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Her Protection

In every major town and city, there is a house of which no official record exists, and whose windows have been boarded up for longer than anyone around can remember. The previous occupants, if there ever were any, are untraceable, and no organisation or individual will ever lay claim to the plot on which it stands.

Nevertheless, when you break in–always through a back, ground-floor window; you must never touch the outer doors–you will see amongst the dust the signs of inhabitants long gone. A flattened cardboard box, an overturned child’s cot, balding patches on the carpet where the pile has been worn away. Invariably there will be an orphaned double mattress in the master bedroom. What you will not see, however, are rats and cockroaches, or animal waste. Vermin know better than to come here.

These are Her sacred spaces.

The first time you visit, bring only what you need to help you enter the house. Then locate the master bedroom, stand in the centre, and draw an unbroken circle in the dust around your feet. Make it about a metre in diameter to be safe.

Face the doorway and say aloud; “I wish to make a sacrifice. Will you welcome the offering?”

Then leave as quickly as possible. You must not return until night has next fallen.

This time, bring nails, a hammer, an empty litre bottle, a sharp, sturdy knife, and a torch. Enter the same way you did last time. Remember the mattress in the master bedroom? Someone will be sleeping there. Don’t worry about waking them up; She has taken care of that for you. Turn the sleeper over onto their back and cut their jugular vein, making sure to collect as much blood as you can.

You will need to pour a little of the blood onto the floor of every room, including this one, but make sure you have some left at the end. When you’ve finished, leave by the same way you entered, and close up the boards again. (This is what the hammer and nails are for.) Walk home. Speak to nobody on your way. When you get there, tip some of the remaining blood into your right hand and smear it over your door handle before you enter. Then go to bed.

If there is any blood left, you must pour the rest of it onto any pavement in the city, but do not allow it to be poured down a drain. The knife you must never use again, and should bury. Do not trouble yourself with covering your tracks. When you next leave your house, the blood on your door will be gone, and the murder you have committed will have no repurcussions. From the moment you leave Her temple, DNA evidence will never again implicate you; law enforcement will creep around your footsteps without touching them. On cameras, your face will show up a blur.

You are under Her protection now.

Just make sure you get the right house.

The Feeling

Go to any mirror and put your hand against the glass. Don’t worry, nothing will grab you. Wait. Sometimes it takes half a day, sometimes it takes a moment. But you’ll yank your hand away when you feel it.

Worms or centipedes, who knows? All pressed in tight like there’s no more room on that side, wriggling against your skin. When you pull back, the glass is the same and you’ll be unharmed.

But now you know it’s there.

Scribblings In The Well

These bizarre instructions were found etched into the wall at the bottom of an old well, somewhere in rural Germany. They have been translated to the best of my abilities:

Somewhere in Europe, there is an empty field of grass. Amongst the long, unkempt grass is a wooden hatch in the ground. The hatch guards an old storm shelter, but this is not your destination. In order to gain access to the alternate opening, you must spill your own blood over the doors. You will awaken at the edge of field; the doors will now be made of rusted iron. You may now enter the hatch.

There will be a long, narrow shaft stretching deep into empty darkness. You must climb down a ladder fixed to the northern wall, keeping your eyes upward at the opening.

If you are to glance downward into the darkness, then return your gaze upward, you will find yourself ten rungs away from where you started. If you look any longer downward, the echoing sound of someone climbing up the ladder will reach your ears, and a rotten, weather-beaten version of yourself will pull at your legs until you fall.

After an undetermined amount of time climbing down; your feet will reach a floor. Keep facing upwards, if you look at your feet; there will be no floor. You must now choose your path.

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Trick Or Treat

Don’t bother trying to find it. You won’t find anything about the name of the town or what happened here. This manuscript will be found long after the events that transpired in this place, but I hope against everything else that you’re someone in a position of power. I pray to God himself that you can prevent this from ever happening again, but I don’t want to give you too much credit. Like me, you are only human, after all. They are not. They’ve been around for a very, very long time.

