correctly, you will be able to recite the name of someone you know. That person will be found dead the next morning, after a night of unimagninable horror, with their flesh removed and their eyes missing.
Not this shit again. As we all know, smoking is really bad for your health. What a lot of people don't realize is that when you smoke, those few minutes of your expected lifespan are literally transformed into the ash you flick away into an ashtray. Ashtrays, each and every one of them, are constructed by a single group running several dozen front companies.
Basically, unless you're putting out your smokes beneath your heel or in the ashtray your kid made at camp, you're dispensing your ashen life into this group's eager little recepticle. Their ashtrays absorb the life force from the ashes and sends it to a central holding facility. No one knows for sure what these guys are going to do when they've collected all that life energy, but it's probably going to be huge.
Incidentally, there's talk of a rival organization leading the anti-smoking political agenda from behind the scenes. They probably figure removing smoking sections, and thus ashtrays, from restaurants and bars is a good first step towards thwarting whatever it is this ashtray company is trying to do.
Find an object in your room roughly the size of your fist. It could be a cup, or a tennis ball, or any other item of medium size. Hold onto your left thumb with your right hand. Lower your left middle finger down, towards the object. This must be done as slowly as possible. If your hand is slow enough, your finger will pass through the object. DO NOT STOP MOVING YOUR HAND. Also, DO NOT REGISTER THIS EVENT IN YOUR BRAIN, as much as this is possible. You are playing with reality itself. The realisation of this violation can cause you to lose your soul
For a brief period in 1971, a New Jersey based company sold novelty "x-ray" glasses through the mail via advertisements in the Marvel line of comic books. People who viewed their televisions while wearing these glasses reported seeing images that were "hellish" or "like hell". It should be noted that this phenomena occured whether the televisions in question were turned on or not. The company quickly went out of business and investigations reveal that the company's address leads to a graveyard founded many decades before 1971.
There is a book that has only been spoken of in terrified whispers behind closed and locked doors. It is said that only seven people have ever seen this book over the course of all of human history and only four have opened it.
Only one man has ever read it.
The book...isn't really a book at all, but a machine. The binding opens and locks, with a grate in the center where the pages can slide through. When the book is opened, and the pages lie flat, they can be shifted into different positions. Each page is made of metal, the words embossed on it. On each edge of the page is a specially cut design; no two designs are the same. It is said that one must find the proper arrangement of each of the five hundred and thirty six pages and go to the "Rock of Chaos", where time is the only constant. It is a place of madness where lightning moves from all directions and the sky itself burns with an insane blue fire. The Rock is the face of an immense cliff, the bottom of which can never be seen by mortal eyes lest they go blind and mad. Somewhere on the face of the rock there is a single hole, an opening just the right size for the book. Properly aligned, the book must be brought to this "keyhole" at the exact moment specified by the stars and spoken of within the book. One places the book in the hole at the exact moment, and unlocks the Chaos Chain. This is a chain of pure ether, which runs from our world deep into that of the Void, and there, at the Throne of Darkness, the Chain binds that dark soul who rules the Void and would wreak apocalypse on us all: Unenon, the Blind Angel of Darkness.
What the book says...well, only one man ever read it, and it is said that he locked himself in his room for thirty days before emerging, tome in hand, and swore to take the book to the ends of the earth before he died.
He has never been seen or heard from since.
In the heart of the Rockies, lies a grove of trees growing in a perfect circle. A grove that, aside from this geometric oddity, appears perfectly innocuous from the outside. If one should step foot into this grove however, the inside with be as dark as any moonless night in those mountain woods, even on the brightest summer’s day. Those who have mistakenly wandered into the grove are rarely in any condition to say what happens inside, many simply never come out. However, if you are very brave, or very foolish, you can attempt to camp within the grove. Go in with your eyes shut tight, lie down in your sleeping bag, and no matter what you hear, no matter what you feel, do not open them again. If you somehow manage to find your way to sleep before the grove takes your sanity or your life, you will awaken in the middle of the day to the light of the sun on your face in a the middle of a grove; a grove that, aside from growing in a perfect circle, and containing your heart’s one greatest desire, is perfectly innocuous. If one should step foot outside this grove however, they will find the outside to be dark as any moonless night in those mountain woods.
There's a dark forest deep in the heart of the Rockies, surrounded on all sides by mountains. In the center of the forest is a lake on the shores of which you will find a large black stone. If you swim out into the center of the lake, the stone will drag you down into the darkness.
You will emerge from shadows in the alley of a frightening dark city of heavily arched roofs and buildings built on stilts. You must not talk to a single citizen of this city, or you shall be trapped there forever. The citizenry is horrid and mutated, and they will leer and curse at you, and their hideous and deformed women shall offer you unknown and horrible lewdnesses.
At the edge of this city is a highway. Walk down the left side of the road (yes, against traffic) with your thumb out and a man in a dark truck shall pick you up and drive you back the way you came. The city will be gone, and he will take you to any place on earth as long as you can name it and there's a road there.
Under humanity, under civilization, stands a collossal and beautiful castle made from bone and flesh. The bodies belong to every single person who's ever died in a war after killing an enemy - there are millions. Their bodies are twisted with each-other to form eerie swirls, ornaments, gargoyles. If you should ever find yourself facing the castle, you will be looking at something eternal.
If you are brave enough with a pure heart, you will be able to enter the castle and inside it, there will be a throne. On the throne, there will be a man with no clothing but a human skin draped across his old and aged body; he will ask you a single question. Should you answer it correctly, you will ascend past physical form and gain knowledge that the man on the throne has. But he careful, the castle will collapse as millions of souls will be released from his cruel grasp; their moaning will be overwhelming and thunderous, the man will turn to ashes and a scream will fill the putrid air around you.
Should you escape, you will be the most powerful creature in the world...
The only catch is that you will not be able to speak to any human after this and your soul will be as cold as glacier ice.
There is an old hotel that has been around for hundreds of years. If anyone was to find themselves staying in Room 6 you would find yourself in an unknown place, where exactly at 12:16 AM the power will go out and you'll find yourself in utter darkness. If you chose to stay awake nothing will happen. But if you so much as close your eyes and fall asleep you will find yourself roaming in an unimaginable pit of despair, where creatures of fathomless shapes and sizes roam. You will be trapped here for hours, until the sun comes up. It is rumored that this room is a gate into hell, and demons use the condensed evil of the room to escape into our reality through our minds. Those who have stayed in there rarely speak of it, for even recalling the night will put them in an uncontrollable frenzy.
it is said in a small town south of Madison, Wisconsin called Stoughton, there is a bridge.
This bridge is just south of a bridge crossing a river on main street, and appears to be a foot bridge made of cement. Crossing this bridge leaves one with an unsettling feeling that slowly escilates to dread. These feelings are easily ignored by those who dont believe. However...
Every year this small town holds a parade, the Syttende Mai Parade, and has been holding this for over 100 years. Long before what it is today, it was dedicated to the evil of that bridge. In 1865 it was a wooden footbridge, where on May 20th, two hundred men were hung by their necks though already well dead, by their wives. They were made to suffer first, slowly bleeding into the river untill it ran deep red. Their screams were heard for miles around, as they were ritually sliced open to spill their living bowls into the current of the river below.
Their crime? Nobody knows, all the people involved fled north, and started new homes, new families..new cities..but its said every 150 years..it will happen again.
On the east bank of the Susquehana river somewhere in central Pennsylvania, there is a small patch of ground where no plants will grow. At the right time of day, at the right time of year, the sun shines directly on this spot. If you stand there at precisely this time, a whirlpool in the river will appear, revealing a trap door leading to a system of identical tunnels. If you can successfully navigate through the maze of tunnels, you will find yourself face down in an alley behind an Irish pub called Kelley's just outside Boston, with no memory of how you got there. In your pocket, you will find a day planner. Important events of the future are described within, but in random order and no dates.
There is a small island in the Mediterranean Sea that does not appear on any map. It cannot be seen from any other island, nor can any other land be seen from it. On this island is a lighthouse, rotting from age and sea water, that is never lit. There is nothing inside it, save for a spiraling staircase that leads to the top, and an ancient, dusty bookcase.
The case is filled with unmarked books, bound in ancient leather, save for a single space. If you remove a book from the shelf, it will fling itself open in your hands, and the words inscribed in it shall start screaming to the air. You must wrestle the book closed and shove it back on the shelf, or the immortal evil contained within its pages shall break free, and you will be forced to take its place, with pages, ink and binding crafted from your own flesh and blood.
However, if you bring the correct book to the island, and place it in the empty space, the lighthouse will light. As long as it is lit, the world shall enjoy an unending paradise, for all the evil in the world will be contained in the lighthouse. And while it is lit, nothing can go in or out.
The only problem; you will be trapped for eternity with all the evil ever known or conceived, by man or god. And the only way to escape, is to douse the light.
In almost every building, there is one corner, one small enclosure that no one ever looks at. It's the corner in the basement that has been blocked by a disused sofa for years; the thin space in the attic between the wall and the stacks and stacks of crates full of junk you never use, but could never throw away. The space that never sees the light of day, or any other kind of light at all. Where darkness does not merely dominate, but practically oozes out from around the edges of its prison.
No one knows quite how long a space must remain concealed for it to acquire this particular property, nor if there are any specific conditions it must meet. But it is a far more common occurrence than you might think.
In newer buildings, when this happens, the residents often report feeling cold when passing by, even in attics during the hottest of summers. Whenever contemplating taking a quick peek to see if there is anything actually there, an unnatural dread seizes them, and they leave the room quickly, if not quite running. Once left behind, the feeling passes, and it is quickly forgotten, or laughed off.
What actually happens in these forgotten sanctuaries of the dark? It is impossible to tell. For while many such corners have been exposed to reveal absolutely nothing, some brave souls have lost their sanity through nothing more than an ill-timed glance. The safest thing to do when encountered with such a phenomenon; close your eyes, rip away the area's covering in a single motion, then keep a tight hold on what you've pulled away. No matter what you hear or feel, do not get up, do not look around, and do not try to cover your ears. You might be one of the lucky ones.
The 51st state of the United States, Arcadia, was admitted to statehood on January 17th, 1977. Exactly 4 years to the day later, Arcadia disappeared along with all its residents, and all memory of its existence was erased from every mind in the world. Its precise former location is unknown, though there is rumored to be a map of the type sold in gas stations and convenience stores held under lock and key in the Library of Congress. Also of note are claims of the sporadic delivery of mail from Arcadia, with modern postmarks, to several major American newspapers, the contents of which are said to be written in an entirely unknown and undecipherable language. Unfortunately, those letters to a one have been misplaced and are not available for examination.
