Recent Discussion

This Week's Active Posts

October 2015 Halloween Discussion Post + Creepy Funko Pop Pack Giveaway
• Comments: 12 • Twitter: 19 • Facebook: 3
Don’t Think of The Old Hag
• Comments: 8 • Twitter: 3 • Facebook: 19
The Fair Folk
• Comments: 6 • Twitter: 3 • Facebook: 18
Spirit Bottles
• Comments: 2 • Twitter: 3 • Facebook: 20
The Quiet Game
• Comments: 3 • Twitter: 6 • Facebook: 14

Please read the FAQ before using this form!

Your Name (required)

Your Email (required)

Pasta Title (required)

Category (required)

 Aliens Audiopasta/Podcasts Based on a True Story Black-Eyed Children Candle Cove CandleJack CandleWalker Conspiracies Creepy Comics Cthulu Mythos Eyeless Jack Haunted Games Historical Horror Interactive/Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Jeff the Killer Lost Episodes Micropasta Mythology/Folklore Parodypastas Poetrypasta Real-World Creepy Seasonally Spooky Slenderman Smile Dog The Holders The Rake The Russian Sleep Experiment Vampires Video Pastas WHO WAS PHONE Zalgo Zombies

Enter Your Pasta Here


Credit Link

Author Tag: If you have an author tag, please enter it here. IMPORTANT NOTE: This field is ONLY for people who already have existing author tags. If you enter something in this field and your tag does not already exist, this field will be ignored even if your story is accepted. If you fulfill the requirements for an author tag, you must follow the rules on the Author Tag Request form to obtain your own tag.

Terms of Submission: By submitting your story to us, you are giving us permission to post your story on We do not claim any ownership or responsibility for your story beyond that; you retain ownership of your work, you are free to do with it what you wish. Further, you acknowledge and agree that you will not receive any compensation – monetary or otherwise – from us in exchange for posting your story. You are not entitled to any profits that we may receive from advertising or donations. If, at any time, you wish for us to remove or edit your published submission, you must let us know by replying to your submission email with your request - any other ways will be ignored. Lastly, by submitting you are acknowledging that the work you have entered here is your own and not plagiarized or borrowed.
 I Accept

Crappypasta: If your pasta is not selected for publishing on the main Creepypasta archive, do you give permission for us to possibly publish it on our sibling site, Crappypasta? This will allow people to read and provide feedback on your pasta, but be warned - it is not for the faint of heart! Please visit About Crappypasta for more details.
 Yes No

Human Verification: In order to verify that you are a human and not a spam bot, please enter the answer into the following box below based on the instructions contained in the graphic.

Please leave this field empty.

Your Favorited Pastas

  • Your favorites will be here.

Available Beta Readers

Whether you're looking for someone to help proofread and refine your creepypasta or you'd like to offer your help to writers in need of a second opinion, please check out the Available Beta Readers post!

Creepypasta Prompts

Have an idea for a great pasta, but lack the time or ability to see it through? Or do you have the time and the will to write a story, but your personal font of inspiration is running dry? The Creepypasta Prompts page should be helpful to people in both camps!

RSS Stories Looking For Feedback

Popular Tags:

Don’t Think of The Old Hag

October 1, 2015 at 12:00 PM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 7.9/10 (302 votes cast)

It has been six weeks since my first sighting of the wicked old hag. I woke up in the middle of the night and went to roll over, but my entire body was paralysed. I lay there, scared and helpless, contemplating my predicament when I became aware of a presence in the room with me…a presence that I can only describe as pure evil.

I caught sight of a withered old woman at the foot of the bed. Her tall hunched frame was draped in a long dirty gown and wisps of filthy white hair hung from a balding scalp. I channelled all my energy into a desperate attempt to move, but my efforts were in vain. It felt as though I was being pinned to the bed by an invisible force. I tried scream out for help, but my words came out as jumbled whimpers. I could feel her claw-like hands on my legs and my arms as she crawled her way up my rigid body. A crooked smile revealed rotten teeth and her bloodshot eyes were callous and calculating as she stared directly at me.

Suddenly, I bolted upright in bed. I could move again and the room around me was empty. It was just a bad dream, I concluded. I took a few minutes to catch my breath and settled back to sleep.

A couple of weeks later I met an old friend for a drink and a point in our conversation reminded me of my dream.
“I had a scary case of sleep paralysis a couple of weeks ago,” I told him.

“Really? Did you see the old hag?” my friend replied.

An icy chill ran over my body. I hadn’t told anyone about the dream and there was no way he could’ve known what I’d seen. “How the hell did you know that?” I asked with disbelief, my voice quivering.

“I read about it some time ago,” he explained, startled by my reaction. “…A phenomenon known as Old Hag Syndrome where sufferers of sleep paralysis are visited by an entity, often in the form of an old hag.”

“You’re bullshitting me!” I said, incredulously.

He convinced me to look it up, and so when I returned home I typed the keywords OLD HAG and SLEEP PARALYSIS into Google. It returned pages full of results, some of which told of ancient folklore spanning different cultures; others told of personal experiences like my own. To some the entity took the form of an old lady or a witch, to others she looked more like a demon, but they all described the presence of overwhelming evil. Most chilling of all were the accounts in which the hag tortured and molested her victims as they lay paralysed and helpless.

I turned off the computer and tried to put it out of my mind. An eerie mood lingered in the room and I had a bad feeling that unless I could get her out of my mind, she was sure to pay me another visit.

That night I was woken by a piercing cackle and I lay paralysed as that tall and stooped figure emerged at the foot of my bed. She crawled under the covers and up my body before sitting on my chest and peering down at me. She ran her slimy tongue over her chapped lips and made slurping sounds. What transpired after that I cannot bring myself to talk about.

I’ve spent subsequent days browsing forums for answers…for a way out. I am neither religious nor superstitious and I don’t believe anything considered “supernatural”, but scientific resources offer no rational explanation for what I’ve been experiencing – just speculation and scepticism. In some cultures it is believed to be a demonic curse and the entity is brought to life through the power of suggestion. Most victims recall some kind of trigger that worked its way into their subconscious, such as a painting or a friend sharing their personal experience.

I’ve been telling myself, “Don’t think of the old hag!” But as we all know, the harder you try not to think of something the more that thought persists. The visions grow more vivid and traumatising the more I think of her. Some nights she violates me in unspeakable ways and I wake with bruises, scratches and bite marks over my body. Other nights I hear her ragged breathing in my ear and find her lying next to me, grinning and gurgling.

But I think I’ve learned a way to be rid of these visions once and for all. I must plant the thought into the mind of someone else and distract the old hag with a fresh victim. As selfish and cruel as I am to pass this curse on to someone else, I just can’t bear it any more.

Dear Reader, whoever you are, please forgive me!

Credit: Daniel Hammonds

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 7.9/10 (302 votes cast)
LineWhatsAppTumblrFacebookTwitterRedditPinterestGoogle GmailGoogle+StumbleUponShare

A Soft White Glow

October 1, 2015 at 12:00 AM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.4/10 (129 votes cast)

I didn’t want us to move, but my parents didn’t give me a say in the matter. My father’s new job paid much better than anything he could have landed within driving distance of our home in the city, and the new company agreed to hire my mother, too. Not only would she have the chance to go back to work for the first time since I’d been born, but the two incomes would afford us the money to buy a house — an actual house, my father stressed — that even came with some land attached. They promised me it would be a welcome change from our apartment in the city. To them, our home was merely a cramped little space where we lived on top of one another, and that we didn’t even own. It rankled them to shell out more and more money every year to an unseen landlord for permission to occupy space, simply because that person had wealth and we did not. It was if we would not be granted the right to exist if we were any poorer than we currently were.

My parents didn’t much care that I liked being in the city. There, I never had to confront my fear of the dark. A light always burned somewhere in the city — the sky by day, the streets by night.

More than anything, it was the lack of light in the countryside that I wasn’t prepared for. Things weren’t so bad in the daytime, when the sunlight shone in the grass and speared between the tree branches to dapple the ground below. Come nightfall, however, our new home and its vicinity became a different world entirely. The darkness in the countryside was absolute. No matter how long you stared into it, your eyes would never adjust. Unless there were a strong moon in the sky, you would be condemned to blindness once the lights went out, and forced to rely on your ears and touch and imagination until the sunrise restored your eyesight.

I fell into the habit of leaving the blinds in my bedroom open at all times, including at night, so that the sunlight could start streaming in as soon as it breached the horizon.

* * *

We had finished with the move in the spring. The dark and seemingly endless nights in the country had me on edge within a week. I looked forward to the summer and its progressively longer days.

I came to learn that it wasn’t the dark itself I was afraid of, not quite. I hated what it did to my senses. Imagined motions — particularly flurries of static like on the screen of a broken television — rushed over my eyes when they remained open in the darkness and found nothing to draw their focus. My ears would pick up sounds that drove me crazy if I couldn’t immediately put a source to them: the creaking of the house as it settled into its foundation, the yowling calls of animals out in the distance, the lonely and sorrowful moans of the wind through the pines. Then there was the problem of my own body, and discovering that no position in bed was comfortable once I started thinking about it.

Mostly it was the feeling of abandonment I couldn’t stomach. Nothing in my life had prepared me for how isolating rural living can be. In the city, you never want for human contact; the streets are never empty, and the public venues always crowded. In our new home, hidden away among large swaths of field and forest, there was nobody around but us. Once my school day ended, I was effectively done with seeing other people. In the evenings I felt like a castaway marooned in the middle of a sea of grass, and at night, that sea seemed to swell and broaden, pulling me even further from the world I knew and loved.

I never could deal with the overwhelming sense of space the surrounding fields gave me. Open air was not something I had ever experienced in the city. I soon discovered I didn’t like it. What did I care about a bunch of grass? Where other kids my age might want to roam the fields and explore, I found I would much rather stay inside, surrounded by the safety of walls and floors and ceilings and the finite. Plus, there were no mosquitoes indoors.

And there was no computer outside to connect me with the friends from back home that I hadn’t yet lost in my great uprooting. I spent fewer hours basking in the sun than in the glow of my monitor, trying to maintain friendships that slowly slipped away as life happened differently to each of us, and brought my friends new excitements that I had no part in to replace our shared memories.

* * *

“You should eat some more,” said my father at the dinner table. “You’ve lost weight these last weeks.”

I tried to put down seconds.

“Try going outside tomorrow, too,” he added. “You’re looking pale.”

“If I have time, sure.”

It was obvious they worried about me — but not enough to reconsider the move.

