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February 2015 Discussion Post: Favorite Creepypasta Genres & Topics

February 1, 2015 at 12:00 AM

In the past, I’ve asked for a lot of information about the community’s creepypasta preferences. We’ve discussed our least favorite creepypasta tropes, ranked the best and worst pasta categories, and talked about which pastas we believe are overrated and/or underrated. This month’s topic is a logical progression for that line of questioning:

Which topics and genres of creepypasta are your favorites?

For example, we’ve had a minor uptick in sci-fi submissions (this would be the genre) as of late, and I’ve seen a few people mentioning that they’re specifically enjoying the alien stories (and ‘aliens’ would be the topic). That would be the sort of information that I’m looking for with this question. Do you prefer reading about zombies? Or do you prefer post-apocalyptic fare without the z-word included? Do you always hope to see more pastas with a mythological bent? Or perhaps you’re more into the occult tales? I hope that you get the idea!

This is your chance to let both the aspiring writers that generate our content and myself know which genres and subjects you’d like to see appear more frequently on the site. So let us hear it!

As always: have fun, express yourself, but please keep it polite. Thanks!

The Swiss Apartment

January 31, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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Hello there, I’m writing this all down to try and warn international students about the dangers of studying abroad, and no, this is not some information piece about how you shouldn’t keep too much money on you or not taking rides from strangers. This is a warning of accepting deals that look too good to be true, and the consequences that can come with it. Now, I don’t mean to frighten any future or current international students, I just believe it is important to be aware so nothing like what happened to me that year abroad will ever happen to anyone again.

It was 10 years ago, in my second year of university. I had managed to pull off exceptional grades and was given a once in a lifetime opportunity to be a part of an international study program that was stationed in Geneva, Switzerland. To say the least, I was excited. Before my brain could catch up with itself, I was already packing my trunk and saying goodbyes. The travel and schooling arrangements had all been made but the program called for one job on my part. I had to find a place to stay. It was supposed to be part of the “living abroad” experience to be able to find and choose where you wanted to live, so long as you could afford it.

My family was a run of the mill middle class family, so this is where my friend Matt comes in. Matt and I had been friends since the first day of university and we were both taking most of the same classes. He had also been invited to Switzerland and was in the same financial boat as I was. Realizing we had to find somewhere to stay, it only made sense that we roomed together wherever we decided on so we could get a nicer place and just split rent. This is when we came across the apartment. It was just a 15-minute tram ride from the main train station in Geneva and had more than enough space for the two of us. Interestingly enough, the price of rent was the same as many smaller apartments in the area but we figured since it was listed as an old building, we would maybe just have some small “old building issues” to deal with and thus the lower rent.

Matt and I decided this would be our home for the next year, and with that we signed the contract. It wasn’t long until we were both on the 8-hour flight to Switzerland, the plane was cramped and the food wasn’t great so I was relieved when the plane finally touched down in Geneva. I remember the hot summer weather hitting me like a brick wall when we exited the airport. Matt and I grabbed a cab through the city centre and on to the area our apartment was in. The driver was a bit lost for a while but we managed to get our point across in our broken French to tell him where to go.

We found the apartment building among a long line of residences, this particular one looking more dated than most of the other ones in the row. This made me believe that the “old building issues” I had been thinking about was now coming to life. The landlord had sent us two keys, one for the each of us, in the mail prior to leaving. They were those old fashioned keys, like the ones that prison guards used to keep on a ring attached to their hip. Matt was the first into the building and deduced that there were only three apartments per floor, meaning that our apartment (number 6) was one flight of winding stairs above us. The key fit into the solid oak door of our apartment with a satisfying click and with a strained push, the heavy door opened.

The apartment was nice. There was one bathroom, one large bedroom for us to share, a full kitchen near the front of the space. It was surprisingly big, bigger than Matt and I had been expecting, but for the price we were renting it for, it couldn’t have been better. The bedroom had a bunk bed for us to rest our heads in, it brought me back to the time when I was young and had to share a bunk bed with my older brother. Matt won the coin toss and claimed the bottom bunk for himself since it was easier to get into after a night at the bars. Leaving me no other option, I quickly set up my sheets on the top bunk. About a week later, Matt and I had to start classes at our new school for a year. It wasn’t long until we found our routine and began our lives as temporary Swiss citizens.

It wasn’t long until everything went to hell.