Fat chance, really. You probably don’t want that responsibility, and even if you did take it upon your shoulders to track them down, you can’t single-handedly stop the children. Their manipulators are not “on the grid.” Whoever engineered this is in control of the world on a very disturbing level.

This is what I want you to do. Read these pages, if they’re still legible, and take what you will from them. Don’t go on a wild goose chase, and realize that when you find this book that it will not be in the place where I left it. They’ll move it somewhere else, to deceive you. I’ve left my mark on a tree there. Only then, when you see my name, will you know, “this is the place.” You may have even heard of it in the history books, but be assured, any rumors on Wikipedia or Google pages that you pull up will be guess-work at best. None of them are even close to the truth. When you find the place, there may already be another town just like it. That’s what I’m trying to stop. If we’re not successful, then just realize, above all things, that evil exists. I’m not talking about bad people, or tragic accidents. I’m talking real, intelligent, ancient evil. It is calculated, and it is always one step ahead of you. Should you decide to take my place and become the paragon to prevent the corruption of the hearts and minds of children, I thank you in advance.

I told you that I’m human. I lied. I used to be, before All Hallow’s Eve on that fateful night. I’ve been alive since then, far longer than any human being, and the reason is because I love children. I’ve always loved them in their purity and their innocence. That’s why I was taken in by their ruse. That’s why I’ve finally decided to put all this down, centuries later. I won’t be here much longer, and someone has to take up the burden.

I’ve waited….. until I saw them return. They’ll be back this year. They’re planning the same thing again, and I can’t stop them. Again, I can’t expect that much from you, but I’m only giving you all this so you’ll believe me. I have to be believable. If you think I’m crazy, you’ll throw this in a garbage can, and more people will disappear. It’s time to tell you what happened. I’m rambling.

Back then, All Hallow’s Eve was the time for evil’s ascension. You’ve all forgotten. If you left your house on that night in the old country, you were a devil worshipper. “Halloween” was not the term we used. We fled to the shores of this country because we were persecuted for our lifestyle choices. We worshipped nature, the changing of the seasons, the solstice of spring, autumn, winter, and summer. In the purest sense of the word, we were druids. Our names and accents were English, but we were servants of the earth.

We were some of the first to celebrate it as a holiday. The natives here were puzzled by our behavior, but also frightened by it, and so they left us alone. They misunderstood. We were not the ones to be afraid of. At the time, I was relieved. They’d attacked us in our settlements, time and time again, but as it drew closer to the end of October, they stayed away. Maybe in their own noble bonds with the earth and soil, they knew something terrible was on the horizon.

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Inspiration

You know those long, involved ritual creepypastas, the ones that involve a million different steps, the ones where if you breathe at the wrong second you die? Ever wonder who figured it out? It couldn’t
have been trial and error - you don’t get a second try at something like that.

The answer’s actually pretty simple. Nobody figured it out.

He already knew.

There’s… an entity, I suppose you could call it, although I always think of it as a him. A little boy, to be exact. He seems to enjoy playing around with people, you see.

And he knows all the rituals, or at least all the real ones. So sometimes he spreads out the information. Ever felt inspired to write some piece of horror that seemed to contain elements that didn’t even
exist in your nightmares? Ever had a disturbing idea for some horrible but compelling rite, that seemed to ‘just come to you’? It might have been him working through you.

If you get one of those flashes, write it down and post it. I can’t guarantee your health if you don’t - he can be awfully persistent about getting his little messages out, and even if you’re just babbling it to your safe padded walls you’re still saying it.

But, at the same time, if you get one of those flashes… halfway through writing it, stop, open up the instant messenger of your choice, and IM yourself. If all you see are your own normal words echoed back at you, give up there. Either it really is just your imagination that gave you the idea, or he doesn’t want to talk.

But if the message comes back with odd typos that weren’t there before, or new capitalization, or different punctuation marks… well, I’m sure you’ve seen enough pasta with puzzles in it to know what to do to find the message and respond.

