Tuesday, April 19, 2011

New Ager with a New Wager

Haven't posted in forever!!!

Please note while reading this that I am christian, and was before reading this.
                                                                                                                                      
    You guys have all probably heard of pascal's wager right? If you haven't the tl;dr version states that you've got more to gain by believing in god because if he happens to be real and you happen to be atheist, you're screwed.


    I have a new wager for those of us who are already aware that god exists. This is why I posted on /x/.

    It's an argument for why we should believe in Jesus Christ and become protestant Christians.

    Here's the pre-requisite.

    1.The universe must be just.

    By "just" I mean fair. If the universe isn't fair, then we're already in hell, argument over.

    So if we establish that the universe is fair, we are to be held accountable for our actions and the intent behind those actions.

    This would imply that a sinful action committed out of ignorance shouldn't be punished as harshly as one in which you knew exactly what you were doing.

    If you believe that jesus died for your sins, it would be unfair for the universe to punish you in any way.

    Why?

    Because even if jesus wasn't real, you honestly believed you would be forgiven for your sins. In the grand court of karma, you could plead ignorance.

    You can't be held accountable for being ignorant, therefore, you have a get-out-of-jail free card for your accumulated spiritual debt, with jesus.

    Whether jesus is real or not, is of no concequence, he can save you anyway.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

They say when you take a picture of someone you capture their soul in the camera. They also say if you print it off, that picture contains the soul itself and you can control them with it.
I’m not sure where to start. Do you know what the Primordial Soup is? A veritable ocean of elements, all floating around randomly. And through millions of years of time, eventually the right set of random circumstances came to pass, and the elements were able to connect together and form the world's first single cell organism.
Now that’s a really boiled down version of it but I’m sure you get the gist of it. Fast forward a few billion years to the early 1990s, when internet use began to rapidly accelerate. Every home had a computer, and new connections between computers were opening on a by-the-second basis.
Trillions of bytes of data began to transfer around the world at the speed of light, music, text, sound, and most importantly; pictures. Now if, when you take a picture of someone and capture their soul, what happens when that picture is converted to data and placed on a hard drive? Does the soul follow? 15 years later we believe so. We believe that when you take a picture of someone and upload it onto your computer, alongside the image data a blueprint of the person’s soul itself is imprinted on the file itself.
Look at your pictures folder. How many souls reside in that folder alone?
That’s just the beginning though. These soul blueprints each retain pieces of a puzzle, parts of the soul itself as well.
Recently a group of hackers, who referred to themselves as the Cardinals, took an interest to this theory and began experiments. They found anomalies within the binary sequences of images based on similar features of the person they had taken a picture of. A binary DNA if you will.
Now these hackers had come to possess a set of three extremely important data files. One avi, one jpeg, and one .mp3, each of which possessing interesting unexplainable qualities.
The first, cradle.avi, depicts what appears to be a group of teenagers with a low quality video camera, exploring the basement of a house. The quality of the video is distorted completely beyond any comprehensibility, and the video is very low quality. For most of the video the camera is passed around the group, handed back and forth and jerked around too much to make anything noticeable out.
But near the end the camera turns at an odd angle, and you can semi clearly make out a young girl standing in the corner facing the wall. Her hair is long and black and she is wearing some form of white dress. You only see her for a split second but many people who have seen the video claim there just seems something wrong with her. A bit deformed but not in a way anyone can explain.
But the truly peculiar property of this video is what happens to the user's computer at the end of it. On the last second of the video, if not already so the video will force full screen itself. Along with this you are left with a one second looping clip of a window in a wall. It loops 15 times, and then the girl is seen again, standing on the other side of the window with her back to the viewer, slowly wavering back and forth. After a few moments the video ends and the user’s computer permanently shuts down.
Inspection has shown that the entire registry becomes completely corrupt, requiring the user to do a total wipe and reinstall.
The second file is known as needles.mp3. This sound file, when played, plays for about 3 minutes. It is extremely distorted. One can occasionally make out some form of voice talking, but most of the sound is some form of growling, rolling crackled roar.
Users who listen to this file often experience extreme nausea and loss of balance for a brief period of time.
The final file is known as burningman.jpg.
The file name has nothing to do with what the actual picture depicts. Instead it just displays a haphazard mess of overlayed and meshed images of dolls and a hallway. There also seems to be an image of a man standing with his head cast down in the background, but the image is too distorted to make anything out, much like the other files.
The image, when downloaded and opened on a user's desktop, will proceed to stay permanently open on whatever program it is opened through. Not only that, the program becomes disabled. Nothing else happens, the image just permanently sits there on your desktop, unclickable, unminimizable, and your just left there with the man's invisible gaze staring at you.
From what the group of hackers were able to discern, this file seems to have precompiled into the data something along the lines of Cmdow. Yet, as complex and intricate as the program is (it works across all OS platforms) no one knows who the original creator is. In fact, few people have heard of it as the file is uncopyable nor sendable.
This in fact further adds to the mystery, as often receivers of this file will obtain it from random anonymous emails, posted on forms on a download link. Posing the question, how was that poster able to upload it?
If you ever see any of these files, refrain from downloading ANY of them. They all have varying detrimental effects on your computers, from practically taking out your whole registry, corrupting system 32, freezing your mouse or crashing your computer.


Now onwards:
This group of hackers, the Cardinals, took to analyzing these 3 files and comparing their odd behaviors. They had heard of other such odd files, images, data, etc, but were never able to get their hands on them. At least as far as we know, though rumour states they in fact were able to locate and collect all of the known files like the original smile.jpg, barbie.jpg, even suicidemouse.avi. Not even the grifter was able to escape their grasp, rumour states. But rumour also states the grifter video even exists, but thats another story.
Nonetheless, all these files in hand, the group lined the files up and begin to meticulously work through the binary one 0/1 at a time, checking for similar strains and series of binary that matched.
And they did manage to successfully do so, at least legend states. The result was 7 individual execute files that did nothing. Simply a gibberish pile of 0s and 1s. They endless puzzled over the files, each tackling an execute each. They decided to name them after themselves, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Envy, Sloth, Wrath, and Pride.
At last they attempted to line the files up. Remarkably, something odd happened. The copies of the files quite suddenly meshed together. The result was a single complete Execute, already named.
“BarelyBreathing.exe”
And what of this file? Well not much else is known after that point. They were too smart to just execute it. They analyzed the file every possible way. Hex, binary, conversions, anything to figure out what this odd file would do.
To no avail, even after forming together it was an even bigger jumble of 1s and 0s and made no more sense than the separate executes.
They backed the file up on a flash drive and proceeded to run it. That was the last command found run on their destroyed computers a week later. Their corpses had been disfigured beyond recognition. Description of the corpses stated that it almost seemed as if they had been brutally slashed across their faces and arms. Every square inch of skin that had been bare had been mutilated. Almost microwaved and then sliced repeatedly by a micro thin razor.
The government attempted to hush up the event, but there was some media leakage, and because the Cardinals had been keeping a blog amongst themselves and a few close friends (it's closed down and deleted now so don’t go trying to find it) it quickly spread out as per what they had been attempting to accomplish. And if it was or was not related to their terrible deaths.
And what of the flash drive? A friend, who knew of its existence, later checked the home of the group and was unable to find it. According to reports the drive was found in the pocket of one of the group and had been taken into custody by the police, and then simply vanished.
The trail continues on, far more though. The file resurfaces every few weeks around the globe. Governments attempt to cover it up but some media leaks out, of course. Look to the news for people mutilated in their own homes by a “murderer”, their computers stolen, etc.
And if you ever get a cryptic email with an attachment labelled BarelyBreathing.exe, for fuck sakes DO NOT OPEN IT!

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Midnight Train

It looked good, but... well, I haven't read it. Tell me what you think???