One afternoon after our classes ended, Matt decided he was going to stay and study in the library with a local girl he had met. Not being one to break the bro code, I knew it was my time to leave so they could hangout. I decided to head back to the apartment to get some work done, mid-terms were coming up soon and I needed to get cracking on the homework that had built up. When I entered the apartment, the late afternoon sun had just begun to bathe every room in a warm golden light. I sat down at my work desk in the bedroom and before I knew it, it was time for me to make some dinner. The sun had gone down at this point and the darkness certainly didn’t take its time consuming all the light in the apartment. I turned on some of the lights and decided to make a box of Kraft Dinner for myself. This was a big deal since you couldn’t get it anywhere Europe.

As I stood at the stove stirring, a strange feeling washed over my body like I had just been drenched in ice-cold water. It was the feeling of being watched. It felt different though; this wasn’t the same feeling as when your friend stares daggers at you in class to mess with you. This felt angry, evil. It felt like something did not want me in this apartment. I spun around at the stove and sure enough, there was nothing in the kitchen with me. Being the paranoid man that I am, I checked each room of the apartment, the awful feeling following me everywhere I went. Of course the search yielded no explanation, I was alone in the apartment as far as I could tell. Feeling stressed and a bit silly, I went outside into the corridor of the building for a smoke. I didn’t smoke often but Matt and I would have one to celebrate every once in a while.
Matt came home not more than 15-minutes later to me listening to music in the outside corridor. He asked why I was out there and I just made up some story of needing fresh air and the open-air hallway seemed like the perfect spot. I followed Matt in once he opened the door and oddly enough, the awful feeling was gone. Matt could smell the KD I had cooked and was visibly jealous, that’s when I remembered I hadn’t actually eaten it because I was busy with my apartment investigation. A quick zap in the microwave fixed the KD and we both chowed down. I casually asked Matt if he had been enjoying the apartment, to which he responded with an enthusiastic yes. I then asked him if he had experienced anything strange while in the apartment to which he responded with a thoughtful no. So he hadn’t felt anything like I had tonight, maybe I was just tired from school and freaked myself out. On the other hand though, the experience had genuinely frightened me, and I knew what I felt was real.

Over the next couple of weeks, the feeling came back, more than once. I figured out the only times that I would feel the gaze of something that wanted to hurt me was when I was in the apartment alone, once Matt was in the place with me the feeling would soon vanish. I had stayed late at school one Friday night to study, I had been trying to avoid being in the apartment unless necessary as much as possible, when I received a phone call. Matt called and asked when I would be home; when I asked why he responded saying he was just curious. I told him I’d be home as fast as possible. Matt must have felt it.

When I arrived at the apartment, Matt asked me to step outside for a smoke. While we were out there having our smoke he brought up our conversation from before.

“I think I know why you asked me if anything strange has happened to me. I felt this evil presence following me throughout the apartment, it freaked me out man” he shakily said while taking a drag of his cigarette.

My blood ran cold, so he had felt what I had felt. What could be the source of all this? Ghosts? I was never much of a believer but Matt was shaken up, we decided to not leave each other alone in the apartment for as long as it takes to figure this all out. During the next week, things got worse. Now the malefic gaze would be on us even if we were just in different rooms in the apartment. Just entering the place would send feelings of dread throughout my body. One night as I passed the full-length mirror just outside of our bedroom, something moved out of my peripheral vision and out of view. It looked like a gaunt, black shape slinking in the reflection of the family room, but alas when I did a double take, the figure was gone. I was starting to think the apartment was making me loony.

Things kept up like this for a couple months, Matt and I were frightened of what was happening in our home away from home, yet we were determined to stay as the rent was low and the apartment itself was quite nice. I also had made a discovery in the mean time. The presence was especially strong in the walk-in closet that was attached to Matt and I’s bedroom. Matt even swore he heard a quiet growling within the closet. We shrugged that off however, because the building was so old it probably had a rational explanation such as old pipes.
We were so naïve. Stupid really, we should have left after that discovery. Yet we stayed, torturing ourselves, and ended up putting ourselves through the worst kind of hellish experience one could ever imagined.

One night, around 2am, I awoke in my bunk feeling very groggy. The air in the bedroom felt heavy and ominous, like some impending doom was on the horizon. Suddenly, I felt uneasy and became aware that the presence was there. Even with Matt in the room, who was just underneath me in the bottom bunk. I worked up the courage to lift and turn my head toward the room, looking for the source of this presence who I felt would love nothing more than to kill Matt and me. My eyes felt drawn toward the walk-in closet on the opposite side of the room. My instincts were telling me I was starting to home in on our unwanted guest. I took a long hard stare at the closet door, which was slightly ajar.

What I didn’t expect was for the closet to be staring back at me.

