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The Omnipotent

April 1, 2015 at 10:00 AM
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It is said that there are parts of this world that no human man, woman, or child can ever see or enter into. These places exist at the bottoms of oceans, in the centers of mountains, or just above storm clouds. Every once in a great while, there is a glitch in these places’ matrix – a flaw in what we might call the security system – and somebody stumbles through. Those unlucky individuals are never seen nor heard from again, for the odds of the same person accidentally entering and exiting one of the hidden gaps in space and time are so astronomical as to be impossible.

It is said that in these places, there live creatures so strange and complex that no one of this dimension could possibly understand them, unless the creatures chose to lower themselves to being understood. These creatures appear to be, physically, very much like humans, but their minds are infinitely more advanced. From a superficial glance, their society would seem to be almost primitive in nature, but it is in fact more properly functioning, peaceful, and progressive than any we could ever hope to achieve.

It is said that among the beings of this society, there is one whom they all hold esteemed and honored. His knowledge is infinite, for he is the seer and diviner of all things.

It is said that he takes visitors, to hear requests and, occasionally, grant them, for he can alter the fabric of reality and influence the decisions of the Fates. It is said that if a woman brings him three drops of a man’s blood, drawn by the thorn of a Molineux rose, he can make the man fall in love with her with a wave of his hands, and it is said that he can resurrect the dead with nothing but a snap of his fingers and the name written in India ink. He also has the ability to answer all questions, and many go to him seeking the truth about things past, present, future, and otherwise. There is one question, however, that this man will not answer. He knows, but will refuse to tell if you ask him, for the answer is unsafe in any hands but his own.

About now, I’m sure you’re wondering what that question is. But you already know it, really. If you think about it.

Would you like to take a guess?

Yes, that’s right:

“Who was phone?”

Credit To – Mycrella

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Nick and Nancy

July 6, 2014 at 12:00 PM
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It began around three in the morning with a phone call. I was a college freshman, sharing a dorm room with another college freshman. We were both locals, and even though we’d gone to different high schools, it helped us get along. I wasn’t exactly feeling like getting along with her, though, when her cell phone rang loudly that night. That she had an extremely annoying song set as her ring tone made it even worse.

“Hello?” I heard her whisper. I could tell she was at least trying, but when you share a bunk bed, every little movement shakes the entire frame.
“What? You’re breaking up. No, no, don’t yell. It won’t- hang on- what?” There was silence for quite a while and I thought maybe she had hung up, but finally, I heard a painfully loud sigh at the same time I heard her slide down the ladder and drop heavily on the floor.

“Kelly?” she whispered. Then again, a moment later, and slightly louder, “Kelly?”

“What?” I responded in a moan. I purposely groaned it out to let her know I was displeased with being awakened.

“Look, I’m really, really sorry about this… but that was my brother, Nick. He’s drunk at a party and he wants a ride home. He’s afraid to call our parents because he’s thinks they’ll freak.” I had only met Nancy’s brother on move-in day. They’d introduced themselves as ‘Nick and Nancy, thick as thieves.’ I thought they were weird. I knew why she was telling me this. I had a car on campus, she didn’t. Our home town was only fifteen minutes away by car, but I can tell you, that wasn’t a drive I wanted to make at that moment. At the same time, I knew that if the situations were reversed, I’d be desperate for my roommate to rescue my brother.

“What the hell, tomorrow’s Sunday, and you’re going to owe me. A whole tank of gas. The whole thing. Ten gallons.” Hey, it was a small car. So shoot me. Got decent enough mileage.

I’ve never gotten dressed that quickly when that tired before. I was a bit nervous about this drive. Even though Nancy was coming with, and even though it was only a fifteen minute drive, ten of them were through thick woods with barely lighted highways. The real threat was deer. The imaginary threat… well, I grew up in a town surrounded by woods. Of course we tried to scare the pants off one another by telling scary stories about the woods when we were kids. I knew they weren’t real, but at what was now three-thirty in the morning, I also couldn’t forget them.

Despite being exhausted, I tried to stay awake enough to look for deer. Every so often something would glint in the ditches and startle me. It always turned out to be trash or driveway reflectors. Until you’ve driven down a dark, wooded highway though, you have no idea how frightening the reflector on a mailbox can be.

Nancy broke the silence. “I keep thinking I see something out there.”

