He Waits for You

November 1, 2008 at 5:50 PM
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As the dead of winter approaches, you may find yourself alone at night, feeling isolated and abandoned in an all-too-empty bed as the night grows ever bleaker. Ghastly shadows, dancing across the wall. The crying wind battering against your window. An ambulance siren in the distance. And there’s no one there to convince you that you didn’t hear those gunshots. There’s no one there. No one there.

But do not be afraid. He waits for you.

Wait for the moon to hide itself, perhaps behind a gathering of clouds. Midnight is the best time to do this. Just close your eyes and hold your breath as you leave your bed. You may open your eyes once you exit your bedroom. Get dressed if you like, because you’ll be leaving your house soon. Take nothing with you, except for what you can keep in your pockets. Then, drive out of town. Drive as far away from civilization as you possibly can. Eventually, the air will become still. Then a dense fog will form just a short way down the road. You will hear nothing but silence as you approach it. Let it consume you and your vehicle. No harm will come to you from it. I promise.

Do not be afraid. He waits for you.

The fog will lift. You will see a dimly-lit motel, stranded and alone in the night. Just like you. As you walk inside, notice that there is no one else there. The only sign of human inhabitance will be a small key on the front desk. Take these keys. Wander the corridors until you find the proper room. You will soon know exactly where it is. But you won’t know why. Use your key to enter this room. Walk in, and lie down in the bed.

It’s no more comforting than your bed at home. There’s nothing but pure silence for miles. Death hangs in the air all around you. And it’s so cold. You’re still alone. And frightened. But it’s okay. He’s frightened, too. And it’s just so cold. Cold enough to hold the pillow close to your body, burying your face in its softness and embracing it. Pretend that it’s a lover all you want; you won’t feel any safer. But you will feel… warmer?

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Happy Halloween?

October 31, 2008 at 7:54 PM
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i am a heron. i haev a long neck and i pick fish out of the water w/ my beak. if you dont repost this comment on 10 other pages i will fly into your kitchen tonight and make a mess of your pots and pans

(couldn’t quite find anything worthy of being the halloween pasta, so we’re going to the opposite extreme. hope everyone has a good night!)

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The Elevator

October 30, 2008 at 11:03 AM
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In a dilapidated office building somewhere in Connecticut is one of the few elevators in the Western world that has a button labeled ’13′ amongst its choices of floors. If you enter after midnight, crawling through the loosely boarded up window on the South side of the building, you will find the elevator doors standing open, with soft florescent lighting and muzak spilling from it, even though nothing else in the whole of the building seems to have power.

You can, if you choose, pick through the debris of raucous teenaged parties and office meetings past. The path seems to be mostly cleared through the broken, dirty, stained and vintage office furniture and burned out joints, cigarettes and crushed beer cans, all the way to the light in the door.

All of the buttons work in the elevator, and will take you to its designated floor–despite the creaking of the cables–though there seems to be a layer of grime on their plastic covers. All but the button labeled ’13′, which seems to glow brightly.

No one’s quite sure if that one goes to the thirteenth floor. But there’s a story about a group of high school teenagers who had a party after their prom there, in the early nineties. A dare was made, and four of them piled into the rickety elevator, taking it to the thirteenth floor. When they came back down again, they were pale and shaking, but all of them swore they’d seen nothing more than a normal office floor, covered in dust and shadows. Two of them died in an accident on the car ride home that night. Another, three weeks later, took a bottle of pills from the medicine cabinet, climbed into a hot bath, slit her wrists and dropped her hair dryer into the water with her. The fourth disappeared from the face of the planet two months later. None of them said anything of what they’d seen on the thirteenth level of the building, and when asked, would only ascertain (loudly, if necessary) that nothing had happened.

But you can, if you so choose, crawl in through the window and see for yourself.


Credited to Flea.

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Holder of Nothing

October 28, 2008 at 6:47 AM
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In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself “The Holder of Nothing”. Should a look of sheer, primal disgust mar the workers expression, you will then be taken to a separate building, which appears to be an old, wooden outhouse. Inside will be a seemingly endless corridor far, far longer than the length of the outhouse.

There will be no sound in the corridor. Attempting to make any at the wrong time is a grievous, grievous mistake. You will notice the lights in the corridor get brighter and brighter as you make your way down towards the end, becoming nearly blinding. If at any point the lights go out, QUICKLY shout out “No! Stop! What you are doing is wrong!” while backing away. If the lights do not come back on, bolt for the door you came in through. It should still be open and hopefully you aren’t far enough down the hallway for them to close it on you. If they manage to close it, hell itself would be preferable to what you will suffer.

If the lights come back on, return to walking forward down the corridor. Upon reaching the cell, the worker will open the door for you while glaring at you in disgust. Inside the cell will be a mad pastiche of colors, arranged in several harlequin-like formations. You must not be distracted by them; for at the center of a room is a naked young woman, slathered in blood and bound by strips of human sinew. If you take your eyes off her even for a moment, she will destroy you utterly. She will only respond to one question. “What were they when they were one?”

She will then stare into your eyes, and speak the answer in incredible detail. It will be unlike anything you have ever heard and you will be on the verge of both ecstasy and agony at her mere words. It is not uncommon for most to lose themselves in the euphoria. The worst thing you can do, however, is look upon the tattoo on her chest. It will pull at your mind to gaze upon it, but you mustn’t. If you do, you will be hers.

She will flay you alive and add your mutilated flesh to her bindings, and you will remain trapped with her, fully conscious, for the rest of time.

That tattoo is object 4 of 538. They desire to be one again. But they mustn’t.

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Olfactory

October 15, 2008 at 12:06 AM
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They say that the olfactory senses (the sense of smell) is the sense closest linked to memory. Go on eBay, or to a high-end antiques dealer. Find an item made a good amount of time before you were born that was hermetically sealed, vacuum packed or tightly packaged in some way. Make sure you are in surroundings of completely neutral smell with little or no wind. Open the package. The smell should hearken back to your collective subconscious or memory of a past life.

If you are successful in choosing the right item, with the right smell, you will have at least a memory flash, or likely a memory flood of years before you were born.

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The 50′s Restaurant

October 14, 2008 at 12:02 AM
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In the most deserted part of Wyoming there is a restaurant. There are no roads leading to it, no signs advertising it. It’s just there, in the open. Walk inside however, and you will learn two things. One, it’s jam packed with people talking, eating and enjoying themselves. Two, the entire place looks like it’s a scene from the 50′s including the people, the food, the newspapers, the music, everything. Take a seat, observe the atmosphere, relax.

When the waitress comes to get your order, make it a cheeseburger with mashed potatoes. Afterwards, a red-haired lady should ask you to dance to a tune on the juke-box. Find the song on it that has the same number as your current age, pick it, then dance you heart out. When the song ends, a flash of light with engulf the whole scene, and you will be standing outside your home the following morning. You now should have the power of clairvoyance for the remaining year.

If you didn’t do this correctly, then woe is you. For you also missed out on the best meal you’ll ever eat.

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