In my old age I’ve seen a lot of things. Some things I’m a little more proud of than others. As a boy there wasn’t a damn thing that could sate my appetite for the world around me. Everything in reach I had to get my hands on, take it apart and study it. My natural curiosity is what got me into the many scraps and situations of my youth.
I remember when I wasn’t any older than six, it was the fall of nineteen hundred and twenty-eight, me and several of the local boys were out playing a game of hide-and-seek. Denny Louis was the seeker, and a damned good one at that, so I took it upon myself to find a damned good hiding place. I remembered the hayloft out in our barn, and figured I could hide myself among the many bales of hay up there, maybe even push some of those bales around like I had times before when I wanted to build a fort, and get myself a perfect hiding space. Denny started counting out loud from a hundred and I took off a running to the barn, the breeze tickling my cheeks and smelling like the harvest.
I ran through those big red doors and my eyes fell on Denny Louis’ mama laying on the ground, straw in her hair and her dress hiked up, with my Daddy laying on top of her, looking like he was trying to pick himself up, but he seemed to be having trouble. I had no idea what I was seeing, but I would later learn all about what my Daddy was doing when I was fourteen when me and Sandra Hannigan made our way up into the same hayloft that I had hid so many times, and made so many forts in, to get out of the rain. She shook the water from that beautiful blazing, red hair of hers and noticed my eyes stuck on her nipples poking out like little buttons in the cold, wet air. She hiked up that flowery yellow dress she liked to wear and spread her creamy white, freckled legs, revealing her sweet fire peach. There in the smell of spring rain and old horse shit I made love for the first time. Beautiful girl, she was.
“Daddy?” my little voice rung out, echoing off the dusty, wooden walls. My old man turned and stared at me, like he’d been caught dipping his hand into the honey pot, and for lack of better words, that’s exactly what he was doing. He hoisted himself off of Mrs. Louis and made his way over to me.
“Whatta ya doin’ in here, son?” He spoke slowly and calmly
“ We was playing hide and seek, Daddy. I was gonna hide up in the loft.”
“Yeah? You ain’t gonna be tellin’ nobody about what ya saw, right boy?” I could hear the anger rising up in his voice, but I kept on pushing it, like the curious little boy I was.
“Well, what exactly was you doin’ Daddy?” He just stared at me. His eyes slowly growing darker in the brightness of that fall day. Mrs. Louis, still a ways behind him, was up on her feet straightening her dress and picking bits of straw from her long, golden hair. I was too busy looking at Mrs. Louis to notice that my Daddy meandered his way over to the wall where kept the tools and picked out a hefty, dirt crusted shovel.
“You ain’t gonna be tellin’ nobody…Right, boy?” he repeated in that slow and calm way he always spoke when he was angry, but me being the stupid child I was, I just kept right on prying.
“Daddy…what was---” I didn’t have a chance in the world to ask before the side of my right cheek exploded with pain as I fell to the ground in pathetic bundle. My vision went hot white. All noise became muffled as if the world suddenly got sucked into a vacuum. What I could hear seemed distant. Ghostly, even. I could hear Mrs. Louis screaming her pretty head off, and strangely, the long, low whistle of a train in the distance. Whether it was my imagination or not, I do not know, but I’ve learned in life that there are no coincidences. I heard that whistle as clear as I could hear Mrs. Louis screaming, Sandra Hannigan’s soft, whispering moans as thunder rumbled across the gray spring sky, and my father’s harsh, labored breathing has stood over me brandishing his shovel as it was Excalibur. I heard that train. Lord help me I heard it.
“You ain't gonna be telling’ nobody…Ya hear?”
“D-D-Daddy….I---” Another explosion erupted as my father brought the shovel down onto my exposed chest. I heard several pops and cracks echoing throughout my body. I held up my small arms in defense, but they were crumpled like paper the force of his blow. I dared to raise my hands up for protection again, only to see my fingers crooked and bloody. Mrs. Louis was no longer screaming, but babbling on like she’d seen a ghost. My father turned to her and waved his weapon.
“Shut up, bitch! Shut the fuck up!” He yelled, his voice like that of a angry God. While he was distracted I tried to crawl away. My crushed fingers clawing at the straw and earth, pulling myself to freedom. It was all for not, though, as my father grabbed me by the leg and threw me towards the ladder to the loft.
“He’s just a boy, Clay…Just a boy” Mrs. Louis kept muttering, “ He didn’t do nothing wrong”
“I said shut up!” He spoke again with that God-like force. He swung the shovel down on me again. I heard a very loud crack. Almost like lightning skimming across the sky. Very faintly I heard the train’s whistle again. That loud, shrill pitch in the distance. He flipped me over onto my back and spoke again.
“Are you gonna be tellin’ anyone about this, boy?” His voice had calmed down, but there was a deep anger there. Calm and intense. I felt one my teeth fall to the back of my throat. A small fountain of vomit and blood gushed from my mouth as I tried to cough it up. I feebly turned my head and spit it out.
“N-n-no…Daddy…I aint tellin’ nobody.”
“Good” my father tossed his shovel aside, scooped me up in his arms, and carried me like I was just a baby. His voice had flipped to that of genuine concern, like any good father’s voice. “You okay, boy? You took a mighty big fall off of the ladder…Right, Janice?” He turned to Mrs. Louis, still holding me in his arms. Her face burning from tears, she only nodded rapidly.
“Yes, yes…are you okay, Daniel? Are you okay, sweetie?” She rushed over and ran her shaking hands across my tiny, battered face. My father pushed me into her arms.
“Take him up to the house and into bed, tell Martha what happened…Okay? I’ll go to the town to get a doctor. Quickly now!’ Mrs. Louis pulled me even closer and ran to the house to put me get my mother to put me down and be comfortable till the doctor came. Before I blacked out I remember Mrs. Louis running across the field to my house. The smell of the harvest filling my nostrils. Mrs. Louis quietly muttering how sorry she was, and in the distance my eyes caught the slowly moving shape of a black train. Smoke pluming from the engine, the slow chug-chug-chug of the wheels, and the horrible shriek of the whistle. Calling me to darkness.
The doctor came and went, but I had no idea. I was unconscious the entire time. A broken hip, three broken ribs, one dislocated, a cracked skull, two missing teeth, four broken fingers, one broken wrist, and miles of bruises. Other bits of damage appeared over time. I lost hearing and most of the sight out of the right side of my face. On a good day, and I can say I had plenty of them, I had a slight limp, but on a bad day I was practically a cripple. My left hand froze up sometimes, couldn’t move my fingers worth a damn, but I got along fine with my condition. My father was never found out, and the fact that Mrs. Louis never came back around the house only meant she would never speak about it. We all just sort of went on with life.
I lived as best I could for ten years before I heard the whistle again. Now, it wasn’t uncommon to see or even hear a train near the farm, Hell, there was a track not more than a mile from my front door, but this train was different. The whistle didn’t sound right. It was like a dying rabbit, nails against a chalkboard, and steam spewing out of a kettle all rolled into one. It’s like that sound pierces through you and sends shivers down to your very bones. Not a pleasant feeling, in other words.
I was sixteen and living like my fathers before me. Working my hands to leather in the earth. I had spent time at what my wife would later refer to as a “hick school”, but I soon left after my teacher figured that I was un-teachable. I wasn’t un-teachable…I just would just have rather spent my time reading, or taking something apart, or going somewhere I’ve never been. The world was my playground, and I wanted to play. The thought of leaving my mother alone with my father scared me, though, I owed it to her to stay around and try to protect her. What my father did to me was only the tip of the iceberg compared to all the things he did to my mother. I remember laying up at night hearing them fighting. My fathers booming voice broken up only by the reality cracking sound of broken glass, or the cool clean sound of flesh on flesh contact. My mother would be in the kitchen the next day with a few new bruises, maybe a cut or two, but she never complained. It was plain for everyone to see, but they never paid it any mind, that’s just how things were.
I remember it was a pleasant enough summer night. A little humid, but that’s just nit-picking. I spent of the night out on the porch watching the stars and listening to the creatures of the night as they went about their business. Occasionally, I found myself glancing out to the barn. It stood there like a mausoleum in the pale moonlight. An effigy to many things…Pain, lost love, hard work, and my family who died on this land before me. My mind wandered to memories of Sandra Hannigan, God rest her soul. Memories of the shovel bearing down on my like a locomotive bears down those endless steel tracks. My mind liked to wander whether or not I wanted to take the ride. Always has, always will.
I remember my father driving up in his truck. The bastard was swerving horribly, obviously he had indulged to his hearts content on Jimmy McGruder‘s personal moonshine. What burns blues makes your blues go away, boy, he would always say. I knew he’d be in a fighting mood and instinctively made me go to my room. Before I could even reach the stairs I heard his voice, dripping with that damned white lightning,
“Martha! Martha, you come here and welcome me home like a good wife should.” he shouted in a slurred fashion, the ceramic jug in his hand spilled the foul liquid onto the floor.. My mother promptly came up the cellar without a word and greeted him to his liking. A kiss on the lips and the removal of his coat. As she turned to put his coat on the hook, he reached out and began to grope her. My mother, I will admit, was an attractive woman, but years of beatings had slowly taken the brightness from her eyes, the skip in her step, and the song on her lips. We made quick eye contact, but just a brief moment said it all.
