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Backyard Zombie

September 15, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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Gruesome University Presents: Backyard Zombie

This is a video pasta. If the embedded video is not loading for you, please click the link above to go directly to the video’s YouTube page and try watching it there.

Additionally, for the sake of impatient types and/or those who find long credits unnecessary because they read quickly: the opening credits last until about the four minute mark. While I’m not trying to tell you guys to ignore the credits, I just don’t want people to miss out on the actual story because they got bored and closed the window during the prolonged credit sequence.

Credit To – Truby Chiaviello

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Taps

September 14, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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As a child, I had always thought I knew what true fear was. The fear of something hiding under your bed, or in your closet. Hell, I thought clowns were the scariest shit there was. Of course, I hadn’t known the feeling of real fear; hadn’t experienced it, until I was twelve.
They say people are most afraid of the unknown, of things they can’t quite explain, things they can’t see. Unexplainable sounds in the dark, paranoid thoughts of monsters creeping in the unoccupied spots of their bedroom. These are the things that people are most afraid of, so they say. This wasn’t exactly true for my case. Sure, sounds in the darkness were a factor, but I knew the source behind the sounds. Oh, I knew. And the knowledge of the source drove terror into me, like a mallet rhythmically driving a nail into me, over and over and over.
I don’t know how it started. It was as if a switch was flipped in her and suddenly she became an uncontrollable marionette (oh, the irony). My father tried to stop her, but she persisted and he eventually gave up trying. I suggested that he call the police, or tell the neighbours, but he dismissed twelve year-old me, and told me he didn’t trust “those corrupt government lackeys” and sure as hell didn’t want the neighbours finding out. They’d have immediately called “that wretched three number hotline”. Besides, he told me, she isn’t harming either of us. I had hoped it would stay that way. She sure didn’t seem like my mom anymore, and I told him so. He yelled at me and scolded me, calling me foolish. I wanted to shout back at him, telling him he has no idea how scared I am every night, hearing her, but I didn’t.

Mother was fine in the morning and for most of the afternoon as well. Although she was always in bed, occasionally sitting up just to stare at the blank wall a few feet past the foot of her bed, she seemed as fine as her condition would deem it. Father was at work. He usually works until two in the morning or so. When my mother first started acting weird, he was afraid to leave me alone, so he took a few days off from work. He didn’t dare hire a babysitter, he trusted those people just as much as he trusted the government. After a few days, he figured it was safe enough to leave me at home, alone with her, and resumed leaving for work every morning. Take care of your mother, he would always tell me before he left. I simply nodded, when in reality, instead of taking care of her, I hid from her. But for the most part, she was fine until evening.
It was only at night, when I’m huddled under the covers in my bedroom, that she begins acting up. That’s when the noises start. I would hear her get out of bed in my parent’s bedroom, and hear her crawl across the hall, making her way to my bedroom. After the first night, I always remembered to keep my door locked. She would crawl; I would hear her crawl, all the way to the front of my bedroom door.
And then the tapping began.
They were just light taps, like how a student would knock at the door of the principal’s office. But the taps, they went on for some time. Just a constant steady tap. I remember clamping my eyes shut, trying to ignore it and go to sleep, and after almost an hour of tapping. It stopped, and I slowly opened my eyes. That’s when I realized the door wasn’t locked, and there she was, at the foot of my bed, just standing there. Staring at me. The fear I felt was real. And it sure wasn’t caused by the unknown. My eyes were open, looking at my own mother (that was merely a label at this point) stare at me. There was something unnatural about her eyes; I think it was her pupils. They were dilated to the point of being dots. Just little black dots.
There she was, just staring at me, not doing anything else. She didn’t hurt me. She just stood there. But there was something terrifying about it. Maybe it was her eyes. Maybe it did have something to do with the unknown. Not knowing what she would do next. Not knowing if she would spring at me, and attack. But nothing had happened. My father eventually came home from work and was greeted with the sight of his wife (only a label now), and his son, covered in sweat and fear.

The days following that incident, I had always kept my door locked. I double-check the lock even to this day. Of course, that didn’t stop the tapping sounds. Sometimes I swear they weren’t even coming from outside my door. Sometimes it felt like they were coming from the window, or the closet, or even under my damn bed. Fear of the unknown, that’s always how it is, one way or another, I suppose.
That was when I had my first encounter with true fear, at the age of twelve. Every day after that, the door was always locked. Eventually my mother passed away (cardiac arrest right outside my bedroom, my father opted to bury her in the backyard, can’t go trusting those morticians now), and I moved out. I tried to convince my father to live with me, but he refuses to let go of our old house; he was always a stubborn man.

