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1
Narration & Review Videos / Re: Scare Your Friends Podcast EP28 Room 733
« Last post by Bautista on Yesterday at 05:28:26 AM »
The reason I came in, I need some helpful info, can you help me?
2
Your Stories / Re: New Year's Resolutions
« Last post by Bautista on Yesterday at 05:27:46 AM »
Do not know if you can help me explain more about these content?
3
Story Critique / Love/Lust/Addiction/Obsession
« Last post by Maxz92 on 03:19:13 PM 04/15/18 »
   I was hers now.  I had tried my best to remain a bachelor.  I had no interest in settling down and becoming someone’s consistent lover.  I was a free man, but now, I was hers.  I don’t think she knew exactly how much control she held over me.  Each word she uttered was a spell that had kept me entranced for months…  No, for years now.  I’ve forgotten how long it has been.  I am hers now.  Every day I wake up with her, get out of bed for her, go to work for her, make money for her, come home for her, eat dinner with her, and go to bed with her.  It is all for her.  I’m not my own person anymore.
   I used to be.  I can remember being wild and free all those years ago.  Doing what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted, and with whomever I wanted.  Jackie Phillips was a good time.  A good couple times actually.  I tried not to stay around with one person.  Wouldn’t want them to get attached.  I never thought I would be the one to fall.  Then there she was one night.  Absolutely phenomenal.  The type you can’t pass up.  Hair kind of messy, legs for days and days, so much deliciousness in one body.  But then I talked to her and there was so much more to her than that.  She had been the one to ensnare me.  None of the uncountable women in the past, she did.
   We go out together.  Do that simple, boyfriend/girlfriend stuff.  I hold her bags in the mall, hold her hand when we walk together, laugh at the jokes she tells, everything a good boyfriend does.  She likes to sit next to me and lay her head on my shoulder when we’re out in public.  I always wrap my arm around her waist and kiss her cheek.  It hurts.  It hurts me to be like this.  In… love.  The word feels like a poison.  Something I’ve always thought of alongside addiction and obsession.  Now I get why.  That’s exactly what it is to me.  I’ve always felt a lust, but that was manageable.  I could contain and control that.  This feeling.  This one is bigger than me.  This… love.  It’s taken its toll on me.
   But I can’t just leave her.  She’d hurt.  At least she doesn’t hurt now.  I know she did before.  She used to.  But now I am hers.  I was hers then and I am now.  I can’t think straight anymore.  The times that I spend without her hurt more.  I always feel sick when I’m alone.  I don’t even think I could live without her if I wanted to now.  She is my happiness.  I can’t take this anymore.  I kind of want to die, but I’m afraid of how much it would hurt her.
   So, I sit there and let her love me and love her back and hurt.  I burn inside.  It’s almost funny.  Almost like a joke, isn’t it?  I don’t know what to do anymore.
4
CreepyPastas Only / Re: The Story of Chuckles
« Last post by PartyL1keStink on 12:00:11 AM 04/14/18 »
Part 2


Greetings to all of you on the interwebs!

Hey, sorry it’s been forever and a day since I got back to you guys, but, umm, quicksand porn. It changed my life. You think you understand, but you don’t. Whole new levels, yo.

Anyways, a friend of mine who works at a group home for the mentally ill found a journal written by good ole Chuckles. Things did not go well for him, but we’ll touch on that in the end. Poor guy. He really didn’t deserve any of this. The following may well be his last testament, as well as his firm achievement. All names have been redacted to protect the people involved. Except Todd. Because fuck that guy.

Unfortunately, Todd was not involved in this.

Without further ado, here we go.

Entry 1

I am not a human being. Human beings are incapable of tuning into the frequency that hounds my thoughts and confuses my intellect. Human beings are not shut away in cages only to be released into society after being taught how to play house by idiots. They don’t have to remind themselves of who is being nice and fair to them when the transmissions rage at the unclean ethnicity of the person. No, he is not unclean. [C] is just a guy doing his job. He speaks better English than most of his peers sometimes. Stop trying to convince me otherwise!

The transmission is pretty bad today. The man talks and talks about how I am being shown how to do women’s work. At times it is unbearable.