Between the door and the wall was a single eye, devoid of any iris or pupil, making eye contact with me. It was like a white void piercing the dark abyss. A lump rose in my throat as I tried to scream but just as I found my voice the door closed. The door closed. As in some outward force had shut it. Matt awoke with a startle when he heard me scream.

The closet was the home of the evil and whatever I had seen was the evil presence that Matt and I had been afraid of all these months. During a Sunday afternoon, we entered the closet with armed with crowbars and paint-scrapers; we were going to tear this room apart until we found some answers. The walls revealed nothing but old wooden walls that were a bit rotten in places.

The floor was the final straw for that cursed apartment.

We tore up the floorboards and exposed a small hole in the floor, one big enough that we could fit down it one at a time, assuming we actually wanted to go down there. By this point the sun had set and the apartment was starting to get dark. I couldn’t help but feel sick when I looked at that hole, my body and mind were screaming at me to leave now but I needed to see this to the end. Matt and I psyched ourselves up and entered the hole. The drop was probably 7 feet, but a rickety wooden ladder we found in the laundry room fixed that problem. Matt went first and I followed after as soon as his feet touched the dirt floor below.
The smell was the first thing to hit me. It hit me like a truck full of bricks as soon as I took the first ladder rung down. I knew what rotten flesh smelled like, and this was intense even for that horrible of a scent. It was nothing short of a miracle that it never penetrated the apartment. Matt was already retching on the floor as I managed to bring my shirt over my nose. The hole turned out to be a small room. We needed a source of light to properly see our surroundings and thankfully Matt had brought a flashlight. After turning it on we could finally see what we were dealing with. Truth be told I didn’t want to know what we were dealing with.

The flashlight flickered to life. My eyes were instantly assaulted by images of rotting animal corpses, strewn about the room as if a predator had made its home here. Ancient runes adorned the walls, I couldn’t tell what they meant or what they were supposed to do. In the centre of the room however, was an etched pentagram on the floor. I knew enough about the occult because of the supernatural research I had been doing on the side for the past few months to know that this was a demonic symbol. As Matt approached the middle of the room I got the feeling that something was very, very wrong. We were never supposed to see this. The evil presence was here and so strong it felt like a physical being inside the room. I told Matt we were leaving this room now and we started to ascend the ladder. I knew why something felt so wrong, even more wrong than the disturbing scene we discovered beneath our apartment.

Our apartment is on the second floor.

Matt and I reached the top of the hole and opened the closet door into our bedroom.

Where it was waiting for us.

The creature I had seen in the mirror, the one staring at me from the closet, the thing that was scaring Matt and I with its presence for months, was now right in the middle of our room. It stood at about 6 feet tall; its gaunt, black body had arms of the same length that twisted into menacing claws. Its shapeless face had two, unblinking white eyes that seemed to stare daggers through your very soul. The demon had two slits instead of a nose and below it there was a massive mouth; filled with razor sharp teeth and contorted into a hideous smile.

We were both frozen in fear; I felt tears well up in my eyes as I heard Matt whimper a single, helpless word.

“Fuck.”

We slowly backed toward the door and the creature got down on all fours and began to move with immense speed. Its joints cracked sickeningly as they moved. Matt and I took this as a cue to get the lead out and we bolted out the bedroom door, slamming it behind us. I could hear the thing slashing at the wood as we both clambered out of the apartment. I locked the heavy oak door at the entrance to keep it trapped inside. As I threw the key off the edge of the building, I could hear its raspy breathing from inside the apartment followed by a quiet cackle as it slinked back into the confines of its cage. As we waited for a cab to pick us up outside, I took one last look at our apartment. Sure enough, the creature was sitting in the window staring down at us with its disgusting smile. Matt and I got in the cab and never looked back.

We got a moving crew to collect our things for us, there was no way we were going back in that place. Of course they never found a hole in the closet, the only thing that was out of the ordinary was our bedroom door, one worker said it was if one of us had taken a scythe to it. We moved to a house that was up for rent across town, and I did my research on the place before moving there. All was fine for the rest of the year and Matt and I completed our year abroad. We are still good friends to this day except we made a pact. To never talk about what we saw that day. Even thinking about it now could give me nightmares.

I had half a mind to go back and torch the place after. I never do though because getting near that place on its own is asking for trouble. I can’t imagine that any poor bastard that moved in after us made it any longer than we did. Whatever was in that apartment was pure evil, summoned from god knows who or what.

I believe it’s my duty to tell people who plan to study abroad to DO THEIR RESEARCH. If something feels like it’s too good to be true, it probably is. If something feels off with your new home, it’s probably not just your imagination. There are evil things in this world, things that want to frighten, maim or kill any mortal within their grasp.