“Why don’t you call your friends tonight?” my mother suggested. “They’d be glad to hear from you.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.”

It was easier to tell them what they wanted to hear. I could have mentioned that the silences when I called my friends were now longer than the sentences. Yet somehow it didn’t seem right to let my mother know that my friends and I didn’t have much to talk about anymore.

* * *

In wishing for the change of season, I hadn’t accounted for the heat. We’d always had an air conditioner in our apartment in the city. The new house, however, had no means of cooling down besides opening the windows. I had thought the nights in the springtime were miserable by virtue of their length. I knew nothing of the unpleasantness of summer nights, of simmering sleepless in one’s own sweat no matter how many sheets and layers one shed. Sometimes I caught myself exhaling a low, lonely moan, like I’d heard in the trees.

One summer night, when it was too hot to sleep, I found myself staring through my dark window, wishing the pinholes of starlight above were enough to brighten the earth. They sparkled, winking at me through passing cirrus clouds as if they were teasing me. Some even seemed to descend from the sky, lighting on the fields below. It occurred to me that stars don’t really “fall” like that — despite the fears and warnings of the world’s early civilizations — and I began to wonder whether my mind was playing tricks on me again.

When the fallen stars started to shimmer and flash, I realized what I was actually seeing: fireflies!

I had never glimpsed one before, having only the fakes from movies and television for reference, but I didn’t think there was anything else the lights outside could be. They certainly moved like fireflies, tracing lazy arcs between blades of grass before disappearing into the darkness, and surfacing from the blackness again some distance away. I watched them flit and flicker until I felt tired enough to sleep through the heat.

In the morning they were gone, but the fireflies returned the next night. The soft white glow they trailed through the field’s tall grass gave me a sense of deep comfort, like what children must feel around their night-lights. With each brief flash, I felt as if the fireflies were calling me to play. Few things seemed more fun to me in those moments than chasing the little white motes around. Yet I worried about being eaten alive by the mosquitoes that surely swarmed out there — and about finding my way back to the house in the dark — so I remained indoors.

Inwardly, I was already preparing myself for the season to come, when the fireflies would pass from the field, and into memory and regret. If our abrupt move from the city taught me anything, it was that nothing lasts. It was best to inure myself to it sooner than later.

* * *

The cold season struck early that year, snowing in mid-October before the trees had the chance to drop their leaves. They couldn’t bear the extra burden, and their limbs snapped beneath the loads they were never meant to carry. Oftentimes they took power lines with them, and we spent several days without electricity. The wreckage outdoors looked to me like the world had ended — in ice rather than fire, answering an old question. I wondered how the fireflies had fared in the unseasonable cold, figuring that few of them had survived.

Imagine my surprise when I peered out my window one night at the tracts of snow, faintly blue beneath the crescent moon, and saw clusters of fireflies glittering over their favorite haunt. At first, the sight left me bewildered — how could cold-blooded insects endure the premature winter’s chill? Then again, I knew nothing of firefly ecology. Perhaps they were hardier bugs than I thought. My confusion soon gave way to joy, for the fireflies’ soft glow filled me with the same warm feelings it always had. Their playful glint seemed to promise all the pleasures I had wished for through the years, and never attained.

A thought arrived, unbidden, as if it came from outside of me: that nothing would make me happier than to stand amidst the procession of fireflies in the field, to let their glow wash over me, to reach out and touch the light I’d craved.

I resolved to venture out into the field once the moon was full. With all the fallen snow to reflect the moonlight, it would be as good as daytime; I could find my way back to the house in it easily. And surely the cold snap would have killed off all the insects out there that wanted to drink my blood.

* * *

Before the end of the month, the night came when the moon shone full like a silver sun. I waited until my parents had gone to sleep. Then I headed downstairs, put on my snowboots and bundled myself in my winter coat, and went outside. The glassy scent of the cold shocked my airways and stung my lungs as I trudged toward the firefly field. The blanketed snow muted every sound, making my footsteps seem yards away, and my breath belong to somebody beside me though I saw it cloud and disperse before my eyes. In the distance, the fireflies rose from the ground like snowfall in reverse. Even through the frigidity of the air, the sight of them warmed me. I picked up my pace.

As I neared, the fireflies drifted away from me like dandelion tufts on a breeze. I thought I had startled them, so I slowed my approach. I crept toward them, planting my every step lightly enough that the thin layer of frost over the snow made no noise as it broke beneath my weight. The fireflies retreated, but less than before. A few cautious steps later, and they hardly moved at all, floating in space as if I were not there. They allowed me to tread into their midst.

Surrounded by the little glowing sparks, I felt a happiness unlike any I had known. I giggled, delirious with pleasure. I was pricked by an urge to hurl myself onto my back and make a snow angel while the fireflies settled on my face. I threw out my arms. Several fireflies drew closer. One landed on my outstretched finger. Delighted, I brought it toward me. How thrilling it would be to see a firefly in the flesh!

It took me a moment to see the thing at the center of the soft white glow. Squinting, I could discern a few of its features. Then, as its image came into focus, I gasped as if I had been struck.

Whatever I held, it was no firefly.

I could not have told you exactly what it was. It resembled a human skull in miniature, ringed in pulsating white flame. It seemed to stare at me — into me — as I regarded it. There was a certain predatory intelligence behind its empty gaze.

My glance averted by instinct, and darted among the other glowing things. Were they the same as the one on my finger? I shook my hand, and the spectral skull drifted away. The rest of them encroached, gradually but deliberately. The low moan I had formerly ascribed to the wind soughed across the snow through the still air.

I heard a crack like a breaking bone, and my heart sank.

For I realized what I had never discovered hiding indoors: it was not a field the glowing creatures had led me to, but a bog.

The ice gave way, and I plunged into the freezing water. My boots dragged me down, dunking my head below the surface. The terrible cold forced the air from my lungs as my muscles began to quake. Above, the white lights bobbed like jellyfish, their outlines undulating in the turbulence.

The blackness under me looked darker than sleep. Small white spheres rose from it like bubbles. They skirted my cheeks, revealing bone grins inside their glow. I started to flail, but I found I could not move one leg — something grasped me by the ankle!

The shining little skulls gathered in the shape of a hand where I felt clutched. It tugged on me, and something like a white human silhouette raised itself from the depths. I thought I could see bones beneath its luminous skin. It brought its face up to mine, restraining my head between its palms. A bottomless loneliness radiated from its empty eyes, devouring, insatiable.

Then, as I fought to break free, it pressed its mouth to mine in a cold, hungry kiss that tasted like everything I had ever lost.

* * *

My parents tell me they found me in the morning, pale and emaciated, lying on the bank of the bog. They said I was shivering and unconscious, and feared I had gone into shock. At the hospital, I was supposedly treated for hypothermia. I remember none of it. The doctors discharged me with a relatively clean bill of health, advising me to pack on a few pounds in the meantime. They claim there’s nothing wrong with me.

But I know better.

I tremble beneath blankets even when the air is warm. I feel no hunger, and steadily drop in weight even if I can manage to eat anything. My skin picks up no color after hours in the sunlight.

It doesn’t matter what I lost, or where, or to what. I have no answer; nobody does. All I know — and all I need to know — is that some precious thing of mine is gone.

And I doubt it will come back to me, even if I knew where to look for it.

Credit: Lex Joy

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.4/10 (129 votes cast)
LineWhatsAppTumblrFacebookTwitterRedditPinterestGoogle GmailGoogle+StumbleUponShare

Bennett’s Exorcism

September 30, 2015 at 12:00 PM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 7.5/10 (109 votes cast)

“Our church is no more. Our arrogance and ignorance brought forth our destruction. We are all that’s left of the once glorious church. Christianity now relies on us to survive.”

-Pope Pius IX, addressing the Magisterium in the ruins of St. Peter’s Sqaure

All Hallow’s Eve – 1856

The hollow autumn wind brushed through the dying trees with zealous tenacity. Soft whispers on the breeze called forth spirits long forgotten. Here, in bleak despair, a lone boy sat. He cried over the loneliness of a mother’s death. By his side, an older gentlemen, mid aged, his father.

“Bennett, your mother loved you, you know that, right?”

“She left us here father, how is that love?”

“Don’t talk like she was heartless. We tried to give you a life beyond these cathedral halls. Away from religious fervor and zealous politics. She died giving you a chance to make your own life.”

“It still hurts.”

“I know my son.” Gregor, the boy’s father, said, reaching down and hugging his son, ” I love you.”

“I love you too, father.”

The dark, moonlit halls were still, not even the dust woke upon the chilling winds. Bennett traversed the sanctuary, it’s ruined state brought a strange quiet to his torment. The moon was rising and its pale blue light gleamed through the stained glass windows. Bennett knelt before the alter, looking upon the crucifix which hung from the wall, a radiant golden glow gave it an aura of hope.

“Lord, I am lost. Help me find the light which is lost to me.”

No answer.

“Please Lord, I ask for guidance. I ask for peace.”

No answer still.

Bennett’s mind raced; foul thoughts brought to the forbearance of radical cognition. Death seemed to be a comfort, a release from the empty company this site gave.

“I love you.” His father’s voice echoed through his mind.

“Lord, help me. I beseech you. I lay down my pride, my guilt, my sin. Show me your benevolent light.”


Bennett sighed and rose from his pious stance. The moonlight dimmed to dark luminance.

Into the sanctuary walked three figures, garbed in black robes with flowing cloaks. Bennett gave no thought to their strange regalia, for thoughts far worse entered his mind. Thoughts of flames, of cities brought to ash, of an evil returned.

“Excuse me sirs, but the sanctuary is closed. My father is in the chapel, delivering the All Hallow’s Eve service.”

“We have not come to pray before the cross young Bennett. We have come to give you hope.” The center figure said, a strange, deep dread in his voice.

“Your release which you so long for.” The figure to the right said, his voice gave a chill of hate to young Bennett.

“Your prayers have been heard, your plea has been granted.” The last figure said, an aura of death radiated from him.

“My prayers, answered. My cries heard. Surely my doubt is mistaken, the Lord has heard his servant.” Bennett said, tears falling upon his cheeks.

Bennett wiped the tears, which blurred his vision, then he noticed a strange sight; black feathered wings stretched from his saviors’ backs, black halos above their heads, which held a black flame, alit in malevolent hate.

“What are you, surely not of Heaven.” Bennett asked, fear overwhelming his spirit.

“We are your saviors dear Bennett, servants of the true light.” The center figure said.

Bennett stood there, his mind affected, his soul shakened.

