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December 2014 Discussion Post: Your First Story

December 1, 2014 at 12:00 AM

This month’s discussion topic was suggested by EWR.

c2014

As a community, Creepypasta fans tend to have a higher-than-average interest in writing. The comments on both Creepypasta and Crappypasta are full of constructive criticism, and we have hundreds of people contributing to the prompts section as well as making themselves available as beta readers. That’s not even taking into account the thousands of you who send in new stories during each open period!

So this month I’d like to know how, exactly, that interest in writing first manifested itself – what was your first attempt at writing a story? Feel free to tell us the plot, what inspired you, how old you were, how long you spent on that first story – any details that you’d like to share are up to you!

Of course, if you’re brave enough and happen to have the story online somewhere, you can even link it if you feel so inclined.

I think that this has potential to be a very interesting post! As always, be excellent to each other and obey the commenting guidelines in the FAQ… and have fun!

Recent Site & Theme Issues

November 21, 2014 at 2:31 PM

Hey, everyone.

As I’m sure that you’ve all noticed, we’ve reverted to our older theme and a few plugins (most obviously, the age gate) are temporarily disabled. Since many of the same issues were reported across both the Halloween and the recent Red/Black themes, I’m trying to figure out if said glitches were solely married to those themes or if there’s another underlying cause.

Last month, I upgraded to a more powerful server plan, which in theory should have vastly improved website performance. This also required a server move, and during the process a few things got corrupted and some settings were changed that caused other site functions to break (most were back-end issues that you guys would never have seen, but a front-end example would be how the rating pumpkins did not work properly after the move). While issues are being fixed and adjusted as they crop up, this does mean that it’s entirely possible that some of the issues you guys have been experiencing are the result of some bug or new setting that I personally haven’t found yet.

Since most of the issues people have reported to me aren’t anything that I’ve been able to personally replicate on my devices, I need to rely on the community at large to help me know if this theme switch has solved them. The red/black theme worked perfectly for me on my desktop, phone, and tablet, but the complaints that I received were as follows:

  • Pages were taking forever to load, or simply never did.
  • Disqus/Comments block was not reliably rendering; this seemed to only affect specific people, but it was constant for them
  • Something that I’m not entirely clear on (need screenshots/more details) in regards to the drop-down navigation blocking the screen
  • The age gate refusing to go away or blocking people despite filling it out with the required data
  • General lag and a feeling that the site was “always loading”
  • Something vague about scrolling being weird (not enough details given here)

If you experienced these issues, please pay careful attention and comment on this post (or, if you’d prefer to submit bug reports via private correspondence, use the contact form) to let me know if these bugs have been fixed or not for you after the theme retcon.

To make things easier for me and my webhost, if you do experience the above issues or any new ones, PLEASE do the following when you report them to me:

  • If relevant/possible, take a screenshot. In cases like the aforementioned drop-down issue, it’s really much easier for me to figure out the problem if I can see it.
  • Tell me the user agent that you were utilizing when the error or glitch happened. You can find that out here if you don’t know already. I need the user agent string, but your IP isn’t necessary.
  • Make sure that you are not using any extensions or script-blockers that may cause sites to behave erratically. It’s already known, for example, that AdBlock breaks the submission form. Similarly, I’ve heard reports that Avast will block Disqus comments from loading unless you manually whitelist the Disqus domains. Try disabling extensions and scripts, clear your cache, and see if the issue persists. If doing so does fix the issue, please let me know what extension/script was causing the problem.
  • Be polite. This should be obvious, but several of you have been extremely rude and obscene when messaging me about site issues. While I will still look in to your report for the sake of anyone else experiencing the same issue, if you are abusive, I will block you from the site as clearly you’re not grown enough to be here. And no, the first amendment does not mean that I have to listen to your garbage. Please crack a textbook sometime if you’re honestly tempted to use that as an reason why I’m obligated to allow people to call me slurs or threaten my life because the site doesn’t load fast enough. Come on.

