The legend of the Mad Sighting was in my opinion nothing but a ridiculous fabrication intended to prevent children from wandering off too far into a forest. I thought that I would have a different perspective on it, although the moment Greg suggested we do camping in an undisclosed area of Ashbury Creek, things became completely different. I had to go with my friends. I had no other option but to completely ignore my stiff back and join them.

We were four: me, Greg, Rachel, and Tyler. As we stepped foot in the said area, a sudden uneasiness befell me the area opened up in a circular manner that was surrounded by rusty looking trees that gave off the impression of bitter woods, being the only open area surrounded by tall trees, the place was eerily quiet, too quiet.

As the last strand of sunlight diminished, the atmosphere felt heavier but that's when I began to notice a rather unpleasant odor that was close to being unbearable. It was metallic and reminded one of a poor class of scent. We should have probably thought twice about visiting the area but instead I found myself alongside three other friends who were trying to shrug off the irritation and loss of laughter in the air.

That’s when Tyler first notice a strange figure standing at a distance watching him. Tyler was first to spot the shape. We stared at it, epitomizing what horror elements are supposed to look like – obscured in shadows, unbalanced limbs, and lanky torso. Certainly there was nothing normal about the creature. And then, it did the most bizarre thing. In a matter of seconds, without any urge of moving forward “jumped” towards us.

It’s smile was alarming - widening a bit too too much along with its monstrous features. Doing everything in my capacity to avoid facing the creature directly I managed to catch a glimpse. Thanks to the darkness surrounding it, I couldn't tell the color of its face, however I did manage to catch a glimpse of the dark empty spaces where eyes should have been.

I panicked expecting the worst. The last thing I remembered in that moment were screams, along with Tyler’s face turning pale as he stayed behind, being carried in the arms of the darkness.

In a nutshell, I have been traumatized since that day. But I remember hearing odd noises at night, such as taps on the outside of my windows.

It was time, and I was prepared.

Sharing some more Animated Creepypasta!

https://youtu.be/-BTvUBAl6dg

part 1

I sat in bed listening to the rush of the town below my apartment building: People yelling, cars honking, babies crying... Hard to believe it was 3 in the morning with how active the streets were. Those who weren't out, were glued to their televisions watching the lastest emergency update.

For Poland had changed course, and our location was on the "estimated locations list". We'd all seen what happens, when Poland climbs it's putrid, amoeba-like country over an area. We'd seen the towns, cities, countries completely leveled, from being underneath it. No homes, no grass, no trees. The only time Poland actually didn't change much landscape were those weeks it was stuck in the Sahara desert.

Now it was coming here. New regulations had the UN, NATO, FEMA, and whatever else, taking the responsibility of helping get all humans out of Polands path. Usually folks had a few days to evacuate. Some only had hours. Some people chose to stay.

I, myself, truly have stopped caring. I knew about this phenomenon at the beginning of April and no one believed me. My research lined up perfectly with that of the seismologists. But I found something else.

I found...

A heartbeat...

...and was immediately mocked.

And I get it! It's completely ridiculous for a large piece of earth to suddenly have an even, rhythmic pulse. But that was my job, at the environmental protection agency -to find life in unlikely places- and I was good at it! That's why I was known all around the world. That's why as soon as things started getting weird in Poland, I showed up to examine things, myself. Except once I made that discovery, they threw me aside. Clearly I had gone bonkers. All because I had some crazy hypothesis and acted on it.

When I first heard Polands's heart, mine nearly stopped. I called my connections with the UN Security Council, a gave my findings and concerns. I could tell they thought I was nuts, but they humoured me anyway. In the end, they asked what I wanted from them. Of course, I said I needed funding, and a crew to pursue this, and that's when they couldn't hide their laughter anymore. They said I was ridiculous for requesting so much for such an impossible theory. After that, not only did they turn me down, but they dropped all other funding also.

And so now I lay here. Listening to chaos flow over our little city of Decatur, Illinois. The light of the tv flooding my room, showing the disasters of Poland in real time.

My phone lights up, and I look to see my old buddy Jeremy calling. Fuck that guy. I let it go to voicemail. He calls two more times before I finally answer.

"Hello."

"Dammit, Jordan! Why won't you respond to us?!?"

"Gosh, I mean, I've been so busy. Studying mushrooms, and dragonflies. There's this new show out that covers both of those things along with unicorns and fairies. I mean, I can't afford to actually go out and study real ecosystems, since y'all cut my funding-

"Enough!" Jeremy took a deep breath, trying to calm down, "Look. We need you. We are willing to admit you were right, and we were wrong. We'll do whatever you want, just please say you'll meet with us, to discuss Poland."

I thought about it for a few seconds. Maybe I could stand to survive for just a little bit longer. Except... "I'm in Decatur. I'm right on Poland's path. Unless you can get me out of here, I can't help you."

"Please, we've had your location for weeks. A chopper is on its way now. Get to your apartment's roof top."

Soon I was being flown toward a convention center, states away. Out of Polands's path. For now.

Landing on the center's rooftop I could see Jeremy, and a few other gentlemen, waiting for me. We didn't shake hands, as I made it to them. They just turned and gestured for me to follow. They all looked exhausted. I forgot it was now probably 4 or 5 in the morning. but who knows how long these men have been up, trying to figure out ways to get Poland under control.

We made it to a large conference room filled with technology. TV and computer screens lined the walls. Radios and other communication systems covered the desks. There were 6 other people in the room, monitoring specific screens. This must have been the new home base for the security council.

"Take a seat" Jeremy said, "coffee?"

"Oh, yes please" I responded, casually.

Another man came and sat by me, and opened a laptop. "Hello Jordan, my name is Rodney. I'm glad you made it hear safely, but we don't have much time to rest. Here, I have put together a list of everything we need to go over"

Jeremy brought me my coffee as Rodney continued, "We're going to start at the beginning. When the earthquakes began. That was into the first week of April. A few different crews went out to do research-"

"Like me. Like when I found the heart beat and y'all dismissed me"

"Oh for the love of....just... just shut up, Jordan!" Jeremy mumbled behind me, while pinching the bridge of his nose.

Rodney continued, "By mid-April, we had confirmed that all the quakes took place on the entire border of Poland, and by that time, the edges of the country were separating from the surrounding countries.

"Also during that time is when Poland started rising in size, and changing it's shape, it caused huge quakes in Lithuania, Belarus, and Germany.

"During the first half of April, we did encourage those living in Poland to evacuate, and while we got a few hundred people out, safely, many didn't believe it was a threat, until it was too late.

"As soon as Poland had finished rising in elevation and changing shape, it began to move, which was at the beginning of May.

"As we've seen through satellite images, anything Poland moves over is consumed. Lakes dry up, and whole cities disappear.

"Planes and helicopters, more so, are nearly impossible to fly over Poland while it's moving. Our computers go haywire, causing crashes half the time. We have had a tiny bit of luck, landing aircrafts on the country while it's stopped. But it's nearly impossible to know when Poland will start moving again. Sometimes Poland is stopped for days, weeks, or just hours."

I held up my hand, "Has it been tried.... or... So, how about this scenario: we fly a plane onto Poland while it's stopped, with no intention of moving it, until the next time it's stopped. Giving people more time to all get to the plane, and more time to fly out of Poland."

"It's been tried." Jeremy looked down and sighed.

"Well, the news hasn't covered that."

"Because it failed. It seems Poland can sense large gatherings of humans. We've had completely filled planes, sink down into Poland, right before take-off."

Rodney added, "There have been some rogue pilots who've flown in and out of the country, and were lucky enough not to be consumed, and also were able to get some people evacuated. But because of the risks, we no longer send large planes over.

"We can't even get "plane alerts" out to the citizens, since they lost power. We've had planes land and stay down for days, with no one showing up."

We all sat there quietly for a moment. Then Rodney pulled up the next talking point, "Since Poland started moving, we've seen damage to Ukraine, Russia, down through Pakistan, and into India. The ocean has no affect on it, because next it crossed through Australia, down to New Zealand.

"That's kind of when we learned that Poland had no strategy to where it went. It did a 180° and headed to Africa, starting down at South Africa, and making it's way north, until it hit the Sahara, and..." Rodney squinted at his notes, "that was the end of June. We were both relieved and concerned, because in the desert, Poland got very slow. We thought it may...die? Which would stop all the chaos"

"And the concern?"

"Well, obviously, because it's getting closer to America."

"I will say, it was a pretty good try, with the nukes while Poland was in the Atlantic."

Rodney read his notes, "Yeah, that's next here: While in the Atlantic, it was decided not to nuke Poland, itself, but the water around it, hoping to change the countries course."

"Like I said... good try." I sipped my coffee.

"So that takes us to now. Poland it making it's way straight through the US." Rodney closed his laptop. He folded his hands and looked at me.

I sat there, waiting for more information. "So..what do you want from me?"

Jeremy and Rodney looked at each other and back at me, "Well. Obviously we we want to stop it. And we're running out of ideas."

Rodney added, "Of course, we don't want to bomb it. Well, we do, but we don't want to hurt the remaining people on the country."

"Frankly, if there's anyone left on Poland, I think they'd be fine with that." I chuckled.

Jeremy sat in the chair on the other side of me. He looked like he was struggling to get words out, "So... You found a heartbeat."

"Yes."

"Which... Of course means it's alive."

"That's pretty obvious."

"I'm curious, if you think..." Jeremy took a deep breath, "if you think... There's some way to communicate with it."

I stared at Jeremy, almost not believing what I just heard. I could barely take a breath, before I bursted into laughter.

The men stayed silent while I laughed. They knew how their question sounded.

I finally took a breath, "You guys thought my theory on a heartbeat was crazy, and then you ask me this?? What kind of sense does that even make?! You want to communicate with a piece of land?!" I was almost angry now.

Jeremy: "Well what the fuck else are we supposed to do?!"

Me: "It's a fucking country! A bordered piece of land!"

Jeremy: "You think I don't know that??"

Me: "It doesn't make sense!"

Jeremy: "None of this makes sense! We are out of options though!"

Me: "I actually had proof! Proof of a heartbeat, and probably COULD have figured out more about why this fucking country now has an organic anatomy, but YALL shut down my FUNDING!"

Jeremy, "Oh gosh... Because you sounded CRAZY!"

Rodney broke between us, "Guys please!" He walked over to two maps. One of Poland before it changed, and one from after. "Jordan, do you think you could remember where you were, when you discovered the heartbeat?"

I rolled my eyes and walked over to him. "What are you thinking?"

Rodney sighed, "We have an idea. I don't know if it's the best idea, but like Jeremy said, we're out of options."

I looked over at Jeremy, and then back to Rodney.

"We saw that it struggled in the desert. That means it can feel stress, maybe even pain. And that maybe it can even be killed. If we can pinpoint the heart, perhaps, we can drop just one bomb, right over it."

Now I was pinching my nose bridge, "You guys know how heartbeats work, right?;"

Jeremy and Rodney stared at me.

"Dropping a bomb over Poland where you hear the heartbeat, would be similar to, if I put a stethoscope to my foot and claimed my heart was there, because I could hear my pulse there."

Jeremy threw his arms up, "Why the FUCK did I bring you in?!"

"I don't know, Jeremy! You could have left me in Poland where I could have actually triangulated the heartbeat! We could have had a lead! Now we have nothing! We have no...."

I stared at one screen on the far wall. It was putting X's over every spot on Poland where sinkholes appeared. I walked over to the screen. Were the sink holes random? Or did they have a pattern?

I looked over at the guys, "We're going to need more coffee."

A tiny smile appeared on Jeremy's face. But it quickly went away as the room started to shake.

Rodney looked to one of the screen watchers, "Judith, where's Poland's location??"

A woman named Judith pulled up satellite images. "Ugh.... Alaska. Wait. Russia. Oh gosh, it's moving so fast!"

"Why's it going so fast??" Rodney exclaimed.

I quickly sat down at a computer and started calculating.

"What are you doing?" Jeremy asked.

"With Poland going so fast, we may have even less time. There's no way we can nuke it, at that speed. But we can be ready, for when it stops again. If it stops again."

"And if it doesn't?"

I didn't respond. There was no time. I had to hope there was some method to where the sinkholes appeared. "Judith, please keep an eye of where Poland is".

Hours went by. Maybe even days. The vibrations didn't stop. Poland hadn't slowed down. It sped over Russia, to areas north of Canada. It was doing laps around Earth. I couldn't believe we were still alive.

I was quiet. Measuring distance from sinkhole to sinkhole. Noting the places that weren't affected. And calculating the possibilities of where they could arise.

"There" I said. Rodney and Jeremy came to my side, "There's your Fucking heart!" Jeremy nearly collapsed on the table. Rodney grabbed my shoulders in a congratulatory fashion.

"Ok so where's the closest base? Who's still available? What's the next step?"

"Guys."

We all looked over at Judith.

"It's. It's coming."

My heart sank. Would this all have been for nothing?

All of us in the room looked at each other and appeared to have the same thing on our mind. There was no stopping Poland. And there wasn't enough time to evacuate.

I ran out of the room.

"Where are you going Jordan??" Jeremy followed me out. Soon everyone was following, as I climbed the stairs to the roof top.

Up on the roof, panting, I scanned the area, spinning until I saw the direction where I knew Poland would be coming from.

There it was. Who knows how far it was, but I could see it's disastrous wreckage. The smoke and dust filling the skyline.

Everyone stood around me. Some people holding each other, others silently staring. There was nothing to do but watch, until we were also absorbed by Poland.

There wasn't even time to recall my fondest memories. My childhood. My family.

There was only Poland.

"It's getting closer!" Another woman sobbed into Judith's arms.

But then something happened. As the building shook harder... as Poland got closer....

It lifted off the ground.

What were we witnessing??

I fell to my knees, as I saw the large country literally take flight.

"My God..." Rodney gasped.

We watched.

We watched it get higher.

And higher.

Until it was above the sky.

Above the atmosphere.

Poland was in space.

After MONTHS of causing chaos all over the planet...

Poland was gone.

2 months later...

Poland is moving.

Actually Poland hadn't stopped moving. Ever since it jumped off of Earth, it has been chugging along in space, passing other planets. People who survived Poland, have all come together to build small, close communities. Slowly, life will become normal again.

"Jordan, are you still here?" I heard a voice call from down the hall. Of course I knew who it was, and didn't respond. Jeremy popped his head into the conference room. He scanned over the dark room, until he saw me, lit up by a computer screen, in the back corner.

Quietly he came and sat be me. He cleared his throat, "Jordan. I'm concerned."

I didn't look away from the screen.

"You've been up here, by yourself for weeks now. Poland's been declared 'not a threat' to the planet for a whole month. Please, get up. Come stay with me. Come see how we've rebuilt some cities."

I sighed and looked over at him, "Not yet."

Jeremy, eyes were sad, "...I'll be back tomorrow. Please try and get some decent sleep." As he stood up, he dropped a bag of food on the desk.

He was a good friend. But I had to stay here. I had to make sure Poland didn't return. I stared at different windows on my screen. One showing earth, one showing emergency updates from all around the world, and one that sent updated images on where Poland was in space.

I had to keep watching.

I had to make sure.

Poland wasn't dead. It was just gone.

But if it came back, I knew how to kill it.

So for now, I'll just keep watch.

Log #1 May 4th

I'm starting this log, in case I survive. Perhaps after everything, I can have this published, as part of a news journal. 

We noticed the vibrations around 2 weeks ago. It was enough to gain the attention of political leaders and the news stations. Seismologists couldn't explain the readings on their charts, and so a full investigation went underway. 

News crews followed scientists, as they traveled to areas of Poland where there were stronger readings. What they found was perplexing. The edges of Poland were separating, exactly on the borderline. 

What we saw on the live broadcast didn't look like tectonic plate activity or anything like that; No large canyons or crevasses forming from the quake. The visual continued to appear unimaginable: The edges of the earth, where Poland separated, was absorbing all the crumbling ground around it, causing the country to raise in size. 

In fact, elevation of the country had changed drastically. The edges of Poland, folding in on itself, and absorbing itself, was causing its overall shape to change, and grow in height. 

A few hours after the broadcast, satellite images were plastered on TVs showing that, in fact, Poland had changed shape. It was absolutely bizarre. What was once a simply shaped country, was now shaped similar to...maybe a palm frond? Or perhaps a wonky centipede. It had a long, fat middle, with... limbs. Maybe ten? What had happened to the land between these... limbs.? I don't want to think too hard about that... 

Log #2 May 5th

People have been trying to leave. It is the most obvious answer, to escape whatever reality has suddenly thrusted itself on us. News cameras broadcasted as the lines of people reached the edges of Poland. 

People were all there, in cars, busses, and on foot. But what could they do? The edges of Poland were so much higher than originally. It was like being on a mountain, staring down at the other countries below. 

A few folks decided to try to repel down the side. But much like the crumbling dirt, except... much more horrific, those people were absorbed directly into the side of Poland. 

After a few more tragically failed attempts, we learned that anything that rolled or climbed off the edge of Poland, stood no chance of surviving. 

Log #3 May 8th

There's no more power. No ground Internet. I rewrote my first logs in this journal, that I'll dedicate souly to this documentation. 

Folks with generators are doing, somewhat, ok. They don't like to share their electricity too much, but are willing if you have items to trade. 

Stores in town have stopped selling. Instead, as people show up for supplies, they have premade sacks ready for handing out, so families can get back to their homes as quickly as possible. 

People don't like being out. The odor that Poland now gives off is quite putrid. It reminds me of a men's locker room. Almost as though the country is... sweating. I'm not trying hard to understand it.. 

I, personally, have collected packets of different vegetable and fruit seeds to start in my grow room. The benefits of "indoor recreational gardening" is I already have plenty of the necessary things to start quite a variety of plants to help survive. 

My cat, Biscuit's not doing too good though. In fact, most all the animals, pets and livestock, are sick. And the meat isn't safe to eat. Nobody can figure that one out. All we know is it started when Poland came to life. 

Log #4 May 12th

Poland has stopped! 

After trading some beverages with a neighbor who has generators, I was able to charge my phone enough to get a news update, stating, Poland was, now, in Russia, close to China. 

How weird it was to wake up this morning and not feel the vibrations we had all become accustomed to. 

I don't know what this means. I don't know if we can leave? All I know is we have stopped. Poland has stopped. 

After meeting some people in town, I observed that, the country... still stank. Of course it's worse now, because all the animals are rotting carcasses. But people still had to come out. This could be the sign that things are about to get better. What if we can leave soon? 

Log #5 May 13th

Poland is still stopped, but there are very different vibrations happening. I can hear them. They are sudden, loud, and aggressive. Like tiny earthquakes. 

I had to go out to the corner store today, just to see if there's any fresh water. It's very humid. The moisture in the air soaks your skin, faster that your sweat can. 

I also noticed, while out, that there was billowing smoke in multiple directions. All far off in the distance. 

I stopped at my neighbor's on my way back, and was able to get another update on my phone. Sinkholes were appearing across Poland. They weren't too big. Just enough for a whole house to fall. But the weird part was, after the sinkhole appear, and a structure fell in, the sinkhole would seal itself back up. 

Of course this isn't normal. Nothing about this is. 

Log #6 May 15th

Poland is moving again. 

The vibrations seem livelier than before. Almost like the country's regenerated.

The sinkholes ended early yesterday morning. Many homes filled with families are just gone. 

My plants are growing nicely. By the time the corner and grocery stores are empty, I should still be thriving, thanks to my grow room. I do miss meat though. 

While Poland was stopped, a few men in bulldozers collected people's dead pets and livestock, to pile up in an empty lot. Biscuit ended up in that pile. 

Biscuit was a great travel companion. I adopted him as a kitten back when I still lived in Sarasota, Fl. He came with me to California, South Dakota, France, and now Poland. What a shame that his journey ended here. Even though "here" isn't really Poland anymore... location-wise. 

Log #7 May 25th

I'm having a freak-out. I believe that the sinkholes are some way of eating. 

Poland is eating! 

And we have no way of knowing who, or what, gets picked to disappear. Actually, there's one thing to give us a heads-up: it can only eat when it's stopped. 

This last time Poland stopped, a whole town decided to gather in a community center, for fear that they'd go down with their homes. Would you believe, I was able to watch the satellite view of that entire community center getting swallowed up?! 

We are dinner. It's already been decided. I can't imagine a scenario where I get off this country. Perhaps I'll leave my journal somewhere to be found, when eventually, after Poland eats everyone, it's starves to death. That's the only way this is ending. 