Go to bed, sweetie…Maybe it wont be so bad tonight. Just go to bed.
But like most nights it was the same. Her giving into this predator and his sexual advances just to keep him happy. She suffered through it in silence. God, the things she did to provide for me, I pray everyday that she is smiling down on me while he’s rotting in Hell. My mind quickly wandered back to Sandra Hannigan. Did she suffer in silence? Did she let him take her every night? Or did she kick and scream and bite until she was too tired to go on? I don’t know. I can’t say. God rest her soul, I pray she fought back.
I climbed the stairs to my room, trying to block out the labored breathing of my drunken father and the cold, complacent whimpers of my mother. Laying in my bed I tried to nod off and sleep, just so it can all happen again tomorrow. Soon sleep found me and I dreamed. A dream that haunted me for years, always picking up new details along the way. My father standing above me with his shovel. Staring at me with all the fury of God. His eyes black as black can be. The shovel coming down. I close my eyes in fear, only to open them and see Sandra Hannigan before me. Her beautiful, smooth skin now wormy and rotted. Her hair still crimson as fresh blood, and a deep black line ran along her neck. Too horrid to look at, but I can’t look away. She hikes up her tattered yellow dress and reveals the further decay of what was once a wonderful sight. She speaks to me. Her voice as crisp and clear as it was that day.
“You love me…Don’t you, Daniel?”
All the while the slow methodic chug, chug, chug of a train. Sandra opens her mouth, her cheeks tearing wide open into a disgusting, skeletal smile, to speak once more, only her voice isn’t there, only a sound that pierces right through you. Chilling you to the bone. Scratching at your soul. A whistle.
I woke up. Sweating bullets and soaking my shirt and underwear, but it wasn’t the dream that woke me, as horrible as it was. No, it was the rumbling in my stomach for release. I didn’t need to be told twice before I swiftly jumped out of the bed, slipped on a pair of trousers, and descended the stairs quite quickly, nearly tripping on the last step in the dark. I could see my father asleep in his arm chair in the family room. His jug tipped over, empty, and bone dry. The moonlight shone through the window and I could see a line of drool falling from the corner of his open mouth. His head tilted back in the way he always slept when he was in his chair. I quickly shoved on my shoes, rushed through the front door,and off to the tiny little shed far to the house. The grass swishing underneath my feet and the wind cooled the sweat on my body. I reached the outhouse, flung the door open and squat down on the splintery seat without a second thought.
There were always stories of porcupines getting there way into outhouses and gnawing on seats for the salt from sweat and such, but I can say I never did see a porcupine. A raccoon did get in once, poor thing fell into the hole and drowned in the shit and piss of a small farming family. Kind of sad, really. That was years ago and that hole had been long buried. I let myself relax and let the body do what it is trained to do in that type of situation. I nearly nodded off in the smelly, little shack, but something jolted me off my seat. A whistle. Low and hot at first, but it grew into a cacophony, like hundreds of screaming voices. I quickly cleaned myself up and hurried outside. There it was. In the moonlight, not too less than a mile from where I stood. Just sitting there on the tracks. Which wouldn’t have been too uncommon, except there was no switching station out there, just open land and those endless steel tracks.
Like I said, I was a curious boy, and obviously something that had been haunting me for ten years was well worth a look. I broke into a run, the excitement and fear gripping and my heart. I wanted to turn back to the house, tell myself I’m just dreaming, but my feet kept moving. Thank God for the moon that night. You could see for miles. As I got nearer to the damned thing the darker it got. The smoke from the engine creeping into the sky and blotting out the light. The bright diamonds in their satin cloth began to disappear, too. I stopped, only briefly, panting and sweating. I looked up only to find myself right there next to it.
It was unlike any train I’d ever seen. It was black all over, so black it hurt my eyes to look at it directly for too long. It was also very noticeably darker right next to the massive machine, like it was devouring the light that got near it. Most trains that came through were freight trains. Carrying coal and such to parts unknown, but this was a passenger train. The interior of the cabs brightly lit, revealing it’s deep red color scheme. And the people, oh God, the people in the windows. Each one of them just sat there, emotionless. Unmoving like statues of some lost civilization. I tried working my way to the front of the thing. Each car the same. Filled sparsely with unknown, unmoving faces, One or two passengers did turn to look out their windows at me, only to return to their original position. Their eyes gray and sad. I kept on walking my way to the engine, till it caught my eye. In one of the windows, it was my father. I wasn’t sure at first, but it had to be…It was my Daddy.
“Daddy!” I yelled out, but he didn’t turn to look. “Daddy! Hey, Daddy!” I saw that the entrance to the car was wide open. The light spilling out onto the land. I had to get in that car. Why was he on there?, I thought to myself, What the hell is he doing? I hoisted myself up onto the metal steps into the car, only to be knocked on my back by a black mass that smelled of oil and smoke. I looked up to see a man standing there. Soot stained overalls, greasy white hair jutting out from under his conductors cap. He stared at me intently, before a smile cracked his lips.
“You ain’t getting’ on, boy…” His voice was flighty and uneven. High pitched, yet low and grumbly at the same time. “Aint got no ticket! Hahaha!” His laugh unnerving, like the sound of crunching bugs under your boot. “Why you wantin’ to get on anyways for, boy?” His smiled still beamed at me. A strange, skeletal smile. Wide and menacing. I found myself reverting back to that scared little boy in the barn ten years ago.
“M-m-my daddy’s on there…I gotta talk to ‘im.” He just bellowed that laugh of his.
“Boy, Lotsa peoples daddys be on this train. No ticket. No ride. Hehehe” He clapped his gloved hands together. Black dust puffing out.
“P-p-please…I…”
“No ticket, boy! No ride!” His voice becoming angry. That’s when I truly saw him. His skin pale, and free of any sort of blemish. And his eyes…They were on fire. Glowing orange like the coals that moved his train. Those fiery coal eyes burned right through me. “Get outta here, boy! Don’t come back till ya got yourself a ticket! Hahaha” His teeth. They were jagged and pointed like dog’s teeth. I ain’t afraid to say I was scared. In fact, I pissed myself right then and there. He just laughed that crunchy laugh of his.
“Diamond, pearl, opal, jade! Hahaha!” He turned and slammed shut the doors behind him. Soon enough the pistons started their slow chug, chug, chug. Smoke billowing out of the engine. It smelled like rotten eggs and bloated summer roadkill. I still laid there in my own filth, watching the black train slowly pull away. The conductor stuck his head out of the engine booth and yelled back to me over the locomotive.
“Maybe next time! Eh, Danny Boy. HAHAHAHA!” His eyes burning bright as even. He laid on the whistle. Close up, I could truly hear the sound. It was screaming. Melting steel and burning souls screaming into the night. I only watched as the train pulled away. The screaming, black behemoth riding the endless steels tracks.
I walked home. Shaken. Scared. Questioning whether or not I am truly dreaming, or if this is all a nightmare. The moon was back out and shining in all it’s glory. The stars sparkled in the dark folds of the night sky. Finally reaching home, I numbly pushed the front door open. It groaned in protest, but I paid it no mind. I trudged into the family room, figuring my father would be gone, but there he was, still sitting there, I quickly crossed over to him, my hands shaking as I touched his face. It was cold. I saw that it wasn’t drool that dribbled out from his lips. It was vomit. My father was dead to the world, drowned in his own sick. I saw the Devil that night. He took my father with him on a slow, screaming ride to Hell. The funeral was like any other. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. A man was buried on holy ground, and nobody but me and my mother ever knew that it was no man…but a monster. I remember how she looked when they lowered him into the cold, hard earth. She had this little smile on his face, no tears, no anguish…Just a little smile. She was free.
A few years later she sold the farm.
“I want to go to the city…Leave all this behind.” she would say. I didn’t blame her. I was glad to leave, but I admit I did miss the place once we were gone, and I know she did too. It was a quiet life. A fine life, but she couldn’t stand to be in a house where memories ran rampant and hid in every corner and shadow. Whispering to her. Reminding her of my father.
It was nineteen hundred and forty two. The world was at war and I couldn’t do nothing, but work building bits and pieces for guns and tanks. Being partially crippled I was 4-F. I could only hear about how all my friends I had growing up went over to fight for liberty and came back in boxes. I suppose I was lucky on that part. My mother took up a job in the same munitions plant as me. Propaganda at it’s best I suppose. It put a smile on her face, and that’s all I needed to know it was a good thing. We’d been living with her mother in Boston, and life was fine indeed. I liked my grandmother well enough, but she always looked at me like I was a leper. She saw too much of my father in me, I suppose. She hated him for what he did to my mother. The beatings were a secret, but she hated my father for taking my mother away. A soldier returns from war and knocks up a pretty, young woman with a whole the world in front of her. Steals her back to his home where the fruit of several steamy nights ends up dying in it’s sleep. My sister didn’t get much of a chance at the world, but I sure did. She resented me for everything that I represented. A horny farmer, turned soldier. It wasn’t until I started bring Claire around that she started to warm up to me a little more. Maybe Granny was finally seeing I wasn’t my father, or maybe she was just going senile. I don’t know.