The place that we humans call hell isn't hell at all. It is just a creation of man used as a scare tactic for morality. It got it's name from a old story about the real hell, that was taken out of context by man. There is no eternal suffering, infact the only thing that is eternal is the lifespan of it's enhibitants. It is also not a punishment. Everyone goes there when they die. Unlike the earth it is flat and it goes on forever. It is filled with all manners of terrain from snowy forests to rivers of lava. Rumor is that if you go out into the infinate expansion in the right direction farther than any human has ventured, you will find the beings that originally spoke of Hell and confused whe writers of the bible. They will tourture you for so long that you lose your grasp of time. They will then ask you your name. If you answer correctly you will be a slave to them forever but will have many of your dreams and fantasies acted out. If you answer wrong you will cease existance and everyone you have ever known in both worlds will forget you. However is you answer "Bruce" you will become one of them.
And before you ask anyone who claims to be named bruce is a liar.
Remember this -
should you ever despair of life so much that you want to die, you have the means at hand and yearn to end your life, you have written a suicide note to those you will leave behind and you are prepared to die....at that moment, stop.
Get a pair of scissors. Cut away at the note until you end up with a piece of paper in the shape of a key. Go to a door, any one will do. Push the paper key forward and turn your hand as if unlocking an imaginary lock.
The lock is real. Open the door. There you will find it. The other earth. The one that awaits to replace this one when it dies. That death is inevitable, but in the meantime the other earth will belong to you.
Be warned: the other earth is very different from this one.
It is said that during 11 pm on any Sunday, eat a banana and dont drink water. at 12 midnight, look in the mirror for 7 seconds and then sleep. In the middle of your sleep, you will encounter a figure who will give you water, he or she is your soulmate. However, at that precise moment, you SHOULD wake up. If you stay asleep for even less than a second, the exact image of your death and your soulmate's will flash before you. Give it a try, you will be amazed at what you see. I know I did.
-emailed by Ernest Kell, WTC victim, few moments before his death.
If you watch every State of the Union Adress since it's been filmed and available on tape, you'll see that halfway through--exactly halfway through--the President always says the same word. Most say it under their breath during the standing ovations, but some are forced to work it into the speech itself.
What's the word? You don't want to know.
There's a small building somewhere in north western America, up along the border between Oregon and Washington. It's just this short little old shack in the woods off the highway. Anyways, inside, there's a spiral staircase made of grating that goes straight down. If you go all the way down, you'll find yourself stepping out into an endless field of tall grass. There are many bones surrounding the bottom step of the stairs, and things move in the near distance. Nobody who has ever seen these things has come back to say what they are.
They say that somewhere in western America, some say in Utah, others say on the California coast, there's a small motel on the side of the road. When you go inside, it's decorated in very common hotel attire, with the panelling and old fashioned key-lock doors. The thing is, there's a room in there for everybody. Everybody has a reservation for exactly when they show up, and the number of rooms available is always one more than the number of people there. One person to a room, that is the rule. Some say that the song "Hotel California" is based off this motel, though you *can* leave this particular motel. I wouldn't advise looking at a mirror for at least a month after doing so, though.
The actual lyrics to every song by Nightwish are nothing more than long strings of vowel sounds. It is a natural self defense mechanism of the brain to process them as words. A human being incapable of doing so would immediately lapse into a coma.
In the hills surrounding the town of Bodega Bay in California, there is a tree, sitting right in the crook of two hills. Scattered 10 paces around it are 7 different fresh-water springs. It is said that one of them cures any disease, another grants immortal life, 4 will kill you instantly and cause your body to dissolve into powder. But the last spring is special. If you bottle water from this one and take it to a small cave hidden in the hills north of the tree, you will find a single large stone at the back of the cave. If you then splash the water on the stone, it will dissolve, leaving you a baseball-sized red stone. As long as you have this stone in your possession, you will always be in the right place at the right time. If you pour water from any of the other 6 springs on the rock, the cave will seal up, and you will be lost forever under the earth.
If you take any Swiss Franc note and expose it to microwaves, it will curl up and ignite. Once it's cooled down, you'll find a fine powder that, when ingested, will kill you painlessly. A 10 franc note has enough poison to kill a family of four.
The Antarctic ice only reaches some 800 km inland. After that is a slowly rising plain of volcanic gravel swept by gravity-driven winds from the hub of the conical continent, on top of which is the true South Pole. No satellite images exist of the ice-free inland. The pics you see are either stretched from existing photos (such as the one in Google Earth) or photoshopped.
There's a movie theater in downtown Phoenix, Arizona that only plays movies from 1987. If you pay for 3 tickets and buy a large popcorn, they will play a film that shows you your future. If you watch the entire film completely, you will have sleeping problems for the rest of your life.
The 666th frame of every Halloween-themed movie, cartoon, or TV special depicts a basement with a corpse moldering in the corner; these frames are often removed from the final film, but one can find them on occasion. If you were to put the frames together, in chronological order of the release of the film it comes from, a short film is revealed. The film depicts the corpse's violent death in reverse. The final frame will be a picture of yourself, sitting before your tv, viewing the final frame of the film.
African miners say that beneath the earth's crust is a layer of wiring, cogs, and gears known as the mechanosphere. They say the whole setup is what really makes the world go round, and that if someone were to undestand how all the pieces fit together and interact they'd be able to tell the eventual fate of man kind.
The secret ingredient in Coke isn't known even to its creator. Supposedly the guy who invented Coke made a deal with a demon-posessed guy--the demon puts in a final ingredient, one that will be in all Cokes ever made until the End Times, and the guy's product will outlast his own life. They're making so many new kinds of Coke because the secret ingredient, whatever it is, isn't showing up anymore. They're trying to mask the taste.
At a graveyard in Baltimore, there's a life-sized statue of a woman sitting on a bench, looking sorrowful and having her arms outstretched. Her name was Agnes. If you sit in her lap from dawn until dusk on any ordinary night, nothing will happen. However, if you try it on a night where the moon is full, you will die. Aggie has a superhuman grip, and she will keep you locked in her arms until you die. And the expression of sorrow will be replaced by one of triumph.
Leon Czolgosz, assassin of William McKinley, the the 25th President of the United States, was electrocuted for his crime on October 29, 1901, at Auburn Prison in Auburn, New York. Among the personal effects found in his cell was a U.S. quarter stamped with the date 2218. The face in profile on said quarter was not George Washington, but rather a face which has yet to be identified.
An employee at a frisbee plant had a vision of Christ and was told that he was to be gifted with the power of performing miracles and be the first prophet of Christ since biblical times. When he came out of the vision he felt an immense wave of energy flow through he body. Unfortunately he promptly fell into a vat of hot plastic and was killed instantly. No one was around to witness this event so his body was left to dissolve in the plastic. Now there are exactly 553 frisbees which contain parts of this man. If you collect all of them and methodically eat them until you have absorbed all of the man you will summon the arch-angel Michael who will then do your bidding for 40 days.
In Portland, Oregon in 1981, an unheard-of new arcade game appeared in several suburbs, something of a rarity at the time. This game was called "Polybius". The game proved to be incredibly popular, to the point of addiction, and queues formed around the machines, quickly followed by clusters of visits from men in black. Rather than the usual marketing data collected by company visitors to arcade machines, they collected some unknown data, allegedly testing responses to the psychoactive machines. The players themselves suffered from a series of unpleasant side-effects — amnesia, insomnia, nightmares, night terrors, and suicide appearing as having been caused by the game in various versions of the legend. Some players stopped playing video games, while it is reported that one became an anti-gaming activist.
There's a mailbox somewhere in the city which can solve your most dire problems.
Which city? That depends on who you ask. There may even be more than one, who knows? Anyway, this mailbox isn't emptied anymore - the mail service has completely forgotten about it. But it clings on. It islolated in some relatively unlikely place, so you won't spot it immediately. Mail you put inside it won't go anywhere.
But the box is special. Write a letter about your most pressing problem to the persons in charge of dealing with it: write to your significant other, your boss, the IRS, and get it all off your chest. Write yourself into deep shit with that letter. You'll see that the problem will dissolve soon, in some way you hadn't thought likely.
The snag, of course, is that you can't really be sure whether you have found the right mailbox until you try it. And if you haven't, things are going to get much worse once your letter gets delivered...
A man in Wyoming was sentenced to life in prison for unknown reasons. He died 5 days after being incarcerated. When they searched his cell, they found that his toilet flushed the opposite direction.
A degenerated VHS dub was discovered in the University Library containing five minutes of inexplicable amatuer footage. In one continuous shot, the camera momentarily focuses on a doorway on the north wall of a living room before the operator climbs outside of the house through a window to show the exterior white clapboard. The camera then moves inside the house through a second window completely circling the doorway and so proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that insulation or siding is the only possible thing this doorway could lead to. A hand appears in the frame and pulls open the door, revealing a narrow black hallway at least ten feet long. The camera begins to move closer, threatening to actually enter it. A voice can be heard, "Don't you dare go in there again, Davy," to which another voice adds, "Yeah, not such a hot idea."
Prominently displayed in the children's section of the Houston Downtown Public Library, among several others of the same title, My First Cookbook appears as a run-of-the-mill children's cookbook, complete with large print, simple instructions, colorful, friendly illustrations and a somewhat disproportionate desert section. In fact, the only major deviation from this theme is an article near the end of the book entitled "A Recipe for Success". This is a complex, macabre ritual involving human sacrifice, self mutilation and sacrilege, as well as more curious and innocuous practices such as walking down a stair case with a prime number of stairs taking them two at a time and then up it taking them three at a time. It's written in the same cheerfully simple prose as the rest of the book and accompanied by the same helpful, pastel drawings.
The ashes of the guitar burned by Jimi Hendrix at the 1967 Monterey Pop Festival were saved by a stage technician and passed along to "The Legion", a sect of the Hell's Angels which practiced ritual magick. The ashes were mixed with blood and clay and formed into a talisman with the rough appearance of a wolf. Possession of the talisman confers upon its hold numerous talents, including telepathy, precognition, enhanced strength, and prodigious sexual prowess. It is legend among cycle clubs and gangs to this day that the world will end when the talisman is broken.
Denver international airport is a strange place. When walking through the hospitality areas the walls are painted with murals. Many of these murals are quite innocuous, depicting sunrises, cityscapes and wildlife. Three of the murals, however, are quite different. One depicts a young aryan boy (caucasian, blonde, and blue-eyed) dressed in a way strongly resembling the hitler youth uniform, beating farming implements into swords while other children watch on in awe. Another shows a burning cityscape in the background, flames rising into the sky, while a native american woman cradles two children, one of them wrapped in a shroud, quite obviously dead and dessicated. Finally, the third mural features a man in a dictatorial military uniform (complete with black leather gloves and boots and a long, matching cape), wearing a gasmask and wielding some kind of strange energy sword. Many people think he resembles Darth Vader, while being much more unsettling. These three murals have since been altered, but why were they painted in such a strange fashion in the first place? What purpose do these grim images have in an Airport? What's behind the closed drapes concealing portions of the walls next to these odd paintings? These paintings are very real, look them up.