The last time I checked the world news, the United States and other countries were out of ideas. The only thing that hasn't been tried is nuclear bombs, which isn't going to be on the table, until every human has been swallowed up. 

Instead, the rest of the world is using their time, energy, and recourses to evacuate countries that, they predict, are in Poland's path. I haven't thought of what Poland might be causing, as it moves over other pieces of land...

Log #8 May 28th

Fuck this disgusting, porous, sweaty, stinky monster. Bomb it now. I don't even give a shit. 

Log #9 May 29th

I got drunk with the neighbor last night. Things got incredibly heated and emotional. He told me he's going to walk to the edge and let Poland consume him. 

Apparently there's a whole community of people that would rather end their life, that way, than continue on this painstaking, unknown journey. 

I don't think I could do that. I was just hoping to wait this out, but now it seems, I'm... more just waiting for the sinkholes. 

Log #10 same day

Perhaps I should introduce myself a little. 

My name is Silas Berlam. I'm 28. Originally I was born and raised in Boulder, Colorado. But I've never considered anywhere I lived to be home. I move from place to place doing odd jobs, which landed me in Florida, with an actual restoration company. 

I was rather reckless on job sites. I didn't have too much fear, and really didn't value my life. At one point, it landed me in the hospital with a femur fracture, and concussion. 

I ended up having to see a therapist, who recommended I get a pet, to help me see my value, through keeping something else alive. 

And it worked. Biscuit became my world. He would even come with me on jobs. That's when I knew he'd be great at traveling. 

I haven't spoken to my parents for years, except maybe a salutation at the holidays. Perhaps if someone finds this journal, they can let my family know how i did, during this supernatural experience. I'll leave their names and address in the back of the notebook. 

Log #11 June 10th

My strawberries are growing great, but I think the carrots were a bad idea. They take so long to grow to size. And zucchini gets too big for my little room. But I may just expand gardening to the whole house. 

I've been going through my neighbor's house for food. I didn't take his generator. Not out of respect, but because the other people in town have started going feral. If I were to walk out of an abandoned home with too much food, or something of value, I'd be attacked on the spot. 

I did risk turning on the generator to get a news update on my phone. The whole world is watching us like an amoeba on a petri dish. Poland is beneath India now. 

But it doesn't matter where we go. It's always gross and steamy. At this point, I feel like, if we were to move to Antarctica, we wouldn't freeze.

It's hard to stay hydrated. I've found what many of my neighbors were doing, was storing jars of water in their freezer (of course they're not frozen. It's basically just extra cabinet space). It's a smart move. I need to carefully bring those home, without drawing too much attention. The only water containers in my house have rain water from my gutters, for the plants. 

My town appears to be lucky, as it's mostly overlooked during Poland's feedings. I say that, but I do miss the corner store at the end of my street... It was eaten about a week ago. There seems to be no real pattern to when Poland stops. Sometimes it will go a week or two; sometimes it stops after three days. Sometimes it feeds for four days; sometimes only an hour.

Log #12 June 23rd

The news hasn't changed. Poland is still moving. The elevation is incredibly different down by New Zealand.

Last time Poland stopped for a break, and to feed, was 4 days ago. That time it was only 20 homes. It's the most horrifying thing when Poland stops. You never know who's house with get sucked into the ground for consumption.

My indoor garden is doing ok. I've been living off of carrots, strawberries, and radishes.

I hope this ends soon. I hope Poland stops for good. I don't want any more death or fear. The anxiety that comes with a halt. Hopefully Poland will find it's forever spot in the world, and we can all escape.

Until then, we keep trekking. On this unknown, unforseen, and undesirable journey.

Log #13 June 30th

My street is gone. I don't know how my house is still standing. I can't get anymore updates on Poland. I have no more access to water, or power. And there are no other people. It's only a matter of time until I'm gone too.

Last time I was able to check the news, reports were made that towns were coming together to form bigger communities, in order to help each other. But I know how that ends up. How easy these communities make it for Poland to feed.

And because of that, I need to be ok with the idea of loneliness. However long it lasts. The gardening at least keeps me sane. Although, it hasn't rained in a while. I wish I knew where on Earth we are. But it must be somewhere where it doesn't rain much.

It has been extra dry and hot. Because I no longer have access to water, I decided to trek down to a popular river near the edge of town. It used to be a very popular swimming spot during the summer, and for parades in the spring. I brought four gallon-jugs to fill up. But to my surprise, this river that always flows, was bone dry. I can only assume it was absorbed by Poland. The country must also be feeling the effects of wherever we are. Possibly a dessert? And while the lack of disgusting steam, coming off of Poland makes it somewhat bearable, it's also alarming.

Could Poland be getting sick?

Log #14 Date Unknown

The garden's drying up. Thankfully carrots hold moisture for quite a while.

While I no longer know what day it is, I can say that it's been over two weeks since Poland has stopped. The ground is steaming again, so I'm going to assume we're passed the dessert voyage, also.

I can't tell if the days feel longer or shorter. I've lost almost all desire for food. I'm certain I'm going crazy, from lack of water and conversation.

Log #15

Poland is stopped. I took this opportunity to run. My garden is completely dried up. There was nothing holding me to my house.

I needed to make one last attempt at survival. So I ran to a neighboring town, in search for food and water.

I ended up finding an abandoned neighborhood with a few houses still in good condition. I'm set up in one of them, and plan on searching the other homes for supplies, in the next few days.

There's water here. I found at least seven 5-gallon jugs in the basement, along with a chest of nonperishable foods.

As I write this, and fill my belly, I can feel some sanity slowly creeping back.

Log #16

#POLAND IS MOVING!

The normal vibrations of the country have grown rapidly. At first I thought perhaps I would be swallowed up into the ground, but that didn't happen.

Instead, I was flung backwards, as though Poland was now moving with extreme speed. Looking outside, the trees are blowing over like a hurricane.

This is probably my last log.

I don't know what will happen next, but whatever it is, will probably end in my demise.

I don't know how much more this house can withstand. The speed at which the ground moves is not something most homebuilders think about, when designing a home.

#It's been days.

Poland won't slow down.

I've been hiding down in the basement. What I wouldn't give for any information on what's happening. The roar of the wind is terrifying.

The house above me just flew away.

I can see the sky.

I can see the ground.

I can see the Earth...

...It's getting smaller.

For part 2

So many thoughts bounced around in his head. Thomas laid in his new bedroom on the first floor of the house. His mother had converted the dining room into a bedroom for Thomas. His bed was moved in there along with his dresser. Where there was once an open doorway into the kitchen, now had a shower curtain rod with a curtain dividing the two rooms for Thomas’ privacy. Thomas’ life has changed, he has had to adapt so much to his new life. He was trying to stay positive and not let losing his leg take over his life. Grief was tearing at him all the time, sometimes he was angry, sometimes sad, sometimes he just accepted his new life, but that stage never seemed to last long. Anger filled him the most. A tight ball of rage filled his chest, twisting his heart and thoughts. He thought of all the things he would never get to do. He would never ride a bike again, never walk the halls of his school with David, never dance at his wedding. Not that he ever wanted to dance, but he pictured being married, being happy. Then it was ripped away from him, reality rushed back in to remind him that he was a cripple. He would never find someone to marry let alone dance with them.

He drifted off to sleep. Dreams came and went. Then a dream flashed in his mind. His wedding day, a beautiful woman in a white dress on the dance floor, twinkling lights, laughter and happiness filled the space. His bride approached him, a veil concealing her face. She held her hand out to him to dance. He started to reach out for her, but his hand was invisible, he could feel it but it wasn't there, he looked down at himself. He looked down at what was left of himself. He was seated in a wheelchair, his entire right leg was gone, he had expected that. But what else he found shocked him. His left leg was gone too, just a stump of his thigh remained. His left arm was gone just above the elbow. His right hand was gone mid forearm. His breath caught in his throat, panic filled him, consumed him. He used the stump of his right arm to push the wheelchair joystick. It lurched forward and bumped into his bride. She staggered back as if repulsed by him. As if seeing him for the first time. He reversed the chair, the wheel caught on her dress as he backed up. It ripped away from her. But it wasn't her, it was him. The fly demon. A faint smile visible behind the veil. He reversed faster, bumping into a table. The cake fell, the music stopped, guests stared, he could feel their eyes on him, their eyes fixated on where his limbs should be. He had to get out of there. He needed to be alone. The bathroom was his only escape. As quick as he could go he navigated to it. His breath heavy as if he was running himself, not gliding on this wheelchair. Guests staring and whispering as he rolled past them. He entered the bathroom and felt safety in his aloneness. He shook and trembled, tears filling him. He wiped his tears with his stump. Then he noticed something else, his face felt…flat. New terror formed in him. He positioned the wheelchair in  front of the sink. Guests gathered outside the bathroom, whispers creeped from under the door. He could just see the top of his head in the mirror. Mustering all the strength he had he used his arm stumps to push himself up. Terror filled him as he looked upon the face that stared back at him. It was his face yet it wasn't. His cheeks were hollow and sunken in. A gaping hole where his nose used to be, one of his ears decayed and falling off. Maggots crawled out of the hole that was his nose. He gasped and choked as he breathed in a maggot. A coughing fit took over him, maggots spewed from him as he coughed and gagged. Laughter outside the door now, individuals laughing converged together, multiple voices became one laughter. Flies began wiggling under the door, some of their wings being ripped off as they squeezed under. Dots of blood became streaked on the tile floor as they crawled their way to him. He was frozen with fear, consumed by it. Fear was all he knew, he wasn't Thomas Wentworth anymore, he was fear. The flies filed their way into the bathroom and danced and flew around him, none landing on him. Suddenly they stopped coming in under the door, the swarm of flies formed into one big mass of writhing insects, hovering in front of him. A face formed in the swarm, its face? His face? He didn't know anymore. Then it spoke. One word.

“FEAR!” a smile formed on the swarming grotesque face, and with that the swarm rushed into Thomas, he tried to close his mouth, he tried to grit his teeth together. He felt his teeth crunching beneath his clenched jaw, Grinding together, the taste of blood leeching onto his taste buds. He screamed, he couldn't help it. This fear overrode his body's control. They rushed into him. He could feel them squirming and squeezing their way deeper into him. Filling him. They kept entering him, he thought they would never stop. He didn't know how much more he could take, how many more could fit inside of him. He felt his body stretch, his skin started to split, a mixture of pus and blood and fly guts seeped from the cracks in his skin. His body burst, the bathroom walls splattered with his remains, dripping from the ceiling. The laughter stopped. The room faded to blackness. Thomas’ body coated the walls, dripped off in large and small chunks, flies feasting on the remains. Yet Thomas remained present. He was no longer in his body, for his body was no more, nothing of him remained except his mind. His mind hovered in the bathroom, present to the horrific display, a new level of fear filled him. Fear has no end, just when you think it can't get worse, it does. He was nothing, yet felt everything. He tried to leave, he tried to be anywhere else other than right here, yet he remained. He remained in this prison, in this hell. Thomas was dead. 

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Thomas awoke with a start. His body ached and throbbed, his throat burned, he felt as if his skin was ripping and tearing. A scream escaped him. He sat up and looked at his limbs. His right leg was gone, his left leg was there! So were his arms. He felt his face and felt his nose and ears. He flopped back on the bed, sweat beading on his forehead, his breath heavy from fear and relief. “Dream, it was just a dream” he said to himself. 

He laid there, staring at the ceiling. He felt a twitching in his ear and stuck his finger in and scratched. Feeling a crunch, and hearing it, he withdrew his finger, blood on the tip. He dug in his ear again and pulled out something. A dead fly, well mostly dead, its limbs twitched and wings fluttered. Despair flooded his chest. He ran his hands into his hair and pulled hard, his scalp burning from the pain. He screamed, a primal scream that filled the room, a scream that would haunt anyone who would hear it.

Since it won't let me use images of it it's "teddy" creepypasta

Parents are now doing leg lengthening on their 5 year old children. It's crazy but it's what parents want to do. I have advised them against such procedures at such a young age, but want their children to grow up faster. The problem with doing this at such a young age is that their bodies won't reflect their tall legs. When I saw one 5 year old boy whose parents had gone through leg lengthening procedure, he had tall legs but his body was still of a 5 year old. When he tried to run around it was complete havoc.

He was going all over the place but his parents weren't happy with the height. They wanted their 5 year old child to be taller and so their child was taller. It was fresky to look at tall legs with a 5 year old body. The 5 year was stepping on people's legs and feet and crushing them. The 5 year old didn't mean to but he was just having fun. His parents were still not happy with the height of their 5 year old and they wanted to make him taller.

Thier 5 year old was over 7 foot tall now with the body of a year old. It was ridiculous and their son was just completely in the unknown with everything. Their 5 year old son was now over 9 foot tall with a 5 year old body. He was hurting people with his tall legs. He didn't mean to but he was just being a 5 year old. Everyone was shouting at his parents for doing this to a five year old but his parents didn't care. One day the five year old kicked a bunch of people out of play and those who he kicked were badly hurt.

Sometimes people walk past the tall 5 year old with tall legs with the body of a five year old. The 5 year old is completely unaware and is just playing around. He is still accidentally hurting people with his tall legs and there is a gathering forming. This gathering wants to stop the 5 year old child. The parents are aware of such gathering and they are doing everything to stop them chopping off the 5 year olds legs. His parents still want him to get taller.

When the gathering tried to fight against the tall child, the child hurt them by kicking them with his tall 9 foot legs. The 5 year old thinks its a game.

My grandmother always had rules about phone calls. Never answer on the first ring – let it ring twice. Never answer after midnight. And most importantly, never, ever answer a call from your own number. When I asked why, she'd grip my arm with fingers like ice and whisper, "Because what answers might not be you anymore."

I thought they were just her superstitions, like her obsession with turning mirrors around at night or keeping salt in her pockets. That changed last Tuesday, when I found out exactly what she meant by "might not be you anymore."

It was 3:47 AM when my phone lit up the darkness of my bedroom. Through bleary eyes, I saw the caller ID: "SARAH PARKER" – my own name, my own number. The screen flickered, distorting my profile picture into something that made my stomach lurch. For a split second, my smiling face in the photo seemed to turn and look directly at me.

My grandmother's warning screamed in my head, but my thumb had already swiped to answer. The moment I did, all the lights in my apartment surged bright enough to burn, then plunged into darkness so complete it felt solid.

"Hello?" My voice sounded small in the darkness, swallowed by the sudden, oppressive silence.

The static came first – not electronic static, but the sound of thousands of insects scratching against glass. Then, I heard breathing. Not normal breathing – it was wet, labored, like someone drowning in their own fluids. And underneath it, a sound like fingernails scratching against wood, keeping time with my own racing heartbeat.

"Who is this?" I demanded, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice as the temperature in my room plummeted. Frost began creeping across my windows, forming patterns that looked disturbingly like faces in agony.

"Sarah Parker," came the reply, in my own voice, but wrong – like someone had learned to speak by dissecting a human throat. "I'm so glad you answered. I've been trying to reach you for such a long time. Do you know how long I've been watching you wear my life?"

My throat closed up. "What do you mean?"

"You took my place," it said, my voice distorting into something ancient and hungry. "But it wasn't fair. I was here first. Three years, Sarah. Three years I've been trapped in the dark, watching you sleep in my bed, wear my face, live my life. But now you've answered, and the rules say I can come back. And you... you get to take my place in the dark."

The line went dead. For a moment, relief flooded through me – until I heard it. That wet breathing, coming from inside my closet. And beneath it, the sound of fingernails scratching against wood, matching the suddenly erratic rhythm of my heart.

My phone lit up again: "SARAH PARKER." But this time, I could see my phone on the nightstand, dark and silent. The call was coming from the phone in the closet, the one I'd lost three years ago, the day I'd first moved into this house. The day my memories started feeling wrong, like they belonged to someone else.

The scratching stopped. The closet door began to open, and the darkness behind it was wrong – deeper than it should be, stretching forever like a mouth. The temperature dropped so low my tears froze on my cheeks.

From that impossible darkness, I heard my own voice emerge, wet and distorted like it was being spoken through rotting vocal cords: "I'm home."

Something stepped out wearing my face – but wrong, like it had been removed and stretched over something much larger. As it smiled, its skin cracked like old porcelain, revealing the writhing darkness underneath.

"Your turn to watch," it whispered, reaching for me with fingers too long and too sharp to be human. "Your turn to learn what the dark tastes like."

They found my phone the next day, screen cracked, still displaying one final outgoing call to SARAH PARKER.

But they never found me.

Now i have no way to call home.

Real estate agents don't typically work at 3 AM, but Sarah Mitchell wasn't typical. After six months of failing to sell 1879 Sycamore Street, she'd resorted to showing the Victorian mansion at odd hours to "serious buyers" – the kind desperate enough for a bargain that they'd overlook the house's history of disappearing residents.

The latest prospect, Mr. Harrison, stood beside her in the foyer, his flashlight beam dancing across wallpaper that seemed to ripple like water in its light. "Previous owners did a lot of renovations?" he asked, running his fingers along a section of wall that whispered at his touch.

"Actually, no," Sarah replied, consulting her files. The papers in her hands began to bleed ink, the words rearranging themselves into warnings she refused to read. "According to the records—" She stopped. The wall he was touching hadn't been there during yesterday's showing, and now it was breathing.

Mr. Harrison's flashlight caught something dark seeping through the wall – not blood this time, but shadows that moved against the light, forming faces that screamed silently before dissolving back into darkness. The shadows reached for them with ephemeral hands that left frost patterns in the air.

They moved upstairs, their footsteps echoing on boards that shifted beneath them like piano keys, playing a melody that Sarah recognized from her childhood – a lullaby her dead grandmother used to sing. The house was singing to her, she realized, singing her grandmother's voice.

In the master bedroom, Mr. Harrison paused by the window. Through the glass, Sarah saw not the familiar street but a vast starless void where things with too many eyes blinked in sequence. Reality rippled like heat waves off summer asphalt, and for a moment, she saw through the veil – saw the house as it truly was: a living organism that had merely dreamed itself into the shape of architecture.

"The price seems too good to be true," Mr. Harrison said, his voice harmonizing with the house's song. His shadow peeled itself from the wall, three-dimensional and viscous, while dozens more shadows emerged from the corners – the shades of every person who'd ever entered this room, now permanent residents of its darkness.

"Perhaps we should continue this showing another time," Sarah suggested, backing toward where the door should be. But the wall had grown over it like scar tissue, pulsing with veins of gold light that spelled out words in a language older than human tongues.

Mr. Harrison turned, his human form crumbling away like autumn leaves, revealing the ancient thing that had worn him like a suit. "Oh, but I insist on buying," it said in a voice that tasted of copper and starlight. "The house has chosen me. Just like it chose you, Sarah. Six months ago, when you first crossed the threshold and became part of its collection."

And suddenly, she remembered everything. The first showing, where the walls had parted like curtains to reveal galleries of other trapped souls. The doors that opened into memories that hadn't happened yet. The darkness that wore faces like masks, trying to lure more prey into the house's eternal hunger.

She remembered that Sarah Mitchell had never left 1879 Sycamore Street – couldn't leave, any more than a heart could leave its body. She was just another dream of the house now, another ghost in its endless halls, showing the same rooms to the same shadows, while the house reached out into the world, dreaming new dreams of architecture and emptiness, hungrily waiting for the next real estate agent to take her place in its ever-growing collection of souls.

Outside, a FOR SALE sign swayed in a wind that didn't exist, its price dropping lower with each passing day, calling to the next visitor who would mistake its hunger for opportunity.

The night shift at Oakwood Memorial Hospital was always quiet, but tonight the silence felt different. Heavier somehow. I'd been a nurse here for fifteen years, but something about the emptiness of the fourth floor corridor made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Room 410 had been vacant for three days since Mrs. Chen passed. Sweet lady, always thanking us even when the pain was at its worst. We were supposed to get a new patient today, but there was a last-minute transfer to another facility. Still, as I passed by during my rounds, I could have sworn I heard the soft beeping of a heart monitor.

I checked my tablet. No patients in 410. No equipment either – we'd cleared everything out yesterday. But there it was again: beep... beep... beep...

My rational mind said to ignore it. Probably just echoes from another room, or maybe the plumbing. Lord knows this old building had its quirks. But fifteen years of nursing teaches you to trust your instincts, and something felt wrong.

I pushed open the door, hand trembling slightly as I flicked on the lights. The room was empty, as expected. Standard issue bed, bare mattress, empty bedside table. The window was closed, curtains drawn. And yet...