If the theme switch does manage to solve the issues, we’ll retain this theme and I’ll slowly begin reintroducing some of the disabled plugins. This way, if a glitch returns, we can have a better idea of what change prompted its return.

Thanks for all your patience!

Light

December 7, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I would ask that before you read this you switch off all the lights in the house . As you will soon find out, you are perfectly safe.

We have always found comfort in light. For early man it provided security and protection from nocturnal predators and, in the form of fire, a source of warmth and sustenance. Even now it has the ability to make the unknown known, banish doubt and extinguish fear. So essential is light to the human condition, that its imagery has saturated biblical and secular works alike, inspiring countless philosophical and religious movements since time immemorial.

Over time though, our relationship to light has changed. From an animalistic dependence upon the day/night cycle, we slowly began to manipulate light and its sources, first through fire and then later on via electricity. Manipulation soon became mastery and, before long, it was possible to flood an entire room with its warm glow at the flick of a single switch. As this relationship changed however, and as light became more readily available and easily created, no-one ever thought to consider the implications.

There has always been a tentative balance between light and darkness. Manifest in nature as night and day, it was never simply the case that one could extinguish the other so totally as it can now. Even fire, which slowly creeps into existence and blossoms only as the sparks alight, never disturbed this balance. When a fire burns more fiercely the darkness may ebb and slink away, inhabiting corners and crevices, but it is never truly gone – only awaiting the fire’s inevitable decline and return to embers. Such sources of light always allowed time for denizens of the nocturnal hours to slink away and hide themselves. With electric lights and the advent of instant illumination however, such time no longer exists. In a literal flash, all darkness in a single place can now be dispersed and the things lurking within revealed.

For most nocturnal predators this is of course an inconvenience, but for one it is an opportunity.

It’s more than likely that, from time to time, you’ve seen it. If you’ve ever turned on a light in a completely dark room then certainly. For a split second, as the light flashes into existence, whilst your eyes are still adjusting, you may see its awful, gaunt figure and long spider-like limbs standing somewhere within the room. As quickly as it appears though, it disappears, blinking back into non-existence. It happens so quickly that you may have thought it a trick of the light, a chance interplay of furniture and fleeting shadows. Rest assured though, once the creature disappears it is gone and you are safe. Do not misunderstand this timidity, it is not so much the light which it abhors, but rather being seen. On the contrary, it is in fact drawn to light. When shrouded by darkness, it may cause the hair on the back of your neck to stand up, or give you the feeling of being watched, but in its present state it cannot act. It is only through light that it is given a form.

Of course, more often than not, when you turn a light on in a completely dark room, you will see no such spectral figure. As strange as this may sound, this is when you are in the most danger. The reason, you see, is that by turning on the light you have given it form but, unless you catch a glimpse of it, no a reason to leave. In such cases, especially if late at night or during the small hours of the morning, it is imperative that you check your surroundings completely, as the creature will not disappear until you catch sight of it. If you do, it will vanish just as before and you will be safe once more. If you do not however, it will stay there in the light, unseen.

If, for example, you where to go about your usual nightly routine without properly checking for it, perhaps read a few ghost stories on your laptop before bed, it will silently wait for you to once again switch off the light, only this time it won’t be so harmless.

Now then, it’s time to turn the lights back on.

Credit To – The Wanderer

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A Knock at the Door

December 6, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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On the 25th of November, 1941, my Great Uncle was killed when the HMS Barham blew up like a powder keg after being torpedoed by a German Submarine. The event was captured on film and is an horrific sight, as the men serving on the ship scrambled for their lives on the capsized hull, before the main magazine caught fire and exploded. When word got back to my gran, she was heartbroken having lost her dear brother.

