The Splendor Man

April 1, 2014 at 7:00 PM
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If there is one day in my life that has defined me it has to be back when I was a younger lad. I must give a bit of background though. I started seeing things moving out of the corner of my eye. Now seeing something slightly move out of my line of sight didn’t really bother me that much. Even the noises while I was trying to sleep didn’t throw me off that much. My upstairs neighbors are some of the weirdest people I have ever meet. One edited his apartment to be able to practice Javelin and another one was a Peruvian flute player. I’m getting a bit off track now.

So after three days of these things, moving out of the corner of my eye. I start seeing things completely move out of my vision of sight. One time during work I was standing in my cubicle talking to Fred in the next cubicle over. I looked up over at the hallway that lead from the office to the stairs. The wall blocked view of the stairs. As I looked over I saw a purple blur, move from the side of the hall down the hallway out of view.

My heart nearly stopped. I saw this a few more times coming to the conclusion a weird guy in purple was stalking me. The noises at night got louder and more terrifying. After a week or so of that, I started hearing a voice at night it was quiet and heavily mumbled. Using what left of my sanity I came to the conclusion that it was just my weird neighbors being weird. Until the second night of whispering. It said my name!

In a deep voice that location could not be found said “Paul.”
It was faint the first night but, after that it got louder and louder. After the fifth night of whispering I went to my friend’s house where some of my friends were going for a small party. My five nights of no sleep was obvious to my friends. They were worried about me. I assured them that it was just some stress. I was trying to make myself not look as crazy as mine friends already knew I was.

After a bit of drinking and our extreme D&D match(I kicked ass that night) with them. I looked out the window. There standing was this purple fuck who kept fucking with me. It wore a dark purple suit with tons of dots on the suit. Though their colors I couldn’t figure out, but it wasn’t his suit that caught my eye it was his face. Or lack of it. As I blinked he was gone. I jumped off the couch. My friends were able to calm me down after a bit. I was able to fall asleep that night there was no noise. Not a creak, scratch or whisper.

After waking up on my day off I realized I needed some groceries. I walked down to the Wal-mart. As soon as I got there I was surprised to see that there weren’t any people there. The parking lot was full as usual, but inside no one was there. Though this should of sent off red flags for some reason my brain came up with the conclusion.

“Yeah, no stupid people to deal with.”

As I went about my myself; grabbing everything on the list as my usually day of shopping goes. It wasn’t till my last item my body started realizing something was off. I started sweating and my heart was pumping really fast. In my haze of stupidity I just passed it off as being hot. It wasn’t until I was one isle away from my last item, that my brain started working.
“Wait it’s a Saturday! This place should be packed! And it’s the second day of the month!”

I grabbed my last item(Sauerkraut) as adrenaline started kicking in. I ran as fast as I could down the rows of food until I ran into something. Hit it like a brick wall. I went flying back into a nearby rack of toys. As I waved about trying to defend myself I grabbed a handle and started swinging the item that had fallen on me as a weapon. As I started knocking things away. I thought I had defeated the monster. But, when I opened my eyes there was nothing there. And I was holding a wiffle ball bat and the monster I thought was attacking me was some toys that I knocked out of the way in the confusion. I stood up and looked at the exit. There was the doors that led outside as normal, but I couldn’t see anything outside. It was pitch black.

My brain came to the quick conclusion that probably meant death. My feet figured out the same thing as I was running down the rows as fast as I could to the tools in hope to find some sort of weapon. I heard the same voice as I had heard during my sleep. Deep, low, terrifying and this time echoing loud. It boomed across the whole store.

“Run as fast as you want Paul, but you’ll never escape!”

I started to hear footsteps from behind me and I started feeling breath against my neck. I was only one or two rows away from the tool section. When I finally reached the row I slid down to the middle of the row and grabbed the first thing that survival horror games had taught me was a weapon. A crowbar! I turned around and swung the crowbar as hard as I could. Hitting my target hard.The hit made hands sting in pain I dropped my weapon.

I feel back to the ground as I looked up upon my nightmare fuel. It stood at around eight feet tall, in a purple suit. The purple suit was covered in different colored polka dots on his suit. His face being completely white from what I could see with his hat covering his face. His hand with it’s purple glove slowly moved up to his hat. As his hand hit the back of his purple hat with a band with the colors of the rainbow that held a single cartoonish red flower in the band. His hat tilted from being down so I could see his face.

His face was completely white with no facial features. Except on his face was drawn rather large black eyes and a drawn on mouth that showed no emotion. His long and slender body started to slightly move. His drawn on mouth and eyes started moving. He had pupils in his large black eyes. His mouth turned into a huge smile.

He looked down at me; frozen in fear from the thing that was well splendor. He then said in a rather high pitched voice.

“Oh, yeah.”

He then cleared his voice while holding up one of his long slender finger. After he finished he said in a louder voice.


His voiced echoed about the store. Then the candyman song started playing. Except candyman was changed from candyman to Splendorman.

“The Splendorman can!”

It went on for about 3 minutes until it finally stopped. He kept the same happy stare at me the whole time. After the song finished I was trembling covered in sweat and fear. I finally after a minute said.

“W-what i-is a Splendorman?”

He chuckled, grabbed me by the hand, and pulled me up to my feet. Looking at me with the same happy expression. Blackness slowly surrounded us. All I could see was his face. His voice dropped low. He said in an almost whisper.

“I’m your fears, your nightmares, and the darkest corners of the world!”

He then looked down at his hand. In his hand he was holding a 4×4 card. He then muttered to himself.

“Pause for dramatic effect.”

Swinging his arms up knocking me to the floor, yelled in his high pitched voice.


His voice echoed about the store…again. The Splendorman song started playing again. Suddenly I got rush of courage, stood up and yelled.

“What? The music?”
“Yes ‘Splendorman’ the music!”
“Are you not finding this funny?”
“Not really.”

He suddenly had a sad face. He then threw a taco at my face and hit me. I stumbled back and said.

“W-what the fuck!”
Splendor man was laughing his ass off. He then put his ass back on. I whipped away the taco and said.

“Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because it was random! And as any 7th grade girl will tell you that is the height of comedy!XD”(He literally made this face, not kidding.)

He finished his sentence with a twirl then started eating a flying pancake cat.

“Just because some teenage girls find it funny, doesn’t actually make it funny!”

He dropped his flying pancake cat thing out of his hands and mouth. Then his face turned into one of these fucking things.


He then slapped me. My weak and fragile body fell to the floor. He burst out laughing. I got up and brushed myself off. After a minute or so he stopped laughing, looked down at me, and made a look of disapproval.

“You don’t like slapstick either! What is wrong with you!?!”
“Nothing, but that’s beside the point. Where am I? What’s a Splendorman?”
“Well, I am the Splendorman a sort of demon thing that does the bidding of the devil. Maybe you have heard about my more popular brother Slenderman?
“Oh, yeah that shitty game nobody would stop talking about for a month then everybody forgot about.”
“Finally someone who agrees that Slender was a poo-poo game.”
“Why did you say poo, you know I don’t care. But where am I?”
In confusion I said
“What Wal-mart is Purgatory? That doesn’t make much sense.”
“Oh, but, Paulie it quit does.”
“Well it’s, ah? Well? It’s evil. Yeah lets go with that.”
“What so evil about it?”
“Gosh-dern-it Paulie, can’t you just enjoy the randomness!? Wal-mart is Purgatory that’s comedy gold!”
“Well I could see some good witty humor in that but, there’s no good writer who could exploit that.”
“Oh, Paulie you must like breaking the fourth wall!”
“Oh, no it was just an observation.”

Then a loud booming voice echoed.

“Did some mention breaking the fourth wall!?!?!”
I fell back to the ground starting to find it quite comfortable and easier to cower on. I then yelled in fear.
“W-who is that?”
“You dummb that’s the writer of this fair story. You ask too many question and stutter too much.”
The writer followed up with
“Yes I wrote him after all my fears of a gay Slenderman and my social anxieties!”
Splendor man replied. “I am ‘NOT’ gay. You donkey turd!”