“Take my hand, let us show you our grace and forbearance.” The center figure said, the other two started a haunting yet beautiful chant which echoed in the ruined sanctuary.

Bennett hesitated, he tried to run away, but his legs couldn’t move, his thoughts raced. He reached out and touched his savior’s hand. Then, darkness took his vision, then there was nothing.

Bennett awoke in the sanctuary of his father’s church, the moon high as it glared at him through the holes in the once beautiful ceiling. Around him, a symbol, a star upside down. Candles at the points where it touched the circle enclosing it.

“What is this?” Bennett asked, his voice raspy and shallow.

Strange chanting echoed through the halls, small flames sparked in the lines of sand which made the foul pentagram.

“Hear our voices, oh bringer of light. We give you a chance to return.” A voice said, it’s speaker unknown.

“A soul, pure and willing.” Another voice said.

“We send it to you, oh fallen savior.” A third voice said.

The three black angels stepped into the dim light of the flames.

“This isn’t right, you lied. What salvation is this!” Bennett cried out, yet his voice still held its solemn quiet.

“Into the darkness we raise this soul. From torment and deprivation shall he be saved. A herald of the new age.” The center angel said.

“All these, we give. Our lives, our souls. So that we may see the coming storm, the wave of retribution swept clean.” A fourth voice said, a woman, as she stepped into the light. Her hood was down, revealing her dark nature. Her eyes were as if they were torn from the sockets, blood dripped down her cheeks. Her voice boomed, torn stitches ran across her lips, as if they were forced apart. Bennett stared at them, shocked at the sight. Foul shadows encased them, their faces twisted in pain and death. His heart raced, his mind panicked.

“Dear God, what have I done.”

Unable to move, unable to speak, Bennett cried in his mind for release. He thought of the life he would leave behind, the love he would never feel.

Then, in unison, the four figures finished their foul prayer, “Into light, we release the one who fell.”

The flames of the pentagram flared, turning into smokeless black light. The moon turned dark. Whispers echoed through the sanctuary as if the damned themselves were released from Hell.

“God, forgive me.” Bennett whispered, sinking to his knees, crying.

The figures then all looked up, their mouths wide open, and jaws dislocated. A malevolent black smoke rose from their mouths, meeting high above the center of the ritual.

“Release, I remember this feeling. It will be fleeting if I do not have a host.” The vile smoke said, it’s voice has foul as its appearance.

Bennett could not help himself, his mind was not his own anymore, “I have given willingly, my soul for the light.” He said.

“Yes, a soul, meant for Heaven. A lost boy, longing for answers. I shall give you what you seek.”

The smoke, now a large cloud of black mist, flew with all haste towards Bennett, whom held his face high, his mouth open, his arms outstretched towards the sky. Into Bennett, the demon flew, a silent scream overpowered Bennett mind, his thoughts clouded by the corruption which was invading his very soul. Around him, the fallen angels dissipated into black dust, which faded into nothingness.

“A world anew, a brother restored.” The demon whispered in Bennett’s mind.

The demon had taken control. It drew upon Bennett’s life force, eating at his very soul. His world grew dark, nothing was left.

No hope,

no salvation.

Then, from behind, a voice boomed throughout the sanctuary, like angels heralding the dawn, “How dare you enter this place!”

It was Gregor, whom ran towards his son.

“Back to the flames, back to your master!” Gregor yelled, tearing his cross from its chain.

He held it forward, “In the shadows I cast thee, into darkness you shall return!” His voice shaking in wrathful righteousness.

The cross flared into divine light, the windows gleamed as if day had broken.

Bennett screamed in pain, causing Gregor to flinch.

“Oh archbishop, truly you cannot believe mere piety can banish me.” The possessed Bennett said, his voice was as if two were talking at once.

Gregor once again held his cross forward, still illuminating with the divine aura.

Bennett fell to the floor, screaming in agony, bringing Gregor nearly to his knees at the sight of such pain towards his beloved son.

“I cast your faith aside. Your messiah shall fall!” Bennett yelled.

The ground shook, dust fell from the ruined ceiling and the crucifix fell onto the alter, splitting both in half.

“You dare insult Christ. You forget who broke Hell’s grip in the first place.” Gregor said, now standing over his possessed son, “I cast thee away!”

Gregor slammed his cross into Bennett’s chest. The demon’s scream overpowered Bennett’s,

“Shadow’s shall fall, and the sun shall rise. Your darkness shall end.” Gregor said, pushing the cross harder. The ground shook, violently. The walls crumpled, the windows shattered at the sheer force of the battle of wills. Shockwaves sent stones flying into the night, booms of trumpets echoed in the sky. The whispers of the damned turned into deafening shouts and screams.

“In righteous light, I banish thee.” Gregor yelled, the light of the cross sparked as it burned away at Bennett’s flesh. Black veins grew from the skin where the cross touched, Bennett’s skin started to grow pale.

“You think your false messiah can save you. There is no escape from the truth.” The demon said, weak yet all the more arrogant.

“Damn you, let go of my son!” Gregor yelled, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“Never, he was promised to us and to us he shall go.” The possessed Bennett said, breathy yet strong.

Gregor thrusted the illuminated cross deeper into Bennett’s chest, weeping at his son’s torture. Bennett screamed as the cross burned at his flesh, the smell of burning flesh flooded Gregor’s nose, steam rose from Bennett’s wound. Then, a silence befell the destroyed sanctuary. A column of thin dust stretched up into the sky and Bennett rose into the air, his screams now as silent as the night. Gregor was thrown back, landing on his back.

“Out of death, shall life be freed. In eternal light shall Hell be spent. Your master is calling you back, return to the chains!” Gregor yelled as he arose, his final cry to the demon.

Bennett’s screams ended as he looked up, opening his mouth in a manner most unnatural, his jaw dislocating with a painful crack.

The demon rose from Bennett gaping maw. Bennett’s eyes faded to solid black and his skin now was almost snow white.

The demon was wrapped in strips of soft blue energy, golden motes danced around it. Bennett’s skin turned pale and the veins around his eyes and mouth grew black as the demon took more and more of his soul.

Gregor yelled at the top of his lungs, “By the power of Christ, I banish thee back to Hell!”

The demon then flew at top speed into the air, a massive cloud of black smoke, Bennett’s soul dancing around it.

Gregor held his cross high, which flared with golden light, almost as bright as the sun. The demon screamed in pain as a hole formed in the ground, smoke and flame outpoured from it. The demon spoke once more before he flew into the portal to Hell, “This is merely alteration in my master’s agenda. He shall have his prize, one way or another.”

In an uproar of flames and smoke, the demon was pulled back down to Hell by the infernal chains and the portal closed. The scent of brimstone still lingered in the air. Gregor ran to Bennett, who laid on the floor, pale and lifeless.

“Bennett, oh my boy. I’m so sorry.”

Gregor held his son, tears ran down his cheeks like down pouring rain.

Through the tears, Gregor looked past the ruined windows and saw the breaking dawn, the radiance of the sun filled the room. In the sunlight, the ruined alter and crucifix flared bright and Gregor had to shield his eyes. After the glorious display, Gregor gazed as the alter and crucifix were restored. He looked up as the sound of choirs started to sing. A single speck of blue light floated down in a ray of light which pierced the now dissipating clouds. It flew into Bennett’s chest, and he took a deep shallow breath, his jaw snapped back into place. Gregor’s tears turned to joy, and he held his son even closer,

“Oh, my son. You’re home.”

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 7.5/10 (109 votes cast)
LineWhatsAppTumblrFacebookTwitterRedditPinterestGoogle GmailGoogle+StumbleUponShare

Mystogan Mountain

September 30, 2015 at 12:00 AM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 5.5/10 (62 votes cast)

November 4, 2015 – 3:20 am –
Entry 1
Journal of Tyler E. Rivington

Today is the day that I venture to the other side of the World. That starting sentence seemed a bit bombastic, but it’s true. I will be travelling to a rather small town, possibly village, not entirely positive, to go and live on Mystogan Mountain. For some reason, this particular mountain hasn’t been placed onto any sort of map. Which is rather odd, but I’ve honestly never taken the thought to my heart, nor my mind. The reason for my going to this new and mysterious mountain is for my studies. I am a Paleontologist.

To many people, including friends and family of mine, not that I have many of those, choosing this as a career was a mistake. But I don’t believe that. Yes, I have to go to some bizarre and possibly dangerous places to dig up fossilized plants and bones. At least, that’s the short way to categorize us Paleontologists. I, personally, don’t mind it. I’ve been obsessed with things that are in the ground and finding, along with identifying, exactly what it is my whole life up to now. My obsession with this rooted from Miners, turning into Pirates, eventually rounding towards my obsession of Dinosaurs. Which became very much known by the time I was about six or so. Thanks to the discovery of the movies Jurassic World. (Allen Grant, my childhood hero.)

Now, how about I get further into what Paleontology is actually about, and the different sub disciplines of said career while I am driven to the airport with my boss and my other co-worker.

Paleontology is a rich field, a field filled with stories and mysteries. A long and interesting past with an intriguing and bright future. Hopefully anyways, it all depends on the future generation at this point. Many people believe that Paleontology is all about the study of fossils and Dino bones. Honestly though, Paleontology is much, much more than that. Which people would know if they actually tried to look up what it is that we do and what different sections of this choice in a life career there are. More than even I thought there were.

Paleontology is traditionally divided into various sub disciplines. Let’s start with the first one to pop into my mind, shall we?

1. Micropaleontology is about the study of generally microscopic fossils, regardless of the group to which they belong.
2. Paleobotany is the study of fossil plants; traditionally includes the study of fossil algae and fungi in addition to land plants.
3. Palynology is the study of pollen and spores, both living and fossil, produced by land plants and protists.
4. Invertebrate Paleontology is the study of invertebrate animal fossils, such as mollusks, echinoderms (A marine invertebrate, such as a starfish, sea urchin, or a sea cucumber.), and others.
5. Vertebrate Paleontology is the study of vertebrate fossils, from primitive fishes to mammals.
6. Human Paleontology (Paleoanthropology) is the study of prehistoric human and proto-human fossils.
7. Taphonomy is the study of the processes of decay, preservation, and the formation of fossils in general.
8. Ichnology is the study of fossil tracks, trails, and footprints.
9. Paleoecology is the study of the ecology and climate of the past, as revealed both by fossils and by other methods.
Just in case whoever reads this or finds it depending on what happens to me in the next few years, ecology means “the branch of biology that deals with the relations of organisms to one another and their physical surroundings.”. Or, on a more political advance, it means “the political movement that seeks to protect the environment, especially from pollution.”.