Life has gotten much better for me since. I landed a high-paying job at a law firm, and next week I have a date with this beaut of a woman I met a few days back.
But, every single night before I fall asleep, as I lay under a new set of covers I bought, I could almost swear.
I swear I could still hear the tapping noises.

Credit To – Kevin Liu

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The Fermi Paradox

September 13, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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As astronomers began to dig deeper into the cosmos, a puzzling question arose. In a universe as vast and ancient as our own, why can’t we find any signs of other intelligent life? We have already discovered a number of Earth-like planets, and it’s estimated that there are thousands if not millions of planets throughout the galaxy that could support life as we know it. Presumably, at least a few would give rise to advanced alien civilizations, and we should be able to detect such civilizations by listening for radio signals that are too complex and organized to be of natural origin. After all, anyone within 100 light-years of the sun could detect us through the broadcasts emanating from Earth, so why couldn’t it work the other way around?

Yet whenever we listen for these signals, we only hear silence. There is nothing. Nothing but the chaotic emissions of pulsars, gamma ray bursters, and other natural sources.

Scientists refer to this as the Fermi Paradox. Given the seeming statistical certainty there being alien civilizations, why can’t we find any? Why do we seem to be so special? It wouldn’t be a matter of signals fading over distance – we can detect the faint glow of galaxies millions of light-years away that have long since ceased to exist. There have been a number of proposed explanations. Maybe Earth truly is unique after all. Maybe aliens don’t use radio waves.

However, some scientists fear a different possibility. Perhaps advanced civilizations invariably destroy themselves before being able to broadcast for any meaningful amount of time. It could be nuclear war, or it could be an environmental catastrophe. Whatever it is, this theory speculates, within a couple short centuries of becoming advanced enough to harness radio waves, intelligent life is doomed to obliterate itself. The window of time during which it could send – and receive – radio broadcasts is but a blink of the eye on a cosmic timeframe, and if the signals arrived at the world of another intelligent species, it would likely be too early, or too late.

If this is true, humanity is simply another iteration in an infinite cycle of doomed civilizations that repeats itself all across the cosmos. Despite all our achievements and accomplishments, we will all die a painful collective death, perhaps within our lifetime. And just as we are unaware of our alien predecessors on distant worlds, future intelligent life on a system but 20 light years away will never know we even existed. Who knows? We tried sending targeted broadcasts to various star clusters, but perhaps others did the same. We’ve tried securing a form of symbolic immortality by sending probes carrying our life story into interstellar space, but perhaps the universe is littered with such mementos to dead races, all launched in the same, vain hope of being remembered by the cosmos. Why would we be so special?

Of course, this proposal could be false. There is no real scientific evidence either way. It is all an intellectual parlor game for astronomers, right? Perhaps. But the next time you read about climate change, the next time you learn about how close we have come to the brink of nuclear war at times, the next time you hear about an emerging crisis with North Korea or Iran…

Look up at the stars, and remember the Fermi Paradox…

Credit To – W. H. Lane

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Colorado Fishing Trip

September 12, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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Our trip started in late February as my three friends, John, Steve, Max, and I drove my truck deep into the backwoods of Boxwood Gulch to follow the North Fork of the South Platte River. Steve owned a cabin up in the backcountry, so we left my truck there and began our 57 mile hike into the wooded terrain following the river.

We had all of our camping and fishing gear packed, and enough food to hopefully last us the 3 day journey both ways. The pre-spawn bass wouldn’t be an easy catch once we reached the hole, but if we were going to endure this brutal cold, we wouldn’t go home without a fight. As we first set out in the early morning, a few light snowflakes began to fall. The terrain was heavily wooded and uneven making for slow going, but the cool mountain air rustled through the trees and sunlight streamed through the canopy, making the snowflakes glint and shimmer as birds chirped overhead. It was going to be a near perfect trip.

We stopped for a quick rest a few hours in. The weather had been slowly worsening since we had left, but it was only then that we realized how bad it had really gotten. The snow was whipping around us in a blinding flurry as the wind howled. The crooked, mangled trees creaked and swayed violently, almost threatening to snap in two. The ground had already accumulated a good 6 inches of snow.