Beep... beep... beep...

It was clearer now, unmistakable. That familiar rhythm I'd heard thousands of times: 72 beats per minute, perfectly regular. I stepped closer to the bed, and the temperature dropped so suddenly I could see my breath.

That's when I noticed the indentation in the mattress – a body-shaped depression, as if someone was lying there, invisible to my eyes. The beeping grew louder, and then, like a radio being tuned between stations, I heard Mrs. Chen's voice, thin and distant: "Thank you... thank you..."

The lights flickered once, twice, and went out. In the darkness, I felt something cold brush against my hand, like fingers trying to grasp mine. The beeping turned into a single, sustained tone – the sound every nurse dreads.

When I finally found the courage to move, I ran. I've worked every floor in this hospital, covered every shift imaginable, but I won't go back to Room 410. Not after what I saw when the lights came back on: the fresh indentation of a body in the bed, and on the bedside table, a cup of water with a lipstick mark in Mrs. Chen's signature pink shade.

Some say hospitals are where the line between life and death grows thin. After that night, I believe them. We still use Room 410, of course – can't let a perfectly good room go to waste. But sometimes, when I pass by during the night shift, I hear that familiar beeping. And I keep walking, a little faster each time.

Jogging down the woods at night, near my usual trail, I spotted this new path I had never taken before. I wouldn't have considered using it because I had an instinct there'd be an annoyed deer or similar animal there. I ignored that fear and decided to go for a short stroll through it.

I felt safe because there were many others also working out and it wasn't too dark out with many houses behind the trees with lights on and noises emitted. This path was particularly short, and to my surprise, I found a fellow jogger there. He was especially tall with long, silky black hair and oddly wearing formal clothing- a beige, patterned tuxedo, a black pair of plants, and dark, plain suede shoes. I couldn't make out his face. I know the jogger was male because of their clothing and deep voice.

A deep voice. It sounded distorted, too. He asked where the nearest neighborhood was. Nearest neighborhood? There were houses everywhere but I dismissed it and gave him the name of the neighborhood and I believed this path was in; North Lane Str.

He thanked me in a quite unusual cheery manner, but maybe it was just a quirk. I continued running down the path, dumbfounded by how much he towered me. I quickly reached the end of this new trail and my jog was over. I went back home and into bed after a short dinner. I had takeout along with some leftover pizza from this Tuesday.

The next morning, my older sister Elma called, saying her daughter, my niece, Courtney was feeling sick and tired. She referenced a rather abnormally tall man with a face concealed by the darkness of the night and wearing formal clothing. "Yeah, Courtney says she saw a tall man wearing what seemed like a suit or tuxedo outside her window who, after a while, seemed to jog away after waving at her."

I believed Elma referenced the man I saw on that new trail the previous night. I drove over to her house to see what was wrong with Courtney. I'm the only one my sister has so I feel like the weight of the world is on me when something wrong happens. She lost her husband Frank in a car accident she seems to struggle recalling, and our parents have been divorced and estranged. I myself am a bachelor and used to like being single, but I've been feeling lonely lately and am giving this whole "online dating" thing a try.

I hope Courtney's okay, and I wonder who that man from the new path was...

https://preview.redd.it/n5vfvtyld38e1.jpg?width=1301&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=049985585309f0664e57f9e320c807b8745b4a00

In this world, it’s possible to accidentally fall into a wormhole to the complex, an endless set of rooms of concrete and wet gravel to be stuck in. Enjoy being alone, as your friends and family won’t be there for you. Enjoy complete isolation in this place. Enjoy these rooms so quiet, that something could be near by. Enjoy the pain and suffering of The Complex.

Then you find something. What would you do? Don’t ask me, I don’t know what it is.

Title: The Garden of Inert Desires

Author: Simulacrum (my pseudonym)

PS: I'm sorry for my bad english. The story below.

It's been a year since I witnessed the horror and, since then, fortunately I've continued to see everyday things, without supernatural events generating a madness that I never want to experience again. Last year, I moved to Kingston Upon Thames, one of the districts of Greater London, to live in the house that belonged to Charlotte Wilkins, an elderly sick woman. She was apparently very nice and loved to talk. She rejected the formality when I initially called her “Mrs. Wilkins”, and asked me to just call her Charlotte. On my first day living in the house, Charlotte and I talked for about 15 minutes. She told me that she had come to terms with her imminent death and that she would like to live out the short time she had left in her best friend's house.

Charlotte didn't have any children, so it wasn't a difficult decision to sell the house that had just been renovated, and as I was looking for a place to live, I didn't hesitate when I saw the “for sale” sign on the property and immediately acted to buy it. As she has no descendants and doesn't have close contact with her family, Charlotte wanted to leave some of her personal belongings with me, and told me she would be very grateful if I would take them. Considering that Charlotte was in very poor health and was getting closer and closer to death, I had a certain compassion and didn't refuse her request. So I got some paintings and other objects that were on the front of the house. Charlotte told me that she liked to travel and that Scotland was her favorite destination.

— It was in Scotland that I found a relatively rare and very special book — she said —, but I don't remember where I put it. If you find it, you don't have to come to me to give it to me, you know I won't live long, so keep it.

I just nodded. Outside, a woman was waiting in a car: she was, according to Charlotte, her best friend. The elderly woman thanked me for agreeing to take her personal belongings, got into the car where her friend was waiting in the driver's seat, and the two drove off. During our conversation, Charlotte sometimes let slip, in a subtle way, that she didn't like her family, so I got the impression that she had sold the house not because she wanted to live out her last days with her friend, but because she would

rather the house remained with a stranger than belong to relatives when the time came for her to pass away. I suspected that this was the main reason why the house was sold to me for so much less than it was actually worth. She was in a hurry to sell the house before death came for her and allowed relatives to enjoy her estate. I remember it was Saturday when I woke up in my new home, had coffee and then took the opportunity to do some cleaning and found a pair of pink shoes under the bed. I looked closely at the two objects, which, being so simple and delicate, led me to the conclusion that they weren't exactly ordinary shoes: they were ballerina shoes. I deduced that the shoes might be Charlotte's, and that they were part of the objects she had given me, but as I had no interest in them, I put them away in a corner of one of the cupboards in the house. As for the house, it's a simple but beautiful place: it has a hedge, a gable roof that makes up the attic and rustic walls with a slightly yellowish white color reminiscent of a sunny day.

I was also enchanted by the garden on the front. It wasn't a large garden, but there was plenty of space for me to spend time. The flowers in the garden varied in color, fragrance, size, texture and shape. The garden also had an elongated oak bench. What I'm about to say may seem exaggerated, but such was my fascination with the garden that I acquired a kind of addiction to it: the flowers and the birds that landed there intoxicated me. Some of the works of art scattered around the garden expressed a touching beauty, others caused discomfort: there were several small gray statues 40 centimeters high. The statues depicted everything from a mother holding a baby to a woman dressed as a ballerina, and behind this woman was another statue: that of a hideous figure that looked more like a cosmic entity.

The neighbors greeted me, welcomed me and didn't mind the hideous statues in the garden, which seemed invisible to them. During the first six days in the house, I spent time in the garden, on the oak bench, drinking tea, reading a book, or just observing everything in it, but on the seventh day things happened that I'll never forget. On the same Saturday that I found the ballerina shoes, exactly a week after moving into the property, Charlotte came to visit me almost in the evening. She had said that she was feeling her life slipping away sooner than she had imagined, and that she would like to contemplate the garden she loved so much alone for the last time. I was moved by her request and left her there, alone, just as she wanted. About five minutes passed and she went back into the house. To give her a little comfort, I told her that I would

take good care of the garden. She smiled, thanked me and drove off with her friend who, once again, hadn't got out of the car. A few minutes later, I was alone in the garden.

What was supposed to be a moment of ecstasy became a mishmash of bad and sad feelings strangely followed by uplifting ones. My body and mind felt as light as a feather, and slowly my body began to move away from the grass. I realized that I was levitating, and looking down, I saw that my feet were about 30 centimetres above the grass. The flora and birds that landed there began to liquefy and blend together like a watercolor of various colors, and I was confused by this madness because I had a mixed feeling of agony and delight. In the middle of this mix, a child appeared in the watercolor garden, running and smiling with radiant happiness. To my surprise, that child was me... I mean, in that beautifully hideous garden I saw myself as a child, showing a naive, childlike happiness. All this psychedelic madness was frightening and beautiful.

Gradually, the situation normalized, the watercolor crumbled, and what had previously liquefied became solid again, and as if coming out of a trance, I felt more awake and the garden became what it was again. When the terrifying psychedelia ended, I realized that I was exactly in the center of the garden, and my body was facing the house. Little by little, the house was surrounded by a dense white mist, but a little yellowish, like the color of the walls. A sweet, feminine voice from inside the house told me not to be afraid. Whoever was inside, observing the fairytale madness I was going through, concluded the obvious: I was afraid. And although I still couldn't see clearly because of the fog, I saw that there was a woman at the living room window, whose door led out onto the garden. It was still a sunny afternoon, but twilight was gradually approaching, and a black cloud appeared near the roof of the house. The mysterious cloud soon dissipated, revealing what looked like a piece of outer space in a large dark circle that I later guessed was a portal. A strong wind hit the living room door, blowing it open.

I thought the situation couldn't get any weirder, as I thought the madness of the place had reached its peak, but I was wrong. The sneakers I'd kept in a cupboard came

moving out, side by side. Soon the shoes arrived in the garden and positioned themselves so that only their tips touched the ground, they moved harmoniously in all directions, and I understood that these simple objects were performing a dance. The impression I got was that an invisible body was dancing ballet and that only the sneakers could be seen moving in that dance, again causing me a mixed feeling, this time of unease and admiration. Yes, I was admiring that moment, even though the darkness of fear arose in my core, because that's what the unknown causes: a disquieting fear, because I didn't know who was wearing the sneakers.

I had my back to the fence and tried to turn around to run and escape, but some invisible force made my body immobile - I could only speak and move my eyes. A crystal-clear horror flashed before my eyes as the sneakers stopped performing dance moves and started taking steps, walking normally, and they came towards me. The sneakers came closer and touched my bare feet. I felt like I was being hugged and heard the sweet, feminine voice again:

— It's me, Albert, it's me... You knew me, but my voice was different, it was weaker, because I didn't have the strength to go on living.

Astonished, I said:

— I don't know who you are. In fact, there's no way of knowing who you are because I can't see you, you're invisible to me. And how do you know my name?

— I'm Charlotte, Albert.

— Charlotte? The woman who sold me the house? - I asked suspiciously. - Well, your voice is different from Charlotte's, your voice is youthful and with a certain vigor, and not a senile and debilitated voice like hers.

The woman moved away at a distance of about two meters from me and suddenly became visible, and I could finally see her: she was a young woman who appeared to be about 25 years old, with black hair, blue eyes and a slender body. She was wearing a set of items that are part of a ballerina's wardrobe: a hairnet, tights, a skirt with a waistband, stockings and, of course, her sneakers. She said:

— When I was young, I had the desire to be a ballerina. In fact, I almost succeeded in fulfilling my wish, but life takes different turns from what people plan.

— I'm sorry, Charlotte, but why are you telling me this?

— For a long time, I've been spreading my anger in this garden, brooding over having my wish destroyed when I gave up ballet because of an accident, anger also caused by other unfulfilled wishes. This is the garden of inert desires, you see.

At that moment, I assumed that there might be an explanation for the child self appearing in the garden. I had several wishes as a child, but of those wishes, there was a special one, which unfortunately I couldn't fulfill.

— That smiling child you saw running around this garden was your wish — Charlotte explained. — As a child, you wanted to have a happy childhood, to be a happy child, but that wasn't possible because of your narcissistic mother.

She was right. I didn't know how Charlotte found out that I had a difficult childhood and, in truth, it didn't matter how this grim fragment of my life had come to her attention. I could understand, however, that the garden seemed to concentrate some of my unfulfilled desires, because while Charlotte... I mean, while the young version of Charlotte was talking, images of my desires that, for various reasons, never came to fruition were appearing all around me, like projects that I had envisioned and never got off the ground.

— A strong unfulfilled desire doesn't die, it becomes a dying psychic energy full of anger and anguish — explained Charlotte. — I'm dying, Albert, you know... You saw me weak when you bought the house. I, young Charlotte, am the version who had wishes for the future, but when you bought the house, you met the Charlotte who abandoned her own wishes and dumped them in this garden.

- I'm really sorry, Charlotte, I hope you find peace when...

- When I die? — she interrupted me.

— When I leave — I replied.

For a moment, there was silence between us. We looked at each other like two miserable people who shared the same misfortune: our destinies built on the frustration of desires that didn't develop, that only inhabited the mind.

— Why do some statues depict such beautiful things and others cause disquiet and chills? - I asked.

— These little statues, Albert, are my most intense desires, which, as you already know, have not come true. Wishes that cause restlessness and chills are also part of peaceful people, but there's a difference between just wishing for something bad and putting it into practice. In this garden, unfulfilled wishes become figurines that will soon adorn the house of the Goddess. I don't know if you've noticed, but since you moved here, a statuette of a smiling little boy has appeared in that corner — she said, pointing his finger to where the statuette he described was. — Remember when I told you that this is the garden of inert desires?

— Of course, now it makes sense, inert desires like statues.

— Exactly.

— Looking at the statues, I assume that you have a mind that's split into two sides: a beautiful side, and a dark side, very dark.

— That statuette of a mother holding a baby... - she sighed, looking sad. - I would have liked to have had children, but I'm sterile.

— Again, I'm sorry — I sympathized. — But among all the gloomy statues, I'd like you to explain that one... That monstrous figure behind the ballerina.

Charlotte looked at the abomination, smiled mischievously, and gave me an answer that would reverberate for the rest of my existence, for I would never forget that statuette and the dark meaning that Charlotte was about to reveal to me.

— She is the Goddess. She is Anguish. She is the Mother of Desires, those desires that cannot fight back. The inert desires like statuettes are still furious because they haven't accessed reality, and the Goddess is the one who brings the wind of encouragement, that same wind you feel when you levitate, and she also brings that wind to the desires that, by inertia, can be nothing more than desires unfulfilled by their wishers.

— And what will happen now? — I asked, apprehensive and afraid of what she would say.

— I'm going to die soon, Albert, and in order to leave in peace, I need the Goddess to do something for me. My pleas have already been made, the words have already been spoken.

The door to the room opened, and out of the room came an old and man with a furrowed brow whom I had never seen before. He came into the garden, confused and wondering how he had ended up there. He was startled to see the black portal and tried to run away from the house, but the same invisible force that had left me immobile also acted on him. Unable to move, he shouted for help, hoping that the neighbors would hear him, but no one did: everything that was happening around the house and garden was imperceptible from the outside. I could hear the noise of cars and people walking and talking near the house, but they went about their business as usual. In a flash, the man's voice disappeared, he was struck by a sudden dumbness. I asked Charlotte who he was. The young woman, with a wicked smile on her lips once again, told me that the man had prevented her from fulfilling a great desire. With an expression of distress in his eyes, the old man listened to Charlotte like someone carrying the guilt of a reckless past.

— See that gentleman over there, Albert? A drunk who ran me over, driving completely drunk, crushing my left leg and preventing me from becoming a dancer, rendering inert such a deep desire that I possessed. As you always saw me in a long dress, you didn't see my prosthesis and you didn't realize that I have an amputated leg. But the Goddess will help me leave in peace. She is ready to grace us with her presence.

The hideous figure that Charlotte called the Goddess came flying out of the portal and landed in the garden. It was a creature about three and a half meters tall, with large butterfly wings, but armored, and these wings were black with metallic blue edges. Its body was elongated and, in a way, looked like a slug - more precisely, it was a pink, gelatinous mass that was quite flexible, wet and disgusting looking. Its huge mouth stretched vertically from just below its eyes to the beginning of its posterior extension, which appeared like a tail. On either side of the mouth were two long appendages, which looked more like thin pink tentacles that moved in a snakelike fashion - the tips of the appendages were rounded and flattened. Its sharp teeth lined up horizontally, and its equally pink tongue oozed a thick, yellowish goo. At the top, there were two short curved filaments above its two slightly protruding globular eyes. The eyes were filled with red and in each of them there was a large black dot in the center

that moved according to the direction in which the creature looked. At the bottom of the monster was a tail with five segments. From the fifth segment, the tail tapered until it split into two filaments, and at the tip of each filament was a black claw slightly less curved than a hawk's claws.

The old man who had run over Charlotte was attacked by the two claws, which pierced both sides of his chest, in the rib area. The two filaments lifted the old man by means of the claws embedded in his ribs and carried him into the mouth of the Goddess. He was chewed up and I realized that his broken body had simply disappeared from the creature's mouth, leaving only traces of the man's blood in it. At that moment, I didn't know what to do when I saw that scene which, I'll tell you in the strongest terms, was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen. Charlotte spoke again and I tried to ignore her, but I couldn't.

— I could have called the Goddess first, Albert, but I waited for you to buy the house and unconsciously pour your desires into the garden so that I could understand the Goddess' beautiful justice. I touched the statuette of the happy little boy, and I saw how your mother made you suffer. Wait for the right moment, and when you've spent enough time in the garden, say the right words. You'll finally be able to give your mother the end she deserves, she has to be torn apart. Just look behind one of the pictures I gave you. Eight months ago, I bought the house, but the disease came on aggressively, and I had to rush to sell the house, wait for you to settle in and then give you true justice. Between eight and nine months of attending the garden, that's enough for the Goddess to attend to you, and then you'll finally be able to invoke her. You only have a few figurines, you need more, and your wishes must be sincere.

I was getting weak and tired. Once again, my body became light, but the wind carried me towards the Goddess, and she, leaning down her gelatinous body, stared at me with her fearful eyes. Leaning closer and closer, the Goddess approached me, and I, levitating but still motionless, shifted my gaze to her open mouth and caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a portal inside that mouth. Through the portal I saw a mountainous region where there was a place with a large number of bones made up of shattered bones and also a broken body that was so unrecognizable that I could only conjecture that it was the old man who had been chewed up. At that point, there was nothing I could do but wait to see what the creature would do to me. To my relief, it suddenly moved away. The figurines began to rise from the grass and move through the air towards the circular, starry portal, where they entered to be taken to the abode of the butterfly-winged demon.

— The powerful Goddess is finally getting her due. The statuettes will adorn her ineffable home — explained Charlotte, with an expression of admiration for the monstrosity.

I was surprised by something rather symbolic and dark going into the circular portal through which the Goddess had emerged: the statuette of Charlotte, once represented as a young ballerina, now in its elderly version, completely naked, with a monstrous mouth on its belly and large butterfly wings on its back, which led me to assume that the statuettes of old Charlotte and the Goddess had merged. When all the figurines were no longer in the garden, the Goddess flew out and entered the circular, starry portal. The portal closed in a few seconds. Young Charlotte waved her right hand in a gesture of farewell and disappeared into the mist. “Now I can die in peace,” said a voice in my head. It was Charlotte's tired and senile voice. The wind that had been lifting me ceased and I fell to the grass. Dazed and tired, I focused my gaze for a few seconds on the reddish orange sky of the coming twilight. My body felt heavy, so I went straight to the living room and collapsed on the sofa, where I immediately closed my eyes to go to sleep. I woke up around 7:15 the next morning.

I know that if other people had experienced that horror, they would have left the house out of trauma and fear, but I decided to stay out of stubbornness, despite the fear of staying. Later that morning, I thought about removing all the objects Charlotte had given me from the house, and I began by taking a picture of a painting depicting three women, all wearing white dresses, standing in a vast area of vegetation where there was a mansion in the background. Above their heads was a blackened circle filled with stars. Behind the painting, I found a hole in the wall, where there was a book, most likely kept, or rather hidden, by Charlotte. It was a black-covered book with the title “Cosmic Magic”, and I noticed that there was a chapter in it called “The Invocation of the Mother of Desires”.

Out of curiosity, I read the chapter in the book with guidelines for invoking the Goddess, stating that she is asked to chew up and destroy those who have prevented the fulfillment of other people's wishes. The book explained that it is very different to fulfill one's desires in the right and just way and to fulfill them by deliberately harming

people. Those who intentionally or recklessly ruin wishes that can be fulfilled in the most peaceful way possible are targets for the Goddess — although each wish has a context for the Goddess to evaluate. Also according to the book, in 1591, three young witches from North Berwick, a town in Scotland, possessed manuscripts that not only revealed the existence of entities unknown to most of those involved in magic, but also instructions on how to invoke them. The manuscripts belonged to an Irish magician who lived in the far north of Ireland.