“Yeah, deer. Keep your eyes peeled. The last thing we need is to get into a crash ourselves.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for wildlife, but don’t call me dear,” she said. I knew it was a joke, but the tone wasn’t one of amusement. I guess we were both in pretty sour moods at that moment. I was almost starting to feel bad for her brother. I could feel a chewing out coming on.

We finally arrived at the house. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yeah, his friend Bob’s house. I know the place.”

“You said there was a party going on, but I don’t see any cars, and the lights are out.”

She looked around. “Maybe it ended in the time it took us to drive over. I heard the party though. I mean, the line was really terrible. Lots of static, keep cutting in and out, but I could hear the beat of the music and I could hear talking and laughing.”

We both got out. A cold wind was blowing. We jumped at every noise as we walked up the drive, stuck close together out of nervousness. Nancy knocked on the door. We waited. Nancy knocked again. Once again, we waited. As Nancy was in the middle of knocking louder the front light came on. A scrawny teenage boy wearing only jeans answered the door, looking like death warmed over. I had never met him, but I presumed this to be Bob.

“Nancy?” he asked groggily. “What are you doing here?”

“Nick called me to ask for a ride home.”

It was clear Bob was trying to wake up enough to process what was going on. “Yeah, Nick’s… Nick’s sleeping on the couch. Come on in, Nancy. He didn’t tell me he called you.” We followed him in.

“Nick said there was a party?” I asked. I was trying to be helpful. I felt a bit out of place there.

“Yeah, yeah, there was… but it ended around midnight, maybe one at the latest… Nick sure waited awhile to call you.” He turned on the living room light. I could see what I assumed to be one of Nick’s arms sticking out from under the pile of blankets on the couch. “Hey, Nick, your sister is here for you. Nick, wake up man,” Bob said. He reached out and shook Nick’s shoulder. “Hey, get up man, I want to go back to sleep. Niiiiick?”

We were starting to get nervous. I could hear it in Bob’s voice, see it in Nancy’s body language, and feel it in my own muscles. Bob finally grabbed the sheets and yanked them off.

Nick’s face was a pasty white. His lips were tinged with blue. After that, I know what happened, but I am unclear on the order with which things happened. I’m not sure if it was Nancy or Bob who tried CPR first. I didn’t know CPR. There was nothing I could do. I didn’t even know the address to call the police. But they did come, eventually, not only the police but an ambulance.

I remember them talking to Nancy afterwards, once her parents had arrived. “There was nothing you could do. They estimate he died around one, long before you arrived. We… I know this is hard on you, but we won’t definitively know what happened until the… coroner’s report.”

“But… but that’s impossible! He just called me at three to pick him up. That’s how I knew to come here,” Nancy argued.

“It’s true. I heard the call. It woke us both up.”

“Well, that’s happened before, girls, where our initial findings are proven wrong by the… proven wrong later,” he said. I could tell he was trying to avoid the word autopsy. “Or maybe you were mistaken about the time of the call, it was late.”

“We drove over immediately. I’ll prove you wrong right now,” Nancy hissed, taking out her phone. “I’ll show you that he called me at…” she looked at her phone. “He… the call isn’t showing up in my log,” she was frantic. “I’m telling you, he called me! How else would I have known there was a party? How else could I have known to come here? How…?” Nancy sobbed. Never mind that call logs are often wrong, Nancy wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. It took her parents and the police to finally subdue her. Nancy ended up leaving in an ambulance as well.

A check of Nancy’s cell phone records revealed no incoming calls from Nick on that night. Similarly, a check of Nick’s cell phone records revealed no outgoing calls or texts from Nick’s phone after about eleven that night when he made his final Facebook post.

Toxicology and autopsy reports confirmed Nick died of alcohol poisoning at one in the morning.

Credit To – Raine Angel

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The Origin 2

April 1, 2014 at 10:00 AM
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January 7th 2007
I have recently discovered the story of a haunting in an old house. A poltergeist, it would seem. My fellow paranormal hunter associates were discussing the matter at lunch, saying how walkers by and neighbours heard muffled screams and growls coming the house, even though it has been abondened for four years. I naturally took interest in this ghastly-going on and asked the where-a-bouts of this haunted establishment. My friend said it was in Liverpool, an old house by a bunch of newsagents and smallish homes. I pondered the sceptic explanations for the stated paranormal events, and the ghostly. I shall do some digging about this house tomorrow.