Sifting through the memories of their love, she sat not long after, reading the letters my Great Uncle Frank had sent her while on the ship. As she wept inconsolably, she just could not let go of the pain. Surrounded by the letters like tombstones, anguished reminders of what had been lost, suddenly someone knocked at the front door. Yet there was no-one there, just an empty street at night. When my gran returned to the room where she had been crying for hours, something strange had happened – all the letters were gone, save for one, which my father now possesses.

I don’t know how true the story is, for grief can make illusions of the world, but I have read the letter, many times in fact. There is something curious about it, because it was signed twice by my Great Uncle. The second signature is undoubtedly his handwriting, and reads: “Don’t cry, sis. Always with you. – December 12th, 1941″, the same night someone came knocking at the door.

Credit To – Michael Whitehouse

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The Woman From the Beach

December 5, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I still remember a nightmare I had when I was about five years old. I was near the ocean that I loved so much, with just my Dad and I playing on a swing set in the middle of an abandoned beach. Everything started out very innocently, I remember having the time of my life, smiling and laughing while playing with my Father. After what I recall as a couple minutes of fun, the scene started to develop a sense of unease and discomfort. The sunny, beautiful day turned dark and cloudy, even the once inviting swing set seemed to become slightly more sinister.

It started pouring intensely and stopped as suddenly as it began. My Dad at this point noticed my apparent discomfort and attempted to invigorate the once happy mood I was feeling. He started dancing around in the puddles of sand and water, while making funny faces at me. I began to start laughing again when suddenly, he bent over and placed his face in one of the larger puddles. My smile disappeared and I started to feel slightly hesitant, I called out to him softly after he hadn’t pulled up his face. A couple of seconds later he pulled up his head and turned toward me. At this point, I would start screaming and wake up in my childhood bedroom screaming my head off, feeling clammy and cold. My Father would always rush in to comfort me, and I was always filled with a great relief that his face was still intact.

When my Dad turned his head to look at me in my dream his face was gone. There was nothing left where his eye sockets, nose, and mouth used to be. His face was literally just a blank slate with sand dripping down from his chin. To this day, I am not sure why that dream has startled me so much that I remember it quite clearly twenty-seven years later. I am also unsure why the dream repeats itself most nights of the week, leaving me to wake up in a state of panic every time.

This morning was no exception, and I woke up to my sheets soaked with sweat and feeling the sticky aftermath of the nightmare. I sighed and struggled to my feet, noticing it was about time for me to wake up for work anyway. I was wiping the sleep from my eyes while I walked to the bathroom and with one half-open eyeball; I noticed my face in the mirror. I let out a startled cry when I realized my face was gone. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could and told myself to get a grip. I had just closed my eyes; obviously they still exist on my face. After a couple minutes of struggling with myself to not be such a wimp, I opened my eyes and saw that my face looked exactly the same as it had last night, if a little disheveled from sleep.

I laughed slightly to myself from my own paranoia and told myself my brain was just scaring me since the memory of my nightmare was so fresh. I went about the rest of my morning ritual: exercising, showering, eating, and feeding my cat. Even though I convinced myself logically what the cause of my mirror incident was, I still couldn’t shake my feeling of unease and avoided looking into any mirrors the entire morning.

It was a beautiful day, and because of my unexpectedly early awakening, I had extra time and decided to walk to work. I only worked about a half hour walk from my apartment in downtown Collegeville, Pennsylvania. It’s an adorable little town, so I greatly enjoyed my walk and soaked in all of the fabulous scenery. I consider myself to be a professional window shopper, since I’m consistently broke, and I used my talent to the fullest this morning to shake myself from my growing paranoia. While I was looking through the glass at a particularly adorable pair of cheetah print stilettos, I caught a glimpse of a woman with a blank, featureless face standing directly behind me. I gasped and quickly turned to face the woman. Once I turned I saw a woman standing behind me, with a perfectly normal face. I must have looked downright insane because she regarded me with a skeptical expression. I quickly apologized and shuffled to work.