The three women sowed the desire to live peacefully, did not want to cause harm to others and did not want to be harassed; however, a group of ten men, who were not exactly sent by King James VI of Scotland; but, influenced by the monarch's attitude of having promoted fierce hunts for various witches, tried to capture them to be executed by them. These men slyly discovered that the witches resorted to harmless spells in order to have a successful crop and a bountiful harvest at any time of the year in the region where they lived. Even though these spells did no harm, the men considered them threats.

Confronting the men, the witches, using aggressive spells, managed to kill two of them. They didn't want to hurt or kill any more of the men, and warned them to leave, but they continued to attack them. Realizing that they needed much more than aggressive spells to defeat that hostile group, the women had no choice and, at the same time, with their voices in unison, they began to pronounce words from a strange language of alien origin spoken by a society of Celtic mystics whose members began meeting together from 1600 BC. The witches spoke the words of invocation like music: first in two-by-four time, then they spoke more quickly, in four-by-four time, with all the words being pronounced with their voices reaching a single musical note: B flat. Then the Mother of Desires emerged from the circular portal and chewed up all the men who had assaulted those women.

The book mentioned that the broken bodies of those men were taken to a place in Europe through a portal that appeared inside the creature's own mouth while it was chewing on them. This probably explains why the old man who ran over Charlotte wasn't exactly swallowed by the Goddess: considering the bones and the shattered body that I saw through the portal inside the creature's mouth when it had approached me, I assumed that the chewed-up old man was thrown into a kind of macabre open-air dump where the monster's victims are kept - the book didn't mention very specifically where this place is, it just pointed out that the chewed-up bodies were left in a mountainous region of Ireland because they didn't serve as food for the Goddess, as she didn't need to eat to survive. During that reading, I concluded that, logically, the painting Charlotte had left in the house was based on the three witches.

For the invocation of the Goddess to be successful, the book that had belonged to Charlotte recommended saying the words exactly as the witches did. The words, spoken in two different measures and on a single note, must be pronounced in an overgrown area, and this same place must be where the person who needs the Goddess has lived for at least eight to nine months, imbuing the place with memories and desires — just as Charlotte spent a lot of time in the garden, and just as the witches lived in the countryside. When I reached the lines in the book where the words to invoke the Goddess were, I immediately closed it and, a few hours later, burned it.

As I watched the book being consumed by the fire, I began to think back to when Charlotte had visited me on that dark Saturday, telling me that, to say goodbye to the garden she loved so much, she would like to see it for the last time - again, her friend was waiting for her in the car. I also remembered that, while she was alone in the garden, I was in the living room and could hear her uttering incomprehensible words. Nine months after the supernatural events, a woman, who appeared to be around 30 years old, came to my house and called me. I looked out of the window and recognized her: it was the woman who always stayed in the car, waiting for Charlotte when I talked to the elderly woman. It was early evening and this woman was wearing a black overcoat and had a string around her neck with a pendant, which I assumed was silver, in the shape of a pentagram. I opened the door to the living room and went towards her to ask why she was visiting, but when I got to the center of the garden, the woman, who was standing next to the hedge of my house, was in a hurry and said to me:

— You haven't invoked the Goddess to give your mother a proper end. You're weak, you're a disappointment.

And as soon as she had insulted me, she got into her car, drove off and I never saw her again.

If I could give a piece of advice to anyone listening right now. Always check what you receive, whether it's a birthday gift, a delivery, or even a fast-food order. Check and make absolutely sure there's something inside the box. Shake it, smell it, or use an X-ray machine, whatever method you prefer, just make sure there’s actually something inside. Because, as it turns out, some gifts are not meant to be opened, and others should never be received.

Want to know what happened next? Click the link below to uncover the rest of the story.
https://youtu.be/P6124koJz_0

This is totally random but a long time ago when I was first in my Grease phase in sixth grade, I remember scrolling through either Wikipedia or fandom somewhere and learning all of the information I could for my hyperfixation on this franchise. I remember there was some film or tv series that was in there but I don’t remember the name, but it was something like Grease: Murder or something like that. I do remember that I clicked on it and read the synopsis or something and it said that Patty Simcox died in the movie or something. It could’ve 100% been fake and probably was, but I can’t find it anywhere and I recently remembered it out of nowhere. I remember it scared me when I read it and basically ended my Grease phase lol. If anyone finds anything or sees anything please let me know bc I want to know whether it was real or fake, and what the story behind it is!

My name is Henry, 23 M. I live in my apartment in Seatle. I recently bought a laptop at a garage sale. It was a MacBook, but one that i have never seen of. After unlocking it and sitting up, I saw a strange text file called "medis123.exe" The tree It reads:

"I never believed in curses. I scoffed at ghost stories, dismissed tales of the unnatural, and shook my head at every urban legend passed around the campfire. But belief doesn’t matter when reality comes for you. And the truth has roots deeper than we can comprehend.

It started with a camping trip, a decision born out of boredom and bad judgment. I was alone; the kind of solitude that feels invincible until it isn't. I drove out to the woods, a dense stretch of wilderness untouched by modernity. No cell towers, no power lines—just miles of trees. Exactly what I thought I wanted.

The first night was uneventful, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. I thought nothing of it. But on the second night, as the sun dipped behind the horizon, the woods seemed... different.

The air grew heavy, as if saturated with something unseen. Breathing became a chore, each inhale laced with a faint metallic taste. My head spun slightly, but I chalked it up to dehydration. That’s when I noticed the silence. No crickets. No owls. Just an oppressive, unnatural stillness.

And then I saw it.

A tree. Towering and gnarled, its bark blackened and cracked like burnt flesh. It wasn’t there the night before—I was sure of it. Its branches twisted upward, skeletal fingers clawing at the starless sky. But it wasn’t the sight of it that made my stomach churn; it was the feeling.

It was watching me.

I laughed nervously, brushing it off as paranoia. Trees don’t move. Trees don’t watch. But as I turned away, I felt it. A presence. Not behind me, not around me—in me. A pressure on my thoughts, a whisper just beneath the surface of consciousness.

I spun back around. The tree hadn’t moved. Of course it hadn’t. But something about its shape was... off. The branches seemed closer, more pronounced. The trunk loomed taller. My head swam, and I stumbled back to my tent, determined to sleep off the unease.

Sleep didn’t come.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt it. That suffocating presence. The air in the tent grew thick, a dizzying haze that dulled my senses. My phone was dead, even though I’d charged it before leaving. The flashlight flickered, then died altogether.

I stepped out of the tent.

The tree was closer.

I swear it had been at least fifty feet away earlier, but now it stood just beyond the campsite. I could see the grooves in its bark, the faint shimmer of sap—or was it blood?—seeping from its cracks.

I backed away, keeping my eyes locked on it. My breaths came shallow and quick, heart hammering in my chest. And then, foolishly, I blinked.

When my eyes opened, the tree was inches from my face.

I screamed and ran.

The forest twisted around me, every path unfamiliar. I was disoriented, gasping for air that felt thicker by the second. My legs burned, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

Behind me, I heard it. A groan, low and guttural, like the earth itself crying out in pain. The sound of wood splintering and creaking followed, each crack a jolt to my spine.

I didn’t dare look back.

When I finally collapsed, I was in a small clearing. The tree was gone. I laughed—hysterical, broken laughter that echoed in the emptiness. Maybe I was losing my mind.

But the air wasn’t safe. It was choking me, lulling me into a foggy stupor. My body felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish. And then I realized: I wasn’t breathing oxygen.

Days blurred together. Or maybe it was just hours. Time didn’t exist here. My phone wouldn’t turn on. My watch had stopped ticking.

I tried to leave the woods, but no matter which direction I went, I always ended up back at the clearing. And every time I returned, the tree was there. Closer. Larger.

Its bark pulsed faintly now, veins of red threading through its surface. The ground around its roots was soaked, the soil black and glistening. I realized then: it was feeding.

Not on water. Not on sunlight.

On me.

My thoughts were slower. My energy drained. I felt hollow, like pieces of myself were being siphoned away. The tree didn’t need to chase me. It just needed me near.

I screamed at it. Threw rocks. Tried to burn it. Nothing worked. And as I sat there, crumpled and defeated, the realization hit me: this wasn’t just a tree.

It was alive. It was aware.

And it wasn’t of this world.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. The tree... it speaks to me now. Not in words, but in emotions. Flashes of torment and despair. It’s not just a tree—it’s a vessel. A creature from some twisted plane of existence, formed from the agony of countless souls.

Its roots dig deep, far deeper than the earth. They pierce dimensions, drawing energy from the very fabric of existence. And its branches? They reach for the stars, feeding on the light of dying galaxies.

It grows with every life it consumes.

And it’s not done yet.

I’m writing this as a warning. Not that it will help. You’re already part of it now.

You’ve read its name. Medis123.

It knows you. It’s watching. Every keystroke, every glance at the screen—it feels you. And when you look away, when the room grows dark, it will move.

Because it doesn’t need to be near you to feed. It only needs you to know it exists, because, it knows you exist.

And now you do too".

".- ... / -.. .- .-. -.- -. . ... ... / .- .-- .- -.- . -. ... / .- -. -.. / .-.. .. ..-. . / .-. . - .. .-. . ... / .- -. -.. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / --- -. .-.. -.-- / .-.. .. --. .... - / -.-- --- ..- / .... .- ...- . --..-- / -.-- --- ..- .-. / ... --- ..- .-.. / .. ... / -.. . .- -.. / -... ..- - / .-- .... .- - / .. ..-. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / ... --- ..- .-.. / -. . ...- . .-. / -.. .. . ... / .- -. -.. / .. / -.- -. --- .-- / .-- .... -.-- / -... -.-- / -- . -.. .. ... .---- ..--- ...-- --..-- / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / - .... . / -- . -.. .. ... ...-- ..--- .---- --..-- / - .... . / .- -... ... . -. -.-. . / --- ..-. / - .... . / -.-. .-. . .- - ..- .-. . --..-- / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / --- -. .-.. -.-- / .- -. / .. .-.. .-.. ..- ... .. --- -. / --- ..-. / - .... . / ..- -. .. ...- . .-. ... . .----. ... / -- .. -. -.. --..-- / .-- .... .. -.-. .... / .. ... .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- / -- . -.. .. ... .---- ..--- ...-- --..-- / --- .-. / ... .. -- .--. .-.. -.-- .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- / - .... . / --- -. ." By Henry, or the one of many 321. The tree

I’m sure most people had irrational fears as children—clowns, ghosts, power outages, quicksand—things that, in retrospect, pose little threat. When you’re new to the world, however, your understanding of it is virtually nonexistent, and in the absence of comprehension, even the most trivial things can be deeply frightening, no matter the significance.

Over time, we outgrow these childhood fears and shift our focus to concerns that are more rational and relevant to our present circumstances. There’s nothing more horrifying to the adult mind than unpaid bills and vacant refrigerators. Yet, in rare instances, an irrational fear can cling to you for decades, following you into adulthood and suffocating the deepest crevices of the mind. Even when you know better, even when you have more pressing concerns, it remains there—motionless but awake. It can be something as minuscule as a creepy image found on a now abandoned forum, an off-putting sports mascot, a song, a letter, anything. Ridiculous to most, but to you, it’s a real unbridled fear.

I am one of the few who carry a lingering terror from childhood. It was something that elicited such a visceral reaction upon first encounter that it has shaped the person I am today; immediately throwing my instincts into overdrive whenever I recall the memory. For months, I was unable to pull myself out of bed, obsessing over every finite detail. Nightmares were aplenty. My favourite food would go into the trash with nothing but a few tiny bites being taken. My notebooks were filled with the confusing frantic ramblings of a petrified child attempting to uncover a missing integer that, in all likelihood, never existed and never will.

My 10-year-old brain practically shut down for the better part of a year before I began to regain some sense of normalcy. The nightmares and intrusive thoughts gradually subsided, and my trepidation diminished to a more manageable level. Yet even so, there was always a nagging, persistent dread that I might somehow, in some way, encounter this fear again when I least expected it—perhaps while mindlessly scrolling through the internet in search of something trivial, only for it to appear unexpectedly and against my will. Ironically, although I haven’t seen the original source of this panic since that initial encounter, a prominent reminder of it unfailingly resurfaces every single year; forced to relive my terror all over again.

I am terrified of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. This is no exaggeration—I am utterly petrified by a small, seemingly harmless cervine who chauffeurs Santa Claus around each year. Even the slightest glimpse of this otherwise beloved character makes me nauseous, whether it’s in the form of decorations, stickers, or plush toys, it makes no difference.

As if this couldn’t be any more specific, the Rankin/Bass stop-motion movie is the single greatest source of my personal anxiety. Each time I encounter even the smallest reference to that film, I am overwhelmed by a sudden, acute pain in my head and an instinctive urge to flee. I don’t even remember the film. The visuals, the story, and the details no longer hold any relevance to me.

I made the deliberate decision to lock every element of it away in my mind, with no intention of ever seeking closure, no consideration that I might one day, as an adult, desire clarity or resolution. It seems the rest of the world has forgotten about it too, as I cannot find it anywhere, no matter how hard I try. My personal boogeyman has effectively been erased from existence, leaving me with a nagging desire to confront it once more—to give myself the chance to stare the monster under my bed directly in the eyes and determine whether I am truly ready to leave it behind. There comes a point where running can only take us so far and hiding ourselves away becomes isolating.

Christmas is just around the corner, and once again, I find myself confronted by my own personal horror. For an entire month, I am unable to escape it, enduring until the holiday spirit inevitably fades into the mundane fatigue of everyday life. But I am tired—tired of running, of hiding, of being afraid.

So I turn to you now, hoping that someone, somewhere, who holds the key to my trauma, will find this post and can provide me with the closure I've so desperately needed for years.

When I was 10 years old, I stumbled upon a parody video of the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer movie that terrified me so much, I spent the next sixteen years living in constant dread of accidentally encountering it again.

It was 2008. YouTube was rapidly taking the internet by storm, gaining unstoppable momentum.

The viral videos of the time were inescapable, spreading across various other platforms like MySpace and early online forums. For many, these videos served as their introduction to the burgeoning video-sharing website, but for me, it was through my classmates. I vividly remember them excitedly chattering about something called Charlie the Unicorn, claiming it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. As an uninformed child who spent more time glued to the television than to the family’s newly acquired computer, I naturally asked which channel I could watch it on. I was surprised to learn that it wasn’t on TV—it was on the internet.

When I got home that day, I booted up the computer and used YouTube for the first time; I was instantly hooked. Countless videos, created by people from all walks of life, were just a single click away. Of course, the quality of these videos varied greatly, and it was alarmingly easy to stumble upon content that was arguably inappropriate for children. Yet, amidst all its weirdness, YouTube was an addictive platform, filled with some of the most fascinating things I had ever encountered at the time. It was far more entertaining than television or my extensive collection of DVDs because it allowed me to watch whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

Nothing made me laugh quite like YouTube Poops. These overly edited, nonsensical videos, crudely mashed together and reversed in a cheap but effective attempt to elicit laughter, were my favourite. I would sit in front of the computer for hours, watching these absurd renditions of cartoons. It didn’t matter whether the cartoon was old or new, popular or obscure—YouTube Poopers would inevitably get their hands on it and distort it in countless silly ways. Safe to say, I was an avid consumer.

Fast forward to December of that year. Like most kids, I was bursting with excitement for Christmas. The moment my parents put up the colourful decorations, my holiday jitters kicked into high gear, and all I could think about was the big day: December 25th. In my cheerful mood, I decided to search for YouTube Poops featuring Christmas-themed media to amplify my excitement. I was aiming for the classics—Elf, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, The Polar Express, the usual trio of films that seemed to play on repeat throughout the entire month.

It didn’t take long before I stumbled upon mocks of some of the more well-known Rankin/Bass films. None of them were particularly remarkable, just the usual remixed nonsense I had seen many times before. However, I distinctly remember that I was watching a Frosty the Snowman parody when I happened to notice the thumbnail to the infamous Rudolph video.

The thumbnail was a black-and-white still of Rudolph as a calf, lying alone in the den where he had been raised. His head was angled upward, as if he were staring at something just out of frame. The video was titled “TONIGHT_ITS_JUST_YOU”.

I’m not sure whether it was the eerie thumbnail or the oddly formatted title that caught my attention first, but either way, I was deeply intrigued. Ignoring the fact that I was only about a quarter of the way through the Frosty the Snowman parody, I eagerly clicked on Rudolph’s face to see what the video could possibly contain.

The video began with the distorted sound of a howling blizzard, faintly buzzing through my computer’s primitive speakers. The screen flickered with grainy, low-quality footage of indistinct, abstract shapes that resembled the patterns of cheap kaleidoscope toys, though entirely devoid of color. These images cycled rapidly, one after another, before eventually settling on the focal point of the video: Rudolph. Much like in the thumbnail, he was alone in the den, aimlessly turning his head at various angles, as if searching for something unseen.

His attention eventually fixed on the entrance to the den. The video then abruptly cut to footage of a real snowstorm. I can’t recall the exact details, but the scene appeared to be filmed in a remote, mountainous area devoid of any signs of life. There were no structures, no animals, just a relentless flurry of violent snowfall in an isolated, desolate location. The camera slowly zoomed into the storm before suddenly cutting back to the tiny figure of Rudolph. For a long moment, there was an eerie stillness, broken only when he finally stood up and slowly stepped out of the safety of his home.

The next shot depicted the calf trudging through the snowy terrain, his head fixed forward and seemingly indifferent to his surroundings. I distinctly remember how this sequence emphasized Rudolph’s smallness. The camera remained at a considerable distance, partially obscured by the foliage of the many clay trees, as if it were hiding and observing him from afar. This particular scene repeated itself several times over, speeding up and slowing down in irregular intervals before it cut to the next segment.

Jagged, icy paper glaciers were scattered across the surrounding area, and tiny Rudolph stood in a clearing at their center. He leapt onto one of the ice caps and peered over the edge, his hooves dangling as he leaned forward to look at something below. The shot lingered on his expressionless face. He might have blinked once or twice during that moment, but I honestly can’t recall if he did, or if he remained completely motionless the entire time. The turbulent sound of the snowstorm was intercepted by a deep, bassy droning noise that reverberated ominously. The audio quality was abysmal, crackling through my speakers as it rumbled with an unrelenting intensity.

After what felt like an eternity of buildup, the video finally revealed what had captured Rudolph’s intense focus. Below him stood another deer-like entity, but it was grotesquely disfigured. Its neck was unnaturally elongated, with an awkward bend in the middle that caused it to lean stiffly to the left. Atop its extended scruff sat the shrunken head of a male reindeer, grossly disproportionate to the rest of its body. Its face was featureless, completely consumed by a patch of black fur that even obscured its eyes. The legs were similarly deformed, stretched and twisted into unnervingly thin, misshapen limbs, far too fragile to realistically support the weight of its body. The torso, oddly enough, was the only part of the creature that appeared normal.

It was clear that the figure had been crudely constructed out of clay, marred by noticeable bumps and imperfections characteristic of amateur craftsmanship. In hindsight, I assume the creator was attempting to mimic the style of the puppets used in the original film, but if that was the intention, they failed spectacularly. The thing must’ve been frozen on the screen for no less than a minute before a black screen with white text hijacked the video.

“Do you miss the sound of your mother’s voice? Your father’s?”

“You cannot sit and stare at me forever. Let go of the idea that things could’ve been different.”

“It has to be this way. It must.”

“You deserved a better goodbye.”

The video briefly flickered back to the creature after each sentence, implying that it had been speaking to Rudolph.

By this point, Rudolph wore a forlorn expression, the first and only emotion he displayed throughout the entire thing.

Suddenly, the muffled droning noise ceased, and the sound of the gusting blizzard returned. Rudolph turned away from the glacier and gazed out into the vast, snowy expanse. The real-life footage of the snowstorm reappeared once more before the video finally faded into darkness.

I immediately shut off my computer and retreated to my bedroom for the rest of the day. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I began replaying the video over and over again in my mind, desperately trying to analyze and make sense of every detail my young brain could conjure up.

For months, I couldn’t even muster the courage to use the computer, and turning on the TV felt like a gamble, as there was always the risk of encountering the original Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer film. Thankfully, my DVDs and Nintendo DS kept me occupied until the end of January, when the holiday programming finally disappeared from the airwaves.

Thus began my decades long fear of the lovable reindeer.