Belief is a powerful thing. Well, not your belief: your opinions couldn't be less important. But there is someone, and there always has been someone, who can control the universe by his powers of belief. You see, at any given moment the universe is controlled by what one particular man believes. All things, right down to the laws of physics, are subject to instantaneous change as soon as one dies and another is chosen. Amelia Airheart? Disappeared when the new Believer couldn't fathom a female aviator. Ever wonder why Newton's seemingly obvious laws of motion took so long to come around? Well, for thousands of years all the Believer's put their stock in Aristotle's physics. Believers don't even know about their powers, and it is flat out impossible to tell who is one.
There is an abandoned mental hospital at the top of a hill in Worcester, Massachusetts. Once every 5 years an old rusty box spring appears within the courtyard of the hospital. If you can sneak inside and sleep through the night on the bed, in the morning a man with a shirt that reads "Observe and absolve" will take out his wallet and give you a picture. This picture will show you how you will die. If the picture is of the man standing before you, running won't help.
In a private terminal at the Port of Boston there is a houseboat. This houseboat has been anchored there, permanently, for at least 50 years. The eccentric owner has maintained all fees and taxes and is in good standing with the Port Authority.
Still, even if the owner wasn't finacially responsible, no one would ask them to depart. Despite the owner's friendly, hospitable, if odd nature, there is a persistent air of unease around the boat and the area of the Port surrounding.
Very few people have taken the owner up on offers of hospitality, but those who do recount a wholly unbelievable tale:
When you step into the houseboat, it's as if you're sent backwards 50 years in time. Looking out windows depicts a cityscape of antiquity and the television recieves live broadcasts of programs of the era (including news programs). If you look out the open door, you see the city as it stands today. When the door closes, you can see the 50 year old skyline through the port opening.
Some visitors who spend time with the owner notice something particularly disturbing: an almost uncanny resemblance to their host, despite obvious age differences. Though this is odd, the owner is friendly and trustworthy (ignoring the air of unease most feel), so it isn't surprisng if casual friendships build between a guest and the proprietor.
All this would, of course, be very strange and worthy of note, but dismissed as some form of elaborate hoax or illusion, if it weren't for one additional detail.
Whenever someone elects to spend the night in this houseboat after an evening of conversation and a few drinks, they are never heard from again.
When the guest awakens in the morning, the owner is nowhere to be found and suddenly, the city skyline never changes back to its contemporary appearance when exiting the boat.
Under the bed there is a briefcase full of $100 bills with a letter stapled to a list.
The letter simply reads, "You have 50 years to follow these instructions if you wish to free yourself from this hell. The clock is ticking. Get to work."
There is a moment each leap year, at exactly three minutes past three on the morning of February twenty-ninth. If you possess the courage, await that moment in darkened room, with no other present. At that moment, the darkness will deepen. If you were to hold you hand directly before your face, you would not see a thing. But you must not do so. No, for that would be to waste the moment. Instead you must reach out, into that impenetrable darkness.
And it will reach out to you.
An unseen hand will grasp yours. You must not flinch away, nor tighten your grasp. To do so will only slough away more of the decrepit flesh that covers it, and anger its unseen owner. Remain perfectly still, as the withered fingers move over your palm, tracing unknown patterns. Do not move an inch as it crawls slowly up your arm. And most of all, do not even breathe as it caresses your face, touching what cannot be seen.
Should you remain still through this, the hand will be withdrawn and a voice will speak, so close you can feel its breath on your face, smell the scent of decay it carries. It will ask you for one simple piece of information: your name. Answer truthfully. Answer truthfully, and the presence will retreat, leaving only a whisper in the air as the darkness lifts. "It is done."
From that day on, untold good fortune will be yours, and mysterious power. You will lack nothing, and have everything. But in a year, perhaps two, you will feel your skin begin to decay, and smell the sweet smell of death upon your breath...
In Central Australia, there is an unremarkable service station along a straight and barren stretch of road. If you walk straight in and ask for the key, you will be given an unremarkable key attached to an unremarkable piece of wood. The key will unlock a door at the service station, leading to an impossibly long stepped corridor, dimly lit from an unseen source. If you follow these stairs, you will begin to hear hungry cries of birds of prey that grow louder as you descend. After an amount of time, the light will vanish, leaving you in the dark, and a rasping voice will ask for your desires. For each desire, you will experience all the sensations, unforgettable, branded into your memory, of bodily mutilation, of being torn asunder by impossible strength, of having an arm slowly flayed, each nerve individually pulled from your flesh. You may speak as many desires as your sanity can take. Then you must turn and return up the steps and never look back. Return the key and go about your life. Your desires will be granted, but you will always have to live with the memories given to you in that dark place.
The Manhattan Project was started in 1942 to develop the first nuclear explosive for use against the enemies of the U.S. In July 1943, Dr. James Albrecht, one of the project scientists, was accused of spying for the Germans. Albrecht's coworkers noted in interviews that the man "stopped talking to anyone" and "seemed especially aloof, even for a scientist." Just days before his trial, Albrecht disappeared, leaving a wife and two children.
On November 17, 1998, Albrecht suddenly showed up at his younger son's home in Springfield, New Mexico. Upon realizing that the man was his father, Ethan Albrecht, at the time 81 years old, invited him in and tried to figure out what happened. However, within hours of Dr. Albrecht's reappearance, FBI agents arrived and took him away, to his son's protest.
In an interview with a local newpaper, Ethan noted that "[Dr.] hasn't aged a day. He looks as young as my son." The scientist also seemed to suffer from amnesia, constantly asking where his wife was and when his trial is. To this day, the government denies that Albrecht ever existed.
Dr. James Albrecht was 68 years old when he was invited to join the Manhattan Project.
In 1990, a small meteorite was sighted in the night sky by the Hubble telescope. It appeared to be on a collision course with earth, but calculations showed that it was far too small and moving far too slowly to be a threat to our home planet.
In 1997, the long-forgotten meteorite entered the atmosphere. It did not burn away, as scientists predicted; it barely even grew warm. Even so, it landed without drawing much attention on the outskirts of a village in the middle of Africa, on the edge of the Sahara.
Three months later, a safari expedition vanished while en route through the jungle. They never reached their checkpoint, within walking distance from the desert.
A research team in 1998 happened on the impact crater of the meteorite by chance. They detected high levels of radiation in the crater, though they could not identify what element had caused it. They drove to the nearby village to warn the locals of the danger, but the settlement was completely empty. Not a soul nor a body could be found for miles around. The only evidence of life left, current or past, were the long-abandoned grass huts, and a great number of footprints leading into the sands of the Sahara. None of the footprints could be matched against any living creature on record.
There is a certain road near the Everglades in Florida, which, if you drive down it alone in the rain, day or night, you will suddenly have a very real feeling of being completely lost. Your radio will turn to static, your CDs will skip, and your tapes will play slower than normal. If you try to find a map in your car, it will have mysteriously vanished.
If you continue forward down the road for more than a minute, you will find that you can't turn around, and everything behind you is pitch dark. There are no other roads and no other cars.
Continuing down the road, you will come upon a fork with no signposts. In the middle of the fork, there will be a man, covered head to foot in various pieces of clothing. The only skin visible will be around his eyes, which will be bright green.
You must get out of your car, but do not turn it off or close the door after you. You must approach the man, but stop at least three feet away. You must stand there silently, waiting for him to speak first. If you break the silence first, you will find yourself back on a main road, but you will die within 24 hours.
If he speaks first, he will ask you what you require. Tell him that you need to know which road will take you to your destination. He will then ask you what you will offer him in exchange for his assistance. If you offer him a ride, he and your car will disappear, and you will become the new guardian of the crossroad. If you offer him an umbrella, he will take it and stab you through the chest. If you offer him your love, he will take your heart still beating from your chest and eat it, condemning you to walk the earth without a heart, insane from the pain and loss.
You must offer him your loyalty and kneel before him. If you do this, he will close his eyes and bow in return, extending a hand to whichever path will lead you back to safety.
If you try to run from him, you will be dead before you reach your car, and your body will be found back in your car in some random location.
You'd be surprised to learn how few actual people there really are in the world.
The first thing you must do is stay up for about six hours longer than you usually do. Not to where you are delerious, but just long enough to start nodding off. Next, play some music that you like, I would almost say that it MUST be your favorite band, but I havent experimented much in that respect. Play it as loud as you can and still get to sleep. If you cant hear the lyric clearly, it isnt loud enough. Now lay down on your stomach with a pillow under your chest. You must turn the lights off for this to work, without pitch blackness the proccess will fail. Now keep your eyes open, but put yourself in a restful state and think of sleep and how tired you are. Now this is the hard part. You will be teleported outside, in a random direction and distance, and most of the time you will become stuck halfway in the ground. IF THIS HAPPENS, run back towards your body (you will instictually know what direction it is in) and try to blink rapidly. You will wake up, but for the rest of the night you wont be able to shake an odd presense in the room and will have bouts of nighthag for weeks.
Every 23,375 days, exactly at 12:04PM (at exactly 64 equal rotations of the planet) at zero degress latitude, and zero degrees longitude, the tide of the ocean will suddenly drop, a building roughly the size of three city blocks, covered with bas reliefs will rise suddenly from the depths. This building will then begin to sink immediately, and will submerge completely within 2 minutes. According the eyewitness accounts, the reliefs depict certain famous events in human history, including events that had not yet happened.
Among the undergrowth through which the stink ant forages daily in Cameroon, West Central Africa, lurks a hidden danger. A fungus, with spores that cannot be seen by the naked eye. A fungus that is easily absorbed into the most readily available host-- the ant. These spores lodge in its brain, growing and causing the small creature to seemingly lose its grip on sanity. The unfortunate arthropod then shrieks and cries loud enough for the human ear to detect. Then suddenly.. there is method in the madness. This ground-dwelling ant begins to climb.. and climb.. and climb.. until reaching the ideal height for the fungus to reproduce. It then latches on to the tree and waits for sweet death. After another two weeks, a spike emerges from the head of the ant-- a spike with a bright orange tip. Eventually, it explodes, showering spores down on the forest floor below. The forest floor where more ants crawl..
Not exactly scary for us, but think about it-- mind-controlling fungus. And what of other fungi, like the so-called harmless Podaxis pistillaris, an edible desert mushroom..? There have been a few reports of it lodging its spores in human flesh, causing strange growths, oozing sores and odd neural sensations. Funny.. the spores didn't burst forth until humans were nearby.
Maybe the world isn't as safe as we thought..
Just east of Brevard, North Carolina is a small, dilapidated farmhouse at the border of a field and a forest. Near the back of it, under a pile of rotted hay, is a small trap-door that opens up to a room with a spiral staircase running upwards, almost unbelievable as the ground should technically be only a few feet overhead. If you ascend this staircase, an old, burlap cloak-wearing woman who speaks in tongues will hand you a featureless silver coin and disappear. If you take that coin to New York City and show it to any homeless man or woman on the street, they will whisper to you of a secret well hidden deep within Central Park that can only be found by following a certain route. If you throw the coin into the well at midnight, a voice will speak to your mind and tell you of a cave in western Minnesota. At the bottom of that cave lies a portal, and beyond that portal lies a world unknown to any man on earth, for none who have entered this world have ever returned.