January 8th, 2007
The fair amount of information I found strongly points to ghostly explanation of this manor. I managed to find out it used to belong to a once wealthy man, who once ran a popular and successful business. Mr Walter W. Parkerson. WWP for short. He married his beautiful wife, Mary. They bought the house after Walters phone shop opened, and two months later had a baby girl. However, when this girl reached two, Mary left Walter, due to his rather un-hinged personality. Walter was an angry man, and snapped whenever something went wrong. He was a loose cannon, bursting in a frenzied rage, unpredictable, scary, sometimes. Mary didn’t want to live a life like this, and left him with her child. Walter tried his best to look after his daughter, but also tried to commit suicide multiple times. He became very un-sociable and bitter, and eventually, he died of unknown causes.
Muffled growls and screams coming from this house suggest the trapped soul of WWP, and I intend to explore the house in a couple of days, first, however, I am to see his daughter, Jenny, tomorrow.

January 9th, 2007
I found out a lot more about WWP today, and went to Jenny’s house and discussed her troubled childhood. She is a fine looking young lady, long sandy hair, healthy body, and a pretty pale face. She seemed very nervous when discussing her father.
“Hello.” I had greeted. “Please, take a seat.”
“Th-, Thank you.” She smiled, sitting as she did so.
“I hear you grew up in the house that has become a paranormal phenomenon?”
“Y, yes, actually.”
“You lived with your father, after your mother left, may I ask how that felt?”
“He was a lost soul, tragic really. He loved me, and my mum, deep down he did, but he had a hard time showing it. Ever since my mum left he slowly went angrier and scarier every day, to the point where whenever he walked past I would flinch.”
She was pulling a half smile now.
“It also says on the newspaper reports that your father tried to commit,” I found it awkward to discuss this in front of her. “Suicide.” I gulped.
“Yes, 3 times actually. It was terrible. The first time tried to use chemicals, but opposed to killing him, it caused him great suffering, it nearly blinded him, and caused his skin to turn into a sickly green colour. The second was drug overdose, which, as you could probably deduce, also failed. It ruined his vocal cords and caused his voice to be deep and throaty, blackening his lungs, and his heart. The third, was hanging. He would have finished off the job too if I hadn’t stopped him in time. It severely injured his neck, bounding him to his bed, shouting out his demands, and would only come out if clutching his cane, stomping and clacking his way downstairs.”
“That must have been terrible.” I added.
“It was, Every day he slowly turned more and more into a monster. My friends called him ‘The Big Bad Dad’, and I had to agree with them. He was barely human anymore, more like a living, walking corpse! I would always try and sneak out the front door to meet friends and actually enjoy my life, instead of caring for my monstrous father, but he always heard me. He’d roar ‘What are you doing?’ I scramble the key into the lock, desperately turning and twisting it. ‘I’ll get you for this, wretched girl!’ My panic would be un-imaginable, as I heard his clacking and clumping down stairs, calling down his threats, and when he finally came down he would…”
She was fighting back tears, hands clenched, head turned. She rubbed a big scar on her arm, and I knew that sentence needn’t be finished.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. Thank you so much for all your help.” I smiled hopefully.
“You’re welcome.” She then tried to change the subject. “I’m going on a date with my boyfriend tommorow.”
“How lovely. I’m sure whoever he is, is a very lucky man.”
She smiled. She showed me out and I ran over my notes. This story was getting deeper and deeper and more scary and exciting for the minute. I am to stay at the house tomorrow for the night, and monitor activity, if WWP does haunt his house or not, I’ll know.