As the Splendorman fought with the author I spaced out in his own little world. I thought about the situation. Why? Why was I here? Did I do something to upset god? Maybe not believing in him, but that wouldn’t upset him enough to stick me with an annoying gay slenderman. Would he?

I was awoken from my mind nap when Splendorman picked me up by my throat. He mumbled
“Lets get it over with.”
I chocked out “What?”
“Like I said Paulie you ask too many questions.” Now in a sadder voice.
Splendorman carried me all the way to the exit and then dropped me onto the comfortable floor.
“Paulie you are deader than a metaphor that the author is to lazy to make.”
Completely shocked I stuttered.
“Sorry, Paul but, you got hit by a bus on your way to the Wal-mart. Ha, you have became a statistic.”
“But, I can’t be dead.”
“Yes, you can you idiot! Apparently you were so low on the totem pole that I had to do the ‘job’ instead of either of my brothers.”
He then motioned for me to have some flying pancake cat.
“I can’t do a thing Paulie.”
Splendorman then slapped me.
“I can’t Paul.”
The booming voice returned.
“Ugh, I just realized we can’t kill him off.”
“Well he is telling the story. It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“But, this barely resolves it either!”
“Yeah I don’t know what to do with the plot so you guys wing it for a bit while I think this through.”

I was very happy at this. The fact I was going to live. I was smiling ear to ear. Splendor man then exploded.
“Fu- Must not swear must be kind and lovable! I just want to be random and be loved, but no my story get hijacked by some donkey-turd of an author!”
The author returned.

“Okay I figured it out.”
“Paul will be your proxy!”
Splendor man stood there mouth opened and shocked. The author then started again.
“Well, it makes sense. Since this is pretty much a self insert fan fic. It just makes sense.”
“But!” Splendor man replied angrily.
“Do you want to be loved my random 7th grade girls?”
“Fine!” Splendor man said in a sad voice.
I cut in “I get to live!?”
“Yeah. You get to live Paul.”
I was pretty damn happy.Splendor man gave me a face like this

“:/”(Once again it was like this. Not being lazy.)
Splendor man then snapped his fingers and we were on a rooftop overlooking the city.

“Will I get to learn how to that?”
“What? No! That is only for people who like random.”
“Oh, so that’s, how the British won World War II.”
“Never mind, so what is are first job.”

Splendor man pulled out a laptop out of his pocket. He opened it to a website called “Crappypasta”. He then said.

“We have to protect this amazingly, funny, and smart pasta called ‘Bloody Fruit Loops of Death’ from all these haters. Especially this dirty-birdie tytiger10.”
“Wait did you just make an obscure reference?”
“Yeah of course. Obscure references are hilarious. Not as much as slapstick or random, but you know still pretty good.”
I was about to disagree when he slapped me then burst into a long laugh. I got back up and he laughed for a good twenty minutes. When he stopped I said to him.

“Obscure references aren’t that funny because if people don’t get them they feel left out…”
“YOU NEED TO SHUT UP!!! YOU-YOU DONKEY POO!! Random and Slapstick and Obscure References are the height of humor!! You are just being a loser hipster hater who has no life!!”
“This is going to be a long eternity.”
“Same here Paulie, Same here.”

*This story was successfully rewritten after receiving feedback on Crappypasta – click here to read the original version.

Credit To – tytiger10 (Thanks go to YOU CAN”T HANDLE THE USERNAME and the crappypasta community)

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January 10, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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Murder is an incredibly human concept, when you think of it. All species kill; to protect their young, to cull those unfit, most often in order to stay alive- everyone needs to eat.
And yet, in nature, all causes of death are natural. We exist simply for existence’ sake. All victories, large and small, all worlds we build- everything we do, will die. Of course, it might be remembered, for a little while, by other, equally perishable beings. But, in the end, existence will cease to exist. That is the way of the world. All things come to an end. Eventually.
All ways of life die. Usually, of natural causes, so to speak. Occasionally, then, they die of something other than natural causes. And what is the word we have created, a stand-in for “other than natural causes”?
A stupid word, when you think of it.
But an appropriate one.


The sky was a horribly dull grey-and-navy. The car loomed out of the shadows like some shiny, dusty monster. It was just a little way across the yard. It was the same car it had always been, but tonight it was dangerous. Even worse, it was unavoidable.
This was bad.
This was really, really bad.
And it was a sure thing.
A few months ago, crisis had been far away- horribly frightening, yes, but just another news item – but as the days turned to weeks it had edged closer, first on the news, (‘scenes some viewers may find disturbing’, though it was impossible to look away) – but the scenes of carnage had disappeared from screens once they realised that no solution was forthcoming -, then in rumours, rumours that had travelled, rumours distorted, then in real stories, of cousins and friends who had met their end. Then, it had been scary. It had been lock-your-doors-at-night, don’t-speak-about-it scary. That was because it was real, getting realer. The Internet is a liar, the news too, but what about Sue down the street who bawled in school thinking about her cousins, hoping they weren’t gone? Was she a liar? Were your own eyes deceiving you when you saw a boy little more than a child lose his grip on this life, gone before he could see the deaths all around him?
Oh, this was bad.
Oh, was it ever bad.
And it was happening. Tonight, it was happening.
They couldn’t help what they were about to do. They weren’t given a choice. They were trying to protect their family. They were trying to follow instruction, to do as asked, even if the instructions were coming from the other side.
But were there sides? No, she realised, there weren’t. It was the fire and they were the kindling.
Her uncle, her aunt, her godparents, they were trying to do their job. To protect their kids. They loved her, sure. But in this situation they were like game-show judges, the biggest phonies of them all. They would hate to see her go, but it was something that had to be done. They couldn’t help it.
They couldn’t help it.
She could see the look of desperation in those eyes, could understand it. They hardly believed that, if they did as told, everything would be OK. The villain never plays fair; the mastermind always finds the loophole. Everyone knew that. If comic books and action movies have taught us anything, it’s that the bad guy never plays by the rules. It’s common knowledge, that.
But, in all fairness, what choice did they have? This was no game, this was no movie. And they couldn’t help it. A thing like this, it had to be done.
We are the kindling, the voice in her head whispered.
But, no. They weren’t just the kindling. They were the weapon, too.
Oh, God, is this happening? Can this really happen? Am I dreaming? Am I in a coma?
But dreams scared her, so she pushed the thought away.
Scared of dreams, really? With all I’ve got to be afraid of?
“Ester, honey?” The voice was tentative, apologetic.
Oh, I hope you’re sorry. I hope you’re scared. I bet one’ll get you when you try to leave it’ll serve you-
But, no. That wasn’t fair.
Do you think what he’s planning is fair? What do you think about that?
No, it wasn’t fair, but none of this was.
Get out and run, girl. Take your chances in the wild.
And there would be chances in the wild. She was a strong girl, full of instinct, and the enemy kept to the towns. Oh, there’d be chances. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t contemplated it, sure she had. It would be simple, easy, even.
But she couldn’t. Leaving would mean sure death for the family. She didn’t really care about the parents, they were mostly dead anyway, just walking shells. But the kids?
They were young, they had a life ahead – an uncertain one, but they had a chance of survival if she did as told.
Oh, she was going to miss them. Luckily they weren’t old enough for her treatment.
Casting call: Ages 13-25. Preferably, doomed.
They probably didn’t even know what was happening. Out here in the country, life continued as usual. They had enough canned goods stockpiled to last them years. It was true, the enemy kept to the towns. It was the threat of their approach that kept everyone subdued.
“Ester, honey?” Tentative, apologetic, irritating.
I hope he gets close enough to think he’ll make it. I hope his head comes clean off in their hands-
No. No, dammit! The thought wasn’t her own, and she knew it. In the last few days she had felt it in her head, her thoughts twisting and sifting. They were bad thoughts. They were angry thoughts, contemptuous thoughts. Worst of all, they were inviting thoughts. Whatever it was, it was in her head, and it wasn’t human. She had realised this, but had never spoken it aloud. Even in these times, the very idea was ridiculous. It was imperative that they maintain a sense of normalcy. If she told her aunt or her uncle, it might be the final straw, they might snap under the strain, and their kids needed them. At least one of them probably wouldn’t come back alive. They could drop her outside the city, but they had to be sure; they had to be positive that she wouldn’t run away-
that their sacrifice is received
Sacrifice? No. It was wrong to think that, but think it she did, and whether it was her own or not was immaterial; it was in there, it was not to be moved.
She felt her feet shuffle across the rain-sodden yard toward the instrument of her destruction. She swung open the door and threw herself inside. Searched for the belt buckle. Found it. Pulled it across. Clicked it in.
This is the last time I’ll ever do this.
The action seemed to confirm in her head the truth of her imminent death. In belting herself in she seemed to, also, be sealing her fate. She was doomed, and she knew it.
This was bad. This was so, so bad.
The rain was night-time rain, not a fine mist all around, but heavy, separate, definite drops that dive-bombed the car as it pulled out the gate.
The same car, the same gate. All things as they should be.
Tears sprung fresh in her eyes. She didn’t care if he saw her upset anymore. She had been choking emotion down for weeks. She was about to die. She didn’t care if he was slightly uncomfortable. He didn’t seem it, anyway.
His eyes were bright, wide, awake, his grip on the steering wheel tight. In fact, everything about him seemed tight, wound-up,
She wouldn’t allow herself to believe it, and the voice in her head was little more than a hiss, but it was soft and it was seductive; even more than that, even worse than that, it sounded right.
He didn’t look scared, not even upset, and, though he bore no smile, she somehow felt as though the absence of one was little more than formality. Somehow, he had convinced himself that this was simply an evening drive, a trip out for milk or teabags. Maybe he had to, to retain a grip on reality. That was alright; she had convinced herself it was aliens.
The raindrops attacked the sunroof and the night closed in as the small car skittered over the narrow and potholed back road. As they got closer to town, the road widened out, and the bumps became few.
It was disguisting how people continued as normal. Stockpiling food as though there was a severe weather warning. Chatting and gossiping.
They wouldn’t let their children leave the house, but the price of vegetables in Aldi was still the biggest piece of news.
People moving to the country to be nearer relatives that didn’t even exist.
It was all a cover story. It was all a lie.
There was silence in the car. She imagined herself saying something like “Can you believe this weather? In June?” and striking up a hearty conversation.
If I don’t talk now, I’ll never talk again.
But of course she wouldn’t talk. She couldn’t talk. Did it matter? She was about to find out what dying felt like. Another thought came to her, of her screaming “I’m too young to die!” and rattling the door lock. But it wasn’t funny. Under the circumstances, it felt completely horrible.
Then it occurred to her that perhaps it was in his head too. As she thought about it, it began to seem more and more like the logical conclusion. That maybe her uncle was driving along on auto pilot, seeing rainbows and ponies, not in control of himself but not aware of that either. It was nigh-certain that he had lost it. What happened when he got it back? Would he ever feel shame? Would he be plagued by nightmares perhaps? Believing that it was his fault that she would be gone?
That’s because it is his fault
The voice was back, and maybe the voice was right. All this talk of it being nobody’s fault, it was all over-the-top, soft-serve bullshit, anyway. It’s nobody’s fault if the world ends, sure. The ritual sacrifice of your niece? That’s another thing.
He’s weak. He always has been. They all are. Weak. When the cards are down, they’ll show their true colours. Good for nothing. Weak. Maybe the world’ll be better off without them.
Not them, us, she reminded herself. Not them, us. And it won’t be better. Mass murder leaves a stain on the world. Things are never better. Things only get worse.
Things only get worse.