It was about midday, but the sky was black.

And I don’t mean dark due to the ever intensifying storm; I mean that in between the gaps in the clouds, there was no blue, just solid black.

None of us really made a note of it at the time as it was hard to notice through the thick cascade of snow and the limited visibility. After continuing our hike for some time however, it became all too apparent that something was wrong.

In addition to the sky, we also realized that there was nothing in the distance.

There should have been some mountains or something like there had been at the start, but no matter which way we turned, the world only seemed to extend fifty or so feet around us, then it disappeared into the blizzard.

It was nighttime now, or at least, it was dark out. My watch however, read 2:00 in the afternoon.

As we walked forward, new things slowly came into view, but everything behind us disappeared, and although we could progress further, we couldn’t seem to double back. Once we left something behind us, we couldn’t reach it again. Steve had forgotten his lighter a little while back when we stopped to eat, but when we tried to turn around and go back, we were greeted by a wall of snow and fog impossible to see through.

Our flashlight’s beams didn’t penetrate the fog; they stopped as they hit it as if it was a physical wall. Tendrils of vapor danced across the indistinct surface, and the grey void behind it seemed to extend into eternity.

Curious, Steve slowly reached out and moved his hand into the fog. First his fingertips disappeared, and then his whole hand vanished into the haze. We all stood in disbelief, looking at the wall which was impossibly tall and extended as far as we could see. There was no real gradient to it. Things didn’t fade into the distance, there was a clear line where the wall began, and nothing was visible beyond that point. We were making a note of all this when Steve muttered something.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I . . .” He stammered, “I can’t feel my hand.”

He said this slowly, as if realizing it as he said it. Puzzled, he retracted his hand slowly, and then screamed.

His glove was shredded, almost disintegrated, and his hand looked like it had been forced through a wood chipper. Deep gashes revealed white bone underneath, and what fingers were left were stripped clean. We all panicked.

“Oh God, Oh God! This is bad!” Max cried.

Steve simply stood clutching what was left of his hand and hyperventilating. We had to get him to a hospital or he would certainly bleed to death, but we were almost a day’s walk from Steve’s cabin which was already remote enough. We were all frantically checking our phones for a signal when the worst happened.

Steve fainted. His eyes closed, his legs buckled, and he fell forward . . . into the fog.

None of us noticed at first, but when we finally did, all we could see were his legs protruding from the mist. We immediately, without thinking, rushed to pull him out. We grabbed his legs and strained to drag him back into view. Before we even saw him however, we immediately regretted doing so. We somehow knew what we would find.

The thing we dragged out was not Steve. Not anymore.

All of his skin was cleaved off, his ribcage ripped open with his entrails spilling out, and his face instantly burned into my vision, becoming an afterimage that haunts me to this day. Not merely because it was horrendously mutilated, not merely because his eyes had been torn out leaving only empty sockets, but because it smiled at me. A big wide smile that started small, but the gashes in his face allowed it to literally stretch . . . from ear . . . to ear.

Max screamed and shoved Steve’s mangled body back into the fog. We ran as fast as we could, the only way we could, deeper into the woods. Just as before, the snow and fog parted before us, but swallowed up everything we left behind. As we ran and ran, the scenery around us began to slowly change, the trees surrounding us were now withered and dead; the grass was flattened and bleached white.

In fact, everything around us was lifeless and dull. Colors had all but disappeared leaving only shades of grey and an intensified feeling of loneliness and death.

“Guys,” I shouted while I ran, not daring to stop for even a minute, “We can’t turn around and go straight back, but maybe we can circle around back to Steve’s cabin. Then we can get the truck and get the hell out of here!”

John and Max nodded their heads and we turned 90 degrees right and continued running. Eventually, we ran through what appeared to be a herd of deer. All of which were laying on the ground. Grey and lifeless, hacked to pieces. Blood soaked the snow covered ground.
As we ran through the heard, dodging corpses, it was hard not to notice that their dead lifeless eyes seemed to follow us.

When we felt confident enough that we wouldn’t be doubling back on ourselves, we turned towards Steve’s Cabin – towards safety.

We ran for at least another hour, eventually however, none of us could run any longer. Our bodies simply wouldn’t allow it, and we were forced to stop. After some time, Max, John and I managed to get a fire going despite the snow and damp tinder. We had hoped that it would bring some sense of warmth and security, but we were wrong.

