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Hazards in Buying a Used Car

A 1998 powder blue Ford Taurus isn’t anyone’s choice for a vehicle, but it was what I ended up choosing at the lot. It wasn’t a bad car; not too many miles, recently replaced tires, and it was cheap. My only real complaint is that the previous owner had seriously gone overboard with air fresheners; the whole interior reeked of vanilla and pine. The dealer, real nice guy, said he was cutting me a deal. Told me that they were having trouble moving this one off the lot, explained that no one seemed to be interested. I guess I’m less picky than average, because the car looked fine to me, so a check and a handshake later I was driving home. That’s when the strangeness started.

I hadn’t noticed it during the complimentary test drive I had been given, but there was a lump in the padding of the seat, right in the small of my back. It wasn’t enough to make driving uncomfortable, so I assumed the foam was coming loose under the fabric and let it go. The car was a decade old, after all. For about two weeks I drove the car like that, to and from work, picking up groceries and stuff like that. The lump was pushed to the back of my mind, and I had pretty much gotten used to it. Then it moved.

At first I thought I was imagining things; foam padding doesn’t squirm around, obviously, and it had just been the slightest feeling on my back that set me off. But no, as I kept driving it became clear that the seat had shifted, it definitely felt different against my spine. At this point I thought maybe this is what was wrong initially with the seat; that maybe the loose foam had shifted when I first got the car. Once I got home, I decided, I would examine it in more detail.

By the time I got into my driveway the lump was downright irritating, so I hopped out of my seat and began to probe the fabric with my fingers. Whatever was in there, I quickly noticed, it wasn’t foam padding. The consistency was thicker than foam, almost gelatinous, and there was hard pieces inside it that felt almost like stone. I couldn’t make it out at the time, but the shape of the thing was familiar, too. Confirming my suspicions, I also noted for the first time a long seam in the seat that someone had stitched up. The previous owner must have stuck something in there. I hopped back in to take the car to the dealer and complain. This is the sort of thing a salesman should tell you, you know? Maybe they just didn’t know about it; I hadn’t seen it at first, either.

I was about halfway to the dealership when the thing in the seat began writhing around. Not a shift like before, but actively crawling underneath the fabric. If you can imagine the feeling of something worming its way across your lower back, you can probably replicate my reaction. The number on the speedometer doubled.

I nearly ruined those recently replaced tires swerving into the dealership parking lot. It didn’t take long to find the man who had sold me the car, and even less time to grab him by the shirt sleeve and stammer out what had happened. He was surprised by my story but strangely receptive (more than I would be if some punk teenager started rambling about squirming car seats), and came back with me to the car, pulling out a pocket utility knife as we walked. As we cut the fabric of the seat open, the stench that spewed out almost literally knocked us back out of the car, but what we smelled didn’t make either of our stomachs turn nearly as bad as what we saw.

Inside the seat, under the fabric, we found a half-rotten human hand.

–
Credited to Tekkactus.

The Prophecy of Zarah

The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in the early part of the 20th century is one of the most important episodes in the field of Bible scholarship. They have been studied and transcribed for decades, so it was quite a shock when an unnoticed Hebrew text was found in the collection. The theology of this text, apart from references to Sheol (the abode of the dead) and the primordial chaos monster Leviathan, is quite unlike anything found in the Qu’mran community, the Bible or the Ancient Near East as a whole. Here is the entirety of the text, as translated so far:

This is the vision of prophetess Zarah
revealed to her in the dark of a dead land
and written in the dust of a blind moon.

There are Things that were tamed in the beginning of the cosmos
and chained by the stars
which were placed in a sigil of five dimensions
in the tongue of a formless race which was ancient
before the elements.

Their servants were condemned to the mirrors,
to serve as reflections until the sigil of stars
comes undone.
At that time their Masters will return
and the one called Leviathan will drown the stars
in his ichorous waters.

The Gods of man will be as mortals
and those who knew life after death will suffer
as the living.
Blessed are the godless.
Blessed are those for whom death is extinction.
All the host of Heaven and Hell will alike
be tormented by the returned Ones,
whose hatred has festered for millions of years
as the burning stars chained them
beyond the attainable World.

The Reflections will creep from the mirrors and waters
to cackle and sizzle in a tongue without reason:
and they will catch mortals and drive them to madness
and those will be lucky:
for their Masters will come and they will not allow
the salvation of Madness.

Time will die before them and their reign will be timeless.
Reason will be slaughtered and space will be senseless.
Black stars will hang in the sky choked in ichorous waters.
The Gods of the mortals will be feeble before them
and no law will be left but the whim of the hateful,
the Things that were chained when the cosmos were formed.
Blessed are the dead who know nothing.
Blessed are those who did not trust Salvation
but had faith in extinction at the dust of the body.
These are the only ones who are spared.

