In the panhandle of Oklahoma, along the interstate, there is a lone brick building marked “Post Office No.56″, and is marked with tape at the door as “Closed”. The building has no doors, and looks like a small box of bricks from a distance. The door is always locked, and will never budge, no matter how hard you try.

Every July 7th, if you are positioned to the west of the building with the door opposite of where you stand, your nose will begin to bleed. If you drink some of the blood, one of your teeth will fall out.

Take the took and go to the door. The tape will no longer be there, and the building will have one small eye shaped window.

If you go to the window and place the tooth in it, the door will click open. Do not look in the window. Never look in the window.

When you open the door, a slow salty breeze will blow out, and the entire room will be pitch black. Enter the room and shut the door. You will wait 10 minutes to 40 minutes, depending on the last time you saw your parents.

After the time is up, a single shrill scream will sound. If you flinch, you will wake up in your bed, sweating. If you don’t flinch, close your eyes quickly and start running. You will run for about 4-7 minutes depending on how fast you are, then you will hit a wall. Do not open your eyes.

The ground will feel warm, and your eyelids will see the color red. Do not open your eyes. Just feel around until you find a ring on the floor. The ring will be cold as ice. Pull on the ring and a trapdoor will open. Enter the trapdoor.

After doing this, you will fall through the roof of an office tile in a building in downtown Tulsa, in a bathroom stall. In the toilet will be a wallet and a gold ring. Take the gold ring, do not touch the wallet.

(9/3/06 10:29 pm)

Reply Internet Explorer 3 When using Internet Explorer 3 for Windows (google around for a version that works on Windows XP), enter this in the address bar (do not copy-paste, you must input it with the keyboard):
for-you://gratitude-and-remembrance

Wait ~ 40 seconds. You will feel strange. Don’t fight the feeling, or you will be jerked out of it, and you have only one chance to do this.

A weblog will appear. It will contain events that will happen for the seven next years of your life.

Add /admin/ to the address bar. Try to guess the password your future self would have chosen. There is always a way - discovering it is never out of your reach even if it’s a meaningless string of letters.

Once you have access to the admin, you can delete any post you want, and that event will never happen to you.

However, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES you are to edit a post. JUST DON’T.

You have only one hour to do it: after that the connection will be lost.

Chief Scientist’s Log 12/7/2007 12:31 AM

A new find was brought into the lab today. Men working the demolition of a condemned warehouse at this facility discovered a rusty oil barrel that seemed to exude cold. Preliminary electromagnetic field readings yielded chaotic data before the equipment died. Barrel appears to be constructed of stainless steel and, again, radiates cold.

13/7/2007 9:00 PM

We opened the barrel today inside a sealed chamber. Chamber immediately frosted over. Unidentified entity found within the barrel. Appears to be gaseous and black. Indeed, the very light surrounding it appears to be “sucked in” by it’s presence. Appears to be sentient, but does not communicate in any understood way. Biological matter that comes into contact with the Entity seems to disintegrate.

14/7/2007 10:11 AM

An intern entered the sealed chamber alone today, without his hazard suit. He was not seen again. The Entity has double in size since being released from containment. Has become aggressive. We are sealing off the chamber immediately in light of it’s flesh-consuming properties and rapid growth. All research is halted.

14/7/2007 11:00 AM

It’s gone. God help us, it’s escaped.

A déjà vu is actually a glitch in reality, and it indicates that something has just been changed. Someone or something has ceased to exist, all memories and records of their existence erased forever. A déjà vu happens when they get into your brain, when they need to change your memories. Maybe to erase your brother from the world. You know, the brother that you never had.

You’re the manager for a small store. You hired one of your friends, and you just found out that he’s been stealing from the register, stealing stock, abandoning his post to visit with his girlfriend in the back room while he’s the only one on duty, and the argument you had with him at the office just didn’t settle it for you. You pound on his door. When he opens up, he goes pale, soils himself, and staggers back, gasping for breath.

It doesn’t impress you, really; you figure he just thinks you’re showing up with the cops, until you step through his door and glance to the side, where you get a good look at yourself in the mirror.

Or at least, the parts of you that are still recognizable after that shotgun blast that your friend gave you at the end of that argument…

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 illegibly 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 if you sign it.

Leon Czolgosz, assassin of William McKinley, 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.

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.

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.

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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.

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. This, however, can only be done once. There are some exceptions to the ability, as well…

oK so basicaly its like this. youare at a friends house for like the night or watever and then you guys are making out on the couch (yeah!) and then like.. her dad calls on the phone and says “no i she likes it more if you use the other hand… yeah” and your alllike “oh dude your dad is trying to give me advice on how to diddle you” and then she’s like… “i don’t have a dad..” or whatever… but what!? WHO WAS PHONE?

also:

So ur with ur honey and yur making out wen the phone rigns. U anser it n the vioce is “wut r u doing wit my daughter?” U tell ur girl n she say “my dad is ded”. THEN WHO WAS PHONE?