As you can tell, Paleontology has more to it than most think. Paleontology is the study of what fossils tell us about the ecologies of the past, about evolution, and about our place, as humans, in the world. It incorporates knowledge from biology, geology, ecology, anthropology, archeology, and even computer science to understand the processes that have led to the origination and eventual destruction of the different types of organisms since life arose.

Now that I’ve got the definitions and whatnot off of my chest, let me explain what field of Paleontology I chose. Which would be Paleoanthropology. AKA, Human Paleontology. Something just fascinates me anytime it comes to finding skeletons of humans, or maybe animals that closely resemble humans, that have been in the ground for who knows how many years. I believe that it’s the not knowing factor that really triggers my interest. Not to mention, I also like to help out in the Vertebrate Paleontology since finding fossils of primitive fish in mountains really get me interested. Because we don’t know how it got there. Maybe someone of something caught the fish and ate it there? Maybe there used to be a river and it died in the river, or where the river had dried up? Or, it could have been salt water, and the oceans of today could have been that big. And when high tide turned to low tide, that fish was stuck there, and died. But it really strikes your interest and imagination since there is an element of not knowing.

We’re halfway to the airport, it won’t be long before I have to put my Journal up, but I just wanted to state beforehand, if there was a chance of you becoming a Paleontologist, go for it! Not only does that mean that most trips are free, but you meet a lot of intelligent and amazing people along the way. Not to mention that the teachers are awesome. And this is coming from a twenty-four year old man. A single twenty-four year old man in college with a high-paying job, ladies, I’m looking at y’all.

But honestly, all jokes aside, the job is amazing. I am making a lot of money. I got out of High school with a full-ride scholarship and I had taken AP classes while still in High school as to not have to take the college courses for Geometry and English. Plus, no more PE. Which I am very happy with considering that I pretty much hate any type of physical exercise unless I know why I am doing it, and if it’s truly worth it. Not to mention, I am bilingual. Italian, Spanish, French, Swedish, and I am currently working on my Russian. Which is absolutely amazing since I’ve always wanted to learn all of these languages, though I will be trying out Japanese later on once I’ve buckled down both Russian and Finnish. Because anywhere with a lot of mountains or a vast landscape is where we might be. And these places have multiple mountains and vast landscapes. Plus, Italian was a language that I’ve always wanted to learn. Favorite quote in Italian? Maledetto bastardo! Which means, in Italian, damned bastard. One of my first sayings in Italian. I’m rather proud of that. Not to mention, doing amazing in my classes in school and saving up money and having about two jobs during the Summer and a part-time job during school really helped me buy the tickets to get to Canada. Considering how I am from Idaho, US.

But I am travelling way off topic.

My past and everything behind, if there were ever a chance for you to become a Paleontologist, please take it. So, let me think about everything that I’ve written down for my first Journal entry.
–Introduction (Kinda)–Check.
–Where I am going–Check
–How long will I be gone?–I will be absent from Canada for two to four months.–Check
–What is it I do for a living?–Check
–Explaining my job–Check
–Unexpected off-topic ramble–Check
–Tell people to become a Paleontologist–Check
–Do check-list–Check

So, since I am finished with everything and I only have about five more minutes to where I can actually write, it is time to say goodbye.

Bye-Bye, Entry 1!

Sincerely, Tyler E. Rivington.
P.S. I know that I might not seem like the hard-working type or a studious student because of how I write, but why not add my personality into the things that interest me and while talking about myself. Only business writing when it comes to my actual work/studies.

November 6, 2015 – 11:20 pm –
Entry 2
Journal of Tyler E. Rivington

So, we have arrived at the village, not town, that resides at the bottom of the mountain. Which, to be totally honest, standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to our cabin which resides on a cliff of the mountain, it’s rather terrifying. I’ve always been told, since I was a young boy, to follow my heart and trust my gut. And right now, my gut is telling me to turn tail and run like the Devil is on my heels. But my heart is telling me to follow after my co-worker and boss/professor and get the job done. Follow my heart or trust my gut? Not to mention, the residents were acting rather strange. The men seemed big and gruff, though skinny and lanky at the same time. Not to mention they treated us rather coldly, or as my co-worker put it, “like a bunch of jackasses that didn’t have any milk left, so they came out in a sour mood.” Which is probably one of the weirdest things I’ve ever hear come out of his mouth.

Speaking of which, my co-worker, is Ethan Jones. Well, Ethan Michael Jones. He’s a tall blond with rather piercing grey eyes. Though he’s not that bad. Sure, he’s more of a pessimistic guy who isn’t much of a morning person, but he’s a pretty cool dude once you get to know him. He’s tall, but not very lanky. More on the buff side. He has to wear glasses, near-sighted, but they compliment him, honestly. And Ethan’s blond hair stops about mid-neck length. He also has a tattoo of a snake impaled as well as wrapped around a dagger with a map behind the dagger with a rose crisscrossing with the dagger. Creating a cross of sorts. Just an FYI for any girls who are interested in tall and buff blonds, he’s Hawaiian.

Now, onto my boss/professor. He’s a cool guy as well. Shorter than Ethan and only an inch under my own height. Which, by the way, I am 6’2″. He has black hair peppered with white along the sides, but it looks good, honestly. His name is Terrence Frey. I don’t know his middle name, but that’s fine. I do know his favorite color, which is orange. Anyways, Prof. Frey is a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, has a smile on his brown face. He also has little crinkles around his light brown eyes each time he smiles or squints. Prof. Frey doesn’t really need glasses, but sometimes he’ll wear a pair to help him grade papers or check a list or document at work. He’s kinda short, not that I can be talking, but a relatively skinny guy. He just has a little bit of fat. Though he does have a big nose. Not overly large to where it looks funny and it’s the first thing you notice about him, but it is one of the things that you notice shortly after meeting him. Just a small fact, my boss/professor is mixed. Half black, half white.

I never wrote about my appearance, so, here we go. I am a 6’2 white male with slightly wavy, light brown hair. My skin is rather pale, though freckles align my face, shoulders, back, and a few scattered along my arms and legs. My eyes are a dark, almost deep sea blue. I am rather pessimistic, but I am happy and bubbly anyways. I strongly announce my opinions and I’m not afraid to call someone out on doing something wrong or when they are wrong during class. My ears are pierced, just regular piercings along with my second hole in both ears pierced, and I have a “smiley” piercing. In case you don’t know what that is, it’s where you get that rather thin piece of skin that connects ones upper lip to their upper jaw pierced. Well, at least the gums of your upper jaw anyways. Last but not least, my tattoo. A tribal tattoo that starts at the bottom of my neck, down to my bicep. It also grows towards my left peck, eventually fading once it starts to reach over to my right peck.

But screw our appearances, let’s talk about what this place looks like. It looks fucking creepy, that’s what it looks like. The houses in the village were made either from brick or wood. The houses all looked broken down and dirty. Black sulfur or something like that covered the outer corner of the houses, crawling upwards and spreading outwards. Any railings, or anything metal for that matter, was rusted. The dead trains that took up a crossed off section of the railway had graffiti and rust all over them. Some of their wheels had been dislocated and there were even dead plant vines that had winded themselves around the trains. These stairs that I am, still, staring up at look rickety and old. As if the slightest pressure on them they’d break. Or like they were very, very creaky. The sky is filled with grey, gloomy clouds. It’s sad really. Not that I was expecting a bright blue sky with little to no clouds in sight, but I was expecting something different, that’s for sure. Plus, it was lightly snowing, still is.

Okay, there’s a woman here. Her name is Belarus or something close to that. I guess I kind of have to follow her. I mean, it’s either that or turn tail and use up most of my money to get back to lovely Canada. I took my first step onto the stairs, I am cringing so bad right now. The wood is all rotten looking and it is so loud, I have hardly even put any type of pressure onto this fucking step. It’s ridiculous. But I have to mush forward as my professor put it. I don’t like this at all.

But I need the money. For more than one reason. Plus, it might be fun while actually working.

Oh! The reason it took me two days to create this new entry was because of some problems at baggage claim. My backpack containing my Journal couldn’t be found, and when we did find it, I had to rush straight onto the train to take us to the village. So I fell asleep within ten minutes on the train. Plus, I was too lazy to grab my backpack and get my Journal out once again, but let’s not spill that to Prof. Frey.

Anyways, now that I am standing in front of the wooden lodge that my companions and I will be staying in, it doesn’t look half bad. Rather new. Almost as if it were made merely weeks ago just for us. Honestly, I am both freaked out and excited for the journey ahead of me. I mean, I get to hang out with my friend, I get more tips and skills when it comes to working out in the field, plus there’s no telling what we’ll find. Hopefully something ground-breaking.


Not that I want one of us to step on loose ground and we all fall to our deaths after uncovering an underground cave. Yeah, no thanks. That doesn’t sound fun.

Anyways, I’ve got to go. I’m tired and lazy and hungry.
Bye-Bye, Entry 2!

Sincerely, Tyler E. Rivington

November 7, 2015 – 7:32 am –
Entry 3
Journal of Tyler E. Rivington

I am back to writing after grabbing some grub for waking up at such an ungodly time.

So, it turns out that today will be a rather boring day. Maybe. Depends on how the professor and my co-worker take this unfortunate news. We are stuck in this wooden lodge for the day. Because of severe weather. Now, after getting used to the Canadian weather and trudging through things worse than the storm raging on outside, it still is very dangerous. Especially if you are on a mountain. I mean, there is a huge difference between a sidewalk on a hill and it’s snowing heavily compared to a small, rocky trail that leads upwards towards the tip of a mountain. Not to mention it’s gonna be slippery due to slush and ice that might stick to the rocks.

We haven’t even been here a full day and I’m dreading this journey. I mean, I know that I was super excited at the beginning, but now…

I wanna go home.

But whatever. I’ll just have to suck up my homesick feelings and deal with it for the time being. Plus, these next few months are gonna fly by. Hopefully.

Anyways, I’m getting off track, again. We will be stuck inside the lodge all day. What will we be doing? Cleaning equipment and counting/checking that we have everything. Plus eating food and lounging around. Might even play a card game or something. I might be able to watch television as well, though sadly, I cannot use my internet or text anyone. Because there is no such thing as signal while on a mountain across the World.