But, of course, the only voice in his head was his own.
As he took the car over the road, he found himself surprisingly calm. Well, not really surprisingly. It was the most calm he’d been in weeks. And not without good reason, either. Finally, there was something he could do about his family’s situation. The weeks spent idle, fearing but being unable to do a thing, feeling like the worst damn excuse for a man ever created, they had been hell. Whatever they were headed into now had got to be some improvement. If he died, at least he could say he had tried to do something. He hadn’t given much thought to the girl. She had never been the most pleasant of people, and, given the circumstances, she was a small price to pay. She wasn’t his side of the family, anyway. Blood is thicker than water, his mother had always said, protect those you love. That was what he was doing. He was doing his job, the job he’d vowed to do. He had no choice. Now he could do something, and that was a good thing. Maybe, by Christmas, it would all be over. He felt good.

She felt ill. Waves of fear rushed over her. It was the way they walked, lurching, stumbling. Not looking where they went.
Like zombies.
The look on each ones face. The look in each one’s eyes.
Not zombies, worse.
Because they had no human master. Because they hadn’t risen – they had never fallen in the first place. As out of control as they were, they were certainly in control. Intelligent. And, most definitely, alive.
As they neared the town, they began to see the first signs of it. The first time, it looked like road kill. Several close-together instances of it. For a while that was all there was. Death. Everywhere along the road. Some still whole by the hedges. Some run over by the influx of traffic tonight. Some-
“They’re not human.”
What do you know, she can talk!
There was no reply from the driver’s seat.
“They’re not human” Her eyes were wide and round, her face pale. She sat bolt upright, paralysed with fear.
Jesus Christ you said that already
She was starting to become annoying. He was glad that they were close to the finishing line.
“ Humans… they don’t.. they don’t”
Fuck sake spit it out
“They… they don’t rip, they don’t.. chew
“You don’t know that anyone is chewing anything” He laughed light-heartedly.
It broke her from her stupor.
“I do know! I know, you self-centred shit!”
“Well,” he glanced at her, a cruel grin playing on his lips, “to be honest, it doesn’t really matter how you die, does it?”
He turned back to face the road, full of satisfaction.
That shut the little bitch up.

She thought she might be sick.
This is happening. This is really happening. But why should it happen? Kill the bastard! It’s easy, I swear!
And the thought appealed to her, it really did. But, what if she killed him, and then died herself, of starvation?
There will be chances in the wild. Chances upon chances.
She didn’t want her final act to be murder. No surer way to get to hell.
Do you really still believe in God?
Well, if there was anything to convince her of the unknown, this was it.
And what if she couldn’t live with herself after what she had done?
You’re running out of time, honey.
She envisioned herself grabbing something- what? She could try and injure him with the belt buckle, or steer the car into a ditch and run away while he either bled to death or tried to figure out what had happened. Under normal circumstances it would be hard for a teenage girl to fight a grown man and win, but these weren’t normal circumstances. She had a feeling her little friend could keep him pacified. Now she imagined herself clobbering him to death while he sat there with a dopey grin on his face, and, while the idea was somewhat revolting, it wasn’t entirely unattractive.

Now they passed the large and dusty-brown sign reading, “Welcome to our town!”, and, in smaller font, “Keep it beautiful!” An illustration beneath showed a cartoon rabbit beside a bin and a smiling child.

And then they came, out of the darkness, delirious smiles painted on their faces, some lurching, wounded and bleeding, but happy nonetheless, some running, leaping, laughing. She saw a pair dancing a stumbling waltz.
They had almost reached their destination.
The packs ignored their car, something she didn’t understand at first; she had expected to be devoured before she ever reached the square. Then she understood.
They recognise one of their own.
They weren’t leaving every car alone, however. She saw a man and a woman cautiously pull out of a driveway, ready to flee if they saw anything. They didn’t see anything. The girls and the boys were on them, wrestling them out of the car (with surprising force for their bony pubescent arms), their eyes alight with glee, looking more ecstatic than ever. What they did next didn’t bear thinking about. The pair didn’t suffer for long.
As they got closer to the square, the fear started to ebb away, perhaps because of the certainty that there was nothing she could do to save herself. That, in its own, strange way, was a comforting thought. And the anger she felt wasn’t so painful, either. It was, actually, rather nice.
He’s never going to make it. Once I’m gone, he’ll never make it.
In spite of herself, she smiled.
The raindrops plummeted to earth still, but the night opened up. In the distance, a large bonfire burned. With it came the smell of burning hair. It emitted a bright orange glow on the horizon.
It’s beautiful.
So, she was going to die. This was the way to do it, wasn’t it? By the fire, surrounded by family and friends? She laughed.