The rest of my day at work was blissfully uneventful and I was eventually able to calm myself down and convince myself both blank face occurrences (this was the easiest way to refer to the incidents) were just a result of my overactive imagination. I walked home in a better mood than I had been all day and even treated myself by buying the stiletto’s from earlier (even if it would cost me gas money for the week). I live alone with two cats, Moe and Beevil, so I made myself dinner and fed my fur babies then settled in on my couch with a glass of Moscato and a new book.

I must have dozed off at some point during my reading because I awoke in a cold sweat from my torturous, repetitive nightmare. I attempted to calm myself by petting my adorable tortoise shell, Beevil, who was sitting on my lap. From my hand touching her she woke from her probably fifth nap of the day and looked up at me. I let out the loudest scream I could even imagine myself capable of and jumped about ten feet high. My poor, lovely kitty was missing her face. It didn’t appear to be a violent or malevolent occurrence; her face was just simply gone.

I quickly found the cat carrier, shoved her in and ran her straight to the vet, panicking and driving like a mad woman the entire way there. I rushed into the vet’s office and demanded my cat be examined right that second. Seeing my panicked demeanor, the vet quickly took us into a room and let my cat out of the carrier. She walked out of the pet carrier and looked up at me, with her beautiful green eyes looking right into mine. Her face was completely fine, I must have still been dreaming when I thought she had lost it. The vet was now looking at me curiously and asked what the issue seemed to be. Not wanting to appear insane, I made up a story of thinking she swallowed dental floss. The vet examined her, charged me a decent amount and sent us on our way telling me she would be perfectly fine. We drove home and I went straight to bed.

That incident happened about a week ago and since then the blank face occurrences have only gotten worse. I see a faceless woman standing behind me in every reflection I dare let myself view. I have stopped going to work or anywhere out in public because no matter how hard I try, I simply could not avoid each and every singly reflective surface. I would rather have been a shut-in then have to see that woman’s blank face again.

I had temporarily given my cats to my sister, terrified for their safety. I had also gotten rid of every single reflective surface in my house. I was honestly unaware if I am truly insane or if I really am being stalked by a faceless woman with the ability to change my perception of reality. Maybe I should have gone see a psychologist, maybe I was just overworked. Every time I started to think that way and decided to brave and go out into the world, I would relapse into a panic attack and ended up shivering violently under a blanket on my couch.

I had the dream again tonight, but it’s different. There’s the beach, the swing set, my father, and the rain, but this time there’s a woman. She is standing with her back to us the entire time and from what I can see of her she is about average height with long, matted dark hair. It hangs from her head in knotted, bloody patches. The skin on her arms and legs is pale and sickly in appearance, loosely hanging from her bones. She has many open sores that bleed profusely. She doesn’t turn around until my dad places his face in the water. Time seems to stand still as she moves over to him with her nasty, greasy hair covering her face. She places her hand on the back of his head and shoves it even further into the sand. I’m screaming at her to let him go, to leave him alone, but my voice disappears with the wind. She pushes his head even harder into the sand puddle, making it appear as though the sand is literally grinding away his face.

It’s at this point she finally looks up at me and I realize she is the woman I’ve seen haunt me in every reflection; she had no face, just a blank space with bloody sores where her features should have been. The most terrifying part of this moment is that even though she had virtually no face, I could feel that she was smiling at me, taunting me and driving me insane. I woke up screaming and thrashing in my sheets like a wild woman. I bolted up in bed and immediately noticed my large mirror on my bureau has been uncovered. The minute my eyes meet my reflection, I see the faceless woman with her nasty, bloody hair, standing directly behind my head. I could feel her evil taunting grin pointing down toward me as I felt her hands cover my face.

I woke up again in my bed, relieved that last night was just an awful remix to my repetitive nightmare. My relief was short-lived as I reached up to rub the sleep away from my eyes and felt nothing where my eye socket should be. I feel an immense sense of terror about to overwhelm me, when I realized I could still see so my eyes had to be there! I rush to my bureau and uncovered my large mirror. I attempted to let out a scream at the image that confronted me but I was unable make any sound. My face was gone, where my blue eyes and full lips used to be; now there was nothing but a blank space that made me look like a deformed monster.