If he likes you, or finds you amusing, he’ll talk to you directly there. If he gives you a new puzzle… keep going, but be careful. They get harder and harder, turning from simple wordplay to numerology
to esoteric mystical references to God knows what else, but also more and more compelling. It’s harder to just close the window and walk away, and the feeling that you’re just about to reach a solution never eases. And so the next time some poor soul’s found slumped over their computer, killed by starvation and exhaustion and neglect… well, maybe it was just some game, right? But maybe he just wanted to solve that one damn puzzle.

If he does greet you directly, you can name three things you desire - any three at all. He will give you, in complete detail, rituals to achieve those three things - if you’re lucky, it will be a single rite that grants all three. They may be dangerous, but they will be clear and detailed paths to gain what you want through paranormal means.

But, of course, there are catches.

The first: you have to spread the rituals on. You can embellish them as you wish, add your own spin, even lie outright, but you have to leave the goal and most of the steps intact, and you have to put it
somewhere where people will see - a forum, a notice board in real life, on the door of a building, wherever. The more popular it is, the happier he will be, and you want his blessing.

Because the second catch is that he always omits some key step. As long as you’ve posted the ritual up in public, you will know when the time comes what that step is - but it could be anything from drawing a simple squiggle to murdering your true love in cold blood. You could have to give up your soul, or mutilate a limb, or drown yourself… or you could just have to hop backwards two times. And you won’t know what it is until you’re buried deep in the rite, unable to stop.

So when you talk to him, be nice and friendly, and make sure you amuse him. He’s kind enough, most of the time. Just a bit mischievous.

How did I learn all this, you ask?

I don’t really know. It just came to me. Inspiration, you could say.

The Only Sensible Ritual Pasta

You wake up to find yourself lying flat in an unfamiliar and utterly filthy room. Your head pounds as you sit up and survey your surroundings.

“Ohhhhww. . . What hit me?”

You notice the room is dimly lit by a hanging bulb that threatens to flicker out any moment. Large piles of debris are scattered about the small room, and there are no windows.

“Hey, who said that? Where am I?”

To your left, right and straight ahead of you there are sinister looking doors. You do not fully comprehend your situation, but you must choose one of these doors. One door-

“Hey! Are you ignoring me?”

-Leads to salvation. One leads to an endless maze of halls and passages that will trap you forever, and the third leads to eternal damnation. You must-

“Wait, what? Are you serious?”

YOU MUST CHOOSE A DOOR.

“Why? The exit’s right there.”

In the cold, frightened core of your heart, you know that there is no escape from the desolate predicament you now find yourself in.

“Dude, the doors right there. It even says so. See? ‘Exit’, right on the front. Big letters too.”

After a moments struggle, you come to realize the futility of resistance and return once more to the crossroads of passages. There is no way out.

“Only because some bastard locked up the exit-”

You grumble to yourself as you contemplate-

“It was you wasn’t it? Jerk.”

CONTEMPLATE YOUR FATE.

“Fine, fine. Eenie, meenie, miney. . . That one.”

-You say to yourself as you chose the door to your left. Unbeknownst to you is that that particular door leads only to misery, death, and the destruction of your very soul.

“What? Oh HELL no!”

A sudden burst of intuitive clarity causes you to leap away back before the door closes behind you, sealing your fate.

“It wasn’t intuition, you just said-”

You must make your choice between the remaining two doors.

With a sigh, you go towards the one in the middle.

“I know what I’m doing-”

You mutter-

“-I don’t need you telling me. Prick.”

You take hold of the doorknob to the passage that will lead you to wander the maze for all eternity, oblivious to the fate that will soon befall you. Deathless, mindless and hopeless, your rotting corpse will still walk on long after-

“Gah!”

-You cry as you once again leap back from your choice of passage.

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Keeper Of Eternity

Over the past millennium, science and medicine has advanced so far as to put miracles in the hands of men. Many of the diseases that were fatal merely five hundred years ago now have cures or at least treatments thanks to the brilliant minds of man. That being so, there’s still one fatal infirmity humanity has yet to overcome, and that’s mortality.

For those devoted enough, however, there is yet a way. Located just off the East Coast of North America somewhere is a shrine dating as far back as the earliest recorded civilizations. Lost to the ages now, there is but one path to this shrine, and it still sends its call, as if daring the hardiest of man to make that perilous voyage.