Nowadays, with a better understanding of the world, I realize that most of my fear stemmed from how the video made me feel when I first watched it. My panic wasn’t necessarily due to the content of the video itself, but rather the emotional reaction it evoked. I was afraid of being afraid, but how could I have known that at the time? I’m also wise enough now to recognize that it was the monstrous reindeer creature that disturbed me the most. Of course, the entire thing unsettled me, but it was that one frame of the awkwardly assembled figurine and the words it spoke that caused my heart to race whenever I thought of it. Even now, the picture I have of it in my mind is enough to send me into a cold sweat. A strange, perhaps overly ambitious part of me wants to rewatch it, to give it a final farewell so that I can eventually stomach the thought of a simple children’s character.

I’m not sure if I’m truly ready to see it again, or if I ever will be. Yet, I find myself wanting to preserve it as a part of internet history. I may be the only person it terrified to this extent, making it significant primarily to me, but it remains a piece of YouTube history. That, in itself, is reason enough to preserve its existence. It comes from an era when anyone could create and upload whatever they wanted, without being stifled by a massive corporation attempting to gatekeep their intellectual property

So, I ask you now, after everything has been laid out, do you have this video?

In 2006, celebrity chef Lyle Lambeau launched a career defining show. “Cafes, Canteens, and Chow downs.” showcased the best homegrown American cooking Chef Lambeau could find. It was a day one hit and ran for five seasons. Then, in May of 2011 while filming for the long-awaited season 6, it was abruptly canceled. There was massive fan outcry to the network, and they demanded an explanation from Chef Lambeau. There was just one problem.

Chef Lambeau was nowhere to be found. The famous foodie had disappeared, along with the only episode of season six. Officially, The Network said that Lyle had retired to his estate in Brooks County and had decided to lead a secluded life.

Unofficially, rumors persisted that Lyle had suffered a mental breakdown while filming and had wandered off in a crazed state. For years, the rumor mill kept chugging, Lyle was in Hawaii with a second family, Lyle was seen wandering the streets of Boston naked and mumbling, Lyle was dead and currently being replaced by a celebrity look-a-like.

In 2023, a tape was dropped off onto the doorstep of CCC producer and longtime friend of Chef Lyle, Kyle Kennerson. We reached out to Mr. Kennerson about disclosing what was on the tape and after much negotiation and deliberating, Mr. Kennerson agreed to provide a transcript of what was on the tape. When pressed about why he would not release the actual footage, Mr. Kennerson had this to say:

“Lyle was a close family friend, and frankly the only reason I am even agreeing to this is to provide closure to not only his loved ones, but his fanbase. The transcript is 100% real; however, I believe the actual footage to be. . .too obscene for public viewing.”

What exactly is on the tape, Mr. Kennerson?

“. . .Cafes, Canteens, And Chow downs.”

Cafes, Canteens, And Chow downs

Season 6, episode 001: Cajun Calamari Chowders

(The tape opens with the intro to CCC, a fast-paced series of shots of the American countryside, Lyle driving around on a motorcycle. He salivates over various shots of food, praising their textures and taste. He hugs some restaurant owners, hive-fives a couple others, and chows down on a massive rodeo burger spilling over with sauce. He wipes his signature beard off and mugs for the camera, pulling a thumbs up as the flashy logo appears on screen. It then cuts to Lyle Lambeau standing in front of a red-wood shack style restaurant in downtown New Orleans. He wears a Hawaiian floral shirt with matching shorts, his red hair slicked back with grease.)

LYLE: Welcome to beautiful Lousanna, heartland of Southern Cuisine. Now I have traveled to every inch of this great country, and CHOWED down on Boston Chowda, Texas Chilli, but nothing and I mean NOTHING can top some Cajun gumbo. We’re here today in N'awlins to visit a little-known hotspot on Redding Ave called- Uh Jeremy what’s this place called again. (Lyle looks off camera.)

JEREMY: Torath Tavern.

LYLE: Torath Tavern, right, who could forget that. (Lyle rolls his eyes.) Alright take it from the Redding Ave bit-

-A little-known hotspot on Redding Ave called Torath Tavern, owned by the Luscious Miss Tamara Domingue. Come on and join me folks.

(Lyle motions towards a black door, with a broken-down sign that reads Open in neat cursive.)

LYLE: Alright keep rolling Jeremy, this place smells like a lawsuit waiting to happen, I want all our bases covered. (They begin walking into the tavern.)

JEREMY: Whatever you say boss.

LYLE: I say remind me to kick Kyle’s ass when we get back home.

(The pair walk into the tavern, and the cameraman gets some decent interior shots. The interior of the tavern has light green walls and low blue lighting, like one would see in a white woman’s college dorm room. The walls are ordained by pictures and memorabilia. Many of the photos are of old timey fishermen and gruff looking sea captains. Among the fishing memorabilia are various animal skulls and strange markings, almost occult like. On the far end of the bar, a painting of Torath Tavern’s founder, Melissa Domingue. Apart from the strange decor, it appears to be an average bar. Many of the patrons inside sport pale, gothic looks. The bartender is a black man with frayed sideburns and an honest to God hook on his left hand. The camera then pans to Lyle, looking dumbfounded.)

LYLE: . . . You can really feel that authentic N’awlins charm here. Let’s go find Tamara.

(The Pair walks up to the bartender and asks to see the owner. The man stares at them for a moment and lumbers off to the back. Lyle looks off camera.)

LYLE: You smell that? Like a Uh greasy salmon.

JEREMY: Yea, not bad. Place must have good food, seems busy.

LYLE: Kyle told me he ate here personally; I can’t see him in a dive like this man. I don't care how busy it looks.

JEREMY: Lyle, you got to make it work man, Network is getting pissy.

LYLE: When aren’t they? I’m telling you I’m getting a bad vibe off this place man. We should bug out, find a Mcd-

VIGEO: Miss Domingue will see you in the kitchen now.

(Lyle curses and the camera turns to the bartender, staring at them with a vacant expression.)

LYLE: Well, uh, lead the way Lurch.

(The barkeep nods and leads them both to the back. The kitchen is pristine, and a surprised Lambeau whistles an impressive tone. A sizzling sound is heard and the tape skips slightly, revealing a tattooed hand grilling what appears to be fish on a grill. The camera pans up to reveal a busty young woman with almost solid black hair. A brilliant white streak ran down her hair. The woman whistled a strange little ditty, happily grilling her fish. She glances at the camera and smiles, her glossy blue lips parting.)

TAMARA: Why thank you Vigeo, I’ll take these fine young gentlemen here off yuh hands.

(The woman speaks in a deep Southern drawl. The barkeep, evidently named Vigeo, nods and shuffles off back to the front. Lyle clears his throat and introduces himself to the young woman, offering his hand. She takes it with both of hers, vigorously shaking.)

TAMARA: I am just delighted to meet y’all. I’m such a big fan of yours.

LYLE: Yes, I can see that. So, Miss Dom-

TAMARA: Oh, please call me Tammy, everyone does.

LYLE: Tammy, course. Can you tell me what you’re grilling there, it smells divine.

(“Tammy” giggles at this and turns back to the grill, the camera zooms in on the sizzling meat.)

TAMARA: Well now this is freshly caught Salmon, just came in today. I lightly seasoned it with cumin, butter, and a little bit of blood for kick.

(Tamara winks at the camera, as Jeremy clearly jumped back in unprofessional shock.)

LYLE: (Laughing) Little southern humor there huh Tammy?

TAMARA: Oh, I never joke about blood hun.

LYLE: . . . It's not people blood, is it?

TAMARA: (Laughing) Course not, just a little calf’s blood. Adds some flavor. One of the regulars loves it.

(She points upwards, towards the service window looking out to the bar. A man with an actual green spiked mohawk and God knows how many facial piercings is sitting at the far end of the bar. He notices Tammy pointing and gives a little wave. No doubt this would have been edited out in post.)

TAMARA: Here at Torath’s we excel in... exotic dining.

LYLE: Hey great segue, right off the bat-

(Lyle raises his hand and does a little finger spin as he turns and faces the camera.)

LYLE: Alright guys I am here with Tammy, owner of Torath’s and I just got to ask Tam-Tam, where did you come up with that one?

(There is silence for a moment as Tamara just stands there, slightly uncomfortable. Lyle looks visibly annoyed.)

TAMARA: Are, oh are we starting now?

JEREMY: (Off camera.) Yea Chef Lambeau likes to get right into it, sells that authenticity.

TAMARA: Oh, sorry hun, do yuh wanna start again or-

LYLE: Its fine Eddy will just edit all this out later. Eddy the editor.

(Both Lyle and Jeremy laugh, Tammy does not seem to get the great joke.)

TAMARA: Well, Torath was actually my uh, Gammie’s mentor. He was a wise and powerful being, handsome to boot. When he. . .passed on she named the tavern in his honor. (She smiles proudly.)

LYLE: What sort of name is Torath? Was it German, French?

TAMARA: Sumerian.

LYLE: . . . right. So, he taught your Gammie to cook, and she taught you? Three generations of Domingue slaving over Torath’s stoves.

TAMARA: (Laughs.) Proud to be here Lyle, proud to be here. Why don’t I show y’all around the kitchen.

(Tamara begins to guide them around the kitchen. It is surprisingly big considering the small dining area out front. There are shots of a small amount of staff lumbering around. They all seem very pale and stiff. They mindlessly wander around and do menial tasks like cleaning, bare minimum cooking. The camera lingers on them as Tamara and Lyle drone on and on about kitchenware and proper cleaning techniques.)

LYLE: I must say you keep a clean place.

TAMARA: Cleanest in the city, the “help” is very thorough.

LYLE: What would you say is Torath’s biggest draw?

TAMARA: Oh well that’s easy. Our Calamari Gumbo. It is delish shugga. We take a very dark Roux, a little onion, some fresh tomatahs, about two pounds of ethereal beast diced up real nicely and wah-la.

(Lyle pauses his walk.)

LYLE: Did you say, what the hell is “Ethereal Beast?”

TAMARA: It’s a rare type-o Squid, found only in the deepest pits of the arctic ocean. We have about seven million pounds of it flown in weekly.

LYLE: . . . Alright I get it now, where's Ashton. Come on where is he, bring him and fuckbag Kyle out come on.”

(Lyle throws his hands up and starts looking around the room. The workers seem oblivious to this. Jeremy appears to put the camera down, as Lyle and Tamara begin to have a heated discussion. It is worth noting that the pearl white tiled floor is absolutely spotless.)

TAMARA: Come again hun?

LYLE: Oh, come on lady, the decor, the friggin brain dead staff, that fucked up menu. I’m on (REDACTED BY THREAT OF LAWSUIT.) Come on, where are the cameras lady.

TAMARA: I assure you Mr. Lambeau, there is no joke here. I run a legitimate restaurant, and I will not be insulted in Mah place of business.

LYLE: Lady, there is no way you have several million pounds of some made up squid in your freezer.

TAMARA: Yuh wanna see mah freezer hun?

(There is a loud bang, like someone had dropped a pan. This is followed by a deafening silence. The camera catches Lyle’s shoe taking a step towards Tamara’s leather heels.

LYLE: I would LOVE to see your freezer. (Tammy scoffs.)

TAMARA: Alrighty then. Come this way. Both of yuh.

(The camera pans up again, several of the staff are eyeing them. There is finally a hint of emotion in their eyes. It almost looks like twinges of fear. Tammy leads them to a large metal door with several locks. It appears heavy duty, almost like a bank vault. Tammy fiddles with the locks, producing several keys out of thin air. Finally, after an eternity, she starts to drag the bulkhead open. There is a loud metallic groaning noise, the screams of a thousand rusty hinges. A low fog starts to creep out. The camera peers into the freezer. It is dimly lit, and the camera captures what appears to be shelves stacked with various meats and cans.)

TAMARA: That thing have night vision. (Tammy rudely gestures to Jeremy's presumably state of the art camera.)

JEREMY: Uhm yea?

TAMARA: Good. You’re gonna need it. Gets dark in there, real dark. (She turns to Lyle.) Well, come on then, you fellas wanna real “special” tour. (She smirks.)

LYLE: Lead the way, Tammy.

(Lyle smirks back and turns and mugs for the camera. Tammy starts to head into the freezer, closely followed by Lyle at first, but then Jeremy stops him, whispering into his ear. The audio cuts really bad here and can barely pick up what they are saying.)

JEREMY: . . . . ba- ea. . . all -- yle an-

LYLE: We aren- - lling k---eith-----fake or real, if it’s real we---olling in it, Ne-ork---will----iase. Come on let's go.

(Lyle pushes back from the camera and follows Tammy in, who has already disappeared into the inky black.)

LYLE: Tammy? Jeremy turn on night vision.

(Jeremy is silent but complies. A harsh ringing is heard as the screen turns a slightly hazy green. Though the room’s contents are finally seen. There are rows and rows of frozen meat. Cans of various beans and spices. Crates of vegetables, onions, peppers, heads of lettuce. Pretty standard stuff.)

TAMARA: Over here Shugg.

(Camera pans to reveal Tamara standing near a doorway, with a short winding staircase leading down.)

TAMARA: As you can see this is the first floor. We keep most of our perishable veggies and standard meats here. Cow, chicken, pork, horse, and fresh fish daily.

LYLE: Assume you keep them all separate, cross contamination is a bitch.

TAMARA: Hun I’ve been in this business a loooooong time. Trust me, I know how to keep my meat clean. Now watch yuh step, gets a bit slippery.

(Tamara begins to descend down the stairs, a harsh clanging with every step. Lyle scoffs and quickly hurries, with the camera quickly bobbing behind. The stairs seem to descend forever, twisting and winding in darkness. The tape skips, some weird flickering and static and then we find them all standing in what can be assumed is the second floor, Tamara mid sentence.)

TAMARA: -Zebera, grounded rhino horn and even orca.

JEREMY: I-isn’t most of that illegal?

TAMARA: (Laughing hard.) Oh you are CUTE. Now if you think this is exotic, wait till ya see what’s below. Actually, ya know what, y'all came all this way and you've barely tried our fine cuisine. Lemme get you boys something special real quick.

(Tammy pauses and a tiny bell materializes in her hands. Clearly, she is adept at sleight of hand. She rings the bell; a small ding ringing out in the dark. For a moment nothing. The camera pans slowly around, just rows of stored exotic goods, then the screen glitches and the dull, bored face of Torath's fine servers fills the screen. Jeremy screams, once again showcasing his unprofessionalism.)

JERMY: Jesus wept!

(He nearly drops the camera, which would have been a fireable offense for any reputable network.)

LYLE: Relax man, now uh, what ya holding there.

(Lyle points out the server is holding a full platter of stake sprinkled with a thin white powder and garnished with some sort of seaweed.)

TAMARA: Now that, dear Lyle is a dish I call "Nature's Lament." One of mah fancier items. (She bats her eyelashes innocently.) First, we fatten up a baby elephant, feed it all sorts of fish and meat, then we cook the little fella alive in a big pot. (She streches out her arms for comedic effect.) Next, we divy up the meat, mold it into the ideal shape and season it with the grinded up remains of a white rhino horn, and garish it with kelp and coral from endangered reefs. (She pulls out a small container of liquid) To top it off, I drip a little bit of this on it. Its genuine tears from a chimpanzee that was forced to watch its whole family be killed by loggers.

(She makes a big show of dripping the liquid onto the stake. The camera pans to Lyle, who is looking at that deliciously moist hunk of meat with ravenous eyes.)

JEREMY: Lyle you aren't actually going to try that man.

LYLE: How is this any different than that bird you have to eat a sheet under. Now let taste test this bitch.

(Lyle greedily pushes his way past his troubled cameraman and helps himself to a gluttonous bite from the most sinful thing man has ever created. You can hear horrid chewing sounds as Lyle tears into the tough meat, he turns to Jeremy; meat spilling back onto the plate in a wasteful amount. Not for long of course as he wolfs it down with his bare hands. There are tears in Lyle's eyes as he chews, a sense of bliss washing over his face.)

JEREMY: How is it Boss?

LYLE: Dude it is incredible. My god I mean hats off to the chef Tammy bravo.

(He hands what's left of the elephant steak back to the dead eyed server and starts to clap his hands, still chewing his decadent meal. Tamara takes a bow in a fake curtsy motion.)

TAMARA: Why thank you shugga, thank you. The lion sliders are more of the more popular items but something like that, makes me take pride in my craft. (She shoos away the server.) Now I'll have something very special waiting after I show ya the downstairs. If y'all follow me.

(They continue to another door; static starts to increase again as the camera takes another glance around the room. There is a shocking number of pelts and shells, with dozens of containers of what appears to be meat. All of them are labeled neatly, and upon pausing the tape one can make out “Baboon” “Gator” and even “Sperm whale.” among other shocking labels. The distortion starts up again, followed by an ear-piercing shriek of corrupted audio. There are several jump cuts, bizarrely edited in footage of the CCC intro, and finally it cuts to Tammy standing in front of a wooden door with several bizarre symbols on them.)

TAMARA: Behind this door is not for the faint of heart Mr. Lambeau. Y’all sure you wanna see this.

(Tamara is smiling, and this one is different, it seems almost devious.)

LYLE: Bring it on Witchy-Witch, HA.

(Tammy forces a laugh and turns to open the door. It creaks open, the tape skipping and stuttering as they start to walk in. The tape distorts completely at first, and Lyle screams something inaudible. For five minutes it is like this, certain frames only stabilizing for only a moment. What we can see is incredible. Large, lizard-like carcass, with massive leathery wings. A feathered long neck lizard with a beak like a vulture. Several fur covered beasts with massive claws and hooves. Most disturbing of all, several human-like creatures. Scales, gray skin, elongated bodies, withered limbs. During this section of the tape there are also several sound irregularities. They almost sound like whispered chanting, but it is impossible to make out what they are saying. We finally cut back to a Visibly shaken Lyle Lambeau standing next to a smirking Tamara. They are still in the freezer, though this appears to be another floor. There is still some interference, but not as bad. We can make out some shelves with large tentacles and other strange meats piled up. The tentacles appear to have spiked suction cups. This is highly unusual.)

LYLE: Well, uh. . . I would like to thank Miss Domingue for giving us an exclusive, exclusive tour of Torath’s . . . extensive inventory.

TAMARA: Most exclusive in Louisiana. Our clientele ranges from the mundane to those with a more refined palate. Torath always felt it important that the needs of all are met. Poor or rich.

LYLE: You said you had something special for us.

(Tamara does not reply and simply rings her bell once more. The camera skips after a second of silence and we cut to them standing in place, a server with a severed grey head on a platter standing next to Lyle. Lyle takers a moment to notice and jumps out of his skin upon realizing how close the server is. Clearly, Lyle is uncomfortable with the lower class.)

TAMARA: This hear is my take on monkey brains, I call it alien brains. We take a captured Xoulian scout and cut his head right off, and we sprinkle some enchanted salt and pepper on it while we eat it. Give it a whirl.

(She offers Lyle some sort of saltshaker. He takes it and sprinkles some onto the exposed alien brain. As the seasoning hits, the once dim eyes of the creature light up in a violet hue. It opens its mouth and screeches in agony, it sounds like static going through a meat grinder. Lyle is handed a fork and he reluctantly digs into the alien's skull.)

LYLE: Well, it's not terrible If I am being honest. Tastes sort of, tangy? Like python jerky.

TAMARA: Now that is an interesting comparison there Mr. Lambeau, considering Xoulian blood is venomous to humans. That's what the salt is for. (She winks at the camera.)

LYLE: Torath must have had some interesting connections to pull this off. Did he serve this stuff at state diners or something.

(Lyle tries to joke around but his demeanor is steadily panicked and beads of sweat drip down his greasy face.)

TAMARA: Well, some of the menu is a little past his reign, but he could cook a mean minotaur stew I tell you hwhat.

LYLE: Can uh, can we get a photo of this guy by the way? Eddie will need one to edit in when these airs.

TAMARA: I’ll do you one better. How’d y’all like ta meet him.

LYLE: You said he-

TAMARA: Oh little white lies. Y’all came this far. Why don’t ya come a little further.