I also found out that my co-worker and I have our own personal work journals, so this one can’t be judged on what I write in here. Though of course I will write down what happens during work, just as a precaution to any possible mishaps of my work journal. See what a motivated and prepared kind of guy I am? I’m pretty sure that this all will interest a woman. Or man. I’m fine with either sexuality. Maybe even someone transsexual. I am a demisexual, so before I even think of getting into a relationship with someone, I have to form a deep and emotional bond. Though I won’t deny a good one-night stand. And I really don’t care about what you think of me from that sentence; because it’s true. My dick will sometimes think before I can and there is nothing wrong with that.

I only have one rather crucial detail to share. Last night I didn’t get much sleep, which isn’t strange for me considering I am an insomniac, but it wasn’t my mind keeping me up. It was an animal. Maybe. I mean, I’ve heard coyotes, wolves, regular dogs, and I have never heard a noise that frightening in my life. And it didn’t sound like it was outside. It sounded like it was in the room with me. Of course, it could have just been right outside of the lodge, near my room considering that my room is the only one with a window that I know of.

But it was a low, growl of sorts. It sounded both human and animalistic, it almost scared the piss out of me. I don’t know exactly how to explain it, but I’m trying. Like a gravely chuckle mixed with a coyote howl and a wolves snarl. And it sounded like it came from the closet, or outside my window. Either way, it scared me, but that’s probably the only time that I’ll even hear it.

So, I’m gonna cut this Entry short considering how we won’t be working or anything. Nothing exciting.
Bye-Bye Entry 3!

Sincerely, Tyler E. Rivington

November 8, 2015 – 3:46 pm –
Entry 4
Journal of Tyler E. Rivington

We found a prehistoric trail today. Yes, you heard it hear folks, we actually left the lodge to work. But I felt super unnerved. Some of the village men left with us, they were holding weapons and they were looking around nervously. Not to mention that they told us to stick close to them and when it gets to about two in the afternoon, then we all needed to head back. Creepy shit right there. And it felt as though something or someone was staring at me all day. It was probably one of our personal bodyguards, but this stare was filled with malice and anger. Maybe even hunger?

Oh well, I’m probably just being paranoid. I mean honestly, I did catch the youngest of the three bodyguards kind of glaring at me before our eyes met and he whipped his head away from me. Acting as if he wasn’t caught in the act of, most likely, defiling me with his eyes.

Anyways, work crap in case something happens to my work Journal.
Location of trail: 54 N; 38 E”
The trail showed small rocks and what seemed to be eroded prints of sorts. If possible, might be an animal or person.
This trail seems to have been preserved for about 30 or so years. Depending on whether the trail is proof or not. Could be more, could be less. We’ll find out more.
The trail stopped rather abruptly at 62 N; 14 E”. We could no longer follow the trail.
When cement mixture was placed onto the first section of the trail (54 N; 38 E”), and then taken off, it showed an animal print. Possibly.
This trail could be a dead end.
I really hope that we didn’t spend the day looking at a stupid trail. One that won’t lead us anywhere. Plus, there’s no telling if I took the notes correctly for a trail. I didn’t choose to major in Ichnology. I chose to major in Paleoanthropology. I deal with human bones and fossils or at least animals that are primitive and have left behind their bodies…ish.

Now that I’ve got that out of the way, I have to inform whoever reads this that the noise was back. And this time, it was accompanied by a dream. Well, technically nightmare considering that when I woke up I was gasping for breath and there were dried tear streaks under my eyes and gliding along my cheeks. Plus, my nose was running. But yes, the sound was most definitely back. And this time, it sounded closer. Clearer. Not muffled by a door or a wall, but almost as if it were standing on the outside of the closet instead of the inside of the closet. It’s freaking me out.

But the nightmare, it was probably the worst thing that night, not the noise. Not that mutated growl. The nightmare was almost as if I were actually living through it. The nightmare started off brutal. Showing people, those villagers, slaughtering the woman, Belarus. They had gouged out her left eye, stabbing these knives of spears maybe into her shoulders and thighs, keeping her held upright on a wooden table. It was an old one, that’s for sure. It had dirty spots, more like splatters, covering it everywhere. They gutted her, placing some of her organs on a platter, the others into glass jars. Then they slit her throat and held up a silver gauntlet of sorts. The villagers were chanting in a tribal language, the wind was howling outside, and the setting was in some dingy old cave of sorts. But, you’re probably wondering, what was the strangest thing about this gruesome nightmare?

Belarus didn’t scream once. She didn’t flinch or whimper in pain. She’s was quiet, staring straight ahead. Which made it seem as though she was staring straight at me. Though that isn’t possible, but it still seemed that way. I could tell, while in the nightmare, that the humanoid yet animalistic growl was blended in with the chanting, though growing louder. And I swear, when I snapped my eyes open, I saw something dart out of my line of vision.

Scariest shit ever.

I had asked both Ethan and Prof. Frey if they had heard any strange noises. They both said no. Ethan said that he could only hear the wind and possibly an owl at night. Prof. Frey said that he couldn’t hear anything from the outside, but he could hear my panicked breathing. Though he was half-asleep when he heard me. I don’t understand what the fuck is going on, but I don’t like it.

I think that I’ll end it here. My hand is shaking just from remembering that dream. But, luckily, Belarus is fine. She’s an older woman with silver-grey hair up in a bun with some type of clip in her hair that is aligned with tribal beading. She looks youthful other than the slowly showing wrinkles and her hair. She said that she’s just about fifty-seven. Belarus is the cutest old woman I’ve ever came across.
Bye-Bye, Entry 4!

Sincerely, Tyler E. Rivington

November 9, 2015 – 8:13 pm –
Entry 5
Journal of Tyler E. Rivington

Belarus is dead.

Supposedly she was found dead earlier this morning in her bed, died of a heart attack. I don’t believe that. I have that dream of Belarus dying and suddenly, the next day, she’s dead? Not to mention, that young bodyguard was there today. He seemed to be sweating up a storm. Like he was hiding something. I’ve always been the type of person that believes in supernatural beings and Karma, things like that.

What can I say? I’m a superstitious bastard.

Nothing happened at work. Except for the fact that I found a human, female, skull half-buried in the ground. Fresh. Blood and flesh still clinging onto it. Along with some silver-grey hair. This has to Belarus’ skull. That skull had to be hers. It was too fresh. I didn’t mention it to anyone. I was afraid of saying something and then the bodyguards going after me. Screw writing down what happens at work. I need to release my concerns and thoughts here. I am afraid that I can’t trust anyone here. I could trust Prof. Frey and Ethan, but they’d probably think that I was crazy. You know what? I probably am crazy. But I still trust my gut. And my gut is telling me not to trust anyone else other than my Journal with this information. It’s also telling me that my heart was stupid and that I should have abandoned this job while I still could’ve.

I’m pretty sure that if I tried to run off now, the villagers would do something to me.

It has to be a conspiracy. It HAS to be a conspiracy. The villagers are all in it. They’ve created a plan. That’s why, in my dream, Belarus reacted with no emotion at all. Because she was anticipating the end. She knew everything from start to finish beforehand.

That’s the only way that it could have ended the way it did. I’m sorry, Belarus. I’m so, so sorry. But you knew. You probably knew about this since the beginning of your life. When did they tell you? When you were twelve? Did they sacrifice you to something? A God? An animal? An otherworldly being that you all worshipped? My most important question though, is if the rest of you family before you were killed like that to. Were they? I wish that I could have been there. Not to watch, but maybe I could have stopped it. Maybe I could have stopped your ultimate demise. Doubtful, but I feel so, so guilty.

On a different note, I had yet another nightmare. These have to be visions of the future or something. Because it was the death of the young bodyguard. The young boy, about eighteen, who watched over us yesterday and today. It was different. I saw some of the villagers in the nightmare. They were dressed in velvet purple cloaks, black pieces of cloth covering their eyes, simple white dots showing where their eyes would be. The leader was wearing a red cloak made of silk. It was a man, buff and bulky. I still couldn’t quite see exactly what he looked like as to decipher him from the rest of those villagers. But the leader held a book in his hand, a curved dagger being held in his other hand as he spoke out loud, his voice thick with Russian. The only words that I could really understand were; “We”, “have”, “it is time”, and “rejoice”. The victim, that poor boy, was naked with the only clothing on him being the same cloth that covered the villagers eyes around his head, covering his eyes as well. But instead of there being two white dots where his eyes were supposed to be, there were none. It was simply black.

Unlike Belarus, he was chained to a wooden post. It had ancient, most likely tribal, writing covering it. With different symbols and swirls filling in the gaps. The color of said symbols and swirls were either red, white, or black. With tiny, almost unnoticeable green dots that went in a straight line from top to bottom. His hands were chained up, his fingers missing with blood steadily pouring from the new nubs on his hand, falling onto the crisp and white snow beneath him. He was positioned onto his knees, his head bowed down in a respective way. His feet were missing. They had chopped his feet off.

What kind of sickos do that?

I had to watch as they tore his ears off with a wrench. Okay? A fucking wrench. Unlike Belarus, he flinched in pain, but nothing more. I also saw them put his ears on a string, accompanying many other ears. These villagers were still chanting the whole entire time in an unknown language.

The noise was back as well. I could hear it. It was way closer to me. Almost as if it were at the foot of my bed. Watching me. That same noise. It’s gonna forever haunt me, I just know it. I have to be insane. I must be insane. But the noise this time…was different. It was almost as if it were trying to say something. Crazy, yes. Wrong, no. I’m never wrong. I’ve never been wrong.

When I opened my eyes, I saw glowing red ones staring right back at me. But I blinked and it was gone.

Maybe I should stay up late tonight and try to follow the villagers. To stop this deadly conspiracy. To put an end to the needless murders.

I’ll be ending it here.
Bye-Bye, Entry 5.

Sincerely, Tyler E. Rivington

November 10, 2015 – 4:08 am –
Entry 6
Journal of Tyler E. Rivington

…I’m so sorry.

I couldn’t do anything. I felt so worthless. So useless. I watched as something mutated tore into that boy. I watched as the villagers stood by, chanting nonstop, sadistic and joyous grins covering their faces.

I can’t go out there. I can’t face any of them. I have to get away from here.

Mystogan Mountain was a terrible choice.

Why did we have to come here? Why couldn’t we have gone to a place to where this wouldn’t happen? Why did we travel to an uncharted mountain in the middle of fucking nowhere?


Maybe this is why it was never documented. Maybe this is why no one knows about Mystogan Mountain. Because they were murdered. Sacrificed to some mutated being that the villagers here worshipped.

I’m so sorry.
Bye-Bye, Entry 6.