In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favour: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.
She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She went to the police, who raided the address on the envelope, where they found heaps of human flesh for sale.
And what was in the envelope? "This is the last one I am sending you today."
"Daddy, I had a bad dream."
You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness—it's 3:23.
"Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"
The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not sweetie?"
"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."
For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.
When you are admitted to a hospital, they place on your wrist a white wristband with your name on it. But there are other different colored wristbands which symbolizes other things. The red wristbands are placed on dead people.
There was one surgeon who worked on night shift in a school hospital. He had just finished an operation and was on his way down to the basement. He entered the elevator and there was just one other person there. He casually chatted with the woman while the elevator descended. When the elevator door opened another woman was about to enter when the doctor slammed the close button and punched the button to the highest floor. Surprised the woman reprimanded the doctor for being rude and asked why he did not let the other woman in.
the doctor said "that was the woman i just operated on. She died while I was doing the operation. Didn't you see the red wristband she was wearing?"
the woman smiled and raised her arm "something like this?"
If you ever find Dargaia's nectar, you'll probably be one of the ones who have been looking for it all their lives, and thus won't need any instructions on what to do with it.
Just the same, it's pretty simple, at least to start with. Make sure your affairs are in order (incase you have a bad reaction), and then? Bottoms up.
The coming months are the least pleasant part. You'll find yourself unable to keep food down long before you're far enough along to stop needing it. Same with sleep. The color of your blood will be off, and your veins will consequently stand out more. Expect a few ingrown body parts; little things, just fingers and ears and teeth, usually pressing up against the skin. Make sure you're caught up on your booster shots because you're never going in for a checkup again. Or wearing anything more revealing than a trenchcoat in public, most likely.
Eventually, a little cut on your belly will start 'unhealing', becoming a puss-filled wound in a few days. Over the coming week, Three things will emerge from this.
The first object resembles a greasy black beachnut with maybe a tooth or two growing from it. When you're dead someone will eventually find it and use it to make a new batch of dargaia's nectar. Hide it well, make things fun for future generations.
The second object basically looks like a softball-sized cluster of veins, many of them broken and leaking oily black stuff, all wrapped around something. Then it'll squirm and you'll notice the twisted little skinless fetus in the middle. It will only survive for about twenty seconds. Burn the remains.
The third object will.. well, let's just call it "object 3". It's easier that way.
You can plant it anywhere you want. I advise some place where you don't mind spending all your time and no one else would go. Your back yard or under your cellar works if you don't have any roomates; as long as there's fertile soil. Dig at least five feet down. It won't want to be buried, but just keep piling dirt onto it (if you can still hear it when you're finished you didn't go deep enough).
Its veins (or roots, I guess) will eventually spread in all direction about a foot and a half for every year of your life. Grass and weeds will grow stiff and bony, or black and oily, or take on the color and texture of a spider bite, or rice paper. Wood will be infected too; you'll hear the arteries in your walls pulsing on quiet nights. The ground will rot with dead insect and animal life. Don't mow your lawn; it bleeds like hell.
This is your sanctuary.
No matter what threats or injuries beset you outside, here you will be safe and healthy. Well, what passes for 'healthy' for you now. And if you really hate someone, bring them here. Trick them into coming. They'll get infected, one way or another; a lungfull of spore, a thornprick, a bit of residue on their hand. They will blood-vomit and the blood will have tiny centipedes in it. They'll shit out their own spinal fluids. Their eyes will milk over and hatch; little spines and brambles will grow from the sockets. They'll survive for months or years, doctors will be baffled, it will be completely fucking great.
That's all for starters. You'll learn more as you go. Much more. But if I told you everything now you might not do it.
Whatever you do, just guard it with your life, with your very soul. If you think you're in danger of loosing it, dig it up, kill it with a silver needle, let someone else make a new one some day. You'll feel as if you've pierced your own heart, but it's better than letting it fall into the wrong hands.
Because you're a Holder now.
And you'd better not let them come together.
There are stories about a certain kind of hitchhiker - they only ever appear at night on quiet roads, seeming to flicker into existence in the very edge of headlights, never carrying a sign, always with an expression of deep despondency on their faces, swathed in a heavy coat and long pants, usually with gloves. If you stop, they will seem cordial enough, polite, but hardly chatty. They will assure you that the next town or city along your route will be a fine spot to leave them. Normal enough. Unless you try killing them.
They die easily enough. But look underneath their clothes, and you will see that their skin is marred with lines of scars, forming repeating patterns that are unsettling to look at, and even more unsettling in the context of their skin. They have no wallets, no identification. If you slice their belly open, however, they're different inside. There's no blood, no muscle, only a hollow cavity containing a single object. The object varies. Examples include a single coin, heavy and golden and engraved with runes nobody could ever decipher. A diamond gem with fractal edges that slice bare flesh to ribbons. A small vase, quite unbreakable, that smells of the ocean and is always damp...
Once you possess a hitchhiker's object, you'll find yourself always driving the quiet roads at night. You'll never mean to, but somehow, you just will. The lure of possessing a second one will hum quietly in your head. You'll strain to catch sight of a figure appearing in your headlights, try to resist the impulse to stop, and sometimes you might. But sometimes you won't. You'll try telling yourself that this is just a normal person on an adventure, someone who ran out of petrol. The logical part of your brain will scream at what you're doing. You'll smile and nod and they'll get into the car and you'll slowly, casually, reach under the seat or across to the glove box...
In every forest there exists a clearing. It is perfectly round and there is nothing inside but grass and a large stone. Go to the stone and roll it to the left (it doesn't matter where you entered from) and begin digging. After you get about 2 meters into the ground, the ground will get harder and harder, but you must continue using your hands to dig. After 3 or so more meters and after the ground has become nearly impossible to dig through, you will find a box. Inside you hold the lives of your children, whether they've been born or not. Your children will live safe lives as long as the box is kept well, but any damage to the box will transfer. If you open it they will die. Do with it what you will but remember this:
As soon as the box is removed from the ground, a never-ceasing beast is awakened whose sole purpose is to retrieve and open it.
Out in the barrens of western Montana, there is a rock shaped like a raven's head with half of the beak broken off. If you use your forearm to complete the beak and hold the position for seven minutes and 26 seconds, you will feel a tingling sensation in your arm. You must then get at least 1 mile away from the rock within the next 66 seconds.
If you do this, you will be able to shape shift into any bird, at will.
If you begin the process and fail, you will turn into a crow and never be able to return to human form.
There is a child in a hospital in Decard, Tennessee. The child is a quiet toddler that remains in the nursery with all the other newborns. If you ask the staff, they will ignore you, but the tag on his arm is yellowed and marked 1948. He will not cry, only rock quietly. If you speak the name on his tag, his eyes will open, something you don't want to happen.
Look behind you. What do you see? Invariably, there will be a wall somewhere in your view. Now stare deeply into the space on the wall that lines up best with your eyes. Nothing will happen, but make sure you are clear on where this particular spot is. That spot contains all the negativity in your mind. Whenever you are on your computer, reading scary stories or whatever you do, sometimes you will get spooked. What do you do when this happens? You check behind you, thats what you do. As you read this now, a feeling of dread will come over you. Check the spot. Nothing again, huh? Thats because right now, all the evil is locked safely in your mind. Some people, upon learning of this "negative spot" resolve to remove the spot in an attempt to remove the negative energy. This is a grave mistake. You must never let harm come to this spot. If you do, you will have released the energy. Now when you sit at your computer at night, you will feel chills even in the summer time. The feeling of dread that only presented itself when you were genuinely scared will now hang in the air constantly. Within a week you and your loved ones will have a string of bad luck. Within a month your computer will begin to act erratic and eventually break down. On the anniversiary of the spot's destruction, you will dream of your most horrible fears. The dream will seem to go on forever, and when you wake up you will notice your vision has darkened. Every year on the same day, the dream will repeat itself, and your vision will grow darker and darker. After you go totally blind, dont ever turn your back on that spot again. That is if you can still tell where it is.
An odd occurance has been rumored to happen in a certain pub at night in southwest Germany. If you sit in the stool farthest from the door while one beside it is empty, order a round for yourself and offer to "buy one for the Baron". The bartender will without question or expression will pour 2 beers from tap. He'll place one beside you and the moment the other one hits the table the room will go dark and silent, save for the sound of footsteps as a man in uniform sits beside you.
It is believed that it is indeed Captain Manfred von Richthofen, although no one is sure because they can barely see their own glass, much less the person's face. No one who's told this story has had the nerve you touch him or risk insult, and the figure does not say a word. But apparently if you were to ask him "So sir, what's the condition at the front?" he would tell you startling details about the region's future and sometimes how they connect to the world as a whole.
Those who lived long enough after the fact claim that these events took place the exact about of years from the date they asked as from the date Baron von Richthofen died in battle. Yet this cannot be confirmed, because every time the figure has been asked the question after 1964 he's only replied with a cold laugh.
Somewhere in the world, there is a collection of books. Perhaps it's in a dusty, unpainted shelf in the back corner of someone's attic, perhaps it's in a set of musty boxes in the basement of some tiny, obscure library. It contains a few hundred volumes, all handwritten, ranging from leatherbound volumes with yellowing pages two hundred years old through to modern spiral-bound notebooks. All of them are diaries, some by famous people, some by not-so famous people, but all by the most horrific madmen and murderers the world has ever known. And the collection is growing. For if you ever find it, you will hear a faint scratching sound, coming from the newest volume of the set. This volume will be new, and filled with blank pages, except for the first. On this first page, you will find the beginning of your own diary, written in your own hand.
During a wedding reception of a young couple the guests decided on a drunken game of hide and seek. It was decided that the groom was "it" and he eventually found everyone but his new bride. Eventually the man became furious and decided it wasn't funny anymore and left her there. As weeks went by he accepted that she'd had second thoughts and went on with her life so he did the same. A few years later a cleaning lady dusted off an old trunk in the attic of the building where the reception had taken place, out of curiosity she opened it. Inside the trunk was the rotted body of the missing bride who'd apparently became locked in the trunk she'd hid in. Whether she'd suffocated or starved was unknown, but her face was frozen in a scream.
During the summer of 1983, in a quiet town near Minneapolis, Minnesota, the charred body of a woman was found inside the kitchen stove of a small farmhouse. A video camera was also found in the kitchen, standing on a tripod and pointing at the oven. No tape was found inside the camera at the time.
Although the scene was originally labeled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm's well (which had apparently dried up earlier that year).