(Tamara walks, almost seductively, towards a stone passage in the wall. The area here looks older than the rest of the sub-freezer. Lyle follows this strange woman, much to the protest of Jeremy, who starts to reluctantly follow him. They come to another wooden door, ordained by a symbol of a dragon with horns. The screen flickers and we cut to Tamara standing in a long stone chamber. There is mist covering the floor, and in front of her lies a massive sarcophagus of sorts. Lyle walks towards it in a trance. He ignored Jeremy’s cries as it slowly starts to open. The screen flickers once more as Lyle stands in front of the now open sarcophagus. There is nothing there at first, then, as Tamara slinks away into the darkness, she chuckles as a loud roar is heard, followed by massive distortion and screaming. There is blackness for thirty seconds, then stuttering frames of a large, pale disfigured creature lunging at Lyle Lambeau. It seems to be tearing into Lyle’s throat in one frame, while looking directly into the camera. Then twenty more seconds of darkness. It skips one more time into static as We see The camera rapidly running. The video is full of screaming and moans on all sides, the once dead meat seems to be withering and giggling, snarling at the fleeing camera man. The tape skips again and Jeremy has made it to the first floor, loudly gasping and panting. He bursts out of the freezer to find an empty kitchen. He scrambles towards the exit and finds an empty restaurant, it appears to be pitch black outside. He goes to the door and struggles against a locked door. Suddenly a bump behind him, and he quickly turns and finds Tamara standing in front of the painting of Melissa Domingue. Her eyes are reptile yellow, and there is blood in the corner of her mouth.)

TAMARA: It's too bad, the master was hoping you would love this place, instead you mocked it and all our little quirks.

JEREMY: Please, please dont-

(She laughs under her breath as she eyes the camera. Jeremy puts his hand up in a futile attempt at mercy. Without warning Tammy lunges at the camera, knocking it out of the poor bastard’s hands. It crashes to the ground as Jeremy convulses violently about a foot in the air. We can hear a sickly crunching sound, followed by vicious slurping. Droplets of blood flow onto the ground. After a moment the body falls as well. Tammy calmly walks over to the fallen camera, raising her foot above it.)

TAMARA: Well now, that was a fine meal. Nothing like a little raw food once in a while. Thanks for stopping by, hope to see you again, real soon.

(With that she smashes the camera and the tape ends, just like that.)

Upon reading the transcript, we attempted to ask Kyle Kennerson about the origins of this tape, and also reached out to “Tamara Domingue”

Mr. Kennerson declined to comment about the tape any further, and simply stated, quote,

“Shit happens.”

Miss Domingue was rather receptive to our questions and claimed that some disgruntled employee had doctored a fake tape. She then proceeded to invite our production team down to see the Tavern, and claimed she could put this whole Lyle Lambeau issue to bed.

We went down to Torvah’s Tavern and investigated it for ourselves. We were shocked to find Lyle Lambeau himself tending the bar. According to Miss Domingue, Lambeau was so impressed by the service at Torath that he applied for a job there,and was hired on the spot. We asked Lyle if he was being held against his will, and he claims that, quote,

“I love it here at Torath’s, I love Master Torath and Mistress Domingue very much. “

It is clear now that Lyle Lambeau, renowned chef, has clearly fallen in lust with Tamara Domingue and entered some sort of BDSM style relationship. Despite this scalding scandal, We found no evidence of any wrongdoing, just good food, good people, and the lovely charm of Tamara Domingue. So come on down to Redding Ave in good ol’ N’awlins and have yourself a bowl fulla Calamari Gumbo.

Paul was a single father. Ever since his wife Evelyn passed away a year ago the mood in the small apartment became stale. He and his 6-year-old son George gradually exchanged fewer and fewer words. Sometimes Paul would try to start a conversation, asking "Hey George'y, how was school?" or "How's ya dinner?". He usually got little more than a faint groan or unintelligible mumble in response. Eventually, he learned to accept the silence. Many nights would pass and George wouldn't so much as look up at his father.

One rainy night after Paul had tucked George into bed, kissed him, and told him everything would be alright, he decided to complete some overdue work. He was halfway through an email when he thought he heard something. After shifting his headphones to listen for the noise he realized it was his neighbor. He had complained several times to the landlord about these loud, annoying tenants. Often they kept him awake all night only for Paul to get scolded by his boss for being late again the next morning. Nothing was ever done about the tenants.

As Paul cursed to himself hoping these dickheads would shut up before he headed to bed, he heard another sound, a song, it was softer and coming from somewhere else. At first, it sounded like a soft backing track sifting into his mind. The tune grew louder; 🎶doo dodo do doo🎶, he rehearsed this mentally before making out some words and realizing it was "Singing in the Rain" from that old musical. The sound was distant and crackly, yet somehow he distinctly heard it over the neighbor's bass-filled, booming music. He tried to pinpoint where it was coming from before locking his gaze on the open window. The curtain swayed softly in the wind, beckoning him over.

He gave in to curiosity and walked over toward the sound. Paul scanned the empty street searching for the source of the eerie music. It took him a while, his eyes adjusting to the dark. It was likely just some drunk homeless person who'd gotten their hands on an old radio or something, nevertheless, Paul stayed at the window a need to know the source rooting him in place. Just as he began to give up and turn around a small figure dressed in a black trench coat and a vintage hat nimbly tap-danced around the corner of the apartment block, he was spinning in circles while spinning an umbrella to the tune. The music grew louder as the man elegantly danced along the side of the apartment block, seemingly unbothered by the rain. Despite a deep pit forming in Paul's stomach, he continued to track the figure as he traversed the street, wrapped around the other corner, and was out of sight.

It was only after the man was gone that Paul noticed a couple of strange things. The man danced incredibly well, tapping his feet and soles at incredible speed to the tune, flinging the umbrella and spinning elegantly. The dancing was far too good for some drunk. Paul was seemingly frozen in place from the moment the man appeared dancing happily around the corner until he disappeared again, his neighbor's loud bass faded into the background despite it being much louder and closer than whatever speaker or radio the man had. That was the other thing, as far as Paul could see the man had no device that could emanate sound the way he had heard it. The song sounded crackled and strangely distorted as if it were coming from some vintage radio, the man certainly wasn't singing, was he? He couldn't have been there were instruments playing. It was weird that's for sure, but Paul just blamed his tiredness on the strangeness of the incident and went to bed shortly after knowing he'd be yelled at by his boss the next morning for not completing his work.

Paul slept restlessly that night, suprisingly the neighbor actually turned the music down. He had dreams of being frozen in place on the street as the man danced toward him at speed the tune accelerating along with his movement, growing more and more distorted and accompanied by a wide smile plastered across his face. Rain pelted against Paul's back as he helplessly stood there waiting for his demise as the man sped toward him. Waking with a start Paul checked the time: 4:34 am, he lay awake for the rest of the night. The next morning life continued as usual, silently eating breakfast with George, dropping him at school and then forcing himself to face his horrible boss. One thing stood out that day, as Paul scrolled through his phone his eye caught a headline "CHILD REPORTED MISSING". The location of the report was in the area of the apartment. The police had no leads and were pleading anyone with potentially useful information to come forward. Halfway through the article Paul's boss tapped him on the back and snarkily told him to get back to work. That evening Paul decided to inform the police of the strange man he had seen. He recounted the experience to the receiver but emphasized that he was tired and his recount probably wasn't 100% accurate, they told him it was likely unrelated but they'd take his story into account anyway as they had nothing else to go on.

Weeks passed and not much seemed to happen, still no sign of the missing kid. One detective let slip to the press that "it was as if the little fella just up and dissapeared". Paul became more protective of George, making sure the apartment was securley locked at night along with all the windows. Another couple of weeks went by and the fear of another abduction became little more than a lingering thought.

That's when it happened... Paul had just begun to let down his guard until one night he had a strange dream. It was hazy but he remembered the distinct sound of the song- "🎶Singing in the Rain, just singin' in the rain, What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again🎶". As he woke up the song didn't dissipate with the rest of the dream., it grew louder. Once he was fully awake a feeling of dread set in. Somehow he just knew something was wrong, that man had done something. A sudden urge to check on George came over him. The window in the small lounge was wide open, this was strange as Paul had definitely closed and locked it the night before. Every step toward his son's room felt heavier than the last, he became light-headed, but fainting wasn't an option, he needed to know his son was okay. To Paul's horror, Georges doow was eerily opened, it knocked against the wall as the breeze entering through the window flowed in. It took all his effort to peer around the door frame. Paul's heart stopped. His son. Was gone. The song continued to play in the background as Paul regained composure and frantically searched the bedroom. The blanket was strewn to one side, the window open wide and the curtain swayed gently in the breeze. No sign of George.

"It's okay," Paul said to himself "Maybe he was just hot, opened all the windows and went into the kitchen to get some water, its fine" but the kitchen was vacant along with the rest of the apartment and the hallway leading to the elevators. At this point Paul called the police, barely able to keep it together he told the receiver what had happened, several grudgey tenants stood at their doors wondering what the commotion was about, but right now Paul couldn't care less. Five minutes later an officer showed up to Paul's apartment door. The officer had to let himself in because Paul wouldn't answer the door. He was broken down on the bed, head in hands cussing to himself. He was informed that a search party had been formed and was actively searching for George, somehow this gave him little relief. Barely audibly Paul asked the officer if he heard that awful song that was still coming from the window. The officer gave him a blank, confused stare, Paul got up and ran to his neighbor's door and knocked radically. As soon as a frowning middle-aged man opened the door he blurted out "Do you hear it? That horrible rain song?", "What song? Go back to bed for fuck sake it's 2 am!" the man said before turning and slamming the door shut.

Shortly after a detective showed up at the door and asked permission to search the apartment for signs of break-in or other clues, Paul obliged. As it turned out the case was very similar to the one from a month and a half ago. George had simply vanished. No leads whatsoever.

Days, weeks, and eventually months passed with no sign of George. The case became cold with nothing to go off, and the detective's communication with Paul about their progress lessened. As for Paul, days seemingly melted together, he was fired because of a lack of attendance at the office and Paul was forced to beg for money from his parents whilst he applied for as many jobs as he could. Eventually, he was accepted at a fast food chain and a job as a night janitor at a local mall. Working close to 60 hours a week Paul began to question the value of his life, he fell into a deep pit of depression and grief but couldn't afford therapy. He had to start renting a cheaper apartment, he didn't see this as a bad thing. He was leaving behind the horrible memories attached to the old apartment. He was on the verge of another breakdown when something unexpected happened.

It was George, nearly a year had passed since his disappearance. It seemed like all hope was lost and yet, there he was. Some kind strangers found him wandering around a few streets over and called the police when they realized he was alone. The police then took him to the station where he was identified as George Lynch, son of Paul Lynch. Paul was called to meet his son at the station and both were questioned. It was strange. The only thing George would talk about was how lovely it was to sing and dance in the rain. It was the only response he gave. The detective would ask "Hey buddy, how'd you end up at Albert Street?" and he would answer " Isn't the rain just lovely? I love singing in the rain!". After an hour or so of questions and a medical checkup, George was allowed home with Paul under the condition that he saw a therapist twice a week.

As it turned out therapy did next to nothing for George. Some nights Paul would wake in a panic, hearing that tune that he despised so much coming from the room over. It was George, sitting on the edge of his bed staring out his wide-open window at the rain singing softly to himself, "🎶Singing in the Rain, just singin' in the rain, What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again🎶". Paul would rush into his room lock the window securely close the curtain and usher him back to bed. This happened for countless nights. times were similar to how they used to be in a way, driving George to school every morning mostly in silence, eating meals mostly in silence, and overall a stale mood in the now smaller apartment. As little as George did talk, his only talking about loving the rain slowly drove Paul insane.

One night Paul couldn't bear it any longer. Paul had woken up once again to the patter of rain accompanied by the tune sung by George. Emotions took over, Paul marched into George's room, "PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SHUTUP!!, I CAN'T DO THIS ANY LONGER!, STOP SINGING THAT FUCKING SONG!!". He was so overwhelmed that he slammed the window shut, drew the curtain, and slammed his fist into the wall. "But Papa" came George's calm sterile voice "The rain's amazing, don't you love singing in the rain?" "NO I DON'T GO TO SLEEP AND STOP. FUCKING. SINGING!". At this point, George stood up and walked toward the window, and Paul let loose. He picked the boy up and dumped him back into bed, he accidentally hit George's head on the bed frame hard enough to make him wail. Paul instantly broke into tears, "I'm sorry!, I just, I just can't!" he sat hugging George in his bed for what seemed like an eternity before blacking out. The last thing he remembered was a blue uniform standing above the bed.

Apparently one of the tenants had called the police about the commotion. Paul awoke in the police car briefly before blacking out again out of pure exhaustion. He had worked another ten-hour shift managing the restaurant along with three hours cleaning at the mall. When he finally woke properly he was sat in a small room with no windows. It didn't take him long to realize he was in a holding cell. Ten minutes later a man dressed in a suit walked in and kindly greeted Paul. he informed him George was currently at a medical center and that he had a concussion. After this, he proceeded to question Paul about the night's events.

Before long he was found guilty of child abuse. It was concluded that he was mentally unstable and was sent to a mental ward, where he would spend as much time as necessary until he was deemed healthy. Paul couldn't believe how quickly his life had flipped again. He no longer had custody of George (who had been sent to a foster home) and was stuck in a facility for the mentally ill. The mental ward didn't seem to do much for him, often he had breakdowns claiming he could hear a horrible rain song coming from the window.

Two passed with Paul not making much progress. The song still regularly haunted him. One time he claimed to have seen the strange man tap dancing In the rain just outside his room window, the song playing in that old crackled and distorted radio tone. Regularly he would get reports on George, who was still the same. Barley was talking and when he did it would always be about the rain. Paul received a call from the police station around this time. George was gone. Again. It was very similar to the last disappearance, no leads, no sign of forced entry. Just gone.

After this, years passed. George didn't show up again this time. Eventually, Paul was released and he moved back to England to live with his parents whilst he got back on his feet. For the first time in a very long time, Paul began to forget his past trauma, he was happy. Shortly after he secured a job as an assistant manager at a restaurant and he moved into a new apartment, A couple of months went by. Paul was doing better than ever, he had a new girlfriend, a stable job lived near his family, it was great.

Paul and his girlfriend Freia were sitting down to watch a movie one rainy night when Paul heard it. It was faint and crackly like always but very clear, and the voice. The voice had certainly changed, even through the usual distortion it sounded... younger, "��What a glorious feelin', I'm happy again, I'm laughin' at clouds so dark up above🎶. Fear and flashbacks consumed Paul, and almost unwillingly he gradually stood up and moved toward the open window, the curtain swaying gently in the wind. He cast his gaze down toward the street below. "Honey, everything okay?" came Freia's soft voice, he didn't respond. Just then a small figure far below tap danced nimbly around the corner. It was a young man dressed in a black trench coat and vintage black hat. Paul watched as the figure danced their way across the sidewalk, then for a split second the man looked directly up at Paul, straight into his eyes. As the man smiled crazily up Paul could have sworn the eyes he saw locked on his were those of his son George.

That night a young boy went missing, no trace, no leads for the police. Just gone.

//

This is my first ever attempt at a creepypasta, I wrote it in one go at 1am and got chatgpt to proof read it for me so I hope it makes sense. feedback is appreciated! <3

Discover the chilling secrets of Stull Cemetery, a place shrouded in supernatural myths and legends. Dare to explore the unknown?

https://www.tiktok.com/@grafts80/video/7450458778060918062?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7438264090277594654

The new guy starts his work as a fire watcher, he finds a journal and the horrors that come with it.

Check out this creepypasta animation, hope you enjoy the story!

https://youtu.be/-IfpYVJIT9c

Bienvenue sur Voix des Ombres, votre nouvelle destination pour les récits terrifiants en français. Après le succès de ma chaîne anglophone Sinsvoice, j'ai créé Voix des Ombres pour offrir une expérience immersive dédiée au public francophone. Ici, plongez dans des histoires effrayantes, mystérieuses et paranormales qui vous tiendront éveillés la nuit.

✨ Ma première vidéo en français est disponible : Histoires terrifiantes de Noël. Découvrez des récits où la magie des fêtes rencontre l'horreur, un mélange parfait pour les amateurs de sensations fortes.

🔥 Ne manquez pas les prochaines histoires glaçantes !

Abonnez-vous dès maintenant pour rejoindre une communauté de passionnés de mystères et de frissons. Activez la cloche 🔔 pour être averti à chaque nouvelle vidéo. Et laissez-moi vous guider dans les ombres.

#HistoiresEffrayantes #HorreurFrançais #Paranormal #RécitsHorrifiques #VoixDesOmbres #NoëlTerrifiant #HistoiresDeNoël #Mystère #SombreNarration #LégendesUrbaines

Vocês provavelmente devem conhecer este canal chamado "Eu te conto" um canal sobre Creepypasta e mistérios que começou em 2015, e hoje, está desativado. Agora mesmo, tinha clicado no botão "mais antigos" para sentir nostalgia de suas antigas Creepypastas, até que comecei a me deparar com vídeos diferentes, que nunca tinha visto antes, para provar, eu já fazia isso a muito tempo! Algumas vezes, eu ia la, e colocava nos mais antigos, e ia rolando os vídeos, mas dessa vez, encontrei vídeos diferentes, como se eles tivessem sido... Adicionados la, achei isso bem estranho, mas eu tenho quase certeza que aqueles vídeos não estavam lá antes! Se vocês tem essa mesma sensação, comentem para que eu possa saber!

This is an ongoing story but I wanted to post what i had so far to see how it was to actual viewers eyes. Anyways here it is!

I don’t know how much time I have left as I sit here hoping for rescue… but while I wait for something that may or may not be coming I might as well fill you guys in. It all started when I was assigned to a new task force called the 12th Alpha Battalion.

“Is there a Sargent Madden here?” he called out. I replied saying “Yes sir that’s me”.

“Good, I have new orders for you”I was thinking to myself where I will be stationed next. As I opened the letter I read I was being assigned to a special forces task group. I stood there puzzled wondering why they wanted me. I was an Mp with a background of prior service in special forces. But reading the information that I cannot disclose at this time didn't make sense why they wanted me. Anyways, That night a Black hawk landed to fly me to the island. As we were nearing the island, It didn't look like anyone was there but then again it was pitch black outside. All of a sudden a helipad lit up and as we landed, more base lights came on. As I got off I was escorted to an all blacked out humvee with a gunner on top. I was filled in more on my mission on the island and the rules. It was to join a security detail that patrolled the certain building. It looked like a giant vault from the outside with electric fences and a big blast proof door. On the way to the final checkpoint I found something in the seat. A crumpled sheet of paper that was quite odd. I had no idea what it was but saw it had something scribbled on it. It read “The real rules”. I kept reading the note and it said “if you are reading this then you must follow these rules or else you won't make it off the island”. 

“Rule number 1: If your radio starts going off between the hours of 01:22 and 02:15. Shut it off, hide and pray they didn't hear it. Rule number 2: Always keep a spare battery for your Night vision goggles, otherwise you won't see them coming, Rule number 3: guard the vault at all costs, even if it means your life. Rule number 4: Every 2nd Rotation on your rounds, Check the locks and seals on Vault 2. This is very important as Vault 2 contains [Redacted] and is highly radioactive. It is important they don't get their hands on it”. “Who's they?” I said puzzled in my subconscious voice. As I read the last rule my heart sank. “Rule number 5: …. Use your gun as a last resort… They'll hear every round. If you absolutely have to use the rifle provided then make sure you save one last bullet in the clip.” I started thinking, “What the hell had I gotten myself into. And what did they even mean by that?”. By the time I had got done reading the rules, The Humvee had just pulled up to this small site with what looked to be shipping containers almost. The driver had led me to the door of this tan container with a camo netting over top and told me that the other guard had been expecting me. “Other guard?” I told him. “Yeah, There's a few teams through the night that rotate watches. Keep everyone on high alert and not tempted to fall asleep if Guarding all night, Anyways I have to get back to the main post but be safe on your first shift” he said in a firm but relaxed tone. I began to open the cargo door and all of a sudden all this light flooding out of the big metal shipping container hit my eyes.

 I could make out a figure but my eyes were still adjusting to the light as I had been in almost complete darkness for some time getting to the island and eventually here. In the center of the room hovering over a map was this shorter girl with a full blacked out tactical kit on and a semi-auto rifle slung around her back. When I was able to see her more clearly, I spoke out a Faint but audible “hello”. She looked up at me and started walking towards me and as she approached she was looking me up and down almost as if she was sizing me up. “Hey, you must be the new guard I was briefed on '' she said. “Briefed on?” I spoke. “ Yeah, I have to be told about you so I can know past experience and to see if the newbie is up for the task”. “Right, well I'm Sargent Madden” I said while reaching out my hand. “Staff Sergeant Benson” She said as she shook my hand with a very tight grip. “But you can just call me Riley, '' she said as she was smiling. “Good to meet you” I said “so I’m assuming you've been here awhile?”. “yeah after my rotations at a few different posts, I was sent here on new orders” she said as she was looking down at the map. “ Well at least it’s good to know I have someone on guard who knows what they're doing” I said as I smirked. “ Also did you also get a rule sheet thing when you started”. She looked up from the map slowly and grasped my arm dragging me to a corner of the container. “I was the one who left that sheet, so no more guards are killed at the hands of the commanders for lack of information”. I started to laugh but when I saw her face and realized… she wasn't joking. 