If you find yourself in Savannah, GA someday and think you’d like to play your hand at immortality, simply hop in your car and continue east out of town along E President Street and continue along it until it turns into Islands Expressway. If the forces deem you worthy, or if they’re simply in the mood to watch in amusement as you throw your life away, the sky will darken with rainclouds–even if it was clear and blue only moments before–and the forest about you will seem to glow. Keep your eyes peeled and you should see a turn-off into the woods a few minutes after this happens.

Now if you’re carrying a map you’ll probably notice this path is not indicated anywhere on it, but pay that no heed. Continue along the tight and densely overgrown path at a slow pace, for if you go off the road here, you’ll have no hope of ever finding your way out of this forest, and no tow-truck will ever find the turn-off to come retrieve you. Simply follow the path before you–for while there are many bends, there are no turn-offs from this one. The trees will only grow denser as you progress, until the limbs scrape like fingers along the top of your vehicle (you should probably note that it would be a very bad idea to undergo this journey in a convertible).

Eventually, after approximately forty-five minutes to an hour of driving, you should come to a dead end, where the trees tighten about you like a noose around a doomed man’s neck. If you have a GPS system in your car it will proclaim that you’re about fifteen miles into the Atlantic Ocean. Do not attempt to reverse at this point, for you’ll find that the path is no longer there. Check your watch, or your phone, or your car’s read-out for the time, for regardless of the time of day not a single ray of light will spill through these densely packed trees. If it is dark out, or if it will be dark out within the next few hours do not open your door, and do not turn off your headlights. You may turn off your car every so often to save gas, but you’ll want to crank it up again periodically to keep your battery from dying. If you let down your guard in this forest at night, you’re as good as dead.

If you were wise enough to start this trip early enough, and it’s still light out, you may exit the car at this point. You’ll notice the trees around you leaning in your direction, as if peering down at you curiously. In a loud assertive voice proclaim, “I am here to claim my fate, and none here shall stand in my way.”

You’ll hear a sound behind you. When you turn to look you’ll notice a small path that hadn’t been there before. Do not hesitate, do not question it, simply walk purposefully forward and start down the path before you’re trapped in that clearing indefinitely. The path may wind drastically, depending on which way you were facing when it was created, simply continue walking and do not look back, no matter how loud the rustling gets behind you.

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Sever The Cord

Many have speculated that the plane in which we live is not the only plane in existence. Those who say this will usually then go on to ponder realms of mystery and wonder. The truth is, there is a second plane, but it is not filled with the euphoric images that most people conjure up. However, it is not filled with horrors, either, rather, it is a perfect emulation of our world. There is no difference at all. Whatever exists in our plane also exists on the Second Plane. Even you exist on the Second Plane. In fact, those “copies” of ourselves, those extra-dimensional clones, are bonded to us. Whatever action we take, they take, and vice versa. That means that, in the other plane, that other you is reading this right now.

In this Second Plane, there is only one difference. A God resides there, though some may call him a Devil, watching over the mirrors of those in Our Realm. This God has no mirror. He resides only in the Second Plane. Our “Copies” cannot see him, either, for unknown reasons. But he can see them. He knows what they are doing. Therefore, he knows what YOU are doing. There is only one way to escape this constant watching, but it could come at a terrible price.

Stand before a mirror. You see your reflection? That is your Copy. Look him straight in the eye, and will with all of your might that what you see before you is not YOU; rather, it is a perfect emulation of you. As soon as you have made this mental breakthrough, turn off the lights. Wait a while, about two minutes should do. Then, turn them back on. Your reflection will be gone. You have just severed the bond between you and your Copy. You can no longer see him, but he exists. Now, however, you will be free to do as you please, without your Copy mirroring it, and without the God knowing what you are doing. You could murder a thousand people, and walk without fear of retribution.

However, it is not recommended that you do this. As you sever the bond, the same decay that effected the bond will eat slowly up the remnants of one side of the “cord”. As it reaches whichever you was on that particular side, it will begin to eat away at its soul. Whichever version of you is effected will become sicklier, paler. It will stink of death, its movements will become stiff. As it nears the final stages of this illness, it will become merely a shadow of itself.