I can’t say that I didn’t love Claire. She was a wonderful woman, but I do know that I saw a hell of a lot of Sandra in her. That blazing, crimson hair of hers and those deep green eyes. Maybe it was me mourning for a love long lost, or guilt for never stealing Sandra away from her life. Six feet of rope…Funny how something so seemingly average could remove someone from your life. I loved Sandra, I did, and so did her daddy. A little too much. She was probably praying that I’d come to her window at night and steal her away like Romeo and Juliet. She had something inside of her. Something horrible. Something God forgot about. She wanted it to be something beautiful and it could never be as such. Poor Sandra. God rest her soul. I loved her, but I loved Claire, too. Maybe not the on the truly bottomless romantic way, but I loved her all the same.
Claire and I were married at a lovely ceremony in nineteen hundred and forty five. The war was over. Our boys were coming home, and the world began to get even more scared of itself. The Reds were everywhere they started saying. I don’t know. Men were men, but it’s their toys that always end up hurting them. I found work as a mechanic, and Claire was teaching. Money was tight, but we didn’t complain. We had an apartment to live in and each other. We didn’t need to worry about much else. Until one day I got home from the shop and she was waiting for me.
“Hey, sweetheart” I cooed in her ear as I kissed the back of her neck like I always did when I got home.
“I’m late.”
“What?”
“I’m…late…”
“I don’t know what you mean?” She took my hand and placed it on her belly. It all hit me ton of bricks. “You mean…”
“Yes!” She was trying to hold back her tears and smile, but they broke through anyway.
“I gonna be…”
“Uh-huh!”
My son was born December twentieth, nineteen hundred and forty nine. The most beautiful baby boy if I ever saw. William Hudson Bronson. He took after me, just as I had taken after my father. I was determined to make him have all the things I never could, but money was tight before, and it wasn’t getting any better. My grandmother had died two years prior to the birth and my mother was living all alone, but she delighted in seeing her little “Billy B” , as she called him, over whenever dropped by. She loved him with all her might. I did me well to see her so happy.
Billy had just turned one when I got the news that our old home was back on the market. My mother handed me a check that had all the money she had been saving for the last ten years. She told me it would be good to go home. Return to my roots, and raise Billy like I had been raised. I didn’t think that it was such a good idea. I just knew those memories would be waiting there for me. Hiding in the shadows and waiting for me to let my guard down so they could strangle me.
“Any ghosts in that house have long since left…” my mother said to me. “It was a good life. I know that life was hard. Very hard at times…but it’s in your blood, Daniel. You don’t like being a mechanic, do you? Haven’t you been aching to get back to the land? Watch the fruits of your work pay off?”
I did. I did miss the farm life, but I didn’t know how much I missed my farm life. We left Billy with my mother, while Claire and I made our way back to my childhood home. The town had grown quite a bit. Everything a modern family would need. When we finally did reach the old farm, my eyes fell on the barn, and a deep chill ran through me.
“You okay?” Claire asked me in that sweet, concerned voice of hers.
“Goose walked over my grave, I s’pose.”
The man who owned it most recently was a rich yuppie who thought about trying his hand at farm life. Couldn’t live without the amenities of the modern man. Fully wired, plumbing, plenty of farming equipment, and a completely new paint job and d├ęcor. It wasn’t my home anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time.
After our tour Claire got into the car and instantly spilled out her opinion.
“We need to buy this house”
“You really think so?”
“I do…I can work at the school in town. You can make a living here, growing corn, raising cows, and doing whatever it is farmers do.”
“You really want to live here?” I questioned. I did want to come back, but there was too much in my head screaming at me not to come back.
“Yes.” She stared at me intently. She knew that I would crack like always. She had that special kind of power over me.
“Then it’s settled…it’s ours…”
We settled in and we got our new life off to a good start. The land was good, the crops grew like weeds, and Billy was taking a liking to the open air. It wasn’t much longer after our first harvest that Claire was late once more. We had our baby girl, Esther May Bronson, in the summer of nineteen hundred and fifty three. She took after her mother in spades. A slice of the American dream.
I found myself walking out to the railroad tracks every now and then. I don’t know what I expected to see. Maybe it was sort of my way of trying to make sense of something so unbelievable. I never told anyone. Never once. The Devil and his Hellbound train were my secrets to keep. I wasn’t crazy. I prayed to God I wasn’t crazy. Sometimes late at night I hear a train whistle pierce out in the night. The slow chug, chug, chug pushing the metal beasts along those endless steel tracks. Sometimes, I swear, just under those whistles I could hear screams.
We led a fine life, indeed. Billy was growing into a man before my very eyes, and Esther was blossoming into a beautiful young woman more and more every day. It was nineteen hundred and sixty eight. Another war was going on halfway around the world, but it didn’t bother me none till Billy came to me and said we was going to join the Army. He wanted to be fighting for his country. Claire had a fit, as expected, but he had his mind set and he was damned if anybody was going to change his mind. We got his letters every week, and every week we’d write back.
I was sleeping. It came again. The first time in years. My father standing over me holding his shovel. His eyes burning orange like coal. The shovel coming down on me before the scene melts away and I’m with Sandra. My lovely rotting Sandra in the hayloft. Exposing herself to me in a morbid, yet sexually exciting manner.
“You love me…Don’t you, Daniel?
“You know I do…” Her rotting lips formed a smile. Her gaping maw opened to reveal an unimaginable darkness. From the darkness came a low whistle, slowly building into deafening screams.
I woke up. Sweating bullets and soaking my night shirt and pants. I didn’t have to use the bathroom. It was the whistle. Cutting out into the night, calling me like a sailor to the rocks. I silently slipped from the bed and down the stairs. Each step creaking slightly under my weight. I slipped on my shoes, flung the front door open and started running. The wind chilled me slightly in the autumn night air. My mind raced with the memories reaching out, not from the corners and shadows of my home, but from my mind. Reaching out and trying to hold me down and suffocate me.
It was the same as it was all those years ago. The smoke plumed from the engine, falling to the ground and lingering like a thick black fog. The deep, black metal glared back at me as I walked along the side of the great beast. The Devil stood outside of a car, watching me as I approached. His eyes burning brightly with excitement.
“Diamond, Pearl, Opal, and Jade! Hehehehe! Danny Boy has come back! Still no ticket I see!” His voice shuddered through me, but I pressed on.
“Why are you here?”
“Oh my, my, my, my…Danny Boy! We all have a job to do! Hahaha! This is just my job!”
“But why are you here!” In that moment I heard my father sneaking into my voice. A calm and quiet anger.
“Dad?” A voice from inside the car rang out like a bell. Out of the open doorway stepped my son, Billy, clad in his official army gear and looking quite confused. “Dad…”
“Billy…” The word got caught in my throat. I ran over and held him close to me, never wanting to let him go. “Billy…Why are you on this train?”
“Don’t know…I remember my squad was walking through the jungle, and then there was this white flash…And I woke up on the train…What are you doing here?”
“I don’t quite know myself…” I smiled lightly. I squeezed him tighter. “It’s good to see you, boy…”
“How touching!” The Devil spoke up. “You have five minutes, Billy Boy.” The Devil stepped into the car and made his way to the engine. Once I knew he was gone, I grabbed Billy’s hand and tried to pull him away.
“C’mon, son…We gotta get you home.” He pulled away from me.
“No.”
“Billy…”
“Dad…If this is what everyone else on there is saying…Then I cant leave. I cant, daddy.”
“We can go home right now, tell you’re mother you’re home and--”
“No. I belong here. And who knows…Maybe this train don’t just go to Hell…Maybe it makes a stop off somewhere else. I don’t know.”
“Billy, I--”
“Daddy, I heard from friends of mine who went home. They got problems, Daddy. I’d rather be dead than mangled and fucked up in the head…Sorry for cursing.”
“It’s okay, son…” We stood silently for a long moment. Staring at each other. Trying to think of the words to say.
“ALL ABOARD! HAHAHAHAHA!”
“Love you”
“Love you”
Goodbye.
The black metal behemoth pulled away from me once more. Screaming down those endless steel tracks. I waved goodbye to my son long after the train was out of sight. Even after it’s screaming whine, disappeared from the night air. I watched. I prayed. Just like every week we got another letter. Only this time it wasn’t from Billy. Claire was wrecked. She wouldn’t leave the house for days. Laying around and crying. Wailing that she should have kept him here. Kept him safe.
She left me not more than a year after that. Said she couldn’t stand looking at me and seeing Billy. I also know she hated me. I couldn’t join her in her sorrow. In her pain. I got to say my goodbye. I got my closure. I don’t blame her for hating me, but to take my daughter away from me was just cruel punishment. I haven’t seen either in years. Many years.
I did the best I could. I tried to live life as best I could with what I had. I was a good father. I was a good son. I was a good husband. None of that means a hill of beans in the long run, though. We all end up in the cold, hard earth. Feeding the maggots and creepy crawlies that haunt our nightmares. I can hear it now. The screaming. The screaming in the darkness. Calling out to me… I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. Some things I’m more proud of than others. As a boy nothing could sate my appetite for the world around me. I suppose that there is just one last thing to figure out…The train is out there, and I finally got my ticket. Only thing left to do…Is to take a ride.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Polly the Staring Dolly