Despite its worn condition, and the fact that it contained no audio, police were still able to view the contents of the tape. It depicted a woman recording herself in front of a video camera (seemingly using the same camera the police found in the kitchen). After positioning the camera to include both her and her kitchen stove in the image, the tape then showed her turning on the oven, opening the door, crawling inside, and then closing the door behind her. Eight minutes into the video, the oven could be seen shaking violently, after which point thick black smoke could be seen emanating from it. For the remaining 45 minutes of video, until the batteries in the camera died, it remained in its stationary position.
To avoid disturbing the local community, police never released any information about the tape, or even the fact that it was found. Police were also not able to determine who put the tape in the well.
I can't say where/when or how often this will work, but I've tried it a few times with mixed results. If for some reason you find you can't sleep one night, indigestion, test the next day, hard mattress, too many creepy threads, whatever, close your eyes and start to play a slow and deliberate game of patty-cake. If you keep it up long enough you may start to feel a pair of something coming back to meet your hands from the void. Congratulations, you've just summoned your first... something. I can't say it's important not to open your eyes at this point, but I didn't anyway. The first time I tried this was in my apartment when I had a presentation to give the following morning, a real toss-turn kind of night. For whatever reason I sat up and decided to put one hand out before me and I felt a faint tingle from a rather low angle. I unconsiously started to play and after a while I noticed I was humming some sort of tuneless lulliby. After about an hour or so whatever was playing on the other end stopped and I went into a deep, dreamless and very restful sleep. I tried this trick again at my girlfriend's parents house while she was with me in their crappy spare bed (I was facing back to her, legs over the side of the bed, eyes closed). After about twenty minutes this time it actually felt like a pair of solid hands, from a much higher angle than before, was coming back and hitting mine a bit harder every time. Suddenly the game stopped and something made a noise in my right ear like a human shriek combined with car breaks causing me to cringe before it ran up the wall behind me into the ceiling. Maybe whatever was in that house had outgrown the game. I still slept ok. For all I know I was just hitting the wall/my blanket tiring my own gullible self out and my girlfriend's just a noisy bitch but... I still can't wait to try it again the next time I can't sleep. Still not sure what happens if you open your eyes, though.
There's a mail box somewhere in the city which can solve your direst poblems.
Which city? That depends on who you ask. There may even be more than one, who knows? Anyway, this mail box isn't emptied anymore - the mail service has completely forgotten about it. But it clings on. It is located in some relatively unlikely place so you won't spot it immediately. Mail you put inside it won't go anywhere.
But the box is special. Write a letter about your most pressing problems to the persons in charge of dealing with it: write to your significant other, your boss, the IRS, and get it all off your chest. Ride yourself into deep shit with that letter. You'll see that the problem will dissolve soon, in some way you hadn't thought likely.
The snag of course is that you can't really be sure whether you have found the right mail box until you try it. And if you haven't things are going to get much worse once your letter gets delivered...
A baby girl is mysteriously dropped off at an orphanage in Cleveland in 1945. "Jane" grows up lonely and dejected, not knowing who her parents are, until one day in 1963 she is strangely attracted to a drifter. She falls in love with him, but just when things are looking up for Jane a series of disasters strikes: First, she becomes pregnant by the drifter, who then disappears. Second, during the complicated delivery doctors discover that Jane has both sets of sex organs, and to save her life, they most surgically convert "her" to a "him." Finally, a mysterious stranger kidnaps her baby from the delivery room.
Reeling from these disasters, rejected from society, scorned by fate, "he" becomes a drunkard and a drifter. Not only has Jane lost her parents and her lover, but he has lost his only child as well. Years later, in 1970, he stumbles into a lonely bar, called Pop's Place, and spills out his pathetic story to an elderly bartender. The sympathetic bartender offers the drifter the chance to avenge the stranger who left her pregnant and abandoned, on the condition that he join the "time traveller corps." Both of them enter a time machine and the bartender drops the drifter off in 1963. The drifter is strangely attracted to a young orphan girl, who subsequently becomes pregnant.
The bartender then goes forward 9 months, kidnaps the baby girl from the hospital, and drops the baby off in an orphanage back in 1945. Then the bartender drops off the thoroughly confused drifter in 1985, to enlist in the time traveller corps. The drifter eventually gets his life together and becomes respected and elderly member of the time traveller corps, and then disguises himself as a bartender and has his most difficult mission: a date with destiny, meeting a certain drifter at Pop's Place in 1970.
A young girl is left home alone with only her dog to protect her. When night approaches, she locks all the doors and tries to lock all the windows but one won't close.
She decides to leave it unlocked and goes to bed. Her dog takes its customary place under her bed.
In the deep of night she awakens to a dripping sound coming from the bathroom. The girl is too scared to go check so she reaches her hand under the bed. She feels a reassuring lick from her dog and falls back to sleep. She reawakens to the dripping sound, reaches her hand down to the dog where she feels the reassuring lick and falls back to sleep. Once more she awakens to the dripping sound. She reaches her hand down and feels the lick of her dog.
Now curious about the dripping sound, she gets up and slowly walks towards the bathroom, the dripping sound getting louder as she approaches. She reaches the bathroom and turns on the light. She is greeted by a horrific sight; hanging from the shower nozzle is her dog with its throat slit open and its blood dripping into the bathtub.
Something on the bathroom mirror catches her eye she turns around. Written on the bathroom mirror in her dog's blood are the words "WE CAN LICK TOO".
On the farthest point of Long Island, the last scrap of land that still counts as New York, there sits a tremendous, abandoned building. Protected by its own isolated location, there is also at any given time two to three Security Guards there. However, if one approaches the cast iron gates on the night of December 4th, even those few security guards refuse to work. The gates are left unlocked, and the wind will be utterly still, a nearly opaque fog filling the peninsula. Go directly to the main doors and step within, there will be a single long hallway , the end occluded by that fog. If you look to either side upon entering, you will see a modern operating room through a glass door. The farther you walk, the older the equipment will get, the more old fashioned the doctors will be dressed. As you can finally see the end of the hallway, the screams of the patients will be nearly deafening. Tthe hall will terminate in an open door leading to a single wooden table, a man in woolen medical clothing, stained brown from blood, will be bent over a corpse. The body's face will be covered, and the man will turn silently, screwing the top onto a cloudy jar of liquid, filled to the brim. He will hand this abnormally heavy object to you, before turning back to his work. Instantly, you will be outside of those cast iron gates. From that point on, disease and injury will never affect you, but if you ever open that cloudy jar and pull out the contents... you will find a heart, pulsing and beating loudly in your palm. A sudden feeling of horror and revulsion will pass through you as realization strikes, that you have just pulled your own living heart from your chest.
Outside of my city, there is an apple orchard, with a small cemetery at the end of it with only about 5 or 10 graves in it. If you visit the cemetery, it is customary to leave a small offering by the largest headstone, even an apple from the orchard will do. If you do not, every night you go to sleep that week, you will see an old man in your dreams.
On the first night, he will appear to be a normal balding old man. He will tip his hat to you and walk away. On the second night, he will have a knife in his right hand. He will tip his hat to you, and walk off once more. The third night, he will lick the knife, and laugh, before disappearing. On the fourth night, he will appear closer to you than before, and lick his knife once more. On the fifth, he will be practically on top of you. On the sixth, he will appear as a skeleton dressed in rotted rags, still holding the knife, still making the licking motion. No one knows how long this continues or how it ends, the victims have all either gone back by then and made an offering, or they have died of heart attacks in their sleep.
If you ever visit Slovenia and ask the locals about the Triglav mountain there, some of them will tell how folklore says that inhuman creatures live in caverns there.
Then you may tempted to explore more, and even go to see the mountain itself, looking for any cavern entrances. Perhaps you will find one and enter it.
You might not be prepared for such an expedition, but you will go on nevertheless. The cave may go on for a long while and you may reach what seems to be massive pool of water. Perhaps you will step into, and perhaps you will be swept away by a sudden and unnatural current. You will no doubt panic at this point as you are pulled into subterranean waters.
Your breath will run out and the world will go black. And then you will feel soft, webbed hands gripping your body. Perhaps you will open your eyes in schok and witness a mass of long, white snakelike bodies around you. You might even see their webbed hand and feet, and maybe even their reptilian faces with massive monotonous silver eyes and purple external gills that extent like fans from their necks. You will no doubt wish to escape by now, or perhaps you'll disbelieve this.
Sooner or later your consciousness will once again fade. And then you will wake up, but you are no longer in the nightmarish realm. You will shrug it off as a hallucination, a bout of madness, a dream. But you can't forget it. Ordinary things will seem to take new meanings. Especially symbolic things. Crosses, deer, mountains, seashells are among these things. When you see one you will have to tell yourself to stop staring, stop listening to hidden messages mere images can whisper.
You will notice you can predict some of the coming events. First they will be incomprehensible prophetic dreams. Then you can see flashes of what's to come in broad daylight. Finally you will learn how to control these abilities. You can become rich, powerful and famous this way, and you will know there are people who have used these abilities to do so. But every time you peek to future you will also feel the ever strenghtening call of the caves. You will feel the hands on your body again. The symbols will become more and more of an obsession. Unless you know when to stop, this will consume you and you will do everything you can to return to the cave...I don't know what happens then.
Ever wonder how some people you meet seem to have no fear whatsoever? You know, those people who go skydiving every weekend, climb thousands of feet up mountains just to snowboard down a side that's 'probably pretty safe, as long as I avoid those trees.' People who marathon-watch the scariest movies you've ever seen, then don't even blink before falling asleep. Well, if you envy them, then there's a way to conquer your own fear. It's just not pretty.
Get on any passenger bus that travels a long distance; Greyhound is usually a good pick. Anything that's on the road for longer than 24 hours. Get a window seat facing west, then stare at the sun, waiting until sunset. Just before the sun touches the horizon, close your eyes. Hard. Do not turn away, don't look at anything else. Cover your ears if you have to.
After a while, you'll notice that the bus has stopped moving. That's the signal that you can open your eyes. When you do, you'll see a gas station, illuminated only by a few flickering flourescent lights. There will be no sun, no moon, no stars in the sky. The convenience store will have its windows boarded up, but the sign will say 'Open.'
If you feel you can't go through with it, get back on the bus, return to your seat, and fall asleep. You'll wake up at sunrise the next day, well on your way to wherever the bus was going.
If you enter the store, the door will slam shut behind you. You will spend an unknown amount of time there, living out your worst nightmares made real. If you survive the ordeal without going mad, you will awake back on the bus, as it reaches its destination. Nothing will ever scare you again.
Some say that after this ordeal, anything else simply pales in comparison. Others say that all that room contains, is all the fear you will ever feel in your entire life, and exposing yourself to it all at once keeps you from feeling any more.
All I know is that if you try to repeat this feat, the sign on the door will say 'Closed.'
In Gjoberdik, a small fisherman's village in the country of Bulgaria, on the dawn of January the first everyone closes their curtains and hold their breath for half a minute. Hours after the craze of midnight's celebrations, children look questioning at their worried parents, but can not help to shiver in the embrace of their shaking parents.