And sometimes all it takes is a really good deal to put you in grave danger.

Credit To – Spencer Slaney

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At Any Price

January 30, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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Fame. Who doesn’t want it? Maybe some people prefer to stay out of the limelight, but not me. I crave being famous, seek it, fantasize about it endlessly. I can’t stop thinking about it and all the power and worth it would bring to my boring, terrible life. The world would know me all over. Fans would wait in line just for a chance to see me or take my picture. I would be in the newspapers, online, twitter, all media. Almost everyone in the world would at least have heard my name.

The problem was, I had no talent which could make me famous. I can’t sing, dance, write, play sports, and I’m by no means beautiful or a genius. And I didn’t even want to be famous for those things. To me, even those talents seemed too ordinary. There are thousands of people with those abilities. No, I wanted something even more. Unfortunately, there just isn’t much demand for a plain, ordinary, 20-something woman without a single thing special about her. Brown hair, pale skin, totally ordinary face. My life was so completely miserable that I never smiled, something my co-workers felt the need to remind me of constantly. Gee, thanks for pointing that out. I had no idea I never smiled. Perhaps if they could step into my shoes they would stop smiling, too. I am just like almost every other woman my age, except even the plainest of the plain had at least one thing they were good at. Not me. Ms. Average. So boring and unremarkable. How could I ever even dream of being anyone special? It was ludicrous. And yet I couldn’t stop. All day, every day I thought about having a better life. It was my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. How could I have been given such a desire, and then, have no way of making it a reality? It was cruelly unfair.

I became obsessed. Soon the thoughts took over almost every moment of my day. It began to drive me crazy, just a little at first, then more and more as my obsession took hold. I knew I was losing it. What to do? What would you do in my place? I went to a psychiatrist, he just wanted to talk about having low self-esteem and being happy with what I had. How dare he? Did he not hear what was consuming my days and nights? Did he not understand? Be happy with what I had. That advice was so ridiculous it was infuriating. Oh, the rage building inside me. You can’t begin to imagine. Such a desire and no way to bring it to fruition. And medication? Worthless. All it did was make my brain foggy and sleepy. How can I even begin to describe this obsession? Imagine having to think about oxygen, water, or food every minute of your life. This wasn’t just a desire. It was a need. I had to be famous or I would have to end my life. I couldn’t go on this way. Something had to be done.

My mind began spiraling off into unhealthy directions. Who or what could help me with my insane need? What could I possibly do? Try to become a witch and cast a spell on the whole world and make them see me as something I really wasn’t? Ludicrous. Dumb to even consider it. And yet…thinking about the occult made me have another thought. A terrible thought. Could I? Could I follow through with my horrific, evil plan? The more obsessed I became, the more real the idea became. What did I really want? What could I give up in order to fulfill my deepest need?

It was sick. A small part of me knew that, but I couldn’t get my mind off my plan. I knew what had to be done. I would do it and reap the consequences later. Determined, I went to the store and purchased a ouija board. It was the best way I could think of to accomplish what I had to do. Alone in my small, cheap apartment I turned out the lights and set up a ring of candles. Lighting them one by one, I felt a sense of relief I hadn’t felt in years. Finally, I was taking action. Damn the repercussions. This was the only way, and it wasn’t my fault I had been driven to it. I sat in the center of the candles with the ouija board. I’d never used one before, having heard that it was dangerous and that one could never tell what evil forces you might be inviting into your life. But that was what I was counting on. Evil forces to help me carry out my plan.

I asked out loud, “Is there anyone or anything here with me now?”

The planchette began to move slowly. I knew that I wasn’t moving it. This task was too important to fool around. Slowly, the planchette spelled, I A M .

“Who are you?” I asked. Moving a little faster now, it touched the letters, T H E O N E Y O U W A N T.

“Can you help me?” I needed to know for sure. The planchette spun to “yes.”

My palms were sweaty but I was more than ready to see this through. “Do you know what I want?” It answered F A M E. I started to freak out a bit. This was for real. But I knew I could do this, I just had to be specific. I needed to get exactly what I was seeking or all of this was worthless.

I took a deep breath and announced, “You have to guarantee that I will be one of the most famous women ever. People will boast about seeing me. Men will be grateful for the chance to even gaze upon upon my face for a few moments. I will be known around the world for many years to come and my fame will be unparalleled. I don’t care if I have to move through time to get it. Put me in the past. Push me towards the future. Make this happen at any time at all. I don’t care where I am. Make me special and famous.”