Kinda stereotypical doll story. Horrifying otherwise

On my eighth birthday, I got a present that would change my life forever. It was a beautiful doll that looked a lot like me. That is why my grandmother bought it for me. I named her Polly. However, days after I got the doll, things began to get weird, but I didn’t notice.
I slowly became unsocial, never having friends over. All I needed was Polly to make me happy. She was my best and only friend. All I would do was go to school, and come home to play with Polly. I never bothered to make friends, or talk to teachers. I even stopped trying in school. I had been a perfect student until I got the present. Nobody really noticed, though, so I didn’t mind.
After about a week of having Polly, I stopped eating real food. I just didn’t feel right eating normal food, so I would always go out to the backyard (we lived in a forest area), after telling my mom I wasn’t really hungry that night, and find some woodland creature to hunt and kill for dinner. My mom didn’t notice me not eating much, until week three. She even took me to the doctor a few times, asking about what was wrong with me. The doctor always had the same answer. I was at a healthy weight and was not sick. After our third visit to Dr. Cortez, my mom decided I was fine and just going through a “stage” as she called it.
After a month of having Polly, my mom noticed me sleeping in my closet instead of my usual place: my bed. And when she would come to check on me, not only would I be in the closet, but Polly would be in my bed. I would also sleep with my eyes wide open. My mom just ignored it, also saying it was a “stage”.
Three months later, I got a haircut. I wanted a bob, and that is what I got. The creepy thing was, after I got my haircut, Polly’s hair started to fall out. It only stopped when her hair was exactly like mine. My mom then knew things were not right with the doll, but I would not part with it because Polly was my friend. She was the only one who understood me.
My mom also told me that when she was about to fall asleep, she would find Polly right next to her bed. Polly would stare at her intently. My mom would put her back in my room, but always find Polly in the same spot when she went back to bed. Eventually, my mom ignored it. I now know that Polly was checking to see if my mom was still awake.


After almost a year, things got stranger. My skin, hair, and eyes started to turn a glowing green. This resulted in another doctor visit, but he said there was nothing he could do. This, my mom finally decided wasn’t a “phase”. She watched me as much as possible. She even quit her job, a crazy move for a single mother, so she could home school me and make sure nothing happened to me.
Then the worst night of both of our lives happened. My mom woke up in the middle of the night, after hearing the backdoor open and slam shut. She ran outside, after noticing that I wasn’t in my bed, and neither was Polly. Once outside, she spotted us immediately. We were walking towards the lake, hand in hand. She ran after us, and was almost too late. Polly was leading me into the water, clearly trying to drown me. Polly turned her head, all the way around, towards my mom. She smiled a sick, malevolence grin that sent shivers down her spine. My mom knew she had to act now, before it was too late.
She ran to me and grabbed my hand, but I pushed her away. She fought until she had me, struggling, in her arms. She placed me in my bed, and locked me in. She sat there, trying to comfort me. I was hysterical. Then, we heard the tapping. We looked at the window, and found Polly standing there staring at us, with her evil green eyes. My mom opened the window, and grabbed her. My mom ran out of my room and threw Polly in the fireplace.
It was on my tenth birthday when I got the courage to ask my mom what Polly was doing, and what had happened to me. She said that my grandmother got Polly for free, from a woman that seemed crazy. Her daughter died days before she got rid of the doll. My mom showed me the research she did, and it turned out that the previous eight owners of the doll were all killed in various ways. The first killed was one year old, the second was two years old, the third was three years, the fourth was four years, the fifth was five years, the sixth was six years, the seventh was seven years, and then there was me. I was the only one to survive.
I am fine now, after much counseling and bed rest, unlike the unlucky seven girls who came across Polly the staring dolly*, which is what my family has called her to this day.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Die before you sleep

Couldn't get the OC to you guys today, I hope you enjoy this instead.

You ever wonder what happens to you when you die? Well, I have a little idea of it. People die at all ages, and of all types of causes. Sometimes it's by injury, sometimes it's by disease.


But sometimes, old men and women just die in their sleep.


Sometimes, old people just die without warning in their sleep. They were perfectly healthy, just old. There really is no explanation for why they die, but they just die. There was a little test done in the 1950's, to see if they could explain this. They took 10 test subjects who were at least 80 years old, and asked them if they would stay here, in this facility, until they died. These people were particularly aged; you could tell they didn't have long left.


As each one died, something peculiar happened. Just before their heart stopped, their brain readings became incredibly erratic. But, they still matched a certain pattern. They matched the pattern of a person having a nightmare. But, this was like nothing they've ever seen. These readings were like the readings of someone having the worst nightmare anyone had ever seen. Their faces stayed so perfectly calm, along with their bodies...but they were not calm.