I don’t understand how I can still see and breathe, it’s as though there is a thin layer of skin over my facial features that enables me to feel normal, while looking like a freak on the outside. I have tried to cut off the layer of skin that seems to cover my face, only to feel an immense pain and see nothing revealed but blood. No matter how deep I cut, I never find the eye sockets or nose that I used to have. At least the nightmare has finally stopped; the woman from my dreams seems to have moved on to torture another poor soul.

Credit To – AirIn D

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Eleven Twenty-Six

December 3, 2014 at 11:26 PM
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A small, rainy town sits near a dense grove of trees as a series of streams run past and into the dark thicket beyond. There is newfound fear within the town of the approaching century. The growing popularity of gasoline powered automobiles and electric powered telephones are deemed an unnecessary change in the little town, with wild stories from the outside world only furthering their confusion and displeasure about the new inventions. This threat from the outside world is a drop of water in an ocean compared to the harsh realities within their tiny corner of the world. The time stands at eleven o’clock as the townspeople move about the dark streets as though it were the middle of the day.

The silent torment of inner dread is seen in every pair of eyes as they look upon one another with a strange kind of hopeless desperation. Their days pass by like any other but the fall of night had their worried glances reveal an old fear, untouched by time. They knew what was soon to happen and that their anguished cries would be useless. Eleven o’clock comes again. Twenty-six minutes more to wait. Every minute is counted in the heads of the people in the small town by the dark grove. Every night when the clock strikes eleven twenty-six, a collective sound of fear is heard before the inevitable silence as every person within the town succumb to a simultaneous slumber.

Nobody has been able to remain conscious after this time to bear witness to what goes on around them. To add to this strange event, all those in the slumber awaken together at exactly six fifteen every morning. The people born in the town refuse to leave and visitors are rare, but the ones who come across the little town tend to make their stay a transitory one after hearing the warnings from the townspeople. Those in the nearest town are aware of the curse, with people refusing to enter the dark grove after eleven twenty-six at night for fear of what might happen to them. Some believe their bodies will collapse after crossing the border and others believe they will witness horrors worse than their imaginations can conjure up. The residents here claim that it has not always been like this and one day it will return to good, much to the chagrin of outsiders who believe them to be in the company of delusions.

An elderly man, born in the cursed town, had one night decided to walk across the border and observe the town from the outside. He saw nothing at all for how far his eyes took him, but the view of the main street was not perceivable from his position and he returned to the grove the next day with nothing to tell.

A thirty year old man can be heard wailing into the night, every night as he wanders through the main street. He worries strenuously about what is being done to him as he sleeps and whether tonight will be the night they finally put an end to his life. Men seem to have the most reason to worry here. Nightmares of unfathomable horror and hopelessness fill their minds but leave the women dreaming of nothing but darkness. Some men have dreamed repeatedly of their wives hurling them over cliffs and drowning them in the deepest waters. Their thoughts have been twisted by this continual barrage of images and subsequently driven to desperate acts derived from a broken mind. Wives and lovers are left fleeing from the town in a blind panic as paranoia runs rampant among the men. Despite this unrest, all the people of the dark grove have agreed that they are not alone after they pass into the unknown sleep.

It was a well-known fact that women did not dream here, so when one cold morning a twenty-eight year old woman ran out into the street shouting about the dream she had during the unknown sleep, it sent a shock wave through the town. The sea of gasps and murmurs surrounded the woman as questioning eyes focused on only her. She was different to the others now and more people feared her as the concerned and curious looks quickly turned to expressions of confusion and terror. She was pestered endlessly about her dreams from that day on and she insisted that the only dream she had each night was a recurring one, but many accused her of being deceptive. Some even claimed she remained awake as they slept and somehow had a part in the unknown atrocities.