Sincerely, Tyler E. Rivington

November 10, 2015 – 11:40 am –
Entry 7
Journal of Tyler E. Rivington

I fell asleep and saw Ethan get slaughtered by the villagers. And then sacrificed to that mutated thing. I just want to know why. Screw how, tell me why. Why am I seeing this? Why is that noise in my room? Why did it feel as if the animal that creates that noise was breathing onto my face? Why did it sound as though it called out my name?

I’m awake now, and I can hear the noise, that gravely tone calling out my name in a brutal whisper. It’s pounding within my mind. The only reason why I’m not out there with Ethan and Prof. Frey right now is because I pretended to be sick. Which right now, I don’t know why or how I’ve managed this long without having the feeling of bile rise within my throat. Why haven’t I thrown up yet? Why did it feel as though I enjoyed watching Ethan die in my dream? Why did it feel as though overwhelming excitement washed throughout my mind and body as I watched the villagers pluck his teeth out, one by one? Why did I enjoy hearing him howl out in pain? Why? Why?! Why is this happening?

I’m scared.

I keep seeing shadows and those glowing red eyes. Any time I turn by back to a room or hallway, I have the overwhelming sense that something is there, waiting, watching. Playing with me. I want to leave. I want to go back to Canada.

Oh my gosh, I was so scared and paranoid that I growled at Prof. Frey and tried to hit him. I thought that he was one of the villagers.

I thought that he was that mutated humanoid animal that was feeding off of Ethan and the young villager. I lashed out at my professor and boss. He looked taken aback, that’s for sure. Scared kind of. But whenever he talked, I didn’t hear anything. I heard static. And the static almost clouded over that fucking noise. It almost drowned out that voice whispering my name.

Kill me. Someone kill me.

I need to do something. I need to get out of here.
Bye-Bye, Entry 7.

Sincerely, Tyler E. Rivington

November 11, 2015 – ??? –
Entry 8
Journal of Tyler E. Rivington

I killed Prof. Frey. I killed him. With a Bowie knife.

I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t take it anymore. It was almost as if I didn’t have control over my body. As if someone were in my body, as if someone had locked me up in my mind, and made me watch. But I felt happy. I felt powerful. I felt in control even when the situation was out of my control.

There’s something wrong with me.

I saw something today as well. I saw the villagers in their cloaks, circled around the lodge, continuously chanting. I had a dream last night, predicting Prof. Frey’s death. Ethan is dead. He died yesterday actually, he didn’t come up mysteriously missing today. He was murdered yesterday while Prof. Frey was checking up on me. And I went and killed him. I went and killed Prof. Frey. But it felt good. The blood splattering onto my face? Amazing. The smell and taste was so sweet. But at the same time, I hated it. I was, still am, disgusted with myself. That mutated humanoid animal thing that I was seeing in my dreams? It’s just sitting at my feet.

Wait, where am I? How…did I get here?

There are a few bodies surrounding the chair that I’m sitting in. My…pet is currently chewing on one of the villagers severed limbs. Did I do that? If memory serves me correct, I did. The static is back. It’s just filling up my head. Wait, is it static? Or is it the sound of a horde of bees? No, no, I’m not wrong. That’s static. The voice that had called out my name? Gone. It was my new companion eating an arm that had called out to me.

Crazy, right?

And to think, I was freaking out over nothing.

Mystogan Mountain is amazing.

Everyone should come here. Everyone should come here and join the villagers conspiracy.

Everyone needs to come to Mystogan Mountain.

My pet might run out of food if you all don’t come here.


I can put you out of your misery.

I think that this is my last Entry for my Journal.
Bye-Bye, Entry 8!

Sincerely, Tyler E. Rivington.

Credit: GuppyChild

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 5.5/10 (62 votes cast)
LineWhatsAppTumblrFacebookTwitterRedditPinterestGoogle GmailGoogle+StumbleUponShare

The Secret Room

September 29, 2015 at 12:00 PM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.0/10 (145 votes cast)

I always thought that I was pretty safe from most things since I was living on a military base. The past recent events have proved otherwise. My name is Seaman Murphy, U.S. Navy and I’m writing this to warn future sailors or anyone in the military about what they might encounter.

It had been a couple of months since I graduated boot camp and I was enjoying life in “A” school. I was particularly enjoying the luxuries deprived from me in boot camp such as taking long showers, wearing civilian clothes, going off base with my friends during liberty, sleeping in on the weekends, and most importantly, my phone; my dear beloved phone. Things were looking up for me. Now that I was in the military, I was finally free from my crummy neighborhood, a dead end job with a douchebag for a boss, and a cheating girlfriend. Being in the military sure had its benefits. I was getting paid steady income, I had free health care and dental, I was always fed, and I had a place to live for free. Life couldn’t have been better, at least until I had to stand watch at Grey Hall for the first time.

It was a cold and bitter winter night. It was only 1600 and the sun was already going down. Darkness began to envelop the base. It was my duty day, so I shaved, got dressed, and headed to the quarterdeck to check the watch bill. As my eyes scanned the watch bill, I hoped in vain that I would not see my name. Sure enough, I saw my name. I had watch from midnight to four as the rover at Grey Hall. I grimaced at my misfortune and reluctantly signed the watch bill.

I had heard many rumors about Grey Hall, but I didn’t know if any of them were true or not. Apparently the most prominent rumor going around was that a Master Chief hung himself on the top deck of the building. No one knows exactly where or why. They say that the Navy tried to cover up the incident to protect its image. It didn’t matter to me anyway because I didn’t really buy in to any of the rumors. I took them to be nothing more than myth or old wives tales.

After shoveling snow for an hour, I headed back to my barracks room to get some sleep before watch. After a few hours, I was abruptly woken up by the high pitch of the alarm on my phone. The time was 2300. I sluggishly got out of my rack and slowly put on my uniform. I then made my way down to the quarterdeck and entered into the frozen tundra that awaited me outside. The air outside was a loud cacophonous symphony at its climax, blowing harsh gusts of wind that pierced through every layer of Navy issued clothing I had, straight into my soul. There’s nothing like a fresh blast of wind to wake you up for watch.

After a few minutes, I finally arrived to the base of the building. It was the largest building on base and one to be revered. It stood 13 stories high and overlooked the whole base. The building was ancient. I was surprised that it was able to withstand so many brutal winters like this. It was supposed to be renovated, but I suppose there just wasn’t enough funding do so. It was no longer being used by anybody due to its condition. However, it was still used to store classified documents, so there was still a watch stationed there. The bricks on the outside of the building were a dark and faded rust color. They looked brittle and corroded as if they were ready to collapse at any moment. The windows were blurry and opaque. All you could see was the dim lighting that bleakly shined through. I entered the building and saw the Petty Officer Of The Deck and the Rover anxiously waiting to be relieved. I approached the rover and signed into the log. I checked over the previous logs to check the condition of the building. There were a few lights out and some leaks here and there, but nothing serious.

“Is there anything in particular I need to know about this building?” I asked the Rover. He shook his head.

“Just try to get your rove done as soon as possible, this place gives me the creeps. Oh, and try not to anger the ghost of the Master Chief.” He held out his arms, doing a poor imitation of a ghost.

“Good thing I shaved and shined my boots before I got here. He won’t be able to chew me out for that,” I replied jokingly. I then bid the Rover good night and he left the building. Shortly after, the relief for the Petty Officer Of The Deck showed up. As soon as he signed into the logbook, I grabbed a flashlight and departed for a rove of the building.

As I walked up the stairs to each deck, every step I made echoed and reverberated through the entire stairway like a ghostly wraith. Every hallway on every deck was lined with huge paintings of deathly old Admirals and other high-ranking officials. Their faces were cold and austere, and their eyes were lifeless and filled with contempt for those below them in rank. They seemed to glare at me and follow me as I lazily moseyed about through the corridors half asleep. Every time I took a step, the floor underneath me creaked. The whole building smelt of mildew and asbestos, the paint on the walls was chipped, and the ceiling was deteriorated. This place was in dire need of a makeover.

My rove was very uneventful. I checked to make sure certain doors were locked, and then checked them off on my log sheet. One by one, I kept checking things off. As I walked on my rove, I could see a faint reflection of myself in the windows as if I were a vague or forgotten memory. Despite the raging wind outside, the inside was almost dead silent besides the creaks and moans of the building. It was all a little bit unsettling to me, but I was too tired to think about it. After roving the first 12 decks of the building, I finally arrived to the 13th deck where the Master Chief had supposedly hung himself. “It just had to be 13,” I thought to myself. It looked no different than any of the other decks. It was as lifeless as the rest of the building. I continued on my rove as usual until something peculiar caught my eye. I was roving around the machinery room on the top floor checking for leaks when I saw a very subtle square outline in the wall. It didn’t seem too strange or out of place, but I was so bored that my curiosity urged me to take a look. I put my hands up against the center of the square outline and pushed slightly. The square caved in a little bit. I felt the wall outside of the square; it was dense as a rock. I then proceeded to push harder on the square in the wall. I kept pushing until I heard a loud thud. My heart jumped. To my surprise, I had pushed a neat square hole through the wall. I looked through the hole and saw nothing but darkness. I then took my flashlight and shined it through. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Lying in the dark was a small room filled with what appeared to be boxes of classified documents stored on a shelf. I peered my head in through the hole and examined the room with the flashlight. The strangest part about the room was that it didn’t have any doors or windows, just the one square hole in the wall. In the center of the room was a small table with a piece of paper on it. It appeared to have writing on it. I placed my clipboard with the logs on the ground then climbed in through the hole and fell abruptly onto the floor. I was surprised to see that the square I had pushed through was still perfectly intact. I then got up and walked over to the desk with the paper on it. I shined the flashlight on the paper and examined it. It appeared to be written in Latin. There was no security classification stamp on the paper, so I figured it would be safe to take the paper back with me to study it. I folded up the piece of paper and put it in my pocket.

The place gave me the creeps and I was anxious to leave, but I was too curious to find out what was in there. I had plenty of time to complete my rove anyway. I grabbed a couple of boxes off of the shelf and started perusing through some of the documents; a decision I will regret forever. I thought I would find just a bunch of long and wordy instruction manuals, but what I found made my jaw drop. The documents consisted of instructions on how to perform strange rituals such as summoning people from the dead, summoning Demons, performing human sacrifice, and even communicating with the Devil himself. These were just some of the many different rituals to be found. All of it made me sick. I didn’t want to keep browsing through all of the documents, but I just couldn’t help myself. Why were these strange papers hidden here? How did they get there? How come nobody noticed this before? I had too many questions and not enough answers. I had to keep searching to see if I could find out more information.