He jumped. The good feeling was gone. His stomach felt sick and full of fear. He was a bag of nerves.
Oh, God, what if I don’t make it, what if I don’t get out alive? The girl’s lost it, she’s lost it, I’m in the car with a maniac, surrounded by maniacs, I’ll never make it, I’ll never make it did you see what they did to them, they’re roasting them, they’re burning them, they’re burning them alive she’s crazy she’ll kill me this isn’t right they promised, they promised I’d
The car came to a halt. He looked down. Everything seemed to be ok with the car, but the car would not go. Then he noticed the keys in his outstretched hand. Out the window. His hand stretched out the window. He made himself bring his hand back in, then whipped it out and flung the keys out the window.
Oh, God, what have you done?
Then he noticed the cars lined neatly beside him. On one side sat a woman. Her eyes had a deranged look about them. Identical triplets who looked about 14 and bore a dazed and drugged look were strapped to the back seat. Clearly, they hadn’t come so easily.
On the other side, he was shocked to find, was a girl about 17 who sat in the driver’s seat and gazed vacantly up at the fire. The cars stretched out in a line, then the line turned at both ends at a right angle, the completed formation being a square. In the centre, the bonfire blazed. In the centre, the bonfire screamed.
This is it. This is the end.
He looked at the girl, Ester. She smiled at him, a pained, human, knowing smile.

She felt pain. Terrible, horrible, pain. It burned, oh, God, in her bones, in her blood, it burned. The world was all in dull soft-focus. It had taken on an orange-yellow colour. Beside her, the man felt fear. She didn’t have to look at him to know. It was obvious when humans felt fear. You could taste it in the air. They were, by nature, an obvious race. A fearful race, too. She turned; she showed him the look he needed to see. It was small comfort to him, that she knew. Ah, well. Small comfort was better than no comfort in one’s final moments.
He saw the look change, and the fear overtook him. His mind wouldn’t stand the strain much longer.

A new civilisation. A young civilisation. They would raze this town to the ground. They would raze every city and build anew. Build up out of the ashes.
Ashes of the people who messed the world up so badly that there could be no reprieve, no return.
Someone had to intervene.
Earth’s future was in the hands of the young. The young had to learn.
Learn they would. And they would teach their children a new way.

The fire warmed her, and the fire was good, the fire made her strong. She could fight the pain; she could fight anything. She felt happy, happier than she had felt in weeks, and to feel happy was good. To feel strong was good. To escape was good.

The new world would be free of man’s imperfections. Unified as one body, there would be no wars. Every young brain educated to fully harness the people’s potential. Man was disloyal. The new people were not. There would be no betrayal, because the disloyal had shown their true colours. Had sent their own young to what they believed to be certain death.
They would be punished for their sins.

Not the kindling, the weapon.
She grinned at the man, but he didn’t grin back. It was a shame, it was a crying shame.
This is good.
This is really, really good

The bodies of the delivery men and women burned in the centre of town.
They had been punished.

At 9.08 that night in June, Ester lost her grip on this life.
He didn’t have time to think that he was going to make it.
His head came clean off in her hands.

The sky was a horribly dull grey-and-navy.
She was the same girl she had always been, but, tonight, she was dangerous.

Credit To – Sarah Denbrough

*This story was successfully rewritten after receiving feedback on Crappypasta – click here to read the original version.

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November 11, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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Before I begin, let me explain what is happening to me. The technical term for what I am is called an eidetic. You’ve probably heard of people with photographic memories, well that’s what it is, except eidetics are not limited by the visual sense in what they remember. While each case varies in their specific capabilities, feelings of sound, taste, smell and touch can also be vividly recalled at any time. Some eidetics are also known to have the ability to see what they are thinking. This is the category that I belong in.

I have to admit, this ability does have its perks. School is a breeze because I can see my notes next to every exam that I take. I’m able to bring up happy memories that I’ve had with friends and family to help brighten their day. Whenever I get bored I can read books that I’ve read or watch TV shows that I’ve watched in my head.

Seems cool right? At least that’s what people tell me. I wish they were right.

What they don’t know is that I would give anything in the world to be rid of this.

The way that my vision works is that in addition to what my eyes actually see, my brain overlaps whatever I’m thinking of over this and the result is a combination of the two. Therefore the effect of my “mental vision” is limited during the day because my actual vision interferes with it. But whenever I go to bed, and the room is totally dark, my mental vision is given free reign of what I see.

Now one might ask, why is this so bad? As long as you think of pleasant things this must be a very relaxing way to go to bed right? This would imply that you are in complete control of every thought that goes through your head at all times. This, however, is almost never the case. The brain is constantly bombarded with what are called “intrusive thoughts.”

I’m sure you’ve heard the normal creaks and groans from your house at night and you think that maybe someone or something is walking around in the dark. Fear swells in you for a few seconds, but after a minute or so of nothing happening, you are able to shrug it off as your imagination and go to sleep. This is an intrusive thought. Though you know there is nothing there, your brain forces you to think, at least for a moment, that there is. Except with me, these intrusive thoughts conjure an image that accompanies the sound. Sounds in the night are always accompanied by some sort person or creature walking around my room or standing there watching me.

Obviously, this made growing up hard. I couldn’t understand any of this when I was young and just assumed that there were monsters in my room when I went to bed. Many a night my parents would rush into my room after hearing my cries and try to console me even though their presence never made the image go away. Eventually I could understand that the images weren’t real because they were all things that I had seen before and being able to recognize where they came from had a calming affect. I learned to live with, and even anticipate the “entities” that would appear each night.

Until a few months ago.

I had just gotten back to my apartment after a long night working at the hospital and I noticed that my roommate wasn’t home. I assumed that he was out at the bars, thought nothing of it, and went inside. As I opened the door to my apartment, the normal darkness greeted me and my mental vision took over as I walked over to the light switch. Just as I was about to turn on the lights, I saw a man at the end of the hallway looking at me. I could tell that he was just an image, but for the first time, he was something that I had no memory of. He was extremely fat, and had no clothing except for a small, black bolo hat on his balding head. His skin was a light, sickly purplish color and appeared to be peeling across his clearly disease-ridden body. His mouth hung open, revealing a set of gangrenous teeth and pus laden stump of a tongue. But the thing that stuck out the most was that he had no eyes or even eye sockets. They were replaced with lumps of flesh that seemed to grow from the edges of his hat.

My hand hesitated on the light switch and my fear was temporarily replaced with curiosity. I wanted to see what this man would do if I sat around for awhile; he was after all, just an image that my brain had conjured up. So I took a seat on my couch and observed quietly. After a few minutes he started to move. Like all of my other hallucinations, his actions made no noise in the real world, and he just silently shuffled around my apartment. He didn’t seem to be heading towards me at all, nor did he appear to have any clear destination in mind. I started to lose interest and got up to turn on the lights and get ready for bed.

Then he spoke.

A fear, the likes I which I have never known, resonated down my entire spine. None of my hallucinations had ever made their own noises, let alone form words. I tried to rationalize that maybe I had heard people talking either from outside my window, or perhaps outside my door. But before I even had a chance to validate my claims, he spoke again.

“She just wanted to see you again.”

His voice was garbled and deep, and he spoke very quietly, but I heard every word. Panic took hold of me and I bolted for the light switch. As always, the light instantly made the man disappear and I was left alone in my apartment. Relief washed over me, and I tried to make sense of what had just happened. I knew that the voice had come from the man, but I couldn’t figure out how that was even possible. I didn’t recognize him from any scary movie I had seen or any picture on the internet, nor could I recall anyone talking like that. No matter what conclusion I came to, I knew that I would see him again when I went to bed.