She told the truth about dreaming of the same thing every night but she had also lied to the people about the contents of her recurring dream. The images of the translucent forms of the townspeople; her family and friends, wandering aimlessly through blackened streets like they were not even aware they existed in the world, plagued her dreams every night. The last thing she wanted to do was to unleash real panic among the people so she told them she merely dreamed of walking along a sunny beach, but she could see the suspicion in their eyes, suppressed only by their fear of the unknown.

She had the same dream the next night. Once again the static forms of the townspeople littered the streets before her, not really seeing anything as they stared ahead through lifeless eyes. The dream would usually end with her collapsing into a pile on the ground and awaking in her bed, but she remained standing as she continued to observe the spectacle before her. Something was different this time around. There was a shift in the air as she looked all around her. It had never gone on for this long and she was almost wishing her body would collapse so she could wake up in her bed with the morning light on her arm. Dark patches began to appear next to each person, wandering along with them. She moved her head forward as she blinked, trying to focus on whatever was attached to the townspeople. She watched for only a few seconds more before she took a step back and almost fell over some clutter on the ground behind her, sending something rattling away as she breathed out loudly through her teeth.

She looked up to see that they had all stopped, now standing motionless as the dark spots appeared to detach themselves and move slowly towards her. They flickered erratically, making her wonder if they really existed and if they were even capable of harm. She stumbled back, cutting her arm upon a nail that stuck out from the side of the door frame as she watched them move closer.

She frowned as she peered down at the gash along her arm. She had never felt pain in her dreams before but the sting and burn from the cut was very real. She placed her left hand over the wound as the realization that she was not dreaming wrought a strange kind of calm over her. She did not see a face from the dark forms that enclosed her but she could feel her body dying the closer they came, like years were being stripped from her as every moment passed. Her head rolled forward as her chin rested on her chest with her body remaining upright in a perfect standing position. She did not know how they had killed her but at some undetermined point she suddenly knew she would never wake up in her bed again. She could not remember if they even touched her but it seemed unimportant in that particular moment. She drifted upwards, not even knowing if she was even herself anymore as she watched her body remain standing on the ground as some unknown part of her exited this world.

She did not feel at ease anymore as she watched in horror as her earthly body looked up at her with a blank expression as it reached its arms up towards her as far as humanly possible. She stared into the eyes of the empty shell of her former self. She did not know what moved the body now but she could see past the lifeless expression as its eyes quivered underneath the calm mask. She wondered if the same fate had befallen the townspeople, and they simply walked around with some unknown entity possessing their bodies. She wondered if there was any part of them that still remained.

She could not stop herself from rising now and she was not sure if she even wanted to stop it. She could feel more and more of who she was disappear as her memories faded without apology. Before she closed her eyes to accept her fate, she glanced down once more to see her human shell smile sadly up at her before collapsing to the floor. The dark forms had disappeared as the dull light of dawn began to fill the little room.

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The Cinematographer

December 3, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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The paranormal was something that the three of us felt we were beyond. We all liked to think of ourselves as educated, and when we got into arguments we felt near invincible. But, when Martin insisted we fuck around with his fat older brother’s laptop full of occult pictures and docs (and when he promised to involve some of his best weed), the three of us decided to meet up in Jon’s basement, hallowed smoking ground.

After a couple bowls the three of us stared into the glow of the HP screen, clicking through folders labeled “Demons”, “Rituals-life”, “Rituals-strength”, “Hexes”, “Phasing”, “Lucid Dreaming”. Every folder was full of sketchy Polaroid pictures of pale figures with twisted triangular faces and fingers like twigs, long pieces of text containing foreign languages and symbols, and intricate diagrams for sigils and sacrifices. It was some mind-bending shit for stoned 17-year-olds. We found a project in a folder labeled “Summoning”; it contained tons of pictures and diagrams for calling things to this world- from hell, from other dimensions, from something that one image referred to as “the else”- and we picked one at random to mess around with and laugh through.