I grabbed another box off the shelf and placed it on the table. This box consisted of several really old newspapers with a bunch of different articles. I picked up one of them and read the title. “Communist Spies In Our Navy: Threat To National Security”. I proceeded to read the article. It was basically about suspicions of a secret society within the Navy that was selling secrets to the Soviet Union. A Master Chief named Ronald Hart brought up the suspicions after he discovered a secret hideout area containing very peculiar artifacts by accident and pursued an investigation. I took the contents of the article with a grain of salt. In those days it was easy to accuse anyone of being a communist.

I looked at another article. The title read, “Master Chief Commits Suicide In Grey Hall”. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The rumors were actually true. After reading through the article, I discovered that it was the same Master Chief who conducted the investigation. The rest of the article dismissed the Master Chief’s findings and the whole case was dropped.

I continued to look at more articles when suddenly, the room temperature dropped. A cold chill went up my spine. I could sense something in the room. I could feel it behind me, looming over me. I felt a subtle breath of air against my neck. I looked over my shoulder… there was nothing there. My heart rate began to increase. I had a gut feeling that when I turned back around I would see something unpleasant. I quickly turned my head back around…nothing. I let out a sigh of relief. I decided that it was finally time to put away the boxes and get the hell out of this room. My sweet tooth for mystery had been satisfied for tonight and I was ready to forget about all of this.

I picked up the boxes and quickly stowed them back on the shelf. As I turned around to leave, my heart skipped a beat. I didn’t want to believe it but I couldn’t deny what my eyes were seeing. It was indeed, the ghost of Master Chief Hart, hanging just a few feet in front of me. His neck was crooked and his head lay tilted to the side, but there was no rope to be seen. His eyes were veiny, bloodshot, and filled with agony and rage. His face was boiling red to the point where it looked like it was getting ready to explode. His arms and legs fell limp to his sides. The ghost wore a Navy dress blue uniform with a Master Chief rank insigne and 6 gold service stripes on his left sleeve. He looked just like the man I saw in the pictures of the articles. There was no denying that this was Master Chief Hart. I stood there stiff and frozen in shock as the Master Chief towered over me lifelessly. Hot and cold flashes ran through my body, sweat ran down the brow of my forehead, my entire frame helplessly shaking. I have had Chiefs chew me out before, but the fear I felt during those times were nothing compared to the sheer terror that the Master Chief inflicted upon me.

There was not really a reason for me to be afraid. Ten seconds had gone by and the apparition hadn’t made a single movement to harm me, but it was the look of pain and misery on his face that sickened me. I couldn’t bear to look at the awful figure before me, but my eyes couldn’t look away, locked on to his horrible face. Finally, I mustered up enough courage to run around the Master Chief and do an Olympic dive through the square hole. I grabbed my clipboard and started racing out of the machinery room. I knew I shouldn’t look back, but once again my curiosity got the best of me. I took a look over my shoulder and all I could see was the Master Chief’s head staring at me through the square hole in the wall. I bolted out of the machinery room and dashed down all flights of stairs to the quarterdeck. My heart was racing, my adrenaline was pumping, and my whole body was perspiring.

As soon as I got down to the quarterdeck, the Petty Officer Of The Deck stared at me funny.

“Are you alright shipmate?” he asked.

I was contemplating whether or not I should tell him what I had just witnessed. No one would believe me though. People would think I was crazy. I would lose my security clearance and get kicked out of the Navy. I did not want to go back to my old life. I decided to keep it to myself.

“I’m fine,” I replied. “I just got a little bit winded from walking up all these stairs.”

“Are all conditions normal?” he asked.

I nodded my head, still trying to catch my breath. I still had three more roves to complete before I got relieved. That meant I had three hours alone with the Master Chief. I checked my watch. The time was 0105. I reluctantly departed for another rove. This time, I went through my rove as quickly as possible. I wasted no time climbing each flight of stairs to the next deck and quickly hurrying through each deck to check things off on my log sheet. I tried to avoid the ominous gazes from the paintings of the Admirals as I rushed through the corridors. I also kept my eyes from wandering over to the windows in fear of seeing the reflection of the Master Chief behind me. Everything went smoothly for the first twelve decks, but sure enough, I approached the 13th deck.

As soon as I stepped onto the 13th deck, I could immediately feel the air begin to grow thin as if the oxygen were being sucked right out of the room. Something was definitely off about the 13th floor but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It looked practically the same as every other deck. Perhaps my mind was just playing tricks on me. I continued to tour through the building. I checked the appropriate doors and emergency exits and continued onward to the machinery room.

When I got to about 10 feet away from the machinery room, my feet instinctively halted and planted themselves into the ground. I stared at the door head on. Every instinct in my body told me not to go into the machinery room, but I knew that it was one of the areas I had to check. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I just skipped over it. I was also inquiring to what I may find inside. Would the Master Chief be there, waiting for me? I decided to stop speculating over the thoughts in my head and mustered up enough courage to set forth into the machinery room. I started to step slowly and carefully towards the door. The floor creaked uneasily under my feet. Each movement felt like I was carrying bags of rocks on my shoulders, every step felt like a thousand miles, and every second felt like a million years. My whole body was stiff, my muscles ached, and my stomach felt nauseous. After what felt like a long and arduous endeavor, I finally reached the door.

I grasped the doorknob with my cold and sweaty palm. The doorknob was cool to the touch and sent a shutter down my spine. I don’t remember it being like that before. Perhaps I was just letting my imagination run wild, or maybe my fear was heightening my senses. I took a deep breathe in and quickly opened the door. I peered my head in through the room and looked around. I looked for the hole in the wall and found it plugged back up with the square piece. I didn’t recall putting it back. I quickly rushed into the room and briefly walked around just to make sure there were no leaks. I was not interested in having another encounter with the Master Chief. As soon as I concluded that the room was okay, I hurriedly shot out of the front door.
My mind began to race as I headed back downstairs. How did the square piece get put back in its place? I’m pretty sure I already knew the answer to that question, but what would’ve happened if I went back into the secret room and dug around deeper? Would the Master Chief show up again? I’m glad that I decided not to find out.

The rest of my rove was uneventful. I had no more strange encounters with the Master Chief and didn’t see anything else that was suspicious or out of the ordinary. At 0330 I was relieved from watch and headed back to my barracks room to get some sleep. After what I encountered that night though, there was no way I was going to be able to get any sleep. That whole night, I lied awake in my bed trying to comprehend what had just happened to me. Was there a reason why the Master Chief appeared to me? He must have been trying to get revenge for some reason. Whatever it was, I didn’t plan on finding out. I was done poking my nose into something that wasn’t my business. Or so I thought.

A couple weeks had gone by since my encounter with the Master Chief and I had pretty much put the whole thing behind me. That all changed when I was doing laundry one day. I found a piece of paper lying around in my pile of clothes. I picked it up and unfolded it. It was the page written in Latin that I found in the secret room. I had completely forgotten about it. My curiosity was ignited once again. I reasoned that it couldn’t hurt to study it from the safety of my own room.

I got onto my laptop and started typing the words on the page into Google Translate. Here is what the rough translation was:

“Our fallen father, we humbly offer you this sacrifice as tribute for your noble cause. Forgive us of our transgressions against you and allow us to bask in the rewards of your glory. We denounce the holy one and his teachings in return for your favor upon us so that we may triumph over our enemies.”

I shuddered at the words I was reading. What did they mean? What could possibly be going on in that room? How did all those strange documents get onto this military base? The answers continued to elude me. I decided that it was time to stop trying to avoid the evidence before me and get to the bottom of this nonsense. My first thought was to speak with the base Chaplain. I could say literally anything to the Chaplain and he would have to keep one hundred percent confidentiality.

“What can I help you with today shipmate?” asked the Chaplain.
I told him about the secret room, the strange documents in the boxes, my encounter with the Master Chief, and the paper written in Latin. He stared at me expressionless the whole time while I explained my discovery. Once I finished, he just nodded.
“Shipmate, that building is very old and in poor condition. All of those factors are probably just playing tricks with your mind. You’re over imagining things. That paper you found was probably just an old Halloween gimmick. That room was probably just an old abandoned storage room. Just forget about everything you’ve seen and don’t let it stress you out.”

I stared at the Chaplain with my mouth agape, appalled by what I was hearing. I couldn’t believe he was just easily dismissing everything I had discovered like I was delusional. He was treating my case like it was nothing. I got up out of my chair and stormed out of the office.

“Wait, is there anything else you want to get off your che…”
I slammed the door on him before he could finish his sentence. In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the best idea, but my judgment was clouded by anger at the time. For some reason, my life became a lot more difficult after my meeting with the Chaplain. One day I received a random room inspection and they apparently found a bag of weed on my desk. I don’t know how it got there or where it came from but somebody was definitely setting me up. I was then sent to Captain’s Mast as a result of my “actions” to receive a punishment.

I stood in my dress blues before the Captain in his office, stiffly at attention. Standing beside him was the Executive Officer and the Command Master Chief. There was a line of chiefs on both sides of me glaring with distaste. I was like a small lonely fish surrounded by a sea of sharks. The Commanding Officer then proceeded.

“Seaman Murphy, we are here to discuss your intolerable behavior and conduct on this base.” He then proceeded to list off articles of the Uniform Code of Military Justice that I had supposedly broken. Afterward the Command Master Chief spoke.

“Shipmate, what you did…” He paused. “Was egregious!” He then continued to scold and admonish me. I wasn’t paying attention to single word he was saying though. Everyone in the room seemed to take turns telling me what a shit bag I was, but I drowned out all of the voices.

Suddenly the Captain said, “Shipmate, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

My mind snapped awake. I began to plead my case in what I thought was a very logical and well thought out argument with plenty of compelling points to make. However, none of them seemed to get through to the Captain. He then proceeded to give me my sentence.

“Seaman Murphy, you are found guilty under the UCMJ and will be dishonorably discharged from the Navy.”

I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. My life had changed so quickly. I know I didn’t do anything wrong. I tried my best to study hard in class, stay out of trouble, and be an asset to the Navy. Who could possibly hold a grudge against me? Why would someone do this to me? I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t want to go back to the life I led before the Navy. The Navy was all I had. This day couldn’t have gotten any worse except for the fact that I had duty as well.

That night, I slept deep in my rack trying to forget about the earlier events of the day. I had a very vivid and almost lifelike dream. There was a group of four or five people wearing black cloaks with hoods in a small room that was dimly lit by candles. They stood in a circle around a small table. On top of the table stood a tall man with a noose around his neck. It was the Master Chief.

He pleaded, “Listen, you don’t have to do this! I swear I won’t say anything!”