He didn’t disappoint. No sooner had I jumped under my covers, he waddled into my room. I tried to distract myself from him by thinking of other things. I resorted to my normal tactic of getting an image of my sister to appear to calm me down. She was always so understanding, even when we were kids, of what happens to me. Her presence made me feel at peace and I relied on her to get me through some of my more severe “episodes.”

However, her image also seemed to have an effect on him. He immediately stopped his shufflings and seemed to turn to where she was. It is difficult for me to describe what he did next because it makes me question my sanity, but he somehow forced her to fade from my vision. It wasn’t possible. I should of been able to keep her in my vision if I thought of her, but for the first time…I couldn’t. As soon as she faded, he spoke again.

“You should of been there. She thought about you at the end.”

A memory was then thrust into my mind. It was of my grandmother; she had been in the hospital for the last few months of her life and my dad used to take my sister and I to visit her. My grandmother adored us, and absolutely loved whenever we came to see her. One time when my dad was going to visit, I told him that I wanted to hang out with my friends instead and he obliged. That was the last time that my dad went to see her and she died a few days later. I felt horrible for not going and regretted it for a long time.

These feelings of regret and sorrow overwhelmed me and I suddenly realized the meaning behind the man’s words. He was somehow able to project a memory that I didn’t want to think about and relive the emotions that I felt during it.

He has visited me every night since then. Each time a horrible moment in my life is wrenched from my subconscious and I endure the sorrow of each event. Each night I am unable to cope with the overwhelming surge of emotions and what little sleep I get is plagued by nightmares of these memories. I see no end in sight and am at my wits end.

I often think of the nature of heaven and hell and whether or not there is a god. Originally I was inclined to believe that there couldn’t exist a god that would allow this kind of torment to be inflicted on a person who, seemingly, did nothing to deserve it. However, I cannot think of a more terrifying version of hell than this. To be forced to relive and reconsider each bad decision in one’s life is the ultimate and most effective method to push a soul to it’s breaking point.

I can see only one way to escape this. If my family reads this, just know that I love you all and I’m sorry for any pain that I caused. Hopefully you will understand.

Credit To – bgends

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3000 AD

September 27, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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“What’s your story?” berated the man. It was dark, and the boy couldn’t see the man’s face, yet he could still tell it had a twisted smirk on it.

“What does it matter now?” whimpered the boy. His weakened mind wandered to the thought of his struggles, a long and terrible tale. He couldn’t help but to recall his life before this misadventure, not that terribly long ago, and how greatly even he had changed. Always a skinny fellow, the boy seemed impossibly lean and malnourished, with his shoulders stooped over and a face covered in the grime of mud, dirt, dried blood, and shit. He felt like he was about to pass out from lack of sleep, yet the rocking of the boat never failed to foil his hope of falling asleep and never waking up.

“I’ve been doin’ this for a long time, boy. I’ve found that everyone has a story, no matter how ugly. ‘Specially when they’re in your shoes, tremmblin’ and cryin’. S’you’re gonna die soons boy, you know that, so you got notin’ to lose. Give me a good laugh before the fun,” the boat’s driver snickered through the holes in his rotten teeth as his hand found forgotten food within his teeth. Disgusted and horrified, the boy closed his eyes. If it would shut the man up, he would talk.

“It was, as we were told, the beginning of another cycle around the Sun,” the boy told, “The leaders specifically called it the year 3000. They tried to tell us a century has passed since fire rained from the skies from our enemies. A century since the giant mountains made of steal and glass were inhabited by millions of people. Since it was safe to roam at night. Or something like that, I never payed attention to their superstition,”

“I used to live in what the elders called the ANH of NY. I don’t know what it means, but the in the storytellers spin stories that it was a place of history. They worship the wax creatures and monumental building. It’s all bullshit of course, like most of the superstitious nonsense. Ever heard the one about Dogs having tales? Or how cockroaches used to be the size of bugs and have a craving for human flesh? Bullshit. Anyway, getting back to the story, the social structure of the safe zone was kept like a pyramid. At the top, the Head, our leader, and the elders. Then there are Sweepers, who are the hunters and scavengers. Then there are Creeks, those who don’t leave the safe zone. They cook, clean, and tell stories. At the bottom of the group there are Rubbles. The Rubble group searched the streets for rubble that can be used, since they can’t do anything else.”

“They used to call me Ray. Back in the day, I was respected for my traps. I was able to trick the prey into killing themselves, into tricking the hunter into the hunted. At this, I was a master. One day I even found a Dog, one I was able to befriend and train. I was deadest on becoming a sweep, that is, until it was my turn to kill. I had always been the one leading the animals into traps, having another sweep or my dog kill the beast. However, when it was my turn…. It ended in a bloody mess with one elder and a handful of sweeps dead…. I was demoted to a Rubble. It was an act of grace that I wasn’t executed right there and then.”

The driver burst with laughter at this remark, only to spit up a heavy hairball of mucus and blood.

“My story begins on a cold night after I had just came home from searching the grounds. We had lost three new boys to the rads; a nickname for the monsters. We were already in deep trouble; we shouldn’t have left those boys behind. And the supplies they were carrying. That is when it happened. I was going for a walk with my dog, Hunter, near the town gate trying to get some fresh air when I noticed some Sweeps playing on the gate. I tried to walk by, but it was to no avail. They taunted me, asking how many kills I got today, and threw bottles at me. I tried to run, but I felt a sharp pain on my temple and I collapsed into the mud and bushes near the gate. The last thing I heard was laughter, the sound of someone falling, and mechanical gears. Then it all went dark.”

“I don’t know how long I was asleep for. However, I wish it was longer. When I woke up a horrific sight greeted me. Blood and bodies littered the courtyard, painting the walls and ground a deep shade of red. I couldn’t help the feeling of burning pain in my stomach, and I added my own shades of yellow to the already red ground. The smell, dear god the smell. I have never seen so many dead. Then I heard it. I deep roar coming from within the building, and screaming. Tearing of flesh. A cackle of a howl. Splinters. A pack of splinters, they had found their way in. My greatest fear was coming true! For right in the middle of the dead was a bloodied and battered splinter, looking like any normal oversized dog with two heads. If it wasn’t covered in blood. I knew I had to escape. It was to late for the Creeks, for the Rubbles, even for the splinters. I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find; a small metal rod with barbed wire laced on the top, and ran. I was glad to know Hunter had waited for me outside the gate, and we bolted, never to return home again.”

“I don’t know how long I ran. It was the middle of the night, and the sounds of rads surrounded me. Every here and there I stopped, only to hear the soft skittle of a cockroach, or the slight growl of another splinter. Once I swore I heard a sound coming from a hole in the street, a sound that sounded like a man choking on his own blood. The days passed and I ended on the outskirts of the wasteland. I was attempting to sleep, cuddled up with Hunter’s warm body, when I heard a scuttle noise in the dark. I kept my eyes closed, hoping it would go away. But it got louder. I opened my eyes a little, the curiosity killing me, and what I saw almost had me fait. Ten feet away from Hunter and I was a cockroach, one of the biggest I had ever seen. It was larger then Hunter, its mouth like tendrils dripping with foam and blood. Hunter reacted faster then I did, jumping from the ground and onto the roach. Before I knew what was what there was slimy blood everywhere, and the two of us had something to eat.”

“The smell of blood and food over a warm fire attracted another, a skinny wanderer. The man promised to repay me for some food, which was fine with me. The man was heavily armed and reeked of sweat and blood, and I did not want to offend him in any way. Or piss him off.”