Fame…beauty…desire…worth. I would finally be someone special. I would stand out in this messy, grubby little world as better than, someone to be talked about and admired. Better than all those sad, old, ugly women with their pathetic lives that came and went without notice. I would be recognized and adored, just as I always wanted. I would be remembered. It was worth any price. Any.

“Can you do that for me? Tomorrow? Can I wake up tomorrow with all of these things?”

The planchette moved and stopped on “yes.”

I felt a breath of hope and joy move through me like never before. This was it. I could have what I needed. All my longing, my need to be famous for years and years, was about to be fulfilled. Stunned with happiness, I asked one final question.

“What is the price?’ Because there is always a price for such things.

Y O U R S O U L

My heart froze, but I’d known it was coming. I’m sure I wasn’t the first person to sell their soul to the devil to get what they needed. No matter, I told myself. It would all be worth it. I would follow through on this terrifying plan. All that mattered was that my greatest desire be granted.

I whispered, “Agreed.”

And so it was done. I had made a pact with the devil. There would be no turning back, no begging to undo this, no hope of changing the course to come. And I didn’t want to. When I woke tomorrow, my wonderful and special life would start. All the pain would be over and the rewards would begin.

I laid down in the middle of the candles, afraid to sleep in my room lest I wake and find this was all a dream. Of course, I could wake up tomorrow in a mansion or on a private jet traveling to a destination beyond my wildest dreams. It could be anywhere. I sank into a deep, peaceful sleep with a curious smile on my face. A smile. It felt so good. How long had it been since I had smiled?

When I woke up, I could still feel the strange little smile on my face. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings. The faint outline of a handsome young man gazing upon my face in wonder became clear. I couldn’t believe it. Yes! This was the start of my sweet fame. Oh, how I’d longed for this moment and finally it was here. Another face came into view. This was a woman looking at me with a dazed expression. Probably jealous, I told myself smugly. Who wouldn’t be? She looked like the ordinary person I had once been.

I started to hear sounds around me, quietly at first, then rushing to fill my head. I could hear hushed conversations and footsteps echoing throughout what sounded like a great hall. Was I queen living in a castle? I needed to know. I tried to look around the room, but found that I couldn’t. I tried to move my head to see, but it was stuck in place. What was happening? This wasn’t right. I couldn’t even blink. Something was wrong! How could I be famous if I couldn’t even move?

I tried to open my mouth to speak, but it was as if it was sealed shut. I couldn’t move anything. My mind panicked and I tried to breathe deeply, but my lungs were not responding. It was as if my whole body was encased in cement. Nothing was working and I couldn’t feel a thing. All I could do was think.

Another group came into view. This group contained what looked like a family, with small children. “She’s amazing,” the mother said. “Yes”, the father responded. ” II never thought I’d ever get to see her in real life.” They turned to each other and shared a smile. What was happening? I’m amazing but I can’t move? I gave up my immortal soul for this? Years and years of…what?

Another person walked in front of me, an old man with kind eyes who gazed at me thoughtfully. “You know,” he mused to the docent, “I’ve looked at the Mona Lisa a hundred times but I still can’t figure out what the strange smile on her face means. I’ve always wondered what she was thinking about when this picture was created.”

The horror crushed me as I thought of my future. Forever trapped on a canvas. Famous and admired, just like I begged. My last thought, before I descended into true madness, was – never make a deal with the devil. He’ll give you everything you want…and then some.

Credit To – Lucy C.

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Restless

January 29, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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You woke up to a faint clattering noise, wondering what it was. For a moment, you pondered just sleeping through it, but considering it awakened you it could be a better idea to check it out – and rid yourself of a potential cause of insomnia in the process. Putting on your slippers, you made your way to the light switch. The harsh change of atmosphere drove any leftover drowsiness from your head as the bulb in the center of the room flickered to life.

The tapping and clanging continued as you listened to it, trying to identify the source of the noise. It seemed to be coming from somewhere below. Is there someone in my house? you wondered while your heart started to pound. Careful, trying not to make a noise, you grabbed the broom – the first thing to come to mind – from in the corner of your room. It was firm and rigid in your hands and would surely make for a decent weapon.

With every step you took, you were worried the next stair would creak. With every step you took, you were once again relieved that it didn’t, while slowly making your way down. Your foot touched down on the carpet in the hallway, having cleared the most risky obstacle. Cautiously, you snuck towards the living room. The noise got louder and louder as you came closer, leaning slightly towards the door, ready to take a peek and see whether someone was rummaging through your belongings.

The moonlight shone into the room, illuminating someone sitting near the display case, trying to get to the adornments and jewelry inside. The case was still closed, much to your relief; the thief hadn’t had the time to open it up and steal any valuable belongings before waking you up. A sudden reflection of light alerted you to some tool the stranger seemed to be holding. Tap. Tap. Tap.