“What do you mean more guards?” I said in a very off and confused voice. “Look there's a lot of things you don’t know and don’t want to know. You know the saying Curiosity kills? I’d recommend sticking with me and listening to that rule sheet and everything I tell you and you might just make it off the island” She told me. I  had so many questions on what she was talking about and how I have never heard of this or why the commander would fail to mention the deaths to me. I asked her “How will we be able to do this with only 2 people on patrol?” “Oh it's only going to be you. I’m on surveillance essentially watching your ass and making sure you don't die on my count” She started saying with a little grin. “Wait, so I'm going to be alone on patrol?”. “Well technically speaking yes, But I’m always a radio call away, Just… try not to get killed  before I can send reinforcements. If you can do that then I think you should be ok” She said in a concerned yet playful tone. “Got it don't die before you can save me” I said with a grin and a little chuckle. As we joked and swapped smiles about the conversation we knew deep down, We were both scared out of our minds and frightened about what the next day brought. I was shown to my bunk and left alone for the rest of the night not knowing what the next day held…. God only if I had known. The next day I grabbed my kit and spare magazines for my rife and slotted my service colt into my side holster. After I had gotten my gear on and stepped out of my small container space, I saw Riley Already up bright and early. Locked, loaded and suited up, we were ready for the guard shift we long dreaded. Before we split off to our proper posts I told her “Hey be safe, I don't need you getting hurt on me”. “I dont think I'm the one that needs to be worried here” she said with a smile on her face. “But seriously you don't know what you’ll encounter there and nor do I and I plan to keep that way.

Please be safe”. The way she was looking at me, I could tell there was a genuine concern in her eyes like something might happen. “I promise”. As things were quiet on the night guard, Me and Riley talked a lot over the radio and we had more in common than we thought and it definitely was good to have someone to talk to in the pitch black with nobody around. After starting my second patrol of the night Just as I was about to do something my radio sort of came to life and in a high volume static. I tried to think what the hell was going on but then I looked at my watch and my mind snapped into thought and realized that the rule sheet must be real as the time was 01:55. I quickly and effectively got everything powered down including my radio and took shelter behind a concrete barricade. Counting my breaths, Hoping by some chance that maybe the rules were not fully true. I heard a low thud but when I looked over nothing was there and I had just presumed it was an animal or equipment running. As I got my station back online, Riley had radio’d me “Madden where the hell are you?” She said in a panicked worried voice. “ Hey, I'm here, sorry about the radio silence but I think I had an encounter with one of the rules and I'm not sure if I'm ok yet” I tried telling her in a comforting yet firm voice “well considering you answered me, You’re ok”. I said to her with fear and disbelief in my voice. “What about this seems ok to you? About what happened or about what could have happened if I wasn't fast enough. None of this is ok Reily! What was that?”. I caught myself starting to scream and yell and I could hear that she didn’t understand as to why I was getting mad. But as I calmed down, I began to realize that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened to her and she became.. Well numb to the unknown. “Look madden, all that matters is that you’re safe ok? As long as you’re not injured or worse, everything will be fine. I dealt with things like this before and have encountered much worse. You have no idea what I lost! What I had to see, The cries for help… So don’t stand there and act like I have no clue. You want to know the truth?”. She said as she was getting angry and frustrated. “The truth is I have no fucking idea what is happening or why we’re here, all I know is I have stay alive and keep myself and this place guarded”.

 I couldn't do anything else but to stand there and feel embarrassment wash over me like a sandy beach on a windy day. How could I have been so blind to this truth? How could I have not seen it? I felt like a complete idiot but yet again neither of us knew what we signed up for. It all just felt so unreal and unbelievable. It all still felt fake, like a sort of fever dream or sleep paralysis. Something I can’t escape nor wake up from. The only thing left to do was to return to base and to gear up for what other challenges lie ahead. 

Just listened to The Dark Somnium’s new video I found a strange YouTube livestream where he’s reading D.D. Howard’s story “Relax FM” I was wondering if there were any creepypastas or horror stories similar to it in terms of romance in horror.

Okay, so a while ago i listend to this story and i cant find it anymore. Can anyone help me find it or that knows it.

The story is abt a guard at a facility or something or a prison and outside of the walls there is this red lake. (A scp i believe) Then there is this alarm and things happen idk what anymore but i really enjoyed it but cant find it anymore

My friends decided to take a quick break from our fishing excursion to take a dip in the vast ocean. I'm a big fisher, but swimming, not so much. However, as you may know, majority rules, so I just decided to stay on the boat while my 6 friends had fun in the water. I mean, seriously, who wants to go swimming in water that you can't even STAND UP in? Whatever. I just decided to take a nap and told them to wake me up when they were ready to head back. 4:03 PM; by the time they wake me up, they'll be ready to head back. Sounds like a plan to me.

I wake up, even more in the middle of nowhere than I was before, to the setting sun. My friends are nowhere to be found or heard. It's so open and quiet that I can hear my screams for help echo for many miles out into the vast, blue sea. I look at my watch: 7:25 PM. "Where am I?" I begin to wonder to myself. Right then, I begin to hear the engine to the boat spit and sputter as I lift my foot, which is completely numb from the nap, off the gas pedal...

This is my first attempt at creating a Creepy Pasta. I would appreciate constructive feedback:

Google “pig lighter”….take a look at the images that come up.

 So, it all started one day when I was taking a drive at 3am, I love to drive and when I am angry or depressed.  I put on a podcast and drive around and it clears my head.  I stopped to get gas and decided I wanted a soda, so I went into the store attached to the gas station.  They had the usual chachkis by the counter, flashlights, little pipes and of course lighters.  One of the lighters they had was in the shape of a little pink pig.  The body was entirely made of metal and was about 3 inches long.  The pig wore a silver hat was sort of shaped like the hats Devo wore in the Whip-It video and if you pushed on the hat, it slid down the pigs back and his nostrils lit up with the fire from two nostrils.   I am not sure why I bought the thing, but I had an instant attraction to it and for 3 dollars I figured what the hell.  I stuck it in my pocket and didn’t think anything else of it. 

Two nights later I am out with my friend Kevin, Kevin is a wicked pothead and he had a bong packed and ready to go so.  He asked if I had a light and without thinking I handed him my pig lighter.  He toked away and things seemed fine.  At the end of the night, he packed up and went off and forgot to give me the lighter back.  When I realized it I was kind of bummed because like I said I had a weird attraction to that little pig.

 The next day I went to work, and not really thinking about the night before went through my day.  I got home, and sitting in the little tray by the door where I keep my keys was the pig lighter.  I had no idea how it had gotten back, maybe I had a small contact high and forgot I still had it or something?  Shortly after discovering this, I was getting ready for bed and I turned on the TV news to see there was a fire locally.  It was a someone’s house and it had started mysteriously.   Yeah, if you’re reading this you probably can guess, it was Kevin’s house.  Fucking spooky world.

 Since then one other person borrowed it, a stranger in a bar and the thing showed up again mysteriously in the same key tray without explanation.   The person made the news as being killed in a car fire.  A few other times people have borrowed it and without fail they forget to return it and without fail it shows up again.

 Perhaps it’s all coincidence, but I never took the lighter out again.  It’s in a drawer or box somewhere in the apartment here, I am kind of afraid to take it out.   

I wake, and in the darkness of mine and Naadia’s tent a light blinds me... I squint my eyes towards it, and peeking in from outside the tent is Moses, Tye and Jerome – each holding a wooden spear. They tell me to get dressed as I’m going spear-fishing with them, and Naadia berates them for waking us up so early... I’m by no means a morning person but... even with Naadia laying next to me, I really didn’t want to lie back down in the darkness, with the disturbing dream I just had fresh in my mind... I just wanted to forget about it instantly... I didn’t even want to think about it... 

Later on, the four of us are in the stream... We were all just standing there, with our poorly-made spears for like half an hour before any fish came our way... Eventually the first one came in my direction and the three lads just start yelling at me to get the fish. ‘There it is! Get it! Go on get it!’ I tried my best to spear it but it was too fast, and them lot shouting at me wasn’t helping. Anyway, the fish gets away downstream and the three of them just started yelling at me again, saying I was useless. I quickly lost my temper and started shouting back at them... Ever since we got on the boat, these three guys did nothing but get in my face. They mocked my accent, told me nobody wanted me there and behind my back, they said they couldn’t see what Naadia saw in that white limey... I had enough! I told all three of them to f**k off and that they could catch their own f*****g fish from now on – but as I’m about to leave the stream, Jerome yells at me ‘Dude! Watch out! There’s a snake!’ pointing by my legs. I freak out and quickly raise my feet out the water to avoid the snake. I panic so much that I lose my footing and splash down into the stream. Still freaking out over the snake near me, I then hear laughter coming from the three lads... There was no snake...  

Having completely had it with the lot of them, I march over to Jerome for no other reason but to punch his lights out... Jerome was bigger than me and looked like he knew how to fight, but I didn’t care – it was a long time coming. Before I can even try, Tye steps out in front of me, telling me to stop. I push Tye out the way to get to Jerome, but Tye gets straight back in my face and shoves me over aggressively. Like I said, out of the three of them Tye clearly hated me the most. He had probably been looking for an excuse to fight me and I had just given him one... But just as I’m about to get into it with Tye, all four of us hear ‘GUYS!’... We all turn around to the voice to see its Angela, standing above us on high ground, holding a perfectly-made spear with five or more fish skewered on there... We all stared at her kind of awkwardly, like we were expecting to be yelled at... but she instead tells us to get out of the water and follow her... She had something she needed to show us... 

The four of us followed behind Angela through the jungle and Moses demanded to know where we’re going. Angela says she found something earlier on, but couldn’t tell us what it was because she didn’t even know... and when she shows us... we understand why she couldn’t... It was... indescribable... but I knew what it was... and it shook me to my core... What laid in front of us, from one end of the jungle to the other... was a fence... the exact same fence from my dreams!...  

It was a never-ending line of crisscrossed sharp wooden spikes... only what was different was... this fence was completely covered in bits and pieces of dead rotting animals... There was skulls - monkey skulls, animal guts or intestines, invested with what seemed like hundreds of flies buzzing around and... the smell was like nothing I’d ever smelt before... All of us were in shock. We didn’t know what this thing was. Even though I recognized it, I didn’t even know what it was... and while Angela and the guys argued over what this was... I stopped and stared at what was scaring me the most... it was... the other side... On the other side of the spikes was just more vegetation – but right behind it you couldn’t see anything... it was darkness... like the entrance of a huge tropical cave... and right as Moses and Angela get into a screaming match... we all turn to notice something behind us... 

Standing behind us, maybe fifteen metres away... staring at us... was a group of five men... They were clearly locals. They wore ragged clothes and they were short in height... In fact, they were very short – almost like children... But they were all carrying weapons: bows and arrows, spears, machetes... They were clearly dangerous... There was an awkward pause at first, but then Moses shouts ‘Hello!’ He takes Angela’s spear with the fish and starts slowly walking towards them – we all tell him to stop but he doesn’t listen. One of the men then starts approaching Moses – he looked like their leader... There’s only like five meres between them when Moses starts speaking to the man – telling them we’re Americans and we don’t mean them any harm... He then offered Angela’s fish to the man, like an offering or some sought... The way Moses went about this was very patronizing – he spoke slowly to the man as he probably didn’t know any English... but he was wrong...  

In broken English, the man said ‘You. American?’... Moses then says loudly that we’re African American, like he forgot me and Angela were there. He again offers the fish to the man and says ‘Here! We offer this to you!’... The man looks at the fish, almost insulted – but then he looks around past Moses and straight at me... The man stares at me for a good long time, and all I can do is stare right back... I thought that maybe he’d never seen a white man before, but something tells me it was something else... The man continues to stare at me, with wide eyes... and then he shouts ‘OUR FISH!... YOU TAKE OUR FISH!’ Frightened, we all turn to look at each other. Moses looks back to us with a look of help. The man then takes out his machete and points it towards the fence behind us... He yells ‘NO SAFE HERE! YOU GO HOME! GO BACK AMERICA!’... The men behind him also begin shouting at us, waving their weapons in the air, almost ready to fight us! We couldn’t understand the language they were shouting at us in - but there was a word... a word I still remember... They were shouting at us... ‘ASILI!... ASILI! ASILI! ASILI!’ over and over...  

Moses, the idiot he was, he then approached the man, trying to reason with him. The man then raises his machete up to Moses, threatening him with it! Moses throws up his hands for the man not to hurt him, and then he slowly makes his way back to us, without turning his back to the man... As soon as Moses reaches us, we head back in the direction we came – back to the stream and the commune... but the men continue shouting and waving their weapons at us – and as soon as we lose sight of them... we run! 

When we get back to the commune, we tell the rest of the group what just happened as well as what we saw... Like we thought they would, they freaked the f***k out. We all speculated on what the fence was... Angela said that it was probably a hunting ground that belonged to those men, which they barricaded and made to look menacing to scare people off... This theory seemed the most likely – but what I didn’t understand was... how the hell had I dreamed of it?? How the hell had I dreamed of that fence before I even knew it existed??... I didn’t tell the others this because I was scared what they might think – but when it was time to vote on whether we stayed or went back home, I didn’t waste a second in raising my hand in favour of going – and it was the same for everyone else... The only person who didn’t raise their hand was Moses. He wanted to stay... This entire idea of starting a commune in the rainforest, it was his... It clearly meant a lot to him – even at the cost of his life... His mind was more than made up on staying, even after having his life threatened, and he made it clear to the group that we were all staying where we were. We all argued with him, told him he was crazy – and things were quickly getting out of hand... 

But that’s when Angela took control... Once everyone had shut the f**k up, she then berated all of us... She said that none of us were prepared to come here and that we had no idea what we were doing... She was right - we didn’t... She then said that all of us are going back home, no questions asked – like she was giving us an order... and if Moses wanted to stay, he could – but he would more than likely die alone... Moses said he was willing to die here – to be a martyr to the cause or some s**t like that... But by the time it got dark, we all agreed that in the morning, we were all going back down river and back to Kinshasa...  

Despite being completely freaked out that day, I did manage to get some sleep... I knew we had a long journey back ahead of us, and even though I was scared of what I might dream, I slept anyway... and there I was... back at the fence... I moved through it – through to the other side. Darkness and identical trees all around... and then I came onto something... Again, I came onto a tree – just a normal tree... but its trunk was big... really big – like wide... I could hear breathing coming from it... Soft, but painful breathing like someone was suffocating... I then came across something by the tree – I mean, on it – on the tree... It was a man... he was small – very small, like a child... He was breathing very soft but painful breathes. His head was down so I couldn’t see his face... but what jilted me was the rest of him... This man – this... child-like man... he was crucified to the tree! A nail in each hand – stretching him out - bleeding! He looked like a cross... His hands were not the only things bleeding... He was bleeding from in between his legs... He’d had his balls cut off!... All I can do is look on in horror, unable to wake myself up – but then the man looks up to me... very slowly... he looks up to me and I can make out his features... His face is covered all over in scars – tribal scares: waves, dots, spirals... His cheeks are very sunken in, he looks almost like an alien... and he opens his eyes with the little strength he had and he looks straight at me... He says – or... more whispers... ’Henri’... He knew my name... 

That’s when I wake back in my tent. Panicked to hell... and sweating all over... My breathing finally begins to calm down so I don’t wake Naadia beside me... but that’s when I start to hear a zipping noise... a very slow zip, like someone was trying carefully to break into the tent... I look to the entrance zip-door but it’s too dark to see anything... It didn’t matter anyway – because I realized the zipping noise was coming from behind me... and what I first thought was zipping... was actually cutting... Someone was cutting their way through mine and Naadia’s tent...  Every night that we were there, I slept with a pocket-knife inside my sleeping bag. I reach around to find it so I can protect myself from whoever’s entering... Trying not to make a sound, I think I find it, I better adjust it in my hand when I... when I feel a blunt force hit me in the head... Not that I could see anything anyway... but everything suddenly went black... 

When I finally regain consciousness, everything around me is still dark... My head hurts like hell and I feel like vomiting... But what was strange was that I felt as though I was floating, and I could barely feel anything underneath me... and that’s when I realized... I was being carried... and the darkness around me was coming from whatever was over my head – like an old smelly sack or something... I tried moving my arms and legs but I couldn’t - they were tied! I tried calling out for help, but I couldn’t do that either. My mouth was gagged!... I continued to be carried for a good while longer before suddenly I feel myself fall. I hit the ground very hard which made my head even worse... I then feel someone come behind me, pulling me up on my knees... I can hear some unknown language being spoken around me and what sounded like people crying... I start to hyperventilate and I fear I might suffocate inside whatever this thing was over my head... 

That’s when a blinding bright light comes over me, hurts my brain and my eyes - and I realize the bag or sack over my head has been taken off... I try painfully to readjust my eyes so I can see where I am, and when I do... a small-childlike man is standing over me... The same man from the day before, who Moses tried giving the fish too... The only difference now was that he was shirtless... and painted all over in some kind of grey paste! I then see beside him are even more of the smaller men – also covered in grey paste... The contrast of the paste with their dark skin made them look like skeletons! I then hear the crying again. I look to either side of me and I see all the other commune members: Moses, Jerome, Beth, Tye, Chantal, Angela and Naadia... All on their knees, gagged with their hands tied behind their back... The short grey men, standing over us then move away behind us, and we realize where it is they’ve taken us... They’ve taken us back to the fence!... I can hear the muffled moans of everyone else as they realize where we are, and we all must have had the exact same thought... What is going to happen?... The leader of the grey men then yells out an order in his language, in which the others then raise all of us to our feet, holding their machetes to the back of our necks... I look over to see Naadia crying – she looks terrified. She just stares ahead at the fly-infested fence, assuming... We all did...  

A handful of the grey men in front us are now opening up a loose part of the fence, like two gate doors. On the other side, through the gap of the fence, all I can see is darkness... The leader again gives out an order, and next thing I know, most of the commune members are being shoved, forced forward into the gap of the fence to the other side! I can hear Beth, Chantal and Naadia crying. Moses, through the gag in his mouth, he pleads to them ‘Please! Please stop!’... As I’m watching what I think is kidnapping – or worse, murder happen right in front of me... I realize that the only ones not being shoved through to the other side were me and Angela... Tye is the last to be moved through - but then the leader tells the others to stop... He stares at Tye for a good while, before ordering his men not to push him through – instead to move him back next to the two of us... Stood side by side and with our hands tied behind us, all the three of us can do is watch on as the rest of the commune vanish over the other side of the fence... one by one... The last thing I see is Naadia looking back at me – begging me to help her... but there’s nothing I can do... I can’t save her... and the darkness on the other side just seems to swallow them...  

I try searching through the trees and darkness to find Naadia but I don’t see her! I don’t see any of them. I can’t even hear them! It was as though they weren’t there anymore – that they were somewhere else!... The leader then comes back in front of me. He stares up to me and I realize he’s holding a knife... I look to Angela and Tye, as though I’m asking them to help me, but they were just as helpless as I was... I can feel the leader of the grey men staring through me, as though through my soul... and then I see as he lifts his knife higher – as high as my throat... Thinking this is going to be the end, I cry uncontrollably, just begging him not to kill me... The leader looks confused as I try and muffle out the words, and just as I think my throat is going to be slashed... he cuts loose the gag tied around my mouth – drawing blood... I look down to him – confused... before I’m turned around, and he cuts my hands free from my back... I now see the other grey men are doing the same for Tye and Angela – to our confusion... 