“Well we ate and chatted, turns out the old man is a traveling merchant. Been round to many of the settlements around here. However, there was one place in particular he talked about. His speech went like this:

“… And that’s the settlement of black marsh. Dangerous, seedy, and rat infested. My favorite town to do business!” laughed the the old man, only to start up again with a cough, “However, there is a place that would suit you. It might not be far from here but not even of this same world. I call this place “The Lady!”” I couldn’t help but notice the old man’s gaze harden and glow with the light of the fire. “The Lady is an oasis in this sea of nuclear waste. During the scar of long ago, the storytellers say, it was protected against the raining fire. Life survives on the island, surviving off the Lady’s mighty fire that protects them. Some human life has survived there; suckling the milk from the Lady’s bosom to survive.” It was now I noticed the old man’s gaze turned to one of sadness, even with his wonderful tale. “This area is an island off the coast of the city. Many good men have tried to swim across the treacherous water, but the creatures living there are many. None of them have made it.” The old man coughed again.

I couldn’t help but be amazed by the thought of the Lady. “Is there any other way across? Hopefully a way less painful,” I asked the man.

“There is only one way. Some have found mechanisms from long ago, relics from the old ones. I don’t believe in such nonsense, I think they made them. Either way they can carry you across the bay to the island safely. They require a fee, and I call them boat runners,” the old man pointed in the direction of the wind as he yelled with a booming voice, “Go to the Lady. Her light shines the way. Follow the setting sun and you to can live off the Lady’s milk like a lamb!””

“So that is what you call us, boat runners!” laughed the man, amused at his nickname. He thought of how he should start calling himself that for now on. It was a good name after all.

The boy, irritated by the interruption, started up again, “For two days we traveled until we arrived at a wooden structure stretching out onto the water. Its wood was rotten, creaky, and broken, and attached to it was a machine of the likes I had never seen before. It was brown and green, obviously worn from its long period of use, and cracking. It was magnificent, a magical sight almost enough to make me believe in the religion of the Elders. I guess this was what the old man called a boat runner. I was so stunned by the floating wonder that I didn’t notice a man walked onto the deck of the ship. He was a short and stocky, with small, groggy eyes that seem to follow you, fast hands for picking pockets, stale breath, and wearing an old, dirty white suit. The man snarled and called out to me; “What do you want? Beggars aren’t welcome here,” he sounded like a mad dog waiting for its next meal

“I want a ride to The Lady,” I replied, Hunter’s stumpy tail wagging as I said “Lady.”

“You want a ride to The Lady? Well! I would say we have business, but look at you! What would a pipsqueak like you have to offer me for a ride!” The boat runner laughed, stroking his beard.

“I can give you my weapon,” I said, pulling out my batting stick, still clean and unused.

“You got nothing!” he slapped me with the back of his hand, “Then leave…. unless you’re willing to trade that mutt of yours, little boy!” The captain claimed, hungrily eyeballing Hunter. Why I did what I did next was out of complete fear. The splinters could be heard howling from even at the docks, and night was fast approaching. It was the last time I ever saw Hunter. I traded him away…” Ray broke off into a deep trance of sadness.

“You don’t have much longer, scrub. Hurry up already,” the boat runner of the present said, waking Ray, who sighed at the struggle of speaking.

“The ride was long, the boat couldn’t move that fast. The waves were large and salty, and I got nauseous standing on the deck. The worst part was yet to come, for on the center of the boat was a large glass bottom. At first, I was mesmerized. Magnificent creatures were swimming under the boat. They were in every color, in every shape and size. Some had long arm like tentacles, some had large dishes, and some had teeth the size of my head. I couldn’t help but to think what if I fell in…”

“It took a long while before we made it to the island. At my first glance at The Lady I was brought to tears! It was a giant statue of a woman! The boat runner, unfazed and uncaring of my stature, dropped me off at another wooden structure, but it wasn’t like the one I had encountered earlier. It was obviously well kept after, with the wood looking like a newly cut brown and the nails being silver and shiny. This was the first un-rusted metal I had ever seen. The only thing that remained from the world I had just departed from was an old sign. It was yellow from age, but its large white letters were still legible. It read “Welcome to the Statue of Liberty.” What a weird sign. Yet I continued onward, to amazed by the green and false sense of safety. I wandered the island as yet even more tears came to my eyes, but before I could do anything I noticed someone walking over to me. He was tall, well built, with dark hair that seemed to match his dark skin. He wore a robe, one of those that don’t have a hood. I turned towards over to him, but before I could say a word a strong hand covered my mouth. Two more grabbed my arms, and aggressively pulled me into a dark bag.”

“The bag smelled like guts, sweat, and vomit. I was afraid. So terribly afraid. I wished Hunter was there to save me… but I sacrificed him one last time to save myself.. “Don’t think,” I told myself, “That will only make things worse. Don’t think!””

“The bag was soon held upside down and I fell on my head. Everything was fuzzy again, but I was able to make out a few lines. They said;

“Don’t kill him, he could be entertainment!”

“Entertainment! I’m hungry. Besides, look how tender he is,” a heavy boot hit my side, I screamed.

“The Night Stalkers like tender. They will feed slowly this time. Besides, I like to watch those girly screamers get their guts ripped out,”

“Look, hese fine. Get up kid, we got a surprise for you,” one of the men chuckled. I was grabbed and pulled onto my feet, wherever they were. I was still too dizzy to determine if I was dead or alive. Slowly my vision came back, and in focus was a man. He was smaller than the first robbed figure, with white skin and brown hair. He had a facial expression that made him look like he was constantly snarling. Maybe because he was. His eyes looked like he was looking at a fine cooked Splinter, all his for the taking. When he talked spit foamed in the corners of his mouth. I named this man Spittle.”

“Spittle dragged me into a large room full of windows. The other man followed us in here also, and he began to stare out of one of the windows. After a deep breath the darker-skinned guy turned toward me and dismissed Spittle.

“I am the almighty, the leader of the crowned lands. Explain why you are here,” The robed man said, with a voice that sounded like it was being yelled from the heavens.

“I am Ray. I’m here, to, uh, um, I lost the word…” I stuttered.

“You came here to settle? A pathetic, skinny, weakling such as yourself? Well, we aren’t here to take on the unfit. We, as the predecessor of the Unites States of America, will only take the fit. Yet you don’t even know what this is do you?” The almighty laughed. “We still need food, so maybe you could be the perfect candidate,” the almighty circled around me. Then he walked over to the window. “Or, you could venture into there.” I peered past his shoulder, and saw what he was pointing at. It was another island, not far from here where a castle lies, surrounded by a fence. It was the opposite of this island, being run down, yellow, and dead. There was subtle movement in the dark windows, to slight to see. “That is the island of Elis, or what we call “Elistement.” We send who we don’t eat or initiate into the building; if they survive to dawn they are one of us, or they are Night Stalker food, the creatures that reside in that building. It is fun to watch people get ripped apart.” The almighty began licking his lips, and the two guards in the back of the room, who I haven’t noticed until now, began to advance towards me. “Harry did send a fat man here the other day. We are still feasting on his nice, delicious belly. How bout we have a little fun!” The almighty walked towards a window and slid it open. : We have enough food, he shall be Elistement!” His announcement brought a cheer from below, and I was dragged away. By nightfall I was brought onto a slow boat, where I was asked by an ugly old boat runner to tell my story.”

“That’s it! That’s your story! I’ve heard better stories by old men! I can’t wait to see you get ripped to shreds! I already bet a leg that you die,” the boat runner greedily said, his eyes glowing in hunger.

The boat slowed to a stop, and Ray stepped onto the island where Spittle walked up to him, and, with a twisted laugh, and his usual sneer, brought him to the giant door. With a booming voice he yelled,

“And in this corner is, um, this kid!” a few sarcastic cheers could be heard, “Probably a hundred pounds of tender meat ready to be ripped apart,” this time, a loud chorus of cheers could be heard. “In the other corner, the mysterious Night Stalkers!”