With the burglar preoccupied, you considered your chances and tightened your grip on the solid broomstick. It was well within your right to defend your own property and, having made up your mind, you quietly snuck in. While lifting the broom above your head, you must have made a noise since the intruder, aware of the danger, suddenly turned around to face you.

CAW! CAW! A flash of reflected light blinded you, making you cover your eyes and stumble backwards. You caught a glimpse of something, but it wasn’t the tool you expected to see – what was it? You stepped back through the door, into the hallway to create some distance between the intruder and yourself before opening your eyes again. What you saw in front of you upon doing so wasn’t human; one half of its face was concealed in darkness but the other was illuminated.

A magpie’s head, made from a dark –almost black – metal, looked at you with eyes made out of gemstones. The metal had many seams and crevices, causing it to move in an innapropriately natural manner as its head tilted. The rubies in its eye sockets, a bloody shade of red, didn’t seem dead or inanimate. Instead, a maleficent intelligence seemed to house behind them, not at all associated with the human body wearing the monstrous piece of armor.

The magpie spread its arms and you recognized the scraping, clanging noise you heard earlier. All kinds of necklaces and jewelry seemed to hang down from the bird’s arms, making it look as if the creature had wings – an intimidating sight, as it slowly stepped towards you. Its beak opened itself, giving birth to a horrific noise. CAW! It reached for you, trying to close its hands around your neck.

Suddenly coming to your senses, you smacked it on its head with the broom, as hard as you could. The wood broke on the hard metal and a painful feeling shot up through your arms, making you drop the useless remains. You ran away, towards the kitchen, reaching for a knife, while the magpie with its ringing metal wings chased after you. Grabbing the largest knife you could find, you turned around. There the creature was, in all its vile glory. You reacted quickly, driving the knife into the vulnerable area of the chest, right under where the metal ended.

For a moment, all seemed lost as the creature didn’t even stagger and instead pecked at your face, determined to cut it up. Slowly, however, the massive metal bird began to collapse, sinking to the ground. One last time it looked at you with deadly intent but then the presence in its eyes faded away, escorted by a loud brattle as it fell.

Relieved, you let go of the dangerous utensil and sat down on the floor, as far away from the dead body as you could. Letting go of your bated breath, you glanced back at the bird, suddenly noticing something was wrong – its metal parts were melting!

You were all too late with your keen observation as you suddenly felt a freezing sensation on your skin. The cold steel agonizingly slowly flowed up your back, over your shoulders, up your neck. You tried to wipe it off, but it stuck to your hands and continued its way to your face. You screamed, yelled, begged of it to let go of you, to leave you be. You rolled over the floor, kicked and clawed at the pearly droplets creeping towards you; all in vain.

The liquid reached your eyes, forcing its way in between your eyelids when you closed them; the cold metal poured into your mouth and filled your ear tubes until you could hear nothing but your own heartbeat, see nothing but darkness and taste nothing but the unpleasantly cold metal folding itself around your teeth. You tried to breathe, but you couldn’t get air. Slowly, your consciousness slipped away, leaving you in a dream-like state as the world around you became visible again in a contemptuous shade of red and a hunger awakens within you – one that can only be satisfied through the most precious of valuables.

That is your story. It has become part of ours now, like you have become part of us. We stand on the rooftop as our wings jingle in the wind and a raw, victorious chant echoes over the city, striking fear into the hearts of the wealthy: we are the magpie; beware our greed.

Credit To – Kay

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Homeward

January 28, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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He stumbled. He knew the way, or at least he was reasonably sure he did, but he had a hard time staying on track.

He fell. He decided to just stay there for a minute, and catch his breath. When he got up, a moan escaped his lips; he didn’t hurt, exactly, but he was frustrated. He looked up at the afternoon sun, and didn’t remember it getting so late. Where did the time go?

He just shrugged and walked it off. Home. That was his thought process; I have to get home.

He’d been drunk before, of course. There were times where he couldn’t remember events from a night of revelry, but he’d never had a substantial blackout before. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what had happened between doing shots at the bar and stumbling around now, at least sixteen hours later. Was he asleep? Where were his friends?

Why did he have only one shoe?

He thought about asking the woman sitting in the park bench. Asking her what? He forgot.

He was so confused, but he felt that he couldn’t possibly still be drunk.

“My god,” he thought, “am I sick?”

The lady on the park bench was pretty. He moved in her direction. She looked past him.

He loomed over her, and she continued to ignore him.