All of this I, Zarah, have seen in the dead land,
and inscribed in the dust of a blind moon.
It has been revealed to me in Sheol,
and been made known to me in the Pit.
And it has been shown to me that writings from Sheol
will be seen in the land of the living
as the chain of the stars become weaker.
As the sigil comes closer to breaking, the

It should be noted that the translators make the ridiculous assertion that more writing appeared from the start to the completion of their reconstruction of this text, and indeed that vague impressions of letters have already formed below the last sentence, which now ends at “the”. This should be taken as a highly unprofessional attempt at explaining away the slow process of translation. The grisly suicides of, as of this writing, two of the original translation team, should likewise be ignored.

–
Credited to mngamojemo.

Bottle

My damnation came in the form of a bottle.

No, not like that.

When I was a child my best friend lived next to a little junkyard. Great place for a kid to hang out, a junkyard. Full of mystery and exciting discoveries, and if you find anything nice nobody minds if you take it, except your parents, obviously. Well, not my friend’s mom. Most of their bowls and plates came from that junkyard. But anyway.

One day a bunch of us were hanging out, dismantling a car. Some of us might have been interested in the parts, I just thought breaking stuff was great. When we’d got the engine strewn everywhere we set to work on the interior. Under one of the seats was a little glass bottle, full of some green, bubbly liquid.

Curiosity trumped hygiene in those days. I uncorked it and sniffed it. The smell was pleasant, minty, a little floral. One kid, Jackie, dared me to drink it. It was a double-dog dare. I had to.

The taste was also pleasant, and it warmed me on the way down. My body was filled with a strange, pleasant tingling. Nothing else happened, not until that night.

First effect, I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t needed sleep since. It’s all right. I get a lot done.

Second effect, a month later. I started to cough things up. I was playing alone in the woods and I hacked up blood. Then there were chunks in the blood. Then I was puking. The entirety of my coiled long intestine came snaking up as I sat there quivering, tears on my cheeks, struggling to breathe, literally puking my guts up. My mouth seemed to unhinge like a snake’s to accommodate my lungs. My heart was on my sleeve. The bloodstain would never have come out if I hadn’t abandoned the clothes I was wearing. The police searched frantically for a missing person, but never found a thing.

I wasn’t empty when I finished, though. New organs built up inside me. I could feel them, I could see them when I closed my eyes, nameless lumps and spirals springing out of nothing.

Third effect. Two months later. I began to crave the water. I can’t possibly describe the feeling of thirsty skin, but it was a desperate thirst. I left my parents’ house one night and walked and walked until I came to a swamp. I moved in. The murky, bug-filled waters feel like home now, as they did all those years ago. I sit under the water, watching the fish and salamanders get eaten by herons, looking at the surface waiting for my prey.

I’m sure you know what the fourth effect was. I’m typing this on the cell-phone of my latest victim. She was delicious. She smelled like fresh melons.

–
Credited to mngamojemo.

Why He Weeps

I’d heard stories of it. Retreat Road down in Cochrane, Alberta. They have a monastery there. Robes and everything. But their real claim to fame is the massive statue of Christ being crucified in the woods. I’ve been there a few times. Walked up the path with all the smaller statues beside the path. There was a baby, a group of people reaching towards Jesus, all those things, finally culminating in this 20-foot tall cross with Jesus hanging from it. What gets a lot of people though, is that Jesus is weeping on the cross. Nobody can seem to figure out why. Weeping is not the action of a Lord and Saviour.

Never.

Unthinkable.

I’ve been a few times during the day. It’s an interesting walk. Even for the Atheist like myself, it is still awe-inspiring. I happened to notice lights though, beneath all the statues. I asked around, and they do light the path up at night. I asked if I could come back then, but they told me the path would be closed. No one would tell me why.

Not one to follow rules, I returned that night, and made my way over the fence and onto the path. As I walked along the winding route to the large statue, I passed the smaller statues. They seemed different. It was the angle the light hit them. The statue of the baby … it’s eyes were all sunken in, and the shadows seemed to make its fingers end in claws. The statue of the people reaching towards Jesus, they looked dead, reaching towards Jesus with the shadows casting a look of horror on his face. Something about them really unsettled me, but it was on a deeper level than just what they depicted now. I reached the statue of Jesus and gazed up at his face. I stood there for what felt like hours, just wondering why he was weeping. What for? What cause?

I heard the whispers and rustling of the trees on all sides of me long before I saw anything. I gazed up at Jesus, looked deep into those stone eyes, and understood.

That night, he was weeping for me.

–
Credited to TheCoffinDancer.