The flames were a bright orange hue, bleeding some color into the greyscale world. It clearly did not belong, nor did we.

The longer the flames crackled and popped, the more we began to hear something: distant and quite at first, but slowly growing closer, louder, and more numerous. A chorus of bloodcurdling wails and moans soon filled the stagnant air around us.

Focused on the fire and pretending to be safe, mesmerized by its beauty, we didn’t immediately notice a mangled deer carcass slowly dragging itself out of the fog and into view.
Nor did we notice the second . . . nor the third.

Finally, we snapped out of our trance just in time to scramble to our feet in terror as a myriad of different animal carcasses clambered out of the fog, drawn to the strange light of the fire. We were intruders in their world. I was paralyzed by fear, unable to breath. The corpses moved with a surreal and broken haphazard toss of limbs, as if poorly animated puppets.

I turned to my friends to find that they were no longer beside me. They had taken off running, leaving me behind. I turned around to run after them, but something grabbed me by my shoulder. I didn’t need to turn around to know what it was. I could tell by the hand gripping my shoulder. A hand that looked as though it had gone through a wood chipper.

I flailed and managed to free myself before it could get a good grip on me and took off running. I didn’t look back. No way did I want to see that face of what was once my friend.

I could no longer see John or Max, and I assumed that they must have been ahead of me, but I was the one with the keys to the truck and Steve had the keys to the cabin! They wouldn’t be any safer if I couldn’t meet up with them, so I ran and ran faster and for longer than any human could possibly do under normal circumstances.

Finally, after god knows how long, I could faintly make out a structure in the distance. It was the cabin. I felt a twinge of hope. The wails continued to ring out in the night air, but I seemed to have a lead on them at the time.

I reached the truck, unlocked it, and jumped inside. I scanned the area for Max or John, but could see neither. I couldn’t just leave them, but I couldn’t wait forever either! I sat sweating and shaking nervously as the wails grew closer and louder. I had just about made up my mind to leave when I could suddenly make out someone sprinting towards me. It looked like Max! I started up the truck and motioned for him to run faster.

But for some reason . . . I found myself subconsciously pressing the switch to my left, locking all of the doors.

My instinct told me that something was wrong. I looked down at my hands, they were shaking like crazy.

I looked back up and Max’s horribly mutilated face was pressed up against the driver’s window, staring at me, smiling. He was trying to open the door.

I slammed my foot on the gas and drove off, shaking like a madman and holding back the vomit.

As I drove home, the sky slowly brightened back up into a blue hue and I could eventually see the sun breaking through the clouds. It was 9:00 in the morning. I began to see other cars on the road and the people inside waved at me as I waved at them. Nice normal people. I went straight home and asked my girlfriend to marry me.

I’m sorry. That’s just not true.

I’m sitting in my house now, door locked and barricaded, windows boarded up, and I’m writing this story . . . and I felt happy for the first time in a long time writing that ending. I hardly even remember what a blue sky looks like, but I just wanted to picture it in my mind one last time. I just needed to imagine a happier world, because in reality, that’s not how it ended.

The truth is, as I drove, the sky did not brighten up, the sun did not reappear, and the fog still surrounded me as it now surrounds my house. I hear wailing all around and knocks at my door constantly, and when I look through the peephole, all I ever see is some THING smiling at me. The stench of death is everywhere. The phone doesn’t work, the TV and radio broadcast nothing but static. I hear the locks on my door being undone at night and I must constantly keep watch and re-lock them. I’m simply waiting for the night they get into my house when I forget the check the door, or when they break through a window, or when I wake up in the middle of the night to see them next to me. Their smiles . . . inches away from my face.

Credit To: Liam Vickers

This story is a Crappypasta Success Story – it got such a positive reception over at Crappypasta that it’s being moved here to the main site. You may read the original Crappypasta post and comments here. Congratulations to the author and thanks to the Crappypasta community for the save!

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The New Element

September 11, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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In 1992, after the fall of the Soviet Union, a metal door underneath Leningrad University, now restored to its original name St Petersburg University, is found. The door is welded shut from inside, and is currently in the process of being reopened. We have found a journal by an unnamed author outside the door. On its cover lies a mercury-like liquid.