“Hey,” he tried to say, but his words came out a gasp. Tongue tied, he stood there, trying to ask a simple question without appearing to be a fool or simpleton. He just needed to use her phone, if she had one. He grew nervous and agitated; it was like he was stuck in a dream, and he couldn’t get the words out.

All she did was dismissively grunt in his general direction.

He knew when to take a hint, so he kept walking towards home.

He wasn’t tired, but annoyed and hungry. There was a shadowy spot underneath an old oak; he liked how the moss hung to give shade. He sat down, leaning against the trunk. He looked back towards the hotel, but couldn’t see it. Where were his friends? What had happened to the bachelor party? He didn’t remember walking so far, but things had been a mess since waking up.

His eyes wandered the streets around him, and he thought it odd how there was absolutely no vehicle traffic. Cars had stopped in some places, and the roads were completely clear in others. Vaguely, he registered the sounds of alarms and horns blaring in the distance. He saw a lot of folks walking, not seemingly in a hurry, and completely unconcerned about the heat of the day.

He drifted off, tired of thinking, tired of trying to remember and piece it all together.

Awareness floated back to him on the beams of a full moon. He was walking again. Just as confused as earlier, at least he was no longer hungry. He found it odd that he was now barefoot, but he didn’t dwell on it.

He had to get home.

He smiled a little as he remembered being this drunk once before. He was being led back to the hotel from a night on River Street by his less-inebriated friends. He became obsessed with the fact that his wife was missing. “Where did she go? IS SHE OKAY?” he yelled, and he lit out to find her at a full-trot. A keystone cops moment followed, wherein he ran circles around the old weathered brick building that housed a nightclub, chased by four of his closest and dearest. When he finally stopped running (he found her safe and sound hugging a lamp post) the almost-sober of the group ushered the concerned parties to the suite before police could be involved.

Lost in thought, he tripped over something on the shoulder of the interstate.

Wait. The interstate?

Headlights in the distance illuminated his path. He looked down at what nearly made him fall. He couldn’t tell for sure what it was, but it was slippery and smelled delicious.

“A food truck accident?” he thought.

He shambled on towards the headlights, intending to wave them down for a ride. He reached out to them, waving his hands.

The car swerved towards him, and didn’t slow down.

Confusion turned to anger when a side-mirror grazed his arm. He spun around, and landed in the ditch. The car kept going, red taillights in the distance weaving around other vehicles in the dark.

Anger added itself to the perpetual confusion and frustration. He tried to get up, but found his left arm uncooperative. He roared in fury, and slowly got back to his feet.

He looked down, and in the moonlight, his arm hung limply. It was twisted and obviously broken.

“Wow. I must really be blitzed,” he hazily thought.

There was no pain.

He walked on.

Slowly, the miles melted away as surely as his thoughts. Blackouts became more common. Words became disjointed images in his mind, and soon the only two things that he knew were hunger and the need to go home.

Time became a blur, discomfort became a constant companion, and anger colored everything with a hazy white film. Days became nights, and strangers shambled beside him. He didn’t speak. After it became obvious that they would ignore him, he began to return the favor.

He finally recognized the exit ramp for home.

He left the pack of weary travelers that had both welcomed and spurned him, and he refused to rest until he could do so in his own bed.

His wife and children would be worried sick, and the Missus would probably be angry that he hadn’t called. She never really wanted him to go off to Savannah with the boys for the bachelor party, anyway.

These thoughts seeped in and leaked out just as quickly, and it was hard to concentrate. He vaguely remembered being upset that she hadn’t come looking for him, but these complex ideas, too, just became images.

Home. Hunger. Eat when I get there. Rest when I get home. One foot in front of the other, fall down. Get up. Keep going. Home.

Hunger.

Her.

Love?

Longing for her.

Longing for home.

Blackout.

He couldn’t get inside. The front door wouldn’t open. He knocked with his good arm. He beat at the door with both arms in a slow-motion frenzy as frustration mounted and became anger.

Ever present, under his roiling emotions, that hunger kept gnawing at him.

“I’m home, let me in,” he thought he said, but the reality was that only a growl escaped his dried, cracked lips.

He heard crying from inside. Something was wrong! The need to feed flared white-hot, and his fury peaked. He knocked louder, and he yelled for her to let him inside. His arms flailed against the door, and his growls became a constant moan.

Finally, the door opened, and there she was.

He saw a flash of light, but he never realized it was the flash of a muzzle. The sound of thunder that echoed into the pines and elms surrounding their secluded country house never reached his ears; he finally stopped walking, moaning, and longing.

“There will be others. Close the door and let’s get the barricade back in place before they get here.”