It becomes a ghost. Cursed to forever roam whatever existence it resides in, a shattered soul and lost cause. However, if it is not you that is affected by this illness, but your Copy, you will walk free. You will walk without judgment. You will be a God among men.

But be careful, for if that disease eats up your side of the cord, you will fall prey to its effects.

Trust me. I know.

The Socratic Method

A secret society meets once every three years at a small diner in West Virginia. To join, you must come to the American Grill diner located in Cricket at 9:30 PM on September the twenty-first. The only uniform is a heavy overcoat and a green tie. Order an “Eggs and bacon platter with coffee.” The waiter will tell you that the breakfast menu is unavailable, reply, “Well, just the coffee then.” You’ll be allowed to stay after closing time for the meet. The meeting itself is a meeting of minds and philosophy regarding immortality. The society is called “The Socratic Method.” They hoist their mugs at the beginning and end of the meeting and say “Death to Socrates.” It’s rumored a little hemlock is added to the first cup, and an antidote to the last.

Incense

I heard stories of this ritual happening throughout the Internet and decided to try it for myself since the tasks are not hard to do and the payout is worth the trouble. The materials to complete this task will cost around 10-15 dollars, which can be earned from working any sort of job. I’ll save the reward for the end because the sacrifice will go along with it, and telling you now might deject you from attempting this ritual, but I assure you that it is well worth it. Failure to either complete this ritual or doing a step wrong will not harbor any sort of consequence short of losing 10-15 dollars of regular money depending on how far you get through the process. The only time limit is that the shop will only be open between 9 at night and 6 in the morning.

The first thing you will want to do is find the small incense shop that will sell you the materials. The shop will be present in any sort of city, or so I’m told. As of now, the cities that definitely have the stores are Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Chicago, Miami, Seattle, Washington D.C., San Antonio, and Salt Lake City. If you find one in your city and it’s not listed above, you may retell this story and include your city, but only if you want to, if not, whatever. The shop will not be attached to any other store and will be located in the outskirts of the city. It will not have any sort of neon sign and will not advertise at all. You can tell if you’ve found the correct place if it has one of three marking near the entrance. It’ll either have a) a red door with a gold eye painted on it b) A small wooden plank with an eagle on it with a golden eye painted onto said eagle or c) a welcome mat with the eagle mentioned above painted on it. The eagle means nothing, but the eye is supposed to signify a calm mind. When you’ve found the place, merely enter the shop. There is no special knock, password, or any other fancy shenanigans. It was pretty nice actually, considering the fancy antics that you have to do with most of the other rituals.

Upon entering the shop, you’ll notice the faint smell of aroma. There will be no music playing, though you may hear other costumers in the shop. It you do hear other costumers, leave the shop and come back the next day. You’ll approach the counter and ring the bell. An intimidating black man will come out of the black room and ask you what you want. You’ll tell him that you want three distinct kinds of incense in a commanding voice and lay a five-dollar bill on the table. You must specifically ask for “Satya Sai Baba Nag Champa Agarbatti”, “Satya Super Hit”, and “Sri Sai Flora”. He’ll go into the back room and retrieve the incense. When he returns, he’ll take your five dollar bill and ask if that’d be all for you. You’ll tell him no and slap another five dollars on the table. You’ll then ask for an incense box to go along with your incense. He’ll go into the back room once again and retrieve a normal wooden incense box, which will be about two feet long, and have holes cut into the top. There may be a pattern near the bottom of the box, but that is unimportant. Inspect the box. If it is in perfect condition, place it back on the table and ask for another one, but take your five-dollar bill back and slap a ten down. He’ll take your ten and take the box back into the back room. He’ll come back out with another box. This box will have a broken hinge, but will still open and close. You are to tell the man that this box is perfect, collect your things, and leave immediately. There have been records that the man will give you the broken box first and you’d end up saving $5, but it didn’t for me, just fork over the other five and don’t complain (I’m serious…DON’T COMPLAIN).

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