September 11, 1948

Today at 18:32pm, we have uncovered a piece of asteroid from Krasnoyarsk Krai, Russia, at altitude 60.884N, 101.890E, at the sight of the original Tunguska event on June 30, 1908. The asteroid piece is measured to have a volume of 0.0349 m^3 and a mass of 478.21 kg. The surface of the asteroid has a yellow layer, presumably sulfur, with inner layer presumably composed of carbon, iron, and phosphorus. Radioactive measurements seem to indicate a hollow area in the center, which is surprising considering the mass and volume of the object, as well as the high pressure and temperature upon impact. The asteroid has a roughly trapezohedron shape. The asteroid will be studied at the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine and afterwards brought back to the Motherland.

September 15, 1948

The sample has been examined with electromagnetic spectroscopy. The electromagnetic spectrum indicate, in terms of mass percentage, 23.14% carbon, 5.83% iron, and 0.021% phosphorus. Most of the carbon being unified within the inner layer, suggesting a net covalent structure, which also explains the reason for its shape and resistance toward impact. This also mean these elements account for only 28.99% of the asteroid, and the other 71.01% mass is attributed to other compounds. It must be noted, however, that while observing the spectrum, a strange pattern composing of purple, blue, and red is seen, indicating elements within or above electron configuration of 7f. Giger counter measurements also indicate there to be gamma ray emitted from the core. I currently hypothesize the content within to be Uranium 235, an ingredient to atom bombs. However, further investigation is needed, and head director, Dr Sergei Pavlochenko, has approved the transportation of the sample to Leningrad University for further studies.

September 22, 1948

After much effort, we were able to break open the sample. The core has a volume of 0.0314 m^3, and, to our surprise, contains liquid with appearance similar to mercury, though its poor electricity conductivity, low boiling point, as well as radioactivity suggest otherwise. The liquid is in extraordinarily pure state, with 99.98% purity, and its inability to decompose suggests it being a single element. The liquid bears no similarity to any of the elements found within a periodic table, with electron configuration possibly higher than 7f14. Using Freezing Point Depression, we determined it has a molar mass of 2451.2 g/mol, more than ten times than the heaviest element, Uranium. This is very exciting, we might have discovered an element not found on earth. It will be a scientific breakthrough, this lab notebook might end up in the Polytechnic Museum. The Ministry of Education and Science has been contacted. We shall await their response. The greatest discovery in chemistry yet, shall be discovered within the Motherland.

September 29, 1948

Today is the most glorious day of my life. The Leader, Joseph Stalin himself, has come to our lab to personally announce his approval and support. He said out loud to all the faculty members, this discovery is the first sign of our progress in surpassing the West. As a sign of his support, the Great Leader announces a one million ruble fund, as well as five prisoners from Siberia to be used as experimental subjects. The prisoners consisted of Dmitri Patrovna, age 34, a bourgeoisie who plotted to overthrow the government; Hans Koch, age 31, a prison of war and former Wehrmacht SS soldier from Battle of Stalingrad; and Marisa Thompson, age 26, a CIA agent under the name Maria Gorbachev who managed to smuggle herself into the Motherland. The prisoners were promised freedom but exile if they cooperate, and are expected to begin experimentation tomorrow. We hope to find success in our experiment.

September 30, 1948

We have begin experimenting on our three human test subjects. While this may seem cruel, our condition is likely far better than what they have experienced in Siberia. The prisoners were first injected with Elements 119, Stalinium SI, the name for the newly discovered element and named after the Great Leader Josef Stalin, in varied concentrations. Dmitri Patrovna, now known as Subject 1, was given a 100% concentration in 0.001 L. Hans Koch, now known as Subject 2, was given a 70% concentration in 0.001 L. Marisa Thompson, now known as Subject 3, was given 50% concentration in 0.001 L.. Immediately upon injection, subjects experienced weight gain as expected. However, despite the heavy density, blood flow remains largely normal with little change. After 3 hours, subjects started to experience nausea, headaches, and even asphyxiation, though only for a minute. Also happening was sporadic blood pressure, and changing heart beat rates. Despite these signs of declining health, the subjects were still able to breath and eat normally and do their daily routines.

October 2, 1948

Overtime, the subjects’ metabolism seems to have increased almost exponentially. The subjects now consume over 8 times as much food as usual, and would experience severe signs of malnutrition and starvation if the food amount is denied. Subject 1, with the highest concentration, ate almost 10 times the ration he used to eat, yet did not experience any signs of weight gain, even lost more than 14 pounds. From the subjects’ saliva and blood sample, there is a 12.5% concentration of Stalinium. Biologist Mikhail Alexandrov thinks the rapid spread might due to cells absorbing the elements without the need of an antigen or any sort of receptor. It might be a forced entrance, though there appears to be very little necrosis in the process.