“We need to bury him, mama! He’s been missing since this thing started, but now he’s home, and we need to take care of Dad!”

“That’s not your daddy any more, baby. He died weeks ago.”

Under the cover of darkness, as quietly as they could, they laid him to rest next to other family members. Each of them in that shallow makeshift cemetery had been driven by longing and hunger; each of them had been looking for a missing piece of themselves that could only be found back home.

Credit To – Nick O’Caliban

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Late Night Television

January 27, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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It’s Friday evening. Your parents are away for the weekend, and they left you in charge of looking after your little brother while they’re gone. At age seventeen, you’re more than capable of making sure a nine-year-old doesn’t get himself killed. Even though it’s a quarter until midnight, neither of you have hit the hay yet. At the moment, you’re in your room catching up on some homework and he’s downstairs watching television in the living room.

Your bedroom is directly above the living room, so you can always hear the TV through your thin floors. Every action movie, every reality show, every infomercial comes in loud and clear to you. It used to annoy the hell out of you, but you’ve grown accustomed to working with the sound in the background. It hardly ever gets so clamorous as to be distracting. If it does, you just descend your house’s only set of steps and ask whoever’s down there to lower the volume. Or, if you’re feeling lazy, you just holler your request at the floor. They can usually hear you.

Although you’re focused on your work, you’re quite aware of what your brother’s watching. You think it’s a vintage crime drama or something. At the moment you can hear one character, presumably a mob boss or something like that, bragging about how his gang is going to thrash their rivals in an upcoming brawl.

“We’re gonna pound them 'til they look like a newspaper: Black, white, and red all over!” Your brother roars with laughter at that one. Only a kid with his level of maturity could somehow milk a chuckle out of that overplayed pun.

“Ya got that right, Lupo!” one of his underlings exclaims.

Another character says, with a timid voice, “I ain’t sure if we should go through with this. Don’t really seem right to me.” More laughter from your brother.

“You got a problem with the plan?” the head mobster asks. You can tell he’s ticked.

At this point, you’re beginning to lose concentration on your work. You’re curious as to what this show or movie is about.

The other answers tentatively, “No, I just think we oughta—” His words are cut short by what sounds like a scuffle. There’s a shout, and then a succession of whams like someone is being bludgeoned with a baseball bat. Your brother giggles again. You have no idea what’s supposed to be funny.

The reluctant character—whoever’s being roughed up— keeps begging for mercy, but the one hurting him does not relent. The strikes just keep coming. The victim lets out one final plea, but falls silent after you hear something snap, like a broken bone. A sickening crunch immediately follows, accompanied by yet another bay of laughter. After clearing his throat, the leader speaks again. “Anybody else have any objections?” he asks.

No one does. In the silence, you can hear your brother snickering.

The boss speaks up again. “Well, glad that’s out of the way.” He sighs. “Aw, jeez, now I’m all bloody.” That line gets your brother in stitches. He must not get what’s happening, if he thinks that’s funny, you think.

“Gimme me a towel and a bucket of water, Frankie,” the honcho orders. “Then we can toss this piece ‘a crap out on the street. Even the rats gotta eat, am I right?” Your brother bursts out laughing like he’d just heard the funniest joke in history.

This time, your brother's hysterics continue for a little less than a minute, growing noisier by the second. This is getting weird.

You feel a little sick to your stomach. Your older sibling instincts kick in, and you realize your brother shouldn’t be watching some freaky murder flick so late. He shouldn’t be watching it at all, really. It’ll give him nightmares. Heck, if the thing is as brutal as it sounds, it’d probably keep you awake at night, too. Yelling at him to come up and go to bed yields no response. Stubborn kid. You try again. No reply. Perhaps he fell asleep on the couch. You decide to go downstairs and carry him up to his bed.

You push away from your desk and leave your room. The noise from the television stops abruptly as you walk down the hall towards the staircase. Downstairs, it’s dark. The TV’s not on. Your brother’s not on the couch in front of it. You call out his name. No one answers. He’s not in any of the rooms on the ground floor.

Suddenly alarmed, you sprint upstairs to his room and peek in. You find him snoring soundly next to his nightlight. He must’ve gone to sleep a while ago, since there’s no way he could have snuck past you from downstairs undetected. In any case, you’re relieved that he’s all right, and glad he wasn’t poisoning his mind with some horrific late-night televised drivel. Positively relieved, until you realize that there’s no way he could have been watching the television only a few moments ago.

An icy chill runs down your spine. You hear laughter behind you; it’s that same laughter from downstairs that you'd assumed belonged to your brother. Now it is much, much closer.

Credit To – Insaniac

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