I stare back down to the leader, and he looks at me... and not knowing if we were safe now or if the worst was still yet to come... I put my palms together as though I’m about to pray and I start begging him – before he yells ‘SHUT UP! SHUT UP!’ - this time raising the knife to my throat... He looks at me with wide eyes, as though he’s asking me ‘Are you going to be quiet?’ I nod yes and there’s a long pause all around... and the leader says, in plain English: ‘YOU GO BACK! YOUR FRIENDS GONE NOW! THEY DEAD! YOU NO RETURN HERE! GO!’... He shoves me backwards, telling me to go. The other men push Tye and Angela forward with their spears, in the opposite direction of the fence... The three of us now make our way away from the men, still yelling at us to leave, where again, we hear the familiar word of ‘ASILI! ASILI!’... but most of all... we were making our way away from the fence - and whatever danger or evil that we didn’t know was lurking on the other side... The other side... where the others now were...  

If you’re wondering why the three of us were spared from going in there... we only came up with one theory... Me and Angela were white, and so if we were to go missing, there would be more chance of authorities coming to look for us... I know that’s not good to say - but it’s probably true... As for Tye, he was mixed-race... and so maybe they thought one white parent was enough to make the authorities come looking...  

The three of us went back to our empty commune – to collect our things and get the hell out of this place we never should have come to... Angela said the plan was to make our way back to the river, flag down a boat and get a ride back down to Kinshasa. Tye didn’t agree with this plan... He said as long as his friends were still here, he wasn’t going anywhere. Angela said that was stupid and the only way we could help them was to contact the authorities as soon as possible. To Tye’s and my own surprise... I agreed with him... I said the only reason I came here was to make sure Naadia didn’t get into any trouble, and if I left her in there with God knows what, this entire trip would have been for nothing... and so I suggested that our next plan of action was to find a way through the other side of the fence so we could look for the rest of the commune... It was obvious that me and Tye hated each other, which at the time, seemed to be for no good reason - but for the first time... he looked at me with respect... We both made it perfectly clear to Angela that we were staying to look for the others...  

Angela said we were both dumb f**k’s and were gonna get ourselves killed... I couldn’t help but agree with her... Staying in this jungle any longer than we needed to was the same as staying in a house once you know it’s haunted... But I couldn’t help it... I had to go to the other side... not because I felt responsible for Naadia – that I had an obligation to go and save her... but because I had to know what was there... What was in there, hiding amongst the darkness of the jungle??... I was afraid – beyond terrified actually - but something in there was calling me... and for some reason, I just had to find out what it was!... I felt like a junkie that was dying to get out of rehab – but I wanted in!... Not knowing what mystery lurked behind that fence was making me want to rip off my own face... peel by peel... 

Angela went silent for a while... You could clearly tell she wanted to leave us here and save her own skin... but by leaving us here, she knew she would be leaving us to die... Neither me nor Tye knew anything about the jungle – let alone how to look for people missing in it... Angela groaned and then said ‘...F**k it’. She was going with us... and so we planned on how we were going to get over the other side of the jungle without detection... We eventually realized we just had to risk it. We had to find a part of the fence, hack our way through and then just enter it... and that’s what we did... Angela, with a machete she bought at Mbandaka, hacked her way through two different parts, creating a loose gate of sought's... When she was done, she gave the go ahead for me and Tye to tug the loose piece of fence away with a long piece of rope...  

We now had our entranceway... All three of us stared into the dark space between the fence, which might as well have been an entrance to hell... Each of us took a deep breath... and before we dare to go in, Angela turns to say to us... ‘Remember... You guys asked for this...’ None of us really wanted to go inside there – not really... We probably knew we wouldn’t get out alive... I had my secret reason... and Tye had his... We each grabbed each other by the hand – as though we thought we might easily get lost from each other... and with a final anxious breath, Angela lead the way through... through the gap in the fence... through the first leaves, branches and bush... through to the other side... and finally into the darkness... like someone’s eyes when they fall asleep... not knowing when or if they’ll wake up... 

This is where I have to stop... I... I can't go on any further... I thought I could when I started this bu-... no... This is all I can say... for now anyway... What really happened to us in there... I... I don’t know if I can even put it into words... All I can say is that... what happened to us already... it was nothing compared to what we would eventually go through... What we found... Even if I told you what happens next, you wouldn’t believe me... but you would also wish I never had... There’s still a part of me now that thinks it might not have been real... For the sake of my soul... for the things I was made to do in there... I really hope this is just one big nightmare... even if the nightmare never ends... just please don’t let it be real... 

In case I never finish this story – in case I’m not alive to tell it... I’ll leave you with this... I googled the word ‘Asili’ a year ago - trying to find what it meant... It’s a Swahili word... it means...  

The Beginning...  

End of Part II 

I uhm... I don’t really know how to begin with this... My- my name is Henry Cartwright... I’m twenty-six years old - and... I have a story to tell...  

I’ve never told this to anyone - God forbid, but something happened to me a couple of years ago. Something horrible – beyond horrible. In fact, it happened to me and seven others... Only two of them are still alive - as far as I’m aware...  The reason that I’m telling this now is because... well... it’s been eating me up inside... The last two years have been absolute torture, and I can’t tell this to anyone without being sent back to the loony bin... The two others that survived, I can’t talk to them about it because they won’t speak to me... and I don’t blame them... I’ve been riddled with such unbearable guilt at what happened two years ago, and if I don’t say something now, I don’t... I don’t know how much longer I can last... If I will even last - whether I say anything or not... 

Before I tell you this story, about what happened to the lot of us, there’s something you need to understand... What I’m about to tell you, you won't believe – and I don’t expect you to... I couldn’t give two s***s if anyone believed me or not... I’m doing this for me... for those who died and for the two who still have to live on with this... I’m going to tell you the story. I’m going to tell you everything! And you’re gonna judge me. Even if you don't believe me, you’ll judge me... In fact, you’ll despise me... I’ve been despising myself... For the past two years, all I’ve done since I’ve been out of that jungle is numb myself with drink and drugs... numb enough that I don’t even recall ever being inside that place... That only makes it worse. Far worse!... But I can’t help myself...  

I’ve gotten all the mental health support I can get. I’ve been in and out of the psychiatric ward - given a roundabout of doctors and a never-ending supply of pills... but what help is all that when you can’t even tell the truth about what really happened to you?... As far as the doctors know - as far as the world knows, all that happened was that a group of stupid adults, who thought they knew how to solve the world’s problems, got themselves lost in one of the most dangerous parts of the world... If only they knew how dangerous that place really is... and that’s the real reason why I’m telling my story now... because as long as that place exists... as long as no one does anything about it... none of us are safe... NONE OF US... I journeyed into the real Heart of Darkness... The locals they... they call it The Asili... 

Like I said, uhm... this all happened around two years ago... I was living a comfortable life in north London at the time - waiting tables and washing dishes for a living... That’s what happens when you drop out of university I guess... Life was good though, you know? Like, it was comfortable... I looked forward to the football at the weekend, and honestly, London isn’t that bad of a place to live. It’s busy, people and traffic everywhere - but London just seems like one of those places that brings the whole world to your feet...  

One day though, I... I get a text from my girlfriend Naadia – or at that time, my ex-girlfriend Naadia. She was studying in the States at the time and... we tried to keep it long distance, but – you know how it goes... You just lose touch... Anyway, she texts me, wanting to know if we can do a video call or something, and I said yes... and being the right idiot I was, I thought maybe she wanted to try things out again... That – wasn't exactly the case. I mean, she did say that she missed me and was always thinking about me, and I thought the same - but... she actually had some news... She had this group of friends, you see - an activist group... They - they called themselves the, uhm... B.A.D.S. - what that stood for I don’t know... They were basically this group of “woke” students that wanted equal rights for all races, genders and stuff – I dunno... Anyway, Naadia tells me that her and her friends were all planning a trip to Africa together... to the Congo, actually... and she says that they were going to start their own commune there - in the ecosystem of the rainforest...  

I know what you’re thinking – it sounds... well it sounds bat-s**t mad! And that’s what I said. Naadia did somewhat agree with me, but her reasoning was that the world is not getting any more equal and it’s never really going to change – and so her friends said ‘Why not start our own community in paradise!’... I’m not sure a war-torn country riddled with disease counts as paradise, but I guess to an American, any exotic jungle might seem that way... Anyway, Naadia then says to me that the group are short of people going... and she wondered if I was interested in joining their commune... I of course said no – no f*****g thank you... but she kept insisting... She mentioned that the real reason we broke up was because her friends had been planning this trip for a long time and she didn’t think our relationship was worth carrying on anymore... She still loved me she said, and that she wanted us to get back together... As happy as I was to hear she wanted me back, this didn’t exactly sound like the Naadia I knew. I mean, Naadia was smart – really smart actually, and she did get carried away with politics and that... but even for her, this – this all felt quite mad... 

I told her I’d have an answer for her by the end of the week, and... and against my better judgement I... I said yes... I said yes, not because I wanted to go - course I didn’t want to go! Who really wants to go live in the f*****g jungle??... I said yes because I still loved her, and... and I was worried about her... I was worried she’d get into some real trouble down there - and I wanted to make sure she’d be alright... I just assumed the commune idea wouldn’t work and when Naadia and her friends realized that, they would all sod off back to the States... I just wanted to be there in case anything did happen... Maybe I was just as much of an idiot as them lot... We were all idiots...  

Well, a few months later, I was boarding a plane at Heathrow airport and heading to Kinshasa - capital of the, uhm... Democratic Congo... My big sister Ellie, she... she begged me not to go. She said I was putting myself in danger and... I - I agreed but... I felt like I didn’t really have a choice... My girlfriend was going to a dangerous place and... I felt I had to do something about it... My sister she - she basically raised me. We both came from a dodgy family you see - and so I always saw her as kind of a mum... It was hard saying goodbye to her because... I didn’t really know what was going to happen... but I told her I’d be fine and that I was coming back - and she said ‘You better!’... 

Anyway, uhm... I get on the plane... and that’s when things already start to get weird... It was a long flight so I tried to get plenty of sleep so I wouldn’t be jetlagged and... and that’s when the dreams start... or the... the same dream... I dreamt I was already in the jungle, but - I couldn’t move - I was just... floating – through the trees and that... like I was watching a David Attenborough documentary or something... Next thing I know there’s this, uhm... fence, or barrier of sought's – running through the jungle... It was made up of these long wooden spikes, crisscrossed with one another – sought of like a long row of x’s... Anyway... on the other side of this fence, the rest of the jungle was like – pitch black! Like you couldn't see what was on the other side... But - I can remember I wanted to... I wanted to go to the other side... like, it was calling me... I feel myself being pulled through to the other side of the fence and into the darkness... and I feel terrified but... excited at the same time!... And that’s when I wake up back in the plane... I’m all panicked and covered in sweat, and so I go to the toilet to splash water on my face and... I realize... I don’t wanna be here anymore... All I think now of doing is landing in Kinshasa and catching the first plane back to Heathrow... I’m still asking myself now why I never did... 

I landed in Kinshasa and after what seemed like an eternity, I work my way out the airport to find Naadia and her friends... Their plane landed earlier in the day and I had to find them by one pm sharp, as we all had a river boat to catch by three... I eventually find Naadia and the group waiting for me outside the terminal doors – they looked like they’d been waiting a while... As much anxiety I had at the time about all of this, it still felt really damn good to see Naadia again – and she seemed more than happy to see me too! We hugged and made out a little – it had been a while after all - and then she introduced me to her friends... I was surprised to see there was only six of them - as I just presumed there was going to be a lot more... but who in their right mind would agree to do what we all were doing??...  

The first six members of this group was Beth, Chantal and Angela... Beth and Angela were a couple, and Chantal was Naadia’s best friend. Even though we never met, she gave me a big hug as though she did. I guess Chantal was one of those “always happy” people... The other three members were all lads - they were Tye, Jerome and Moses. Moses was the leader, and he was this tall intimidating guy who looked like he only worked out his chest – and he wore this gold cross necklace as though to make himself look important. Moses wasn’t his real name, that’s just what he called himself... He was kind of a religious nut of sought's – but he looked more like an American football player... Right from the beginning, Moses never liked me... Whenever he even acknowledged me, he would call me some name like Oliver Twist or Mary Poppins – either that or he would try mimicking my accent to make me sound like a chimney sweeper or something... Jerome was basically a copy and paste version of Moses – it was like he idealized him or something... always following him around and repeating whatever he said... And then there was Tye... Even for a guy, I could tell that Tye was good-looking... He kind of looked like a Rastafarian – but his dreads only went down to his neck... Out of the three of them, Tye was the only one who bothered to shake my hand – but something about it seemed disingenuous, like... someone had forced him to do it... 

Oh. I uhm... I think I forgot to mention it... everyone in the group was black – Naadia included... The only ones who weren’t were me and Angela... Angela wasn’t part of the B.A.D.S. She was Beth’s girlfriend. Angela, she was – she was pretty cool... She was a little older than the rest of us and she apparently had an army background. I mean, it wasn’t hard to tell - she had short boys' hair and looked like she did a lot of rock climbing or something... She didn’t really talk much and mostly kept to herself - but it actually made me feel easier with her there – not because of... you know... but because neither of us were B.A.D.S members... From what Naadia told me, Moses was hoping to create a black utopia of sought's. His argument was that humanity began in Africa and so as an African-American group, Africa would be the perfect destination for their commune... I guess me and Angela tagging along kind of ruined all that... As much as Moses didn’t like me – Tye... it turned out Tye hated me for different reasons... Sometimes I would just catch him staring at me, like he just hated the s**t out of me... I wouldn't learn till later why that was... 

What happens next was the journey up the Congo River... Not much really happened so I’ll just try my best to skip through it... Luckily for us the river was right next to the airport, so reaching it didn’t take long – which meant we got to avoid the hours-long traffic... As bad as I thought London traffic was, Kinshasa was apparently much worse... We get to the river and... it’s huge – I mean, really huge!... The Congo River was apparently one of the largest rivers in the world and it basically made the Thames look like a puddle... Anyway, we get there and there’s this guy waiting for us by an old wooden boat with a motor. I thought he looked pretty shady, but Moses apparently arranged the whole thing... This guy, he only ever spoke French so I never really understood what he was saying, but Moses spoke some French and he pays him the money. We all jump in the boat with our things and the man starts taking us up the river... 

The journey up river was good and bad... The region we were going to was days away, but it gave me time to reacquaint with Naadia... and the scenery, it was... it was beautiful... To begin with, there was people on the river everywhere - fishing in their boats or canoes and ferries more crammed than London Underground... At the halfway point of our journey, we stopped at this huge, crowded port town called Mbandaka to get supplies, and after that... everything was different... the river, I mean – the scenery... it was like we left civilization behind or something... Everything was green and exotic – it... it honestly felt like we had stepped back in time with the dinosaurs... I do remember reading that the Congo had its own version of the Loch Ness Monster somewhere – that it’s a water dinosaur that lives deep in the jungle. It’s called the uhm... Makole Bembey or something like that... Where we were going - I wasn’t sure if I was hoping to see it or not...  

I did look forward to seeing some animals on this trip – and Naadia told me we would probably get to see hippos or elephants - but that was a total let down... We could hear birds and monkeys in the trees along the river but we couldn't see them... I guess I thought this boat ride was going to be a safari of sought's... We did see a group of crocodiles sunbathing by the riverbanks – and if there was one thing on that boat ride I feared the most, it was definitely crocodiles!... I think I avoided going near the edge of the boat the entire way there... 

The heat on the boat was unbearable – and for like half the journey it just poured with rain... but the humidity was like nothing I ever experienced! In the last two days of the boat ride, all it did was rain – constantly. I mean, we were all drenched! The river started to get more and more narrow – like, narrow enough for only one boat to fit through... The guy driving the boat started speeding round the bends of the river at a dangerous speed. We honestly didn’t know why he was in a rush all of a sudden. We curve round one bend and that’s when we all notice a man waving us down by the side of the bank. It was like he had been waiting for us... Turns out this was also planned. This man, uh... Fabrice, I think his name was – he was to take us through the rainforest to where the group had decided to build their commune. Moses paid the boat driver the rest of the money, and without even a goodbye, the guy turns his boat round and speeds off! It was like he didn’t want to be in this region any longer than he had to... It honestly made me very nervous... 

We trekked on foot for a couple of days, and honestly, the humidity was even worse inside the rainforest - but the mosquitos... that truly was the f*****g worst! Most of us got very bad diarrhoea too – I think we all had to stop about a hundred times just so someone could empty their guts behind a tree... On the last day the rain was just POURING down and I couldn’t decide if I was too hot or too cold... I remember thinking that I couldn’t go on any longer... I was exhausted, we – we all were...  But just as this journey seemed like it would never end – the guide, Fabrice, he suddenly just stops... He stops and is just... frozen... just looking ahead and not moving an inch... Moses and Jerome tried snapping him out of it, but then he just suddenly starts taking steps back, like he hit a dead end... Fabrice’s English wasn’t the best, but he just starts saying ‘I go back! You go! You go! I go back!’... Basically what he meant was that we had to continue without him. Moses tried convincing him to stay – he even offered him more money, but Fabrice was clearly too afraid to go on... Before he left, he did give us a map with directions on where to find the place we were wanting to go... He wished us all good luck, but then he stops and was just staring at me, dead in the eye... and he said ‘Good luck Arsenal’... Like me, Fabrice liked his football, and I even gave him my Arsenal cap I was wearing... But when he said that to me... it was like he was wishing me luck most of all... like I needed it the most... 

It was only later that day that we reached the place where we planned to build our commune. The rain had stopped by now and we found ourselves in the middle of a clearing inside the rainforest... This is where our commune was going to be... When everyone realized we’d reached our destination, every one of us dropped our backpacks and fell to the floor... I think we were all ready to die... This place was surprisingly quiet, and you could only hear the birds singing in the trees and the sound of swooshing that we later learned was from a nearby stream... 

In the next few days, we all managed to get our strength back. We pitched our tents and started working out the next steps for building the commune. Moses was the leader, and you could tell he was trying to convince everyone that he knew what he was doing - but the guy was clearly out of his depth - we all were... that was except Angela. She pointed out that we needed to make a perimeter around the area – set up booby traps and trip wires. The nearby stream had fish, and she said she would teach us all how to spear fish. She also showed us how to makes bows and arrows and spears for hunting... Honestly it just seemed like there was nothing she couldn't do – and if she wasn’t there, I... I doubt anyone of us would have survived out there for long...  

On that entire journey – from landing in Kinshasa – the boat ride up the river and hiking through the jungle... whenever I managed to get some sleep I... I kept having these really uncomfortable dreams... It was always the same dream... I’m in the jungle, floating through the trees and bushes before I’m stopped in my tracks by the same make-shift barrier-fence – and the pure darkness on the other side... and every time... I’m wanting to go enter it... I don’t know why because, this part of the dream always terrifies me... but it’s like I have to find what’s on the other side... Something was calling me...  

On the third night of our new commune though... I dreamt something different... I dreamt I was actually on the other side!... I – I can’t remember much of what I saw but... it was dark – really dark! But I could walk... I was walking through the darkness and I could only just make out the tree trunks and the occasional branch or vine... but then I saw a light – ahead only twenty metres away... I tried walking towards the light but it was hard – like when you walk or run in your dreams but you barely move anywhere... I do catch up to the light, and it’s just a light – glowing... but then I enter it... I enter and I realize what I’ve entered’s now a clearing... a perfect circle inside the jungle – dark green vegetation around the curves... and inside this circle – right bang in the middle... is one single tree... or at least the trunk of a tree – a dead, rotting tree...  

It had roots that were like octopus legs that curled around the circles’ edges, and the wood was very dark – almost black in colour... A pathway lined with stones leads up to the tree – and I start walking along it... The closer I get to this tree, I see just how tall it must have been originally... A long stump of a tree... it leans over me like a tower... Its shadow comes over me and I feel like I’ve been swallowed up... but then the tree’s shadow moves away from me – as though beyond this jungle’s darkness is a hidden rotating sun... and when the shadow disappears... I see a face... high above me on the bark of the tree... carved into it... It looked like a mask – like an African tribal mask... The face was round and it only had slits for eyes and a mouth... but somehow... the face looked like it was in agony... the most – unbearable agony... I could feel it! It was like... torture – like being stabbed all over a million times or having your own skin peeled off while your paralyzed!... 

I then feel something down by my ankles... I look down to my feet and... and then I look around the circle... the floor of the circle is covered with what look like hands... severed hands! Littered all over... I try and raise my feet, panicking, I’m too scared to step on them – but then the hands start moving, twitching their fingers. They start crawling like spiders all around the circle! The ones by my feet start to crawl up my legs and I’m too scared to brush them off! I feel the hands crawling all over me and I feel like I can’t move! I then feel a huge weight come over me and I fall to the floor and... I hear a zip... 

End of Part I