A voice in the group responded. “Oh we’ll make sure that you don’t.”

The Master Chief shouted back, “You’ll never get away with this! Someone is going to discover you guys and expose you to the public!”

The voice responded, “You poor fool. You could have easily avoided this fate if you wouldn’t have stuck your nose where it didn’t belong. All of the hooded figures began to speak in unison. I couldn’t understand what they were saying though. The Master Chief started shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Help! Help me, somebody! I’m in here!”

“Your screams are futile,” responded one of the voices. That didn’t stop the Master Chief though. He yelled desperately for help that wouldn’t come. The figures in the robes then pushed the table out from under the Master Chief’s feet and watched him as he helplessly kicked and squirmed. The look he had on his face was the same as when I first saw him. I tried to look away but I was not in control of the dream. What kind of sick bastards would do this to somebody? All of a sudden somebody raced into the room. He was a young sailor of no significant rank. The poor guy looked at what was happening in horror. The robed figures turned their heads toward him. “Looks like we will have an extra offering tonight.”

I abruptly woke up to a loud banging on my door. I got out of bed to see who it was. I opened the door. It was the rover of the barracks building.

“You have watch,” he said bluntly.

“Where and when,” I replied disgruntled.

“You have the midnight watch as the rover at Grey Hall.”

My head immediately perked up. I closed the door on the rover and started to get dressed. This would be a perfect chance for me to disclose the information that was hiding in the room on the 13th deck. I now understood what the Master Chief was trying to tell me. He wanted me to continue his investigation and bring these bastards to justice. I had a plan, but it was risky. I would bring my phone with me into the building and take pictures of the room and the contents inside. I wasn’t allowed to bring my phone inside since it was a secure building, so I had to make sure that I was careful not to get caught. I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed downstairs. I quickly rushed outside into the cold wintry night.

As soon as I got to Grey Hall, I stared up at the top of the building. “I’m going to finish what you started Master Chief,” I whispered under my breath. I then raced into the building and wasted no time signing into watch. Afterward, I quickly roved each deck, eager to get to the top Deck. I wasn’t even bothered a bit by the paintings of the admirals or the ghostly reflections of myself in the windows.

Finally, I reached the 13th deck and headed straight for the machinery room. Without hesitation, I opened the door and entered the room. To my surprise, this time the square hole in the wall was open. Perhaps somebody else discovered it too. I walked up to it to get a closer look. All I could see was darkness in the room. I climbed in through the hole and fell onto the floor. I then turned on the flashlight and practically had a heart attack. Standing in front of me were the black robed figures in my dream. Their faces were masked by the shadow of their hoods. One of them chuckled.

“We knew you would come back here.”

“Why do you think you got assigned watch here?” another voice said.

Anger and frustration began to swirl in me like a maelstrom. I had been played like a fiddle and had no idea. “So it’s True what the articles say,” I replied. “You guys really are selling secrets to the communists.” They looked at each other and laughed.

“That was just what the people thought during that time period,” one of them said. “We had to get rid of that meddling Master Chief before the public found out who we really were.”

“So you hung him and made it look like a suicide,” I said.

“We didn’t but our predecessors before us did. However, it was more than just that. He was used as a sacrifice to bring us strength.

I looked at them dumbfounded. “What are you talking about?” They sighed in annoyance.

“Do you know how when you want one of your favorite sport’s teams to win and you pray to god for your team to triumph over the other?” I nodded in reply.
“Well it’s foolish and ineffective!” said one of the voices. “God doesn’t pick favorites between sides. He stays out of the way of human affairs. However, his counterpart is much more willing to oblige if you pay him the right price.” I was still confused.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why do you think we have one of the most powerful Navies in the world?” asked one of them.

“Because we are technologically advanced.” I replied. They shook their heads in disappointment.

“It’s because we sacrifice the most to Satan!”

I laughed. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“How do you think we won so many wars when the odds were against us? Think about it.”

My heart sank. Could what they were saying possibly be true? Was everything I learned in history a lie?

“Sometimes Satan requires animal sacrifices, other times he just needs us to perform a simple action, and sometimes…” the voice paused. “He requires human sacrifice.”

I shuddered at the thought. These were some really fucked up weirdos.

“Since you decided to stick your nose in our business, we will use you as a sacrifice. No one will even notice you’re gone since you’re supposed to be getting discharged anyway.”

I clenched my fists. “How did you guys know that?” I shouted. The robed figures began to pull back their hoods. My jaw dropped immediately. It was the Captain, the Executive Officer, the Command Master Chief, and the Chaplain.

“Who else is part of your little group!” I demanded.

“There more of us scattered throughout all branches of the military. There aren’t too many of us, but just enough people who are in the right places,” replied the Captain. The four of them proceeded to enclose around me. I suddenly realized what the Master Chief was really trying to tell me. He was trying to keep me away from this room. That’s why he initially appeared to me, so that I wouldn’t get my nose too deep in all of this nonsense. The dream was meant as a warning of what my fate would be if came back to the room. I suddenly felt foolish and stupid. What was I thinking? I should’ve just minded my own business and never gone snooping around.

Suddenly, I remembered that I brought my phone into the building. I took it out of my pocket and quickly put it on the camera feature. I then pointed it at the four of them. “Say cheese motherfuckers.” I pressed the button on my phone and the camera flashed and pierced their eyes.

“Hey, you can’t have a phone in a secure building!” shouted the Command Master Chief.

“Well you also can’t sacrifice people to the Devil,” I replied. The four of them began to charge towards me. I instantly dove out through the hole in the wall. Just before my whole body could exit, one of them grabbed a hold of my leg. I frantically kicked at their arm with my free leg. One of them winced in pain and let go of my leg. I fell to the floor and immediately started to race out of the machinery room once again. Before I could exit, one of them shouted, “Wait!” I turned around.

“What do you want?” I shouted.

“If you don’t post the pictures of us in this room, we will let you stay in the military and drop the charges against you.”

“Screw you guys, I’m going to bring you bastards to justice!”

I turned around and proceeded to exit when the Captain shouted something in Latin. All of a sudden, Master Chief Hart’s ghost hung before me and grabbed my throat.

“I…thought…you…were…on…my…side!” I screeched out as the Master Chief strangled me. I turned my head and realized that the Captain was controlling him with his hands through the hole in the wall. My vision began to blur and the world around me began to grow black. I needed to escape before it was too late. I still had my flashlight in my hand. Perhaps if I could throw it at the Captain, it would momentarily distract him. It was kind of a far shot considering I had a relatively small target and I was being choked to death. I figured it was worth a shot though. I craned my arm behind my back, said a small prayer, and chucked the flashlight as hard as I could.

I couldn’t see if I hit the Captain or not, but I figured I did because the ghost of the Master Chief dropped me. I’m not very religious but perhaps God was working in my favor that night. My head was spinning like a whirlwind and I barely remained conscious. The only thing that kept me going was my fear. I quickly got up and dashed out of the machinery room onto the quarterdeck and pulled the fire alarm. The Petty Officer Of The Deck looked at me wide eyed. “What’s going on?” he asked

“There’s no time, just call emergency and get out of the building.” I then rushed outside and stared up at the top level of the building. I could see the Captain, XO, CMC, and the chaplain staring down at me through the windows. They looked like wraiths through the opaque windows. I started to notice smoke on all levels of the building. There was actually a fire going off in the building. Whatever caused it remains unknown to me till this day, but I have a few pretty good guesses.

The Petty Officer Of The Deck stormed out of the building. “I’ve never had this much excitement on watch in my life!” he exclaimed. Shortly after, the base fire department showed up to the scene. By the time they got there, the building was blazing with fire. Heavy black smoke polluted the night sky and enveloped the base.

The rest of the night was very busy and tiresome. I had to answer questions from the fire department, the OOD, and the CDO. I kept my story short, simple, and most of all, believable. After speaking with everybody, I went back to my room to get some well-deserved rest. I slept like a rock for the few hours I had before morning muster.

After the incident, I was never harassed again by anyone and the charges on me were dropped- a huge mistake on their part. After the fire, Grey Hall was shut down. The classified documents that survived the fire were salvaged and stored in another building. Somehow the Captain and his band of merry men escaped the building without anyone noticing. I don’t know if what they told me was true about worshipping Satan to gain favor over other countries, but I am going to try to get the word out to as many people as possible just in case there are more Satan worshipping human sacrificing nut jobs out there. Unfortunately, the picture I took on my phone came out blurry and unfocused, but they don’t know that.

I just recently graduated from my “A” school and will be going on deployment soon. If anyone else in the military reads this, be vigilant of your surroundings. Pay attention to who your superiors are and what they’re up to. If you see something suspicious, investigate it. Probe around. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. If you do decide to heed my advice, just remember that you may find more than you were hoping for.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.0/10 (145 votes cast)
LineWhatsAppTumblrFacebookTwitterRedditPinterestGoogle GmailGoogle+StumbleUponShare


September 29, 2015 at 12:00 AM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 7.0/10 (192 votes cast)

This week, I moved into a new house. The house itself is lovely, with two stories, three bedrooms, two baths, a fenced-in backyard, and a big kitchen. The tree in the front yard is tall and strong and does a fine job of blocking my living room windows from the street, the water pressure is fabulous, the closets are large, and the wood floors are new. The only problem I’ve had so far is that my neighbors are rather loud. Our houses connect on one side, so we share a living room, bedroom, and kitchen wall. All day long, I can hear them banging around their kitchen, watching loud movies, talking, and their small child crying. It’s a bit trying, but nothing I can’t live with, I suppose.

Now, to get directly to the thing that really concerns me, it started when I was in the shower this morning. I usually like to have music playing while I shower, but today, I decided that I’d rather just enjoy the silence. The activity was fairly uneventful, until, as I was in the middle of washing my hair, I heard my neighbors talking from the other side of the wall. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it sounded strange to me. It seemed that they were mumbling something, whispering, and occasionally laughing quietly, but I couldn’t figure out how I could hear them if they were evidently speaking quietly. I thought that they must be standing absurdly close to their side of the wall in order to be so audible in the midst of my shower.

I didn’t think too much of this incident until I was leaving for work an hour later. As I started to open my car door, I turned back to the house, feeling like I’d forgotten something. As I looked up at my bedroom window, I realized that the neighbor’s house shares a wall on the opposite side of the house from the bathroom. On the other side of the bathroom lies my bedroom closet.

Credit: REC

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 7.0/10 (192 votes cast)
LineWhatsAppTumblrFacebookTwitterRedditPinterestGoogle GmailGoogle+StumbleUponShare