One can hear the sound of bells being struck exactly 25 times last year, in this short timespan. The nearest church however, is over 32 miles away. You will find no one out on the streets in these faithful 30 seconds, and even the birds will stop whistling.
Some have gone out of their houses, roaring boldly in disbelief of this century old tradition. On the first sunset of this year, two people gambled their fate in the very first rays of sunlight.
The next dawn, the bells will be struck 27 times.
If you go into this one tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, and the right bartender is behind the counter that night, you might be able to see a very exclusive gallery show of the lost works of one Henri Beauchamp. But, to get in, you have to prove you're a devotee of the artist to get in.
You'll be asked, in clear and perfect English, "What would like to partake of this glorious night?". Answer absinthe, no matter what. Any other drink, from whiskey to water, will kill you as you sleep.
The next question will regard the type, and you MUST answer one of two things: "The stuff that Man himself could not bear to take," or, "The good stuff. The best stuff." If you ask for any other absinthe, in any other way, you will be plagued by nightmares for 13 days. Each night's dream will be more horrible than the last, until, upon the thirteenth dream, your nightmare will follow you, every moment of your waking and sleeping life. Don't try and cheat the barkeep: the door locked behind you. You have to drink what he gives you, doom or not. That such a powerful man granted you audience should be enough. Besides, I've heard that the dying complimented his drinks in their death throes.
If you make it that far before sealing your fate, the bartender will say, "Be sure you handle this with care; this is the finest I have." From here, you may do one of two things: Say, word for word, "I overestimated my fortitude, and I bid you good eve.". If the barkeep nods, you may leave the door you entered, unharmed and with nothing gained and nothing lost (except the time spent inside).
Or you can go on. You will be given a glass with a seven-sided rim, with each side twisting ever so delicately around the basin until forming a sleek and simple handle. You will also receive a very, very, very special absinthe spoon, in the shape of a key; the holes at the key's top serve as the draining point for the alcohol to pour over the sugar cube. And, of course, an unmarked bottle, stripped long ago of its label, scraps of paper sticking to its sides, covered in the rot of the decades past.
The spoon is completely flat, but has two distinct sides: one with a groove along the shaft of the key, and one without. Turn the shaft down, so its groove will be face down. If you attempt this face up, your absinthe will taste foul, your nose will burn, and your eyes will shrivel in their sockets with unspeakable horrors not of this world. Now, if your spoon is the right way up, begin preparing the absinthe as one would (put the sugar on the spoon, and pour the alcohol over so it gains its color and "special qualities").
Say "cheers" to your friend, the barkeep, and bottoms up. If you don't, the absinthe will burn every innard it touches with the power and pain of sulfuric acid.
If you've done it right, the already dim lights will go off, and darkness will consume the bar. Don't be afraid; the darkness is the cue that you've been approved for the exhibit. Wait out the darkness, and keep silent as the dead, lest the bartender decide to make you so.
Eventually (not too long, two to three minutes), a green floodlight will shine brightly on a door on the far wall of the bar. The bar will be bathed in green, and not just from the floodlight. Little luminescent spheres will gently drift through the room, and the barkeep will no longer be there... nor any other unassuming patron inside before. There's no danger by this point... consider it a safe point. If you didn't finish the absinthe, you don't have to, but you might need the alcohol. Either way, take the spoon and put it in the keyhole of the green-lit portal's doorknob. It will fit perfectly, and reach the end of the keyhole with a resounding click.
Inside is a small elevator, with the most beautiful woman any mortal eyes can imagine, bathed in the green glow in just such an angle that the light refracts beyond her into the shape of wings.
The Green Fairy herself will ask you, "Going up?”, and considering all the trouble you went through, it would only make sense to say yes.
Now, you have one more hurdle to clear. She will ask you, as you cross the line from the bar to the compartment, "How would you compare Beauchamp's surrealism to that of, say, Rene Magritte?" For your reply, you must say, "I've come to see more than art tonight."
If you don't, the green floodlight will blow out, the doors will slam shut, and the elevator will plummet through a seemingly infinite blackness before a rea light grows brighter as the elevator nears the very depths of Hell. Now, if your elevator begins to go up, the green light will also fade, but in its place will be the cool glow of the moon. But, before you even recognize it, the elevator will reach the top of its... well, let's call it a shaft to not get too intricate.
Now, I'm not as sure about this as the rest, but I've heard that, if the Green Fairy kisses you on the cheek as she leaves the elevator, you will always be blessed with a creative inspiration: a permanent, ever-changing muse. You can't ask her, you can't kiss her; she has to do it of her own volition. If not... well, nothing, but no reason to do it anyway and anger the woman who is responsible for keeping the Beauchamp paintings safe for so many years.
You will enter, from the elevator, a turn-of-the-century parlor, with a large poster of Henri Beauchamp on the left side of the opposite wall; on the right is a door.
Taking the time to read the poster is a fairly good idea, as it explains the very significance of Mr. Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920s, always making art to try to be free of all premeditation, and managed to do so. You see, after one night in a tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, he began to paint... patterns. First it was geometric patterns. Then complete fractals. Then images that would be in the newspaper the next day. Then next week. Then from fifty years ago. 100 in the future, 200 in the past...
Then, on his last night of life, he kidnapped three young girls from their homes at night, murdered them, and painted his finest masterpieces in reds and yellows with the blood and bile of virgins.
He committed suicide immediately after painting exactly 13 of these.
These are behind the door.
The first six, from the left, show, from left to right: the genesis of the universe, the only true visage of God as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Jesus Christ, the sprawling clouds of Heaven, every Pope from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of Jesus' appearance in his Second Coming.
The other six, on the right, show, from right to left: the cataclysmic of the universe, the only true visage of Satan as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Judas, the sprawling flames of Hell, every human-embodied demon from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of the Antichrist in his Second Coming.
Now, six and six makes twelve. But what of the thirteenth?
This thirteenth painting is turned around on its wall pin, the image facing the wall. The space around it is roped up at a very wide diameter, and under the flipped image is a sign, in three languages. The top is in the scriptures of the seraphim, the bottom in the runes of the highest demonic orders, and in the middle, in Roman letters.
Now, like the kiss, I can't say this part with as much certainty, but all the same... I heard that, somehow, as he died, Beauchamp flayed his skin, his organs, his very soul, into some sort of collage. How he took his dead body and created such a horrific masterpiece, I could never say, nor would I ever dare to.
So... if you make it, maybe you can flip the canvas over and tell me sometime? You can tell me about it over a drink.
Have you ever heard the expression "an apple a day keeps the Doctor away?" Most assume, with no reason to think otherwise, that it is simply an easy-to-remember rhyme that stresses the importance of eating healthily to young children. But the saying did not originate as a harmless reminder. It was born in a frontier town in the early years of the gold rush, where food was scarce and money even scarcer. One August, when a bad drought had struck the region, a series of bloody killings swept through the town. Every night, a single house would be broken into, and anyone who saw the invader would be swiftly, brutally slain. Nothing was ever stolen, save for a few scraps of food. After two weeks of this, the local grocer set out a few apples and a glass of milk in the town square overnight. He then hid in the tower of the church, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone who came by. Fighting fatigue, the grocer waited for any sign of life below. Just after midnight, he was rewarded by a chilling sight; a man, carrying a black bag stuffed with dully shining metal tools and covered from head to foot in cloth bandages, staggered into view. He paused at the sight of the apples and milk, then whipped his head around, as if looking for the one who dared to patronize him. Seized with fear, the grocer ducked out of sight, staying hidden 'til sunrise. The strange man had only taken one of the apples, and didn't even touch the glass of milk. No houses were broken into, and no one was killed. For decades, the town continued to place out an apple or two every night, even long after a single apple stopped disappearing.
A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there. Especially no one should look inside the room, under any circumstances. So he followed the instructions of the woman at the front desk, going straight to his room, and going to bed. The next night his curiosity would not leave him alone about the room with no number on the door. He walked down the hall to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. He bent down and looked through the wide keyhole. Cold air passed through it, chilling his eye. What he saw was a hotel bedroom, like his, and in the corner was a woman whose skin was completely white. She was leaning her head against the wall, facing away from the door. He stared in confusion for a while. He almost knocked on the door, out of curiosity, but decided not to. This disinclination saved his life. He crept away from the door and walked back to his room. The next day, he returned to the door and looked through the wide keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn’t make anything out besides a distinct red color, unmoving. Perhaps the inhabitants of the room knew he was spying the night before, and had blocked the keyhole with something red.
At this point he decided to consult the woman at the front desk for more information. She sighed and said, "Did you look through the keyhole?" The man told her that he had and she said, "Well, I might as well tell you the story. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in that room, and her ghost haunts it. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which were red."
Open your closet, don't turn on the light. Make sure you have one match with you. Step inside and close the door. If the lights are on outside of the closet this will not work. Nor will it work if it is daylight. The only room you need is enough for slight mobility.
Stand in the darkness for about two minutes, since that's all that's needed. Now, take the match and hold it in front of you and say, "Show me the light or leave me in darkness." If you begin hearing whispers light the match immediately. If you don't hear anything, and the match doesn't ignite on it's own then don't turn around. If you light the match too late or not at all after hearing whispers, something will grab you from behind and pull you into what seems like a forever fall into darkness.
If you do manage to light the match in time and nothing happens after, open the door slowly and get out, then close the door but do NOT look inside. From then on, never look inside your closet without the light on at all. Some say if you leave your closet open during the night you can see the demon watching you with two red eyes that glow like matches.
If you ever are in an area of absolute quiet, still your breathing and move not a muscle. After a few seconds, you will notice that the silence has a sort of "sound" of its own, a kind of empty ringing tone. This is nothing unique, everyone will hear this, given the proper setting. An informed person will tell you that your brain is trying to interpret the lack of stimuli to your hearing and so creates a bit of a filler sound. This ringing sound actually serves a more arcane purpose, covering up a noise we are not meant to hear. This noise is not impossible to hear, and if you are persistent you can effectively "break" the cover-up sound. The next time you are silent and hear the ringing, shout at the top of your lungs for about half a minute, then be abruptly silent. It will be different for everyone. Some will hear nothing different for dozens of tries. Others might pick up soft murmuring. A special few auditory heroes might clearly make it out on the first attempt. What you will hear is a voice that relays an account of events about to happen in the immediate future. It's like a sportscaster relaying the events occurring 10 seconds into the future. As time goes on, you will be able to make out this voice under increasingly noisy circumstances, to the point that it can be heard at any time by just concentrating. Such an ability would doubtlessly be invaluable, no? You will be able react to any immediate danger, relate to people around you with greater ease. No one would ever surprise you. Now, of course you are wondering what sort of horrible catch this ability entails. Perhaps the tone of the voice is so horrible that it will drive you mad, or maybe the voice will only predict your death over and over again. Of course this isn't the case, though, its a normal voice, your ears receive it no matter what, it's simply a matter of noticing. But there is a danger. For you see, where there is a voice, there is a body. And just like you will notice new sounds, so shall you notice new sights. More importantly, you will be noticed.