But, one of the test subjects survived. He seemed like a very resilient man. He had the brain readings, same as the others, but his heart did not stop. Instead, he woke up with a scream, and jerked up violently. The scientists rushed to him, and asked what had happened in his mind. He said it was the most terrifying thing anyone could ever see. He said that it was the reason people die in their sleep. He said that dying in your sleep was not peaceful. He said it was the worst experience you could ever have. And as he was about to tell them...his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed onto the bed. He had died from exhaustion. His heart collapsed completely.


The scientists were baffled. The project was stopped there. They refused to put any more people through this experience. The results were locked away, and the project was hidden away from the eyes of the world. It was lost in the government machine, for the public never to see. But, one of the scientists was not satisfied with this. Many years later, that same scientist was of the age where he could die in his sleep. He remembered the project years ago, and decided to find out what the old man was about to tell them. He spent quite some time preparing his old heart for anything that could come at it. He wanted to make sure he stayed alive through this. One night he went to sleep, same as always. But this dream was different. He was in the dark. But there was a small light emanating from what seemed to be a bathroom.


He seemed to be drawn towards it. He couldn't stop himself from walking towards it. He opened the door. There was one small flickering light, a dirty looking mirror, a broken down toilet and a shower, which seemed to be in the same condition. The floor was cold concrete. There was a sink. He felt himself forced to wash his face with the water. It seemed perfectly normal. He looked up from the sink into the mirror, and saw himself. He looked perfectly normal as well. He wiped his face off, and reopened his eyes, and saw his reflection again. But it was much, much different this time.


The person in the reflection seemed to be him...but it was different. It was as if someone had taken him out of the grave around 6 months later. The figure was decayed, but still retained some resemblance to him. The scientist was paralyzed with fear. But not paralyzed enough to stop from fufilling an incredible urge to reach out towards it. He slowly moved his hand towards the mirror. But, instead of having his hand stopped by cold glass, it kept going towards the figure. He whipped his hand back with incredible shock and fear. The figure slowly started to speak. He said in a raspy, degraded version of the scientist's voice "E-everyone h-h-has their time. Y-y-you were lucky enough to last this long. B-but your time has come....prepare y-yourself" the figure moved towards him. He looked for any escape whatsoever. But the door had disappeared. He was trapped in that room. His fear completely froze him from any movement. It suddenly rushed at him, screaming with a more terrifying scream than you could have ever imagined in your entire lifetime. As soon as it made contact with him, he woke up. He sat up violently, heaving massive breaths.


The scientist realized immediately what he has just experienced. He quickly grabbed a piece of blank paper that was sitting on the desk next to him. He had prepared this beforehand, just in case. He scribbled out these words as quickly as he could, for he knew that his heart was about to collapse. The paper said "DIE BEFORE YOU SLEEP". He then threw the paper and pencil down, and expected to die right then. But he didn't. But he looked over to the exit from his room. Standing in that exit was the figure from his nightmare.


The figure whispered "y-you didn't think you c-could get away that e-e-easily did you?" The scientist's eyes widened with terrible fear. He managed to whisper "what...what are you?" The figure rushed towards the side of his bed, and whispered in his ear "I am god". And with those words, the scientist died.


The scientist was a lonely man. All of his family was dead, and he had but one friend. Nobody found the body for months. But, one day, his friend came to visit. He went to his house, and knocked on the door. No answer. After a few seconds, he smelled an incredibly horrid stench coming from the house. He walked around to the back, and looked in the bedroom window. Inside, it was dark. But he could make out the decaying figure of his friend, who had been in there, dead for months. The figure almost exactly matched the one that had caused him to die. He called the cops, and they picked up his body. The cause of death was simply labeled "Old Age". But they found the paper next to his bed. It was filed away in evidence, and there were a few local newspaper stories about it. And so everyone kept on believing that dying of old age was natural, and dying in your sleep was the most painless method to go by. Well, good for them  

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Sorry guise!

Sorry for no post yesterday, there won't be one today either ;_;. Just look forward to monday's, I wrote it myself :D

Friday, February 4, 2011

Button Day

The worst part of this one is the family's emotions during "button day". *Shivers*