The diagram called for little prep. We needed only light some incense and say some incantations, all in some language that none of us had heard of. The entity that the diagram described lived in some place referred to as “over the wall” and tons of red text littered the picture. It all warned of dealing with the entity, of its numerous powers, and it included short accounts of the lives it had ruined (including a pretty sick one about a woman whose guts it had removed and played with, and a few more involving figures without eyes found wandering the scene of the summoning). The thing was a curious being, but impatient. it liked stalking us humans, watching, observing, before it grew more malicious, started taking us, experimenting on us, driving us to do things for it, seeing what made us squeal or cry or bleed.

We got everything set up and Jon volunteered to read off of the screen. Let me tell you, watching Jon fumble through that booga-booga language was the highlight of the night. We laughed through the whole thing, Jon tripping over words and destroying some through his own chuckles. Even when Martin put up hands to settle us down, the snickers would get through and flare back into laughs. I decided to pull out my camera then. It had become tradition to film these basement sessions, and it seemed Jon was going for an Academy Award.

We sort of gave up with the laptop after the camera came out; we were getting bored and Jon ran out of words to read. Eventually we all started passing the camera around and speaking into it directly, kind of doing the That 70s Show round table thing. We’d say something “intelligent”, “revelatory”, or “funny” and then pass the camera on. It was a way of documenting some indispensible hilarity to look back on the next day.

The night passed quick. I remember turning on the TV, and at some point Martin and I packed up the laptop and walked back to his house so Jon could pass out on his couch, but events leaked in and out of memory after the night in question.

The next morning I woke up to find my phone full of unread texts and missed calls, all from Jon. The gist of the messages was “get your ass over here,” and the voice delivering the voicemails wasn’t that of the easy stoner I was used to dealing with. He spoke in unconnected, short clips, a lopsided train of thought: “found it downstairs…for fun, you know…supposed to…just thought I’d…I found it, in the camera…to see…you need to see…supposed to be fun. Just over here, get over here please.” Jon sounded completely stern, almost lifeless, something that set a million little alarm bells off in my head. I went to find Martin, who had also gotten a phone-full of messages, and we returned to Jon’s house.

We found him upstairs in the TV room. He’d hooked up my camera left over from last night and was watching the new stuff we’d recorded, pausing and fast-forwarding, stopping every now and then to watch. Martin and I crept into the room and took places quietly on the couch. We didn’t want to interrupt.

The footage played on about as I’d remembered it happening, and I watched as the Jon onscreen recited the incantations. Coming from his mouth they sounded entirely made up, yet rhythmic, like poems from some other country. In the video, we’d been cracking up, and the sound of chocked laughs and giggles bounced around the room, but watching it again made me feel weird, like I was seeing and hearing something I shouldn’t be, almost like snuff. I looked at Martin and then to Jon. Jon’s stone face, Martin’s mouth, slightly agape, and the feeling that I was watching something forbidden made me feel like it had been a mistake to record last night.

I finally asked Jon what was up, why he called us, why he seemed so somber, and he gave a cold answer, a knowing answer: “keep watching”. So we did.

The night on the tape played out, filing in memory gaps here and there as it played. It ran to the point where we started talking into the camera and passing it around. Jon looked as though he’d snap on either of us at any moment, so I didn’t dare ask what we were looking for. Finally, in the video, I passed off the camera and Jon hit pause.

“See? See? Well?” Jon alternated a stare, almost accusingly, between where Martin and I were watching and the TV screen itself. I glanced at Martin and he shook his head. On the screen we were all sitting together on Jon’s couch throwing up rock-n-roll devil horns with our hands, stoned out of our minds. I stared at the image for a few fruitless seconds, but then it hit me like a train. I saw what Jon called us over to see, and it made me feel nauseous. Jon said it before I could: “Who the fuck is holding the camera?”