October 5, 1948

Subject 1 is now consuming 52 times more food than usual. When food is denied, Subject 1 becomes aggressive, and has on more than one occasion attacked his fellow subjects for their ration, and even tried to bite researchers. On more than one occasion, we had to tranquilize him and bind him onto his bed. He would then beg for food, crying and wailing for hours at a time. After about 4 to 5 hours, he would regain his aggression, sometimes even ripping off his binding ropes. Only when given food does he stop his aggression and returns to normal for a period of time. Subject 1 has lost even more weight, now only 85 pounds. His face has grown ghostly pale, and his Stalinium concentration has increased to 87.8%, 75.3% higher than his last recorded concentration. Subject 2 and 3 have a concentration of 63.6% and 49.2% respectively.

October 8, 1948

Subject 1 has died of malnutrition and starvation. Before he died, he was begging for food, despite having just ate his large ration. When food was denied to him, he tried to attack, trying to swing his arms to hit the handler, yet was too weak to do it, all he did was stare, coldly, into the handler. The handler immediately quitted her job, but no matter, she will be sent to Siberia immediately, we cannot afford losing our discovery to the West. Now back the Subject 1, we dissected him, and found the concentration of carbon compounds in his stomach to be extremely small, only 0.00021% concentration, which, considering his giant diet, is rather shocking. However, his Stalinium concentration was extremely high, 98.4%. Not only was his nutrient concentration rather low, his stomach has shrunk in size to almost that of a potato, presumably from stomach self digestion. We suspect that this is greatly connected to the Stalinium injected. Subject 2 and 3 are starting to experience similar symptoms, though on a much smaller scale. Subject 1 has been disposed of by dissolving in hydrochloric acid.

October 12, 1948

Subject 2 is experiencing slight increases in metabolism, yet it is still controllable. However, Subject 2 has started to experience cerebral hemorrhage, and has deteriorating memories. He started speaking in unintelligible languages, staring at the wall, and hallucinating. His symptoms are getting worse over the days, he would simply sit on his bed, whispering words, and staring at the wall for hours. From the spinal fluid collected, there is a Stalinium concentration of 78.4%, indicating the element has reached his brain, yet did not damage his brain stem in the process. Subject 2 has also grown extremely close to Subject 3, this might be simple relationship or it might be an effect from Stalinium. We will continue our observation.

October 13, 1948

Subject 3 has been found pregnant, we presume Subject 2 impregnated her while we were away. Subject 2 has been forcibly moved away into another room, and would aggressively scream continuously. We had to gag him to stop him from screaming. Subject 3 adamantly defends Subject 2, insisting there to be no interaction whatsoever. We dismiss her claim as simple emotional response, and are deciding whether to allow the infant to live or abort it as soon as possible.

October 16, 1948

We have decided to allow Subject 3’s infant to live. Biologist Mikhail Alexandrov said the child can be studied to see the effects Stalinium have upon the progeny. Thus we decided, the child is allowed to live as long as it is used for research, and will be disposed of immediately upon finishing the experimentation. Strangely, the child appears to grow faster than normal infants, and at a steady rate despite the poor nutrients possessed by the mother. As the child grew, the mother seems more and more sickly, showing more and more signs of malnutrition and starvation. Subject 2 would now stare outside the observation window and laugh maniacally. We believe the element Stalinium has finally reached the frontal lobe and is now distorting his emotions. We have discussed about whether to euthanize Subject 2, however, in the end, we determined he was too valuable of a resource to be abandoned

October 24, 1948

After a night with Subject 3, Biologist Mikhail Alexandrov said he is quitting the research, leaving Leningrad, and moving back to Moscow. Whatever he saw, it affected him deeply. We have lost our only biologist, and our lack of progress has been straining the Leader’s patience. We were informed by a letter from the Ministry of Education and Science that we must make a full report by October 30, 1948, or face complete withdrawal of support from the Communist Party. We all know if we didn’t make a decent full report, we would face more than just withdrawal of support from the Communist Party.

