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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

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You should probably go visit bogleech.com today.

The Bread Box

Down around fourteenth and ninth, there’s an alley between a parkade and a small office building. Unlike many downtown alleys, this one is clear of parking and transients. In fact, there never seems to be anyone in it at all. There’s never a car cutting through to avoid traffic, never any teenagers looking for somewhere quiet. Despite the presence of loading docks and parking spaces, it’s as desolate as downtown can be.

If you walk down this alley in the winter, you’ll smell rotting meat coming from a dumpster and hear sounds emenating from it that sound like rats. But if you look inside the dumpster, you’ll find that it’s empty other than a plain tin bread box. The bread box will, despite being of a kind not manufactured for decades, be in mint condition.

If you open the box, which you should never do under any circumstances, you will discover that it contains your own severed head. Your head will tell you two secrets and a lie, and then expire.

Attention

Attention:

Please read this sentence aloud: Hello, Molly.

If you read it out loud as I instructed, you should be safe.

If you read it in your head… Molly is now safe, too.

Inside your head.

Gai Kao

There are times in ones life where one feels unsafe. Insecurity permeates their being, and despite their best efforts they cannot quell the fear that builds within them. They seek some form of solace; a refuge against the tumultuous and unpredictable storms that seek to overwhelm them. Some weather the storm stoically, holding to some deep-rooted faith, divine or otherwise, that this moment will pass. Others lose what vestiges of their sanity remain, their paranoia evolving into madness…a thunder of sorts to match the lightning of this overpowering gale. But there is a third option, one known to only a few. The Taiwanese call it the Ritual of Gai Kao.

To engage in this age-old rite, you must first be riding the waves of sadness driven before this chaotic storm. When you feel you are at your most desperate, seek out a place that is often frequented by many people at once. The patio of a coffee shop, a bowling alley, an RV park…any place where the traffic of humanity has left the residue of souls. These are places of great power, and will aid greatly in your efforts. It is also easier to do just prior to 8:24 PM on October the 26th, as that is when the Kao is at his greatest strength.

Once there, sit calmly and engage in a mundane activity. Reading the newspaper, stirring your coffee, something like this. Do NOT speak to anyone, or your efforts will be in vain. You must be in a meditative state, engaging in only such mindless activities so that your mind can focus on the worry at hand.

Soon you will become keenly aware that the sounds of the world have dulled. The crappy coffee shop music is gone, the sound of crashing pins has faded, the engines of vehicles lost in the void. At this point you MUST look down. This symbolizes the approach of Gai Kao, the spirit of security, and to not show your reverence by averting your gaze will result in the most dire of consequences. From this point on you must do EXACTLY what I say. Do not deviate; I will tell you what will happen later if you do.

Continue Reading…

Last Will

This is my last will…I’m recording this now. I don’t have much time left. Well…not so much of a will, really. Everyone I know is dead, missing of seconds away from death.

I don’t know how it went so wrong. It was supposed to be something that would grant me eternal wealth, riches and longevity. Something that I heard was supposed to be how Caesar rose to power. Me being the idealistic man that I am, I decided to try it. The information was scattered far and wide. On top of Mount Everest, inside the 5001st paving stone on the Great Wall – everywhere imaginable. Everything fit together precisely and beautifully. This is how it works.

Go into the “slums” of your city and wait for midnight to strike. You must bring along three items – a coin that was made on the year of your birth, an object that holds music – like a CD, a tape or an MP3 player and the left eye from a two-week-old puppy. Stand on any street and wait exactly five minutes. If you did it correctly, there will be the sound of a single footfall behind you. You must then place the items on the ground, say your name aloud and then walk straight ahead for five minutes. Not sure what you’d do if there’s a wall or a bend in front of you. Follow the curve of the road or go around the obstacle maybe? Anyway, there’s no time to muse over the small details.

If you’ve followed those steps to the exact letter, you’ll get great power and life and all that in a couple of days. After that, you’re set for the rest of your life. If you didn’t…well, that’s where I am now.

Wait. Did you hear that? A sort of…squishing sound? Like wet…I don’t know. The mic on here probably isn’t powerful enough to pick up those sounds. After I didn’t get my wealth and power, I did some research on this particular ritual. It’s not some crappy internet meme like Candlejack or the strange Creepy Pastas on old rituals. It’s powerful stuff – old black magic. Old…as in really old. If what I’ve read is correct, this stuff was considered old when Rome was the only world superpower. Some of the reports have crude drawings of the thing that appears behind you. HP Lovecraft has nothing on those images. I’ve also read reports on what happens to those like me…the ones who fuck up.

Continue Reading…

The Eye

It’s late. You shouldn’t be up like this, you know.

It’s not healthy, surrounding yourself in utter darkness, with nothing but a dull monitor to illuminate your surroundings, utterly defenseless. Your internal conscious could already be laughing at me. You could be thinking to yourself that you are entirely aware of where this is going. Well, it’s your funeral.

I’m here to warn you. In precisely four minutes and thirteen seconds, something will catch the corner of your eye. You’ll turn your head sharply, attempting to focus your vision. Your cat will slink past, wryly waving its tail. Your relief will overcome you, as you gently welcome your feline companion into your lap. In exhaustion, the poor animal will collapse, a purr of contentment filling the air.

As you continue perusing the internet, you will notice something strange about your pet. You look down, to notice a note has been tucked into its collar. It’s blank. You question this, but return to the internet. Your cat shivers, stretches, and jumps from your lap, scurrying off. The note, which you’ve conveniently placed next to your computer, begins to bleed with dark ink. You open the crumpled paper, holding it to the light of the monitor. It’s then that an illustration of an eye will appear.

It’s then you realize that you don’t own a cat.

Now, this is retribution. If you have any hope of saving yourself, find a scrap of paper. Draw the eye.

Turn off your monitor. Surround yourself by darkness. Don’t you dare close your eyes. Blink, and this will all be for naught. You will be dead before you even felt your eyes close.

Kneel. Fold the illustration, and place it within arms reach of you. By now, you should feel it on you. The eye will be watching. It will choke your breath. You must try. Utter the following: “I can see you.”

Drop the illustration, and return to your computer.

I’m sorry to say, the watchful eye will never cease. You will always feel it. It’s watching you now.

Nice shirt.

He Waits for You

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?

Continue Reading…

Happy Halloween?

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

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

The Elevator

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.

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Credited to Flea.

Olfactory

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.