The Doll

I gave her the doll on her birthday.
She loved it at first, told me it was so beautiful. That it’s hair was so soft and the dress was so pretty. She wouldn’t let it out of her sight for days. During the day she set it on the table, so she could see it while cleaning the house. During the night it sat next to the bed, looking at us sleep with big blue unmoving eyes.
But my wife’s love for the doll soon changed. Soon I noticed something was bothering here. I asked of course, but she wouldn’t tell me at first, said she was just being silly. But day after day she closed herself more and more for me. Until I couldn’t take it anymore. I pressed her, told her she would tell me what was going on right now or I would drag her to a doctor.

She finally broke and crying words came spilling out.
She then told me it was the doll. It scared her. She told me she had the feeling it was constantly watching her. Sometimes it even seemed like it moved.
This worried me and I went to take a look at the doll.
It sat motionless on the little table in the bedroom. The big blue eyes unchanged. I couldn’t help but sigh from relief a bit. Of course she’s not moving, she couldn’t have been.
I went to turn away, but then saw a tiny movement from the corner of my eye.
I turned back to the doll, picking it up from the table. I held my face close to the doll’s, staring into the eyes.
Something was moving.
I tried to concentrate, tried to look closer.
Yes, there it definately was, movement. But not from the eye itself, it was behind the eye.
Before I could register this the eye burst and out of it spilled at least ten wriggling maggots.
I dropped the doll in shock, backing away instinctively.

My wife yelled from the other room, asking me what was going on. I yelled back at her not to worry. I picked up the doll again, using a tissue to wipe away the maggots. Inside I saw more, pressing against the skin and the plastic outer layer.

So soon already. I had hoped she would have lasted longer.
I will have to get a new one for her, maybe keep it alive at first. That way it’ll last longer for sure.
While I throw away the old doll, I think about how my wife always says she loves the thick blonde curls of little Katie down the block.
Doesn’t she also have blue eyes?

–
Credited to Boudica.

DAY OF ALL THE BLOOD

THIS IS THE STORY OF A DAY WHERE THERE WAS ALL THIS BLOOD. A MAN WAS WALKING AROUND AND BLOOD STARTED COMING OUT OF HIM EVERYWHERE. THERE WAS SO MUCH BLOOD THAT IT FILLED UP AN ELEVATOR. HE WENT TO THE STORE AND THERE WAS JUST BLOOD ALL OVER THE PLACE! PEOPLE WERE SLIPPING IN IT AND THEY WERE ALL GROSSED OUT. HE TRIED TO GO SWIMMING AND ALL OF THE SHARKS WENT NUTS AND BITTENED EVERYBODY. HE GOT CHASED BY ALL THE VAMPIRES EVER. ONE TIME THE BLOOD GOT A KID AND A DOG. AT THE END OF THE DAY EVERYONE DECIDED THEY WOULD SEND HIM TO SPACE SO THAT HE WOULD STOP GETTING BLOOD EVERY WHERE. THE SCARIEST PART IS THAT THE MAN WAS YOU!!! (OR HE WAS A LADY IF YOU ARE A LADY) AND YOU FORGOT THAT THIS HAPPENED

–
You should probably go visit bogleech.com today.

Dear Diary

2AM: I can’t seem to sleep tonight, and writing has always calmed me down. Today has been quite an odd day, It’s been very quiet. Nobody seemed to want to talk today, nobody seemed to want to smile today. I felt different from them, I felt happy. As for why, I am not sure. I seemed to get happier the more I saw them sad, but that’s probably just my mind making things up this late at night. I’m not an evil person. I just want to go to sleep.

3AM: I still can’t go to sleep. All I can seem to do is think of all of the people I saw today. All I can seem to do is think of all the things I did today. All I can seem to do is think about all of the sadness. As for why, I am not sure. I’m not an evil person. I just want to sleep.

4AM: I can’t sleep. I’m so tired, but I’m so awake. I wish somebody was here to tuck me in, to keep me safe. My thoughts are wandering so far that I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to find them again. I feel so different. I feel like I might have caused everybody to be sad today. I feel like I might have done something wrong today. I feel like I might have ended some lives today. As for why, I am not sure. I’m not an evil person. I just want sleep.

5AM: I don’t want to sleep any more. I looked in the mirror. I don’t want to have to wake up ever again. I looked in the mirror. I’m afraid I may have scared people today. I looked in the mirror. I’m afraid I may have been a monster today. I looked in the mirror, and nothing was different. I looked in the mirror, and nothing was the same. I’m afraid of myself. As for why, I am not sure. I’m not an evil person. I just want to die.

6AM: I can’t seem to die. I feel like all I can do is write. I feel like all I can do is breath. I feel like all I can do is live. I can’t seem to die. What’s the point in living? What’s the point in sleeping? What’s the point in waking? I can’t seem to die. As for why, I am not sure. I’m not an evil person. I just want death.

7AM: Every word I write seems to give me more life, and I can’t help but take it. I can’t imagine how I’m living, but the words keep me alive. I can’t imagine how I’m happy, but the words give me strength. I can’t imagine how you’re still reading, it’s you that keeps me alive. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, your death brings me life. You can’t imagine how I’m feeling, I feel so alive. You can’t imagine yourself living, you just want to die. As for why, I am not sure. I’m not an evil person. All I want is to live. All I want is you to die.