The crowd boomed at this announcement, for the death sentence of Ray. And with a screech, the creatures inside of the building begged for their food. Six men with lights walked up to the doors, and with a loud rattle six more opened it. Ray looked into the darkness of the building, and, with no regrets, thought about his misadventure. He missed his family, Hunter, and his home but had no reason to think about that now. That could come later, if there was one. With one step after another he walked forward, his boots making a crunching sound on the dead sand below. He remembered how he hid from the Splinters, and how those things would seem like pillows compared to the beasts inside. Still, he did not run. He was no longer scared but happy to see what was coming, as if it was always planned this way. He used to be the trapper, now he was the defenseless prey. He had finally been trapped in a deliberate and thoughtful mechanism with no way out. His brain screamed at him to stop, told him to remember how some of the animals had escaped, so maybe he could slip out of this trap. After all, he still had his batting stick hidden under his shirt. But could he even use it? Without Hunter would he be defenseless? Those beasts inside could tear him limb for limb, can he fight back? “Just don’t think, everything will be ok if I don’t think.” He whispered as he walked into the darkness as the doors shut and the lights went out. The crowd cheered even louder.

Credit To – Sobellium69

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The God Ticket

April 14, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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My wife is going to kill herself in 5 to 7 business days.

I’d found the order for a jug of Xanaphril while clearing the internet history of porn and was contemplating it now. I’d known my wife Cindy had been unhappy but I guess hadn’t registered how much yet. Was this a cry for help? Should I say something or just let it fade into the background noise like all of her other passive complaints?

“Are you ever coming to bed?” Her voice bridges on a shout, causing me to start and close the browser window from habit. A shout. Her deafness is still in full swing, I think to myself.

Cindy had been diagnosed with a rare form of Ménière’s disease shortly after we’d married two years back. What had started as uneasy moments of vertigo and mild hearing loss in her right ear had quickly erupted into extreme ranges of deafness that would come and go randomly; sometimes affecting her for weeks at a time. Worse still were her ‘falling attacks’. I’ll never forget the first time she’d experienced one.

We’d been waiting in line for hours outside the Aladdin theater, shivering and keeping close to ward off the first snowflakes of winter. I remember she’d been talking on her cell phone when just like that she collapsed into the street as if she’d tripped – but we hadn’t been moving. It scared the Christ out of me; I thought she’d suffered an aneurism or stroke or even been shot. Understandably, these periods of outrageous vertigo and difficulty hearing the words from her own mouth were deeply frustrating for her and I’d tried my best to be supportive. But it was taking its toll.

I turn to look at her sullen face. I feel guilty to admit it, but I can hardly stand seeing her when she’s like this. A wise man once said that sadness is a disease. I’d go one step further and say that it’s of the infectious variety. After years of putting up with her, I could go for a handful of those pills myself.

“Ya, just closing down now.” I shut our laptop and slip into bed next to her. She immediately turns on her side facing away from me. Guess no sex tonight either? Ha, and here I had my hopes up, I think bitterly. Just as well. Hadn’t I read somewhere that if a man goes without long enough, he’ll start having crazy kink-fest dreams? I could go for some of that. Bring on the Asian Schoolgirl…minus the tentacles.

But my subconscious wasn’t interested in playing house.

I used to be into exploring all shades of ‘mental awaking’; from failed attempts at telekinesis to lucid dreaming and what I’d liked to call “The God Ticket” – astral projection; the ability to travel anywhere at will. It’d been years since I’d given it any thought until the depressing reality of Cindy’s illness had become more and more apparent. I was never able to successfully ‘leave my body’ but controlling the storyline of my nightly encounters provided a welcome escape. That was, until they took a noticeably violent and uncontrollable turn.

It takes me a moment to realize where I am, and when I do, my stomach clenches horribly. I’m back at University. And those eyes looking into mine… Susan’s. My ex’s. As is common in dreams, I know there are other people around us – that we’re walking to class inside the L.R. Harrison building in fact – but I don’t see anyone else. I can feel them looking at us but it’s

just her and those accusing eyes.

And then the events flash forward. It’s raining and we’re standing under a tree together. I’m hugging her from behind and singing a song about what we’re doing. Her arms lovingly press mine to her chest and she looks up at me again with an expression of betrayal.

“You said we’d be together forever, right? That you love me ‘past the stars’.” Her words form a knot in my throat. I had said that after all; even meant it. But then Cindy had come along and oh how much better things had looked on that side of the wall. Now there was regret and the awful ‘if’.

I want to tell her I’m sorry – that I still love her, but I’m having trouble making coherent thought and it doesn’t matter anyway because

Susan’s hair is practically glowing in the light of the moon. She’s face down on the cement and dear god there’s so much blood. I look at the palm of my hand and find it’s bleeding from some deep slash. She cut me, I think indistinctly, but there is no pain. I feel my body kneel over hers, turning her over. Her face is untouched and as beautiful as ever if not for the oozing gash at the top of her hairline. She opens her eyes again and I can see it – the pain, the question, ‘why?’. I scream my lungs ragged, but not a sound escapes my lips. I want so desperately to call for help, to comfort her, but everything feels distant and I’m not allowed to stop my hands from closing around her throat.

She’s goes on struggling for a few moments, never leaving my gaze when I do the unthinkable. My body leans forward, my blonde hair cascading over her face and at first I think I’m going to kiss her forehead, when instead my lips close around her right eye. Confusion explodes into horror as I feel every muscle in my mouth contract. Pressure builds inside the seal of my mouth until I can feel something round and wet pass from her body into mine. This shouldn’t be possible! I want to vomit. I want to run away. I want to vanish in a torrent of sobs for my lost love.

Then I bite down hard and

I open my eyes. Sweat coats me in a glaze even though the ceiling fan is running at full cycle. Our room is dim with the first light of morning.

“Jesus Christ. Jesus Fucking Christ, what was that about?” Not daring to speak above a whisper.

It had felt so real, even now as the distinctly dream-like elements began to stick out like accusatory fingers. I still feel the high from a liter of adrenaline pouring through my veins and consider calling her just on the off chance that I’d strangled and subsequently sucked the vision out of half of her face.

This thought calms me when I realize how stupid I’m acting. Besides, what new kind of depression would Cindy be thrown into if she caught me thinking about my ex, let alone talking to her again? No, the relief wouldn’t be worth another crack in our marriage. I roll onto my side and caress my wife instead. Her skin is as cold as a frosted window. My eyes fly open and it’s her. Susan.

I immediately leap from the bed, taking most of the blankets with me. Dear God, it’s actually her. She’s naked, her body frozen from rigor mortis in the same pleading position I’d left her in. For a moment I stand there, unable to fully comprehend what I’m looking at -what have I done!? – when my eyes stop on her face and her missing eye.

“What have I done? What have I done?!” The words leave my chest in heaving barks.

I’ve done it. I’ve actually murdered someone. You’ve spent your whole life reading and watching movies about people doing this exact same thing…and now you’re the killer.

I rub my eyes – at tears that refuse to appear.

And what do I do now? The guilt comes in torrents, as if from the beats of some ghastly heart. I could hide her. I’d have to live with the guilt for the rest of my life…but I could hide her, for now. My Susan, I’m so sorry.

I cross to her side of the bed, taking in her beauty for the first time since the last time I’d seen her two years ago. If not for her awkward pose, the dark patches of skin where her body meets the bed and. . .and the empty, half-lidded socket of her eye I’d stolen, she’d pass for. . .a dead body. I wish I could say that she looked like she was sleeping, but that’d be cruel. There is no elegance in death.

Above all else, the unnaturalness of that sunken lid was making me sick (Did I really do that?) and re-covering her with the bed sheet was a welcome relief. The shudder that comes from beneath the white fabric seems to agree.

A second rush of adrenaline washes over my face. I can taste something metallic like blood and my skin breaks out in feverish bumps.

Bodies sometimes move after death, don’t they? I’ve read about that! Sometimes they move and that’s just what dead bodies do.

I took a step back but then another thought crossed my mind: What if she isn’t dead after all? She knows I tried to kill her, so do I have to finish the job now or drop her off at the hospital on the way to prison?

I’m shaking now, I can feel it, literally see it from the way my hand quivers as I raise it. This is the part of the horror movie where everyone is telling me stop, to run away! I’ve always hated the cheap ‘jump’ scares, and here I am about to experience one up close – with my own eyes so to speak. Thinking about eyes makes feel light headed and I push it from my mind.