Laura was woken by her father; something that he had not done since she was a child. As her thoughts slowly swam back into focus, she was suddenly sure that she had slept naked and he had seen her, but to her relief she was wearing her baby-blue pajamas. God, what was he doing in here anyway?
“Come on, you,” he said brightly, opening the curtains and letting the sunlight in. Outside, she could hear a lawnmower running, perhaps in the next street, and what could’ve been birdsong. “It’s Button Day, remember? Get dressed, put something nice on. We’re leaving in an hour.”
Laura stirred, her voice groggy. “Dad, what the hell? Couldn’t you just knock? What if I’d slept nude?” He didn’t look at her, he was too busy admiring his garden from the window. “Oh, you’ve nothing I haven’t seen before. I’m your bloody father, I‘ve wiped your arse many a time before now.”
“Not the point, Dad.“ Squinting, Laura sat up, rubbing her eyes, and remembered what he’d just said. “Dad, did you just say ‘Button Day’?”
“Well, yeah. What, did you forget?” He laughed as he crossed the room to the door. “You were only talking about it last night.”
“Wait - what?” She frowned, not understanding. Something was wrong here. A fine way to start the day, really. She hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet, and she was already getting weird shit. “What are you talking about?”
He shook his head, still smiling as he left the room. “Get dressed. Breakfast is ready.”
He left her sitting up in bed, holding the covers to her breasts, a look of confusion on her face. Eventually she got out of bed, and began to pull some clothes on that were to hand. Familiar sounds floated up to her from downstairs: pots and pans rattling, the TV on low, the muffled tones of her family talking to each other, a short, harsh laugh - her brother. No doubt laughing at the TV.
She did her zipper on her jeans, and stood for a second before finally saying out loud, “Button Day?”
Downstairs, her mother was washing the dishes, humming to herself. Sunlight filled the room, making it warm and fresh. Her father and brother were sitting at the table, eating toast. There was a plate set for her, and she sat down, pulling it towards her. Her brother was wearing a crisp white shirt - and he never wore shirts. She doubted that he even owned one. This was one of her father’s, she recognised it.
“What’s with the shirt?” She asked, picking her toast up, and his eyes never left the TV, which was typical of him. A year younger than her at fourteen, he was arrogant and know it all to boot. “It’s Button Day, isn’t it?” He mumbled through a mouthful of toast, and her mother turned around, and tutted loudly at him.
“Mark, don’t talk with your mouth full.” She saw Laura and sighed. “Laura, you could dress a little better than that. At least make an effort.”
“What for?” Laura said, then looked at the ceiling, irritated. “Oh wait, let me guess. Button Day. Am I missing something here?”
Her mother shook her head, turning back to the dishes. “Don’t be so childish, Laura. It doesn’t suit you. Please make sure you get changed into something else before we leave.”
“I wanted to see Michael today. I’m not going with you, sorry.”
A hush fell over the kitchen as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her in surprise. Warily, Laura said, “What?”
“Are you crazy?” Her brother asked. “You can’t go out today, you’re coming with us!”
“Laura, you made plans? Today, of all days?” Her father asked, and she pushed back on her chair as a dull anger rose in her.
“Yes, I made plans! What the hell is going on this morning?”
No-one answered her. They were staring at her as if she’d took a crap on her plate. She got up, pushing her plate away. “You know what? Forget it.”
“Laura, stop this, right now,” her mother snapped. “You knew perfectly well what we were doing today. It’s been planned for a long time. Now you can just call Michael and tell him why you’re not seeing him.”
“That’s just it!” Laura yelled. “What do I tell him? I don’t know why I can’t go! It’s just you telling me I can’t!”
“It’s Button Day,” her brother said. “That’s why.”
“Button Day?” She cried. “What the hell are you all talking about? I’ve never heard of Button Day! You’re all acting like-” She suddenly stopped, comprehension dawning on her face. Her family were playing a joke on her. This was all a joke. With a warm rush, a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. Now she understood.
“Very funny, guys,” She said, her voice calm and collected. “You really had me going there.” She turned and left the room, heading for the front door. As she went, her mother called after her, “Laura! Please be back in an hour, we can’t leave without you, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Laura called back. “I wouldn’t want to miss Button Day, would I?”
The short walk to Michael’s house gave Laura enough time to feel guilty about how angry she had gotten with her family. As she’d gotten older, her temper had shortened. She planned on apologising later - she had an hour, right? Wasn’t that what her mother had said?
I wonder where we’re going, Laura thought, watching a plane a few miles above cut a white line across the sky. Or was that a joke too? Was it that they really were going out, and it had been a planned thing, and she had simply forgotten all about it?
She could see Michaels house from here, with the white fence and broad front lawn. She began to jog, eager to see him. As she crossed his driveway the front door opened and Michael came out with a look of shock on his face. He had seen her coming up the street.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Laura asked, and to her dismay he suddenly looked a little angry. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“What, did we fight, and I missed the memo?”
“You told me this was your family’s Button Day,” he said, and there was movement behind him.
Laura blinked, her mouth open in surprise. A blonde girl came to the door, squinting in the light, and slinked her arm around Michael. She was wearing a nightshirt and nothing else, and her hair was tousled.
“Go home,” the blonde said, and Laura backed away, blinking back sudden tears. Michael would not meet her eyes, so she turned and ran.
Her mother caught her just as she was about to run into her bedroom.
She pulled Laura close, holding her as she sobbed. “I know, I know. Let it all out.” She stroked Laura’s hair, rocking her a little. “Men are bastards, aren’t they?”
Laura pulled back to look at her mother, sniffing. “…You know?”
“You’ve just come back from his place in floods of tears. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what happened.”
“He’s got himself a blonde. A blonde! I’ll bet that’s why he wanted me to dye my hair!”
She cried for a little longer, and her mother held her. “There, there. Come on. Let’s get you changed for our trip.”
“…So we are going out?”
“Of course we are, silly! Here we are, this is a nice blouse. Your best, I think. Put this on, I want us looking our best for our Button Day.”
Laura’s stomach rolled lazily. She suddenly remembered Michael mentioning Button Day, too. This wasn’t a joke. This was real. It was all real, and she didn’t have a clue what was happening.
“Mom, listen to me a minute. Something here is very wrong.”
“I know. You really liked him, I know you did. It’s terrible that he’s upset you, on this day, of all days.”
“That’s just it, Mum - I don’t know anything about Button Day. I’ve never heard of it, and since this morning I feel as if I’m the only one who hasn’t the faintest idea what’s going on!”
“Well, to be honest, I’m no expert. I know it was the Governments idea to combat overcrowding, but other than that-”
“No, no. I mean at all. I’ve never heard of it.”
There was an uneasy silence, in which her mother looked at her for a long time. Her mouth was set in a hard line.
When she finally spoke, her voice was calm. “I know you’re upset, so I’ll play along with your little prank, okay? Just get changed - here’s your blouse - and I’ll see you in the car in five minutes, okay? We’re waiting for you.”
Her mother walked away, leaving Laura alone and frightened, her best blouse in her trembling hands.
The next thing she knew, she was in the car. Everything was flowing by in a fluid, carefree motion that made her feel more and more uneasy. What the hell was going on? Why did she not recall anything about this day that everyone was talking about?
She could see everything in absurd detail, slowed down to super slow motion: The fluff on the back of her mothers headrest. A bit of stubble that her fathers razor had missed. A crack in the pavement as they passed. She suddenly felt more lucid than she had ever felt in her whole life, yet she was unable to speak, trapped inside her own body. It was as if she were a puppet, walking on strings made from fear’s own web.
Somewhere deep inside, she was still clinging to an ocean-battered rock of hope, a charred crater of sense that told her that this was all a massive joke, a huge, elaborate hoax. As they pulled up outside the white, box-like building, squat and stern, that hope faded.
“Here we are,” her father said cheerfully, and she felt herself pull the door handle and step out of the car. She stood trembling in the sun like a baby deer, the building bearing down on her as if it had teeth.
Acting as if they were at the seaside, her family got out of the car, chatting animatedly. They set off towards the main entrance, Laura trailing behind. A sign stood over them: GOVERNMENT PROPERTY - KEEP OUT. She saw the security cameras watching them, and hurried after her family, her footsteps flat and dead.
The door to the building was made of glass, and as they pushed through into the clean lobby, Laura saw a receptionist busily typing on a computer. The receptionist looked up with a professional smile at her father as he approached.
“Hi, we’re the Krandalls. Here for our Button Day,” he said, and she smiled.
“Go on through, sir. Just keep walking that way.”
Her father thanked her, and on they went, down a long brightly lit corridor, lined with brass plaques which gleamed. There was something engraved on them all, blocks and blocks of text, and she drew closer as she walked to see what it was. She saw her own reflection looking back at her, and in the harsh fluorescent lights, she looked haggard.
Names. Hundreds and hundreds of names, thousands of names, one after another. Hogg. Wilson. Carpenter. Buxton. Bell. Palmer. Rowe. Brown. The list went on, seemingly endless. Her family walked on, still chatting as if they were on holiday, and up ahead the corridor was coming to an end.
The corridor opened up into a large, white room. In this room, four small, waist high pillars stood, each with a red button on the top. Beyond them was a long polished desk, with three Government officials seated at it. The Government insignia hung on a huge banner over it all. The room was silent, and sterile.
Laura watched her family each step up to a pillar, watching the officials expectantly, leaving a pillar for her. Her very own button. Trembling, she stepped up to the pillar, only to notice with a jolt that the floor around them all was on a slight incline, angled towards a drain behind that she hadn’t noticed when she had first arrived. One of the officials spoke, his voice echoing in the open space.
“Krandall family. The Government has deemed this to be your Button Day. We thank you for your sacrifice to your country, and to your people. Your names shall join those in the long Hall in your honour.”
“We’re proud,” her father said, and her mother nodded, sincere. Her brother looked as if he were about to weep with pride.
The official continued. “Then please, in your own time, push your buttons. May God be with you all.” Her father turned to his wife, his son, and his daughter, and smiled. “I’ll go first, to show you how easy it is.” He pushed the button on the pillar, and it depressed with a loud, satisfying click.
As Laura watched, her fathers face turned red, as if he’d been jogging. She remembered how easily flustered he got with exercise, and assumed he’d just walked too fast down the corridor, or something. That was when a crimson teardrop slid down his cheek, and plopped fatly onto the hard, white floor.
Laura watched, frozen, as blood began to pour from her fathers eyes, nose, ears and mouth. It ran down his shirt, over the belt that she had bought him for his birthday, and down his trousers. It splattered onto the floor. All at once, his eyes burst like over-ripe plums and hung on his cheeks, still connected by red strings. Liquefied brain ran from his eye sockets.
As his body crumpled to the floor, her mother and brother looked at each other and smiled, pushing their buttons at the same time. They turned to Laura, holding their hands out, blood seeping from their eyes and noses, tricking from their mouths. They assumed Laura had pushed hers, too.
Laura drew in a breath to scream, but the soft pop of her mothers and brothers eyeballs made it catch in her throat. They fell over backwards, landing on top of each other. Blood was being channelled to the drain, which drank quietly.
All was silent.
“Miss Krandell?”
Numb, she saw the officials watching her closely.
“Miss Krandell, overpopulation is destroying our towns and cities. Your country needs your action today.”
She stared wide-eyed at the official. To her side, her brothers hand twitched, the last of the nerve impulses fading. Blood was already congealing in his empty eye sockets.
The official was standing up slowly, and she saw that he was a tall man. Taller than most, no doubt. “Humanity has called,” he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. The world had faded away to the button under her fingertips. It was smooth and red. Pushable.
“…Will you answer?”

Thursday, February 3, 2011

The meaning of life?

This one's screencapped from 4chan. Not as creepy as it is intriguing.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Rugrats Lost Episode.

Probably the least popular Lost Episode pasta, but great nonetheless.