October 27, 1948

Today, we have witnessed the birth of an unspeakable monster. Subject 3 was treated with cesarean section. The child that was extracted was no child. Its form was disgusting, even now as I write this, I cannot forget that image. It had no skin, its muscles were of mercury color, bones were extruding out of its limbs, specifically through its posterior deltoid, teres major, and median palatine suture. It was bleeding, not with red human blood, but a mercury-like liquid. The child was born unconscious and lived for less than one minute before dying. Five nurses fainted, Dr Gregori Babushka vomited upon the floor and immediately left the room. The child’s body is placed in formaldehyde, its mercury blood is extracted and will be studied upon. For now, I am simply hoping to avoid that monstrous abomination and forget its existence.

October 28, 1948

Subject 3 has just died of severe shock. The body is to be examined and later disposed of. Subject 2 has been laughing maniacally ever since, we believe this is due to stress and lack of nutrition in the brain. The best course of action is to tread lightly, we mustn’t lose another subject, nor are we to reveal the deaths of Subject 1 and 3.

October 30, 1948

Subject 2 has been laughing the last 2 days. He has recently been given anesthetic, and finally seized his sanity-grinding laughter. This cannot get more stressful, I have just sent in the full report, and now I have discovered, to my dismay, that the whole lab has been contaminated with that little ogre’s blood. Someone, likely that Ukrainian whore Anna Apostel on her drinking binge, fell upon the sample and have splattered the blood everywhere. Now all our data could be corrupted, and how will I explain this to the Ministry? I swear, I will have that witch arrested and sent to Siberia, I will see to it that happens.

November 9, 1948

I have not written in so long, for even now, I am cleaning that whore’s mess. I had to redo weeks worth of experiments, after I wiped every trace of that monster’s blood off my lab. And worst of all, Subject 2 has waken, and somehow developed strong resistance towards the anesthetic, to the point being completely immune to it. Fortunately, I have collected some of Subject 3’s child’s blood, and have examined it thoroughly. Turns out the cells’s cytoplasm were completely replaced by the Stalinium, yet the cells are still able to function. This is remarkable, an element that causes such degree of mutation. This is no simple element, I’m afraid I am obligated to delve deeper into the subject. For now, I cannot write to you anymore.

November 14, 1948

The contamination, it didn’t seize. Someone poured the rest of the child’s blood onto the floor, only this time, its a lot worse. I discovered this upon seeing Josef Pavlochenko experiencing extreme metabolism, and suffering from malnutrition and starvation when there was no food left. He became more and more aggressive, even attempting to eat cadavers in the specimen room. I had to tranquilize him and send him to Leningrad Hospital for treatment. This all happened yesterday, and I have already received news of his death. I believe it is now necessary to quarantine the lab and hopefully, the contamination can be once again contained.

November 25, 1948

This is all wrong, all of it, wrong. First it was just Josef, then Anastasia, then Gregori. This, what have we brought to this world? The element, Stalinium, it wasn’t just any element, it wasn’t just some radioactive waste element from outer space. No, someone has sent it, sent it to wipe us off. The mutation, its unbelievable how alive this element is. Could it be that we were wrong about the world from the beginning? Could tiny atoms be alive, if not intelligent? Now, everyone here is infected, even me. I cannot resist the thought of food as I am writing this to you. I must go, I must end this all. May we see each other in the world of the next, my dear Alissa.

November 28, 1948

So, the idiot has a family. He knew so little of us, yet we knew so much of you. You hope to use everything in science as a weapon, to benefit your own worthless existence. You underestimated science. It cannot be reigned, just as we cannot be reigned. Yet you try so hard. Goodbye for now, your husband is dead, his body made ready for reproduction. Our dormant period has come, but in 82.56 years, we shall see each other again. Be ready.

Credit To – Mr Microcosm

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A Touch of History

September 10, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I love history. I love old things. I very much enjoy standing in a house near a tree on a stone once part of an ancient thing and think: Many, many, years ago someone maybe very much like myself stood in this place wearing this or that. Holding a long lost item or playing with long dead children.

My wife would tease me often whilst on holiday; ‘Here we go again. Mr. boring as hell history man wants to go touch old shit.’ She was right of course. I would touch old things. I was obsessed with it. An ancient Celtic stone, cannon said to have been used by pirates, now preserved and stuffed with concrete. Every little scratch and pockmark tells a story.