January 10th 2007
As I am writing this, I am observing the house in front of me. It was large and dusty, and made up of red, fading, and crumbling bricks. It has a long, pointing tower at the top, but it is not that high. It has curved, dirty windows, 3 of them, all boarded up with rusted metal and planks of wood. A truly fascinating home. I am to step inside now.
As I stepped inside, the door creaked and dust consumed my sight. The corridor is narrow and the wallpaper is pale and peeled, to my right is a twisted, broken staircase. The house is dark, but not too dark, and a flashlight would fix everything. I shall explore now.
I have examined the whole bottom floor, and it is like a whole scavenger hunt of stories. In the kitchen, are smashed and foul smelling vials, which most likely held the chemicals that WWP had acquired. The cupboards were open and layered with dust, cobwebs and rats resided in it like parasites on human flesh. The surfaces were grimy and greasy, and the table was one feather weight away from falling apart into splinters. In the living room there was a dangling, twisted rope, the one that failed to kill WWP. The armchairs are beaten and battered, and the small television is smashed beyond repair. In the front room, there was nothing except an old pill bottle, and a dead rat, which had presumably met its fate eating the remaining pills, I shall explore upstairs now.
Oh my god. Oh my good god. My imagination is either over-active, or this house is indeed haunted. As I reached the top of the stairs, I turned round to look in the first of the three rooms, and just for a second, I saw a figure, illuminated by a dangling, dim light-bulb above. Brief, as its appearance may have been, it matched the description of WWP greatly. It had revolting, decaying green skin. It looked like a hellish mixture of dark green water-colours and vomit. It had, from what I can remember, twisted glasses and broken lenses, but no eyes to speak of. If anything, although this is a crude example, like Dr. Bunsen Honeydew out the Muppets! But sickly and deathlike. My heart is thudding in my chest, my breath fast and desperate. I shall see it again, I must!
I walk in into the room farthest to my left, and there is nothing except a boarded up window, a badly lit light-bulb and a phone. The phone itself, is covered in dust. I will walk towards it to get a better…
What was that. I heard a creek of the floor come from outside. My heart is beating faster, whether out of excitement or fear, I do not know. I walk slowly to the edge of the door, I shall look now.
Shit! He was there! He was right fucking there! He was walking slowly towards the room in the corridor. I got a better glimpse of him this time, he was wearing a purplish, blackish robe. I have leapt into the corner of this room, shaking and trembling as I write this. I hear another creak, oh no, oh no.
My god, he is walking in. I should be screaming and running, but I am frozen, struggling to breath. He is walking in towards me, no fear of me at all.
He’s raising a hand now, towards the light, I can barely write this. Oh god. I need to survive. People need to know.
CRAP! He’s just busted the light! Its complete darkness except his outline now, and a strange glue blow is forming by his hand.
He, is, he’s staring right at me. I can’t write. My writing is all jumbled. I cannot see my paper. I can’t see him. What, what’s happening? He’s breathing in my face. God, his breath is terrible. It’s a foul stench of decay and m ould.
Wh, what? My eyes are drooping, I’m, I’m falling asleep! I can’t, I can’t write much longer, he’s, he’s going towards the phone now. He’s putting his hand on the phone, the blue electricity forming around it, oh God. The phones working again now. What’s he going to do with that phone, his fingers are dialing, he’s ringing someone, who is he ringing, I can hear a muffled ‘hello’ from the phone, I can’t write, I can’t…


So you’re making out with ur honey, Jenny, and the phone rings, you answer it, and the voice is, ‘What are you doing with my daughter…’


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Yeah, So Quit Asking

June 8, 2009 at 2:14 PM
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A homeless man is sitting on a park bench. You are jogging.
As you jog up to him, he holds his hand out and asks for change, you jog on past, pretending that you can’t hear him over your iPod.

Feeling guilty, you stop. You reach into the pocket of your running shorts for a couple of bucks you were saving for a bottle of water. You turn around to jog back to the homeless man.

He is already standing right behind you. The park is suddenly abandoned. His eyes are wriggling masses of wasp larvae, he outstretches his arms, each which are 5 feet in length. His mouth opens inexplicably wide, his lower jaw touching his sternum. The only sound he emits from his gaping mouth is a dial tone.

Before he pulls you into the black cavernous throat of his, you have time to scream,

“Oh god. You were phone!??”

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The Original: WHO WAS PHONE?

March 19, 2008 at 4:22 PM
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oK so basicaly its like this. youare at a friends house for like the night or watever and then you guys are making out on the couch (yeah!) and then like.. her dad calls on the phone and says “no i she likes it more if you use the other hand… yeah” and your alllike “oh dude your dad is trying to give me advice on how to diddle you” and then she’s like… “i don’t have a dad..” or whatever… but what!? WHO WAS PHONE?


So ur with ur honey and yur making out wen the phone rigns. U anser it n the vioce is “wut r u doing wit my daughter?” U tell ur girl n she say “my dad is ded”. THEN WHO WAS PHONE?

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