Dear Diary,

Thank you for reading.

–
Credited to Sage.

Nice To Meet You

Hello.

Its nice to finally meet you. Finally? Oh, its uhh.. I’m just overjoyed to have someone to talk to. Oh, I cannot express how happy I am to have this opportunity.
Oh? Why am I so happy? Its really quite simple. The last few years of my life have been torturous. I mean, god… Oh thats a funny saying. God. No loving god would let any of his children go through what I have. But now I have someone to talk to. Oh glorious day!

Oh where to begin? I think it was a day much like this one. I went to the library with some friends to find something to do over the upcoming weekend. We got there just before the library opened and found an hourglass on the stairs. Real ornate looking. Gold encrusted and whatnot. We were pretty bored, so we turned it over, set it down, and got to talking. Few minutes later, the librarian shows up. As it turns out, he showed up at the same instant the last grains of sand ran out of the top chamber.

We didnt find anything at the library, but did have a new hourglass. We spent the rest of the day just hanging out at my place. We talked, enjoying the entertainment the media provides. We figured out the hourglass lasted about forty-five minutes. I cant remember when we did this, but thats about how long. Before it got dark, we went to go for a walk. Nice, leisurely stroll. I remember turning the hourglass over before we left. I mean, not intentionally. We were just playing with it, and I put it down, sand on top. We left. 4.30

One of my friends asked me the time. I remember glancing down to my watch. I was about to say 5.15, but then I heard the screeching of tires. I heard a shriek, and looked up. A car was backing away from us while another of my friends lay crumpled and bleeding in the middle of the road. His neck was clearly broken. We spent the rest of the night at the police station filling out statements. They never caught the driver. Knowing what I know now, I doubt there ever was a driver. Just some car.

Continue Reading…

Polly, The Staring Dolly

On my eighth birthday, I got a present that would change my life forever. It was a beautiful doll that looked a lot like me. That is why my grandmother bought it for me. I named her Polly. However, days after I got the doll, things began to get weird, but I didn’t notice.

I slowly became unsocial, never having kids over. All I needed was Polly to make me happy. She was my best and only friend. I just went to school, and came home daily. I never bothered to make friends, or talk to teachers. I even stopped trying in school. I had been a perfect student until I got the present. Nobody really noticed, though, so I didn’t mind.

After about a week of having Polly, I stopped eating real food. I just didn’t feel right eating normal food, so I would always go out to the backyard (we lived in a forest area), after telling my mom I wasn’t really hungry that night, and find some woodland creature to hunt and kill for dinner. My mom didn’t notice me not eating much, until week three. She even took me to the doctor a few times, asking about what was wrong with me. The doctor always had the same answer. I was at a healthy weight and was not sick. After our third visit to Dr. Cortez, my mom decided I was fine and just going through a “stage” as she called it.

After a month of having Polly, my mom noticed me sleeping in my closet instead of my usual place: my bed. And when she would come to check on me, not only would I be in the closet, but Polly would be in my bed. I would also sleep with my eyes wide open. My mom just ignored it, also saying it was a “stage”.

Three months later, I got a haircut. I wanted a bob, and that is what I got. The creepy thing was, after I got my haircut, Polly’s hair started to fall out. It only stopped when her hair was exactly like mine. My mom then knew things were not right with the doll, but I would not part with it because Polly was my friend. She was the only one who understood me.

My mom also told me that when she was about to fall asleep, she would find Polly right next to her bed. Polly would stare at her intently. My mom would put her back in my room, but always find Polly in the same spot when she went back to bed. Eventually, my mom ignored it. I now know that Polly was checking to see if my mom was still awake.

Continue Reading…

The Blood Mirror

There is rumor of a great palace unfound deep in the deserts in Egypt. A massive complex of four-thousand rooms protects the single most prized possession of ancient Egypt. The Blood Mirror.

It is said every thousand years, a great hero of mankind must make his way down to this mirror, and stand before it in pick blackness at 19:06 June 6th (6/6 – at 6:66) and behold their own death. Their own image appears to slowly distort, screaming a horrible silent scream as their teeth and skin melt away leaving streams of blood to run down the mirror and pool at the bottom.

Gazing into this pool of blood on the other side of the mirror of their own blood will allow them to view the Antichrist’s birthplace, which they will then scream out in horrible screams of pain for an hour and six minutes, before their heart stops.

If the Antichrist isn’t stopped, all of mankind is doomed to an even worse fate.

it has been exactly 940 years from June 6th since this last happened, the next date is 2066, but the location has been lost. The hero will find this place, but we must be there to hear his screams, or we are lost…

06/06/2006