Somewhere in NYC there is an old homeless man missing both his legs from the knees down, whose spot along the streets is the corner of Lexington and East 21st, near Granmercy Park. Approach him after nightfall, give him some change (NO pennies, NO dimes) and ask him, "What did you see on the other side?" He will then tell you all about his travels to other realms and times, where he lost his legs, how he lost his money. It is up to you whether to believe him or not, but as you listen you'll find yourself being drawn in with every story. You must stay alert, or the old man will notice your inattentiveness, and with a scowl he will stop imparting his wisdom; he will chase you as fast as he can, tottering on his stubs. The other reason why you must stay alert is to check the time. Before midnight you must interrupt him (do NOT let him finish whatever story he's telling you at the moment) and say "I've heard enough, old man. Good day and good luck", then walk away. Make at least two left-hand turns around the block before going about your business. You must do this, because anyone who has stayed to listen past midnight is never seen again, at least not in this particular plane of existence
You come into possession of an old box. Inside are several glass vials filled with dirt, dust and tiny bits of gravel or cement. The vials are labeled with places and dates such as "Port Chicago 7/17/44", "Halifax 7/6/17" and "Guernica 7/17/36". A trip to the library confirms that all are dates of massive loss of life in explosions. A few days later a package arrives with no return address.
Inside is an empty vial labeled with your home town and next week's date.
A few years ago, a mother and father decided they needed a break, so they wanted to head out for a night on the town. They called their most trusted babysitter. When the babysitter arrived, the two children were already fast asleep in bed. So the babysitter just got to sit around and make sure everything was okay with the children. Later that night, the babysitter got bored and went to watch TV, but she couldn't watch it downstairs because they did not have cable downstairs (the parents didn't want children watching too much garbage). So, she called them and asked them if she could watch cable in the parent's room. Of course, the parents said it was ok, but the babysitter had one final request... she asked if she could cover up the angel statue outside the bedroom window with a blanket or cloth, at the very least close the blinds, because it made her nervous. The phone line was silent for a moment, and the father who was talking to the babysitter at the time said, "Take the children and get out of the house... we will call the police. We do not have an angel statue."
The police found all three of the house occupants dead within three minutes of the call. No angel staue was ever found.
Somewhere in West Philidelphia, you will find an old basketball court with a single ball lying in the middle. Pick it up and start shooting hoops. After a while, a small group of hooligans will approach you and challenge you to a fight, which you must accept. After the fight, you must go home and relay the events to your mother. She will then inform you that you have an aunt and uncle living in one of the districts of Los Angeles, and out of fear, she will send you to live there for an indefinite period of time. With your bags packed, go to the street corner, and whistle for a cab. The cab that will pull up will bear the word FRESH on the lisence plate, and upon closer inspection, novelty fuzzy dice will hang in the mirror. Although you will think that cabs like these are rare, don't say anything about it. At this point you MUST point out in front of the car and say 'Yo homes to Bel Air'. You will stop in front of a mansion, and it will be somewhere between 7 and 8 o'clock, even though it will feel like you've been traveling mere seconds. Get your luggage out and say 'Yo holmes, smell ya later!', but do NOT turn back to face the cabby. Walk up to the door, look over your shoulder once, and then knock on the door three times. If you follow these intructions, your life will get flip-turned upside-down.
In many stores and establishments that provide videos of a less than appropriate manner, there is a business card.
Some stores keep it well hidden, locked in a safe, and will deny it's existence. Others will show you if you ask for it by name. None will have it displayed in the open.
On this card is a name; Moonlight Films, and a contact number. It's always a local number.
Go to any payphone in any city and dial the number. The answer will be prompt but all you will hear is silence. Wait for thirty seconds. Then you will be served.
A dry, monotone male voice will ask you one question; "Is the road from life to death dark?"
If you answer with anything but the correct reply, he will hang up on you. If you fail the first time, I'd suggest not trying again.
The correct response is "It is moonlit."
If his question is answered properly, the man will say one address in your city and then hang up.
Go to this address and you will find that it is a small, dingy apartment. The carpet will be dirty, the wallpaper flaking and wrinkled, the windows cracked. It will smell of tobacco smoke and decay. On the stained old coffee table there will be a paper bag. On this bag your full name will be printed in red sharpie. Open the bag and you will find an unlabeled video tape. Take it and place exactly $10.99 in the bag then leave. You can watch the tape if you like, but you don't have to. I warn you, it's not pleasant. You will see a room or chamber papered in dessicated skin, the furniture will be crafted from flesh and bone. But all of it will be alive. The tape will last approximately 32 minutes and will depict the murder of a person and the subsequent crafting of their body into another animated furnishing.
You have rented the tape for one week. You must return it to the apartment by sliding it through the mail slot when the time is up. After that, never return to the apartment, never return to the store you recieved the contact number from, and DEFINITELY don't call the number ever again.
I'd also suggest you not keep the tape more than a week. The owners will not be satisfied with a mere late fee, and a good home can never have enough accessories.
Many people keep old photographs in places that seem strange to the average person. In closets, pantries, places like that. My own grandmother kept old photos of friends and neighbors in her linen closet. Either way, some of these photos get left behind from time to time. Owners of homes die, people move on, and the photos stay there. Some photos are of times, places, things that matter. Other photos are random images of times that were good. Some are of times that are bad. But at least one of the pictures is, without fail, a dead person. My grandmother had a picture of herself, on the bed she died in, looking aged beyond belief. In my own home, I found a picture of the previous owner with a knife in his hand. The real estate agent who sold the place to me told me that the man who owned the house was killed by his wife.
Every house has pictures like this. Just hope you don't stumble across your own.
Occasionally, convicted murderers come forward with a chilling tale. They claim that exactly one week after they commit a murder, they awaken in the middle of the night and, if they are alone, they are approached by an old man in a dark black cloak. He claims to be a member of an age old cult that feasts on the spiritual energies released from violence and death. He invariably extends an invitation to the cult, and, should murderer accept, he is christened a member of the organization and given a victim to kill. Murderers who accept but are imprisoned at the time are quietly smuggled through the system by corrupted officials that are members of the sinister plot as well. Any members who fail to cover their tracks and arrested for the murders they commit are found brutally murdered in their cells.
Over 6,000 murders go unsolved every year in the U.S. alone.
Okay I haven't posted this story because even though things worked out okay I was terrified and thinking about how she looked and how I felt makes me feel the same way when I remember it.
I lived in the second oldest house in my area near Waco, Texas, from when I was about 11 until I was 18. I don't know the significance of this really but I feel it’s the only possible explanation for any supernatural presence. I'm not sure when the house was originally built but the rest of the houses around mine were built in the 40s and 50s so I supposed it’s older than that.
The house seemed normal when we first moved in. Only two families had lived there over the years so it wasn't like there was a high turnover rate. In fact no one really noticed or mentioned anything supernatural with the house.
However, there was a "secret room." This room was actually a selling point for my parents to help us deal with moving. Even though my dad was in the military we had lived at our past house for quote awhile and didn't want to move. So of course when my parents said there was a secret passage connecting one of the possible bedrooms with a secret room we became excited about the new house. My sister and I fought for it but I won because the other bedroom already had flower wallpaper up. When I first saw my room I went straight to the closet to see the "Secret door."
The secret door wasn't really secret, it was right in the back of the closet and plain to see. However it was a lot smaller than any normal door. Even when I was only 11 or 12 I had to squat down to get in. It looked like it was made for a child to use.
Another interesting thing was that the door handle was not really built into the door, it was just a handle added as an afterthought. This made me think it was originally just some sort of attic or crawl space door and not meant for a room. The door was lockable by key from my side of the door, the other side had no handle or keyhole. When you open the door there’s a very small hallway which is the same height as the door and not really fit for an adult, but it’s just a few feet long and then you get into the room.
The room was just an empty room added above the garage of the house. There was no way out except for the "secret passageway" to my closet. There were no windows, one light with a string used to turn it on hanging from the ceiling, and the room was completely white with seemingly new wallpaper. There was no furniture or anything left in the room from the previous owners, in fact I don't think the previous owners used it at all. I believe it was sealed before or soon after they moved in and wasn't touched since then, since it was pretty dusty, but who knows. The lock did seem very old and had a hard time moving as if it was rusted or the wood was warped or something.
Now my parents thought the room could be me and my sister's own little toy room or whatever when they first saw it, but after moving in they had second thoughts. I'm not sure what it was but they said it was because they wouldn't be able to hear us if we got hurt in that room since it was so detached from the rest of the house. Of course since we wanted our own secret room so badly they gave in, but said that we had to tell them when we were playing in there and we had to keep the door to my room, my closet, and the secret room open at all times when we were there. So we went on and like I said earlier nothing much really supernatural happened in the rest of the house, and not even too much in the "secret room," at least not to me.
My sister began having an imaginary friend. Whenever I wasn't in there I could hear her talking and whispering to someone. I noticed that although at first she used to have fun in there that as time went on she kind of seemed sadder when she was in there. However up until now this could all be coincidence so I didn't give it much thought.
The only weird things that happened with me was at night I thought I could hear some sort of scratching on the walls behind my room, except it wasn't really with fingernails it was softer sounding. It wasn't on the door, but coming from inside the room.
Now I believe that I only heard this at night because it was quiet at night, and the scratching rubbing sound was so soft that you normally couldn't hear it. I really had no idea what it was, I told my dad once and he looked around for some animal but couldn't find any so we just forgot about it and I lived with it. Like I said it was so soft it never really bothered me. It could be some far off tree rubbing against the house for all I knew. This rubbing happened consistently but like I said I never paid it much mind, at least until my sister went into the room one night.
She knew about the rubbing too and never really said anything about it. One night though, probably about a year or so after moving into the house, the rubbing was going on as usual. I was in that limbo before falling to sleep when I thought that someone was in my room and unlocking the closet door. I thought it might have been a dream but I looked around and saw my door and closet door open, so I got up to check it out. I was a little scared but I realized it was probably mom or dad checking out the rubbing sound since I told them it still happened sometimes. I turned the light on in my closet and looked in. I saw a figure sitting in the room facing the wall. Now even when I was a kid, I had been pretty brave. I was still scared since I was pretty young, but I knew that you can't just run or you'll never know. I said "Hello?" and I heard "She wanted me to see" in what sounded like my sister's voice. The light was in the middle of the room, and it was tough taking even those few steps to get to it in the middle of that dark room. But like I said, I couldn't just leave so I just went there and turned it on. When I looked at the figure, it was indeed my sister, sitting and scratching at the wall paper. I touched her and she was crying so I pulled her up and took her out of the room. I'm really glad that I didn't just lock the door and run or else she'd be stuck in there all night (this is one reason why I never run away from anything abnormal). I locked the door, took her to her room and watched her as she went to sleep. I really thought she could've been sleepwalking or something although she never had before, and since it was over I didn't want to wake up my parents. I went back to sleep.