Credit To – Jared Quaglieri

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Dancing Dead

December 2, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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Jake shouldn’t be outside tonight. Let alone walk through the woods by himself.
But he’s just gonna drop by his friend’s house real quick to pick up his phone, which he forgot there a few days ago. How much harm can that really do?
A damp, blue tinted fog silently prowls the night, meandering through the towering trees. The moon has deprived the sun of its throne in the sky and the repetitive sound of his sneakers hitting the dirt road is the only thing accompanying him. With the soft harmonies of solitude cascading through the forest comes complete tranquility.
You can really tell that there’s almost no one outside right now. A different kind of smell drifts with the wind and a different kind of air fills his lungs each time he takes a breath. The sensation of undisturbed nature is a pretty rare thing nowadays. Maybe the rumors of this night and why you should stay inside was all made up by people who wanted to enjoy this once every year.

A bush rustles somewhere behind him.
Jake stops in his tracks and pricks up his ears. Nothing but the distant hooting of an owl. Trying not to make anything of it, he continues walking the narrow path in front of him. He only gets to take a couple of steps, though, before he hears another rustle, and freezes instantly. The sound is a little closer to him this time, but when he spins around to face the bush, he sees nothing. Must be a squirrel or something. Maybe a cute little fox. The bottom line is: it’s nothing to worry about.

Jake presses on, but the air that fills his lungs is now flavored with paranoia, which pumps out through his veins like a malicious virus. He tries to calm himself down, but when the third rustle comes, there’s no doubt that he’s scared. He quickens his pace and keeps his eyes steadily on the road.
Maybe he should have stayed inside. He could have just gone to get his phone in the morning. Why does he always feel the need to be a rebellious idiot?

That was a footstep.
Yep, that was definitely a freaking footstep landing a few meters behind him. He knows now that something is there in the forest with him—something that’s not a cute little animal. But he won’t look back. That’s what you should never do.
Instead, Jake keeps walking determinedly towards the edge of the woods with fear rising up inside of him like in a thermostat. The rhythmical footsteps keep closing up on him. It seems like no matter how fast he walks, the footsteps behind him are set to always walk just a little bit faster. He can’t get away from them.
And when he starts hearing the wheezing breathing filled with gurgling fluid from the unknown being creeping up on him, panic breaks loose.
Jake runs. He runs as fast as anyone of his height and weight can, but he knows in the back of his mind that it won’t be enough. The thing behind him keeps the same rhythm to its footsteps but now moves like a galloping horse—inhumanly fast.
The rapid and shallow breathing coming down his neck sounds excited, and he can almost hear a little bit of crazed laughter emitting from his pursuer. The trees of the forest fly by quickly, and the outer parts of Jake’s vision blurs. He feels the air around him get colder, and the light from the moon getting choked by dark clouds.
A hand violently grabs his hood, and his head is thrown forward before he falls heavily to the ground.

Jake slowly turns his head as he lies there, helpless.
He is met by a lucid pair of big white eyes, and the tall body of a man, looming over him. The man’s hair is disheveled and under the long, dark coat, his skin is pale and filled with deep cuts. The mere presence of his lacerated soul makes Jake dizzy.
Even now, while standing still, the man taps his feet in that same rhythm, and the shaky smile on his face expresses maniacal delight. He bends over slowly and takes Jake’s hand. His fingers feels bony and frozen. Then, all of a sudden, an electric feeling bolts through Jake. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. Jake stands up with eyes wide open and feels euphoria flow through him. The rhythm seizes him.
And while preserving the peace and silence of nature, he and the man dance away through the forest together.

It is said in Jake’s town that once every year, the dead rise from their graves. For one night, the ones who lived miserable lives get the chance to experience fun. And what better way to have fun than through dancing? The children are taught to stay inside on this night, however.
Because everyone knows that dancing is better when you’re two.

Credit To – Daniel. S

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