Slowly, I grip the side of the linen, never removing my gaze from the amorphous shape of my dead ex-lover. My future – everything – hinges on what’s under this piece of fabric. Sucking in a mouthful of frosty air, I slid the sheet back down her body. Down their bodies. There, right before me like the world’s most depraved magic trick laid the bodies of every person I’d ever murdered in my nightmares. My family. My friends. My ex. Their pale bodies tangled; bloodless and naked. Each bearing the unique method of murder I’d put them down with – some missing limbs, others charred and burned. My brother blindly watches me, his face and teeth having been smashed flat with a garbage compactor.

This time I did not scream. Instead, I was overcome with the dizzying sense that I was now standing on the edge of a cliff. You know the feeling you get? Where you’re so terrified of falling that you suddenly become sure that that’s exactly what you’re going to do? That was the feeling. And that’s exactly what happened next – I fell face first into the necrotic pasta I’d created. I opened my mouth, either to scream or to breath, I don’t know, but instead found the waxy flesh of my mother’s leg in my jaws. Vomit rushed out to meet it. I could feel the dead things all around me begin to spasm and writhe. A hand clawed at my thigh; another at my back. I looked up in time to see that

Susan was staring at me, her back arching up into a near sitting position before flopping down onto her stomach. Slowly, painfully – it seemed – she dragged herself over the pile of moving corpses until our noses were almost touching. I wanted hysterically to push her away, to escape, but my arms felt weaker and somehow shorter; my body frozen in paralysis. In horror, I realized the lid of her removed eye was opening and closing like a gibbering mouth and that with each retraction I could see into the private gore of her skull. I desperately tried to look away, but stopped. She’s trying to tell me something.

I could see her mouth moving but I couldn’t hear as if we were miles apart. Furiously, I stared at her lips, trying to make out a word – anything. Around me, the blindly searching hands had found the downy comforter and were in the process of pulling it up over us now in heavy jerking motions. To my left, the closet door slammed open and an avalanche of people I didn’t recognize flooded out. I could feel the blood pulsing in my ears but I still couldn’t put Susan’s words together. “Sea”? “Pay the Sea?” The blanket was crawling over the top of her head now.

Distantly, I realized that the other cadavers were speaking as well – their rotting lips whispering, again too quietly for me to hear. No, I have to focus! In another second, I’m not going to see anything! And there it was. In the last moment, as the fabric fell over Susan’s face – and my head – I’d caught one word: “Cindy”.

They were warning me. My wife was next to die.

* * *

“You were laughing in your sleep again,” Cindy’s voice, just beside me, makes me jump and nearly flip off the bed.

Was. . .that a dream too? Again I find myself in our room; the ceiling fan silent and unmoving. I sit up and hold my face in my hands. How much more of this can I take? Did I kill her or didn’t I? Guilt is still hanging over me like a corpse and I’m not sure if this is yet another dream or not.

Cindy’s burying her face in her pillow looking like she’d just woken from a nightmare herself. It’s obvious she’s feeling sick and there’s the distinct twang of vomit leaping from her hair. But her hearing was back; the worst was behind her again – at least for now.

“Did I say anything?” I ask this, but I don’t listen to the answer. I know what she’s going to say because we’ve had this conversation before.

“Ya…you said Susan a few times”.

A jolt ripples through me, but I do my best to hide it from my face. Usually there’s only the laughing – more of a snicker, really – but this time. . . I’d said her name. In the distance I could hear sirens whip-whirling. Were they meant for me?

I leaned over and gave Cindy the best side-hug I could manage; kissing her forehead. “Oh right, that was Susan from work. Her father just died and I’ve been thinking about the funeral.” It’s a bad lie, but it’s better than the truth. “I’m going to get a drink, want anything?” She shook her head miserably and I headed for the kitchen.

For a good few moments I stared dumbly at the cell phone in my hand, building up the courage for what I wanted to do. I can call Andrew. He’d still have Susan’s number and I can call her and I can go back to sleep. This is so stupid! You know that, so why are you doing this?

If I had to face the possible unthinkable, I wasn’t about to do it alone. I got a tall glass from the cupboard, sloshed a helping hand of vodka into it and filled the rest with orange juice. Dolefully kicking back a mouthful, I turned back to the problem at hand:

I dialed his number.

One dial tone. Two dial tones. Come on, buddy, I know it’s the middle of the night, but you have to sense the urgency I’m sending through this phone, right?

It rang three more times and then went to voicemail. Frustrated, I called again, but still no answer. I stopped, hitching in a breath. Now that I think about it, when was the last time I talked to you, man? With dawning horror, I realized I hadn’t spoken to him in over a month. Not him, not my family either.

In a panic, I dialed the numbers of every person I cared about, everyone that I had dreamed about with mounting dread. Not a single person I knew answered the phone. Of the strangers that did, they claimed they didn’t know who I was talking about – that the number must have been changed. Others came back disconnected.

So I had done it then. Murdered everyone I’d ever cared about, but why? And surely there must have been police investigations! Someone must have found a connection between a massacred family and their only remaining son! But then why don’t I remember anyone contacting me? Am I really that sick of a fuck?

Shock overwhelms me and I crumple to the ground, taking my empty glass with me. Numbly, I try to sit up and realize that I can’t. It’s starting! This must be it! I’m losing control of my body. Lying back down, I roll my eyes in the direction of the phone. I have to call the police. I can’t hurt another person! But the cell phone looks like it’s miles away. I giggle to myself at the absurdity of this and reach for it anyway. My arm stretches like taffy and

There’s a noise from the hallway. Cindy! Oh god, I have to warn her! Whatever is happening to me is almost complete! She has to run! God I can’t stop this monster inside of me!

“Shind-y. . . run for. . .hel-puh,” the words form as the spittle on my lips- indistinct and bursting on the ‘p’s’.

I try to focus on the pink blur of her pajamas when, without warning, she falls to the ground in a fit of retching. No, not now! You can’t get sick now, I need you to run! The world feels tilted on its axis and my body is impossibly heavy. One moment everything seems frozen in place and the next

She’s on top of me. I can feel the heat of her breath; the sour taste of bile cloying in the air. In a heaving belch, she vomits a thick stream across my face, soaking into my shirt and coagulating in my curly red hair. I watch as it runs down my side and pools next to the glass. The glass! The date her pills would ship…I’d made a mistake…had that been the arrival date?

She must have known I was a killer. She’s doing the right thing. The world is growing dim and I feel like I’m floating in a cold river. Breathing is becoming less and less natural for me – less important. She’s looking at me now, her face completely devoid of expression. With my last breath I prepare to whisper, “Thank you”, but then I see it – a cut across her palm. It’s something so simple, so mundane but I can hear the click of understanding as realization falls into place.

The killings won’t stop. I’d spent years of my life trying to escape my body to travel across this world as freely as a gust of wind. It had never occurred to me that I’d actually succeeded, and more. I’d heard it was called dreamwalking – actually living inside another’s dream. But that would be the ultimate freedom. That would be

“The God Ticket,” I mutter, barely audible.

She stops, only for a moment and then leans forward, her blonde hair cascading over my face and at first I think she’s going to kiss my forehead, when instead her lips close around my right eye.

Credit To – ARScroggins

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The Vacation

April 1, 2013 at 4:00 PM
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A few years ago, a group of college kinds were getting ready for spring break. One informed the rest that his uncle who owns a cabin in the woods would be gone for the weekend, and gave them permission to use it as they wish.

Though one or two weren’t interested to stay in a run down old cabin for a weekend, they reluctantly agreed and took the trip.

They enjoyed their weekend and returned safely.

Credit To: Max C

DERPNOTE: This pasta is a Crappypasta Success Story. That means that it received enough upvotes during its time on Crappypasta for it to be posted on the main archive. You can find its Crappypasta entry here. Thanks, everyone!

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