The next day I asked my sister in the morning if she remembered going into the room and she looked freaked out. I told her she was probably just sleep walking but she said that "the girl" asked her to come look at her pictures. She didn't start crying but she was about to because she was so scared. I didn't ask who "the girl" was. I told her it was just a dream and went to prove it. She didn't want to enter the room again so I went in and saw where she was scratching on the wall. Only a little bit was scratched away, so I started peeling some more wallpaper off. Under the wallpaper were different pictures drawn in what looked like crayon. They were typical kid pictures of mainly cats, and houses, however there was one picture that I thought was weird.
It was a little girl, a cat, a mom, and a dad. Now everything looked like a normal kid family portrait, except the dad had no face. It was just a circle. Of course my rational side said she just never finished it. But still the dad picture looked strangely out of place, like the lines were distorted like she had trouble drawing it. Anyway I told my parents and they yelled at me for pulling back the wallpaper. I didn't want my sister to get in trouble so I didn't say anything about her or what happened last night. My parents said we had to get it fixed now and were mad, and didn't let me play in there again as punishment. The whole thing still seemed normal to me. Kid draws on wall, parents put wall paper up to cover it up. I didn't realize until later that night when the scratching rubbing sound started up, that it sounded like a crayon. I really started thinking that it was "the girl" that my sister talked about was drawing on the wall.
Now after this happened, I started believing that the girl was actually in there. Once I started acknowledging her presence, weirder things began to happen. It happened really slowly. I was about 14 or 15 after the episode with my sister, and the weird things were happening slowly over the course of the next years I lived in the house up until I was 18. The changes were so subtle that I didn’t really notice that they were happening until much later. The drawing sounds increased a little bit and soon were audible even during the day. I also started hearing little pattering of feet. The more I heard these things the more emotional I felt about them. I started feeling angry the more I heard the sounds, especially when I was trying to sleep. However I always managed to control myself and try to think that this girl was obviously sad and just trying to have fun and I calmed myself down. However this was going on so long that I finally asked my sister when I was about 16.
I asked her if she ever heard the sounds. She said that she did, although they were pretty quiet. Now I didn’t think this was so weird since obviously I could hear them too, and I told her how annoying it was. She kind of looked at me as if she was hurt, and said that every time she heard the sounds she felt really sad. She had trouble talking about it, but I told her this is pretty important since it’s going to affect the rest of my years left in the house. She told me that “the girl” was the girl that she used to talk to when she played in the room. She didn’t know her name, but they used to play together. She said she looked just like a little girl about her age so they had fun together. However, as my sister got older, the little girl seemed to get older too, except very unnaturally. It was subtle at first but soon she began hating seeing her. She said she looked as if she “shouldn’t have been alive anymore.” I didn’t really know what this meant. My sister said she wore the same dress the whole time, even when the girl grew out of it. I asked her why she went into the room that one night to find the pictures, and she said she really didn’t want to but the girl made her feel so sad and she’d do anything to help her out. However this still freaked her out and I didn’t ask anymore questions.
Things got worse every night, and I hated hearing that sound. I was so mad that she wouldn’t just shut up so I could sleep. The weird thing was I was scared at the same time, since I knew that whatever it was in there wasn’t actually alive anymore. What also freaked me out was that the sound didn’t annoy my sister, but I guess she had more tolerance than I did.
I asked my parents who used to live here, and they said a family with two sons. Of course this didn’t have anything to do with the room, since they had it locked off the entire time they were there. So I asked if they knew anything about the family before them. They said the original owners were the ones who had the house built and that they didn’t know much about them, except that they had a daughter who died when she was 11. I asked if they knew how she died, but they said it was some sort of accident, so it wasn’t murder or child abuse or anything. I also asked if she died in the secret room, but they said they didn’t think so. I really think that this was the girl in the room, although I have no idea why she inhabited it still.
Once I knew this I sort of had an idea with what I was dealing with. Last year was when things got the worst. I heard almost constant drawing and her jumping around inside the room. The footsteps sounded heavier and were louder. If I ever heard it I’d pound on the door to the room and she’d stop immediately, but I’d hear soft whimpering or crying. She’d also start drawing again later on. Sometimes I’d scream at her to shut up. I really got mad every time it happened since it had been going on for 6 years. However, I knew that I had to do something about this. I was a lurker by this time so I’ve read a lot of ghost story threads, and I remembered how pussy most of the goons were regarding ghosts and never checked anything out. So I knew that I had to at least understand what was going on exactly, and if possible end it. I didn’t really have a plan but I knew I had to see the girl or talk to her or something.
Last year, shortly before I turned 18, my parents went away for the weekend, so I took the key to the secret room from their room (they kept it ever since locking it that day when I took off the wallpaper). I was determined to see her so I stayed up expecting to hear sounds. I couldn’t hear anything so soon I just fell asleep. It was about 1 am when I woke up to a loud bang, like someone jumped or fell. I heard her footsteps afterwards and of course the drawing. The first thing I felt before any fear was pure anger. I hated that she woke me up, even though this was what I wanted. I immediately grabbed the key and went to the door. I was pounding on it as I said “That’s it!” and unlocking the door. The sounds stopped and I heard whimpering. I threw open the door and this was the first time I saw the room in years.
The light coming from my room illuminated a figure in the room, much like when I saw my sister years earlier. This was when I began to feel a wave of different emotions. I was really angry, really scared, yet I also knew that I had to do this and remain calm. I went into the room and stood a few feet away from the figure which was standing in the corner. I turned on the light. What I saw was probably the most horrific sight I could probably have ever even thought of in my entire life. Any horror movie monster had nothing on how unnatural the girl looked.
I finally realized why my sister described her in such a weird way. Her body was taller than she should have been. Her limbs were so lanky and bony and stretched like she kept growing past how tall she should have been. She was wearing a really small dress, and it was really tight on her body. Her face looked as if her head had continued to grow but her face had not. The skin was stretched and the eyes were sunk back into her head yet wide open and her small, childlike teeth were exposed since her lips were stretched back with the rest of her face. Her hair was down to her waist; her face had tears streaming down. I took all of this in in just a moment, and as soon as we met eyes she let out a wail as if she was crying and moaning at the same time. It wasn’t a loud wail like most people describe ghosts, it was pretty soft and it was as if she was in terrible pain, but I couldn’t tell her expression since her face was so unnatural and stretched.
As soon as I heard the wail all the anger in my body was overcome by fear and I ran. I wish I could say I ran for a video camera, but I just ran. I know I’ve been talking about how much I hate when people don’t investigate things but I was so terrified that I ran. Once I got out of my room I ran to my car and drove away and spent the night at a friend’s house. Once I realized what happened I was in a cold shiver and scared out of my mind for the entire night. I was too scared to go back home until my parents came home.
I waited until they came back on Sunday, and then I came over. They asked me why I took the key and left the closet door open and I just told them I wanted to see if I could sell any of my old toys on eBay. I took one last look in the room and locked the door. Ever since then nothing happened. I don’t know why things stopped, but I’m always hoping its not because I “let her out” like in the Ring or something and that she’s really evil. Since nothing has happened since then I do really hope that I helped her out in some way, but in all honesty I don’t care. My parents moved after I went to college, and I have no intention of ever going back. I came up with a theory that the male family member in her life was really mean to her and hated her playing in there, and possibly beat her, while the female family member always felt sad (hence my sister, and the girls willingness to open up to her first). Anyway like I said that’s just all theory but it kind of makes sense. This all happened last year, and the more I think about it the harder it is to remember. Sorry for typing such a long post, I didn't realize I had this much to tell.
Alright my yout, mi and dis fine gyal decide we waan fi go park, we went pon swing, pon slide, and even have good time a bounce pon teeter-totter. Buoy, it fun mi tell yuh. Been long since we frolic ina park. We sit dung a ground fi have lunch, afta lunch she waan fi go home, so we went to her house fi watch movie and sinting. Mi tell you, the gyal mus be one freak, cause she jump pon my lap and start suck out mi face. After 5 minute the blood clot phone ring and mi answer. One rated man come yell ina mi ear, man was livid! Him say sumthing like 'YO STAR, A WEH YOU A DO WIT MI PICKEY?' Mi just give one sour look pon my girl face and ask a wuh dis man business? Gyal tell me her dad ded, him ina ground, ded, ded, ded. A WHO DI BUMBACLOT DEH PON MY PHONE?
Watching TV was quickly becoming the dullest thign I had done in a while. I wish I was doing what I had been doing a week ago; that was actually fun. This, however, was just shit. It was worse than browsing /b/. Regis Philbin was on my damn TV and it was pissing me off that this was the only channel I had. I figured that this wasn't going to change anytime soon, so I got up to go get me some falafel. As I was rising out of my chair, the TV flickered. I looked at it for a second, shrugged, and continued on my epic quest for falafel.
Now what was this? I moved back and forth to see if perhaps the capacitance of my body had flickered the TV.
My screen was now nothing but static, and a strange, ringing sound was eminating from it. This was entirely typical. My shit TV had finally decided to kick the bucket. I sighed and went to unplug it, when I noticed the screen had suddenly become clear again. But it was not Regis, it was a blank monochrome image of a well.
I thought it was some sort of commercial. It strangely caught my interest, so I sat back down in my chair and stared at the image of the well before me. It seemed so still, but then, I saw a hand come out of the top. Something was climbing out of the well. It raised its head, which was covered in wet, black hair. I couldn't see its face. It was at this time I was thoroughly creeped out.
It pulled itself out of the well and began shambling toward me slowly. It was a girl. She was pale looked waterlogged, like a dead thing that had fallen into a puddle. She was drawing closer. I felt sick now, and I knew it was silly to feel like this over a commercial, but my heart was pounding. All I could see was her black hair covering the entire screen. Then, I screamed. Her hand reached out of my television.
"Wha-, what are you!?" I shrieked. She pulled herself out of my set, raised her head, and gazed at me.
"Sada...ko..." she croaked. Her body fell to my floor in a sickening, wet slap. She was crawling to me now, and I was too petrified to move. I knew I should run, but I didn't. It was entirley too out of this world to do anything but watch.
The dead girl descended on me, hanging over my body with her corpselike gape. She pushed me down; her ice cold hand connected with my arm as she forced herself on top of me. I knew I was going to die. I knew she'd strangle me.
It was then I realized she was naked. Her skin was cloud white, her cold breasts were almost translucent with blueish nipples; I could slightly see her muscles through her skin. Her face was as thin and white as her young body, and her eyes were rolled back into her head, as if she didn't have pupils.
Sadako dropped herself onto me, and I felt a tremendous cold fear that I had never experienced. Water was dripping onto me as she writhed. She hissed and croaked and moaned; her b