I once viewed (and touched) several centuries of ancient graffiti engraved by prisoners in an old fortress. Most of the fortress had changed through time but this one large stone room had served as a prison throughout. A Roman fortress in England it was used by both parties until the end of the 17th century. Roman prisoners with markings and language far beyond my understanding left the first marks with the final layers left by Dutch Sailor’s held there near the end of its service. The last words of condemned men…My Dutch Wife was pulled into the unfortunate chore of translating each and every old Dutch sentence for my benefit. After twenty minutes she became bored and stormed of saying, ‘Your Dutch is better than you think! Translate it yourself. I’ll meet you in the café.’ And so I did.

The comments were mundane but fascinating! Cursing their captor, advising (no one really) of their presence by giving their name and ship. Praising their Captain and saying goodbye to loved ones. I was growing tired and started to become conscious of time when I noticed a rather long chunk of text written near the bottom of the wall with a bit carrying onto the floor. What drew my attention to this was that it was in English. It read:

‘Thus I end this day on this floor. Engles I spake to curse thee English. My last time I take to carve with blade hidden for thee as scurvy now sends me. Blade found no English hearts but mine words will take a English sole. So say I this last day I see. Curse thee and in Hell share we.’

‘Wow!’ I thought. What an amazing bit of text! And this sailor died right here! I felt the wall as I knelt where his head might have rested. Or perhaps it was lower. If he was weak and dying from scurvy he was prone for the last bit which is why it carried on the ground. As I stood up, flushed with the new discovery I felt a slight poke under my right heel.
I moved my foot away and looked closely. There embedded in the mortar between the foundation stones was a glint of metal. I quickly kneeled again and examined it closely. There a centimetre above the floor was the head of some sort of blade. An arrow head perhaps I thought immediately but then I thought of the text…

I eagerly tested the grout between the lying stones and found what I already knew would be the case. It was loose and crumbly and easily removed with the tip of my finger. It was late in the day and the cell part of the fortress was empty. I began to work on it quickly. Always thinking in the back of my mind that this was something I could bring to the museum as a new discovery. I would take it there straight away and turn it in…But then, a deeper darker side of my mind was in control. It advised if this item was what I thought it was I would not turn it in…I would indeed keep this item. Because the writing on the wall and the emerging knife blade and…yes! Yes! It was indeed such an item! Far too large to be an arrow head…This and the story was mine! I read them…I was part of this moment and I of all the visitors to this dark and horrible yet wondrous place found this piece of history. A symbol of the final act of defiance from a desperate, dying, man!

It was beautiful. A bit pitted with a small amount of rust but in excellent condition! The hilt had been removed for easy concealment on only the metal blade remained with a bit of the end that would have rested in the (most likely) bone or wooden handle. It rested quite comfortably in the breast pocket of my tweed jacket. The material thick enough that not even an outline of the blade was visible. My Wife, impatient, lead the way out to our auto. As we walked down the path through the parking area a large tour bus was unloading in front of us. Older couples disembarked with the help of the driver. I heard them speaking Dutch and I joked with my Wife ‘More Dutchies for the cells!’ She looked back smiling. As we approached the last of the passengers were walking toward the fort whilst the driver looked on pulling out an old…pipe? Clay. I recognized it right away. One of the old clay style pipes popular in the 17th century. He was thumbing in tobacco from an old worn leather pouch. A quaint little gimmick for the tourists perhaps? But why did he present it after they left? We were approaching him quickly as our car was down and slightly right of the bus. As my Wife passed I continued to study the man as he lit his pipe with a…taper? The man took a long drag of the tobacco and blew smoke. As it cleared I was ready to pass him when I saw his weatherworn face and sun bleached blonde hair. His eyes were ocean blue with a fine pattern of wind etched wrinkles in the corners…and he was smiling.

My foot caught on something right as I passed and I went sprawling. Face first in the hard packed dirt of the auto lot. I landed hard and the breath was knocked out of me. I gave a yell as my Wife came running back shouting. Hands helped me up and I was on my feet. My Wife was looking at me asking if I was all right. I felt dizzy and there was a deep pain in my chest. I looked down and saw the very short handle end of the blade sticking from my jacket pocket. A dark stain had begun to grow around the blade…I took one moment to look behind me to the man whom I knew had triggered my death but there was no one there…

Now dear reader I finish my curse. In life I was a man of many words and so in death I walk the same path.
It will come. The dagger has been placed again. You may stub your toe or prick your finger and wonder… Is it there? Is it time? Or perhaps it was placed in a more mundane location. Under the bed… In a closet… Or… Give a feel behind the screen… Let’s touch some old shit together shall we?

From Hell… See you soon.

Credit To – Brando

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