Remember Rugrats, that show on Nickelodeon? What you probably don't know is that the creator of the show, Gabor Csupo, originally planned a late night version of Rugrats called "Rugrascals", to be played at night, with more adult humor.
Because every major channel thought the pilot was too disturbing, they refused to air the show, and as a result no-one has really heard about it. However, one station in Wellington New Zeland mistakenly played it in the morning, thinking it was a regular Rugrats episode. The pilot and only episode of the show that was seen was called "Chuckies Mom". The intro played like normal, but at the end when Tommy shoots the milk at the screen, the sound effect is much louder, and the milk simply stays there for about 10 seconds, then the name of the episode appears. The episode played out like normal, with the babies playing in the playpen. They are all talking about their Moms, when Chuckie has a flashback.
It had Chuckie in hospital standing next to his mother in bed, who was dying from an unknown illness. She was singing "You are my Sunshine, My only sunshine" to Chuckie in a very weak voice, as if she was about to die, but when she sang the second verse the song started playing in reverse. A shot of Chuckie appeared in front of a live action footage of a chicken's head being chopped off, said to represent death by fans. Chuckie turns around and screams, and when he looks back at his mother her face has a live action mans mouth pasted on it saying "Don't worry Chucky, it's time for me to move on" in a mans voice. A flurry of random live action clips were shown, said to represent death, like a cow walking into a box with "slaughterhouse" crudely drawn on the side, footage of the L.A. Riot, other cartoons and actual footage of a man suffering AIDS being killed. You can hear Chuckie screaming the entire time. A shot of Chuckies mom appears again, this time with a chickens beak crudley pasted onto her face, saying "Don't you remember where it all started?" The episode then cuts to live action footage of childbirth mammograms. About after 1 minute of these mammograms, you hear Chuckies mom say "Arent you a lucky ducky, Chuckie?" a harlequin fetuses appear. At this time, you see Chuckie come out of the flashback, having a seizure. Tommy, Phil and Lil are crying, and an ambulance worker calms him down, saying "Chuckie? Chuckie? Can you hear me?" in a stern voice. Eventually after coughing up blood and vomiting, Chuckie comes to his senses. We then see a point of view shot of Chuckie, seeing Tommy, Phil, Lil and the ambulance worker as having live action chicken beaks on their faces, clucking away. A photo of a kid that looks just like Chuckie screaming appears, and the camera zooms into it.
After this, the regular credits played, followed by 15 minutes of static as the station had nothing else to play. Surprisingly, although the episode was watched by many children, only one adult who was watching (me) has spoken about it until now. I was confused to find out that children suicide rates went through the roof in New Zealand that year.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Unbranded Laptop

Suddenly, the text "start :\>videos\001.wmv" flashed briefly, then a video appeared in full screen. It was the girl again. This time, she was smiling, bouncing slightly in excitement. Her happiness made my heart feel warm. My guess was that she must've been recording herself play the dress up game with the webcam. At first she was simply moving her finger across the track pad, clicking, then giggling excitedly for a bit. She must've been laughing at the things she put on herself in the game. After about 2 minutes or so the screen would cut to black for a fraction of a second and it would return to the girl playing the game. This time, however, she was dressed differently, in a simple pink t-shirt with the words "Go Go Girl!" stitched in glitter. I guess the game would simply record her every time she started it, without her knowing. That made me sort of uneasy, I mean, why would anyone program a game to do that? Whatever, I think it's going to be the same sort of thing over and over with this video, I might as well turn off the computer. I reached over and pressed the power button, and...



... It didn't shut off this time. The video continued to play, and I saw the girl this time was wearing an orange tank top with nothing on it. She was smiling and giggling as usual, so I thought maybe I can turn off the computer after the video is done. It couldn't be that long. The video seemed to drag on, with more cuts of her playing the game in a different outfit, and I started to doze off. However, the next cut in the video...



The girl was just staring at the camera with an expressionless look on her face. Wondering what the hell is going on, I become interested in the video again. This one didn't made me smile. It made me extremely uneasy, watching her without her usual smiley face put on. It was dark in the room, and there was 1 desk light on at the side. She was in some sort of night wear. What is she going to do? She sat there for a minute with that blank expression, like she wasn't thinking at all. I started to get really tense, as if something awful was about to happen.



She bent over and picked up a hand saw from the left side of where she was sitting. She held it in front of her, showing it to the camera. Then, she placed the jagged blade on the side of her cheek. I cringed at what I was seeing. What the fuck is going on? Slowly, she began slicing into her right cheek. Blood drizzled down her neck as she did it. Slowly, the side of her teeth began to show after about 10 seconds, as the saw went lower down her face more of her teeth began to show on the side. Blood almost covered everything on the right side of her face. She eventually got to the bottom of her jaw bone, and sawed a tiny piece off of it too. Her cheek fell to the ground with a small thud, and she put the saw in her lap and continued to stare at the camera, emotionless. I couldn't take much more of this and tore the battery out of the laptop, but, the video continued to play.



Then, the next cut began. The girl screamed in extreme pain. I almost fell out of my seat it was so loud. She screamed and put her hands over her now absent cheek. She continued to scream in agony for about 10 seconds, then a knocking was heard from the side. It was a woman, yelling in a language I couldn't understand. She was pounding the door, but not opening it. The girl must have locked it. I tried to unplug the monitor from the laptop but it was stuck in. I didn't want to see what happens next! The screaming continued and the yelling continued up until the next cut.



She was back into her emotionless state again, but her cheek was still missing. The woman was pounding at the door and yelling still. That woman must be her mother. The girl then raised the saw up to her right shoulder, and began cutting just as slowly as last time. I gagged at the sight of this. It was a holocaust of wrong. The blood began to stream out in all directions. The yelling behind the door fell silent. I bet she's trying to get someone to help her, either the father or brother or what not. When she hit the bone, an awful grinding noise could be heard. I covered my ears, but I could still hear it vividly through my hands. I noticed that a piece of her muscle got stuck on one of the steel teeth of the saw. This cut ended a lot faster than before, and the next cut was the same thing. Except the color from her face began to drain, and her pain ridden screams became quickly weaker. Her clothing was completely red with blood on the right side.



Then, she became emotionless again. Oh god, what is she going to cut off next? The mother returned back with what seemed to be 2 other people, and they were all yelling in the same language as before. She raised the saw, and began cutting the right side of her head off. Loud thuds appeared in beat at the door. They were trying to knock it down. She slowly worked her way down, with blood going in all sorts of directions. The thuds still repeated themselves on the door. I was mostly confused as to how she keeps going even after she went through her brain with the saw. Her right eye rolled into the back of her head. Blood began leaking out of it. She eventually made it to the top of her mouth, where she hacked her way through bones and teeth. It was the single worst sound I have ever heard in my entire life. I still hear it in the back of my head some days. The thuds continued, and deep in the back of my mind I hoped they wouldn't be able to break the door down so they didn't have to see such an awful sight. She finally made it through, and with that, the right side of her head fell to the side of her neck, held on only by a piece of skin on her neck. I remember the chilling sound of her jaw being unhinged from her head when it was tugged violently by the force of her half head. She put the saw down to her side.



The cut ended, and the next cut, she simply fell face down onto the desk. Half her brain fell out onto the desk from the impact, and her eye was removed from it's socket. Blood pooled on the desk. The people trying to break down the door finally made it in, and they almost blacked out from what they saw. Their daughter was in pieces. The mother vomited and ran out of the room. The father ran to her daughter, put her head back together and cried, holding her head at the side of his. The other man, presumably the daughter's older brother, simply stared in horror at what he saw.



The horrifying self mutilation finished with that cut, and the screen cut to the empty room with the bed. With a sigh of relief that it was over, I just sat there, breathing heavily and sweating. I didn't realize that the room was so hot until now. I have so many questions to ask. How was it possible? It frightened me, and I spent a good 30 minutes sitting in the chair, and finally, I got the courage to get up out of the seat. I looked at the laptop for what I hoped was the last time. The room with the bed glared on the screen. Then, it cut to something else unexpectedly.