Speaking of bears! Yes. I may not be a human being, but I may be the only one holding back a nightmare from the world. It resides in my dresser, hidden away so the others won’t laugh at me when they see it. So they won’t tease and mock me endlessly. It is a bear, a teddy bear. This thing cannot be let out of my room. I swear it does not belong in this world at all. You may think I am being overly dramatic, but that is only because you do not understand. To torture me, the bear silences the transmission until I get comfortable, and then lets it scream in my skull once more. The children, in what are supposedly dreams, tell me that he sleeps sometimes. If it makes you feel any better, the children and the bear think I am quite mad. Seems crazy to think a teddy bear would ever need sleep, haunted or not. 

Dreams. Humans dream. I have talks with children at a playground of nightmares when I sleep, or find myself back in my bed after horrifying experiences. The staff at the asylum told me those experiences were dreams, so now I play along.

Now they have sent me to a group home. I am housed with insane individuals learning to play house so that they may be released into the wild someday. I envy them at times. So free in their fanciful delusions, and so joyous to mock and laugh at whom they call the serious one. Me. Always serious because this is no longer a game. There may be forces at work that the crazies nor the staff here could comprehend. But, once again they want me to journal. Not the staff here, they couldn’t care less. No, one of the oh-so-nice counselors at the rehab school they make me attend thinks it could be relaxing. So, with pen and paper in hand, I write. I doubt anyone will read these words, or the journal I left behind at the asylum.

Maybe this is truly all I can really do.


Entry 2

Not even a month in this place and already that damned bear is trying to ruin things. Trying to learn this supposed women’s work the staff tells me I should know. Not women’s work. Just housework. Damn the transmissions! Sorry, it is very loud. The bear is unhappy with me. Anyway, [C] was showing me how to properly chop some vegetables for a soup we are going to make tomorrow. He said it was better to go with fresh and seems to love these slow cookers. I think my mom called them crock-pots. Anyway, I digress. The cutlery is kept in the office and staff has to watch us when we are using them.  Good thing too. As soon as [C] handed me the knife I could feel that bear speaking to me.

Cut him, the voice said, sounding harsh and deep in my mind. No one is there with you. He trusts you. I need to see what is underneath that skin…

I gripped the knife harder and clenched my teeth. It was all I could do to focus on cutting the damn carrots. Thin slices mostly, as I waited for all eternity for the bear to leave my thoughts alone. The stuffed animal was somehow able to call to me from all the way in my room, secured in the dresser, droning on and on about slicing [C]’s throat. My breathing was slow and measured, trying some trick they taught me at the “school” about breathing out more and more. It was just barely helping. Thankfully, [C] took the knife out of my hand after what must have been the most grueling few minutes of my life.

“Man you are really intense,” [C] told me, and smiled. “I see why they all think you are so serious. Don’t worry, though. Sometimes it is good to be serious. And you did an awesome job! This is gonna be some great soup when we get it all put together.”

Simple praise from a simple…no. No, stop it. God Damn you bear, just turn it down a little! I don’t care what the station man thinks about [C]!

Ok, had to take a breather. You see the point I am making right? It wants me to hurt people. It has some sort of nightmare inducing desire to see more of the flesh. This is not first time this bear called on me to hurt someone, and it won’t be the last. I must endure. I may not rightly be a person, but I must endure to keep everyone safe. In the hands of anyone else here, that could have easily been a bloodbath.


Entry 3

Sleep provides no respite from this madness. I know you think you are reading the words of a crazy man, but please consider the insanity around me. Think on the fact that once your head hits your soft pillow you can close your eyes and take a break from your reality. In my world, the strange world around me has seeped into my so-called dreams.

For so many years I did not dream. Now that I do, I am not even sure it is worth it. Take the other night, when after my eyes closed in slumber I found myself back in that infernal playground. I found myself sitting up next to the young teen who resided there named Jesse. The two girls, one with red hair and freckles, the other with black hair and a golden complexion, skipped around playing some sort of game. Jesse smirked when he saw me and then looked off into the distance. He was watching a large black bird croaking in the middle of a plain of rust brown gravel and dirt. Though the bird looked around and cocked its head about, it made no move towards us.

“I don’t know what his deal is,” Jesse said after a few moments. “I don’t think he can see us.”

“Why do you suppose that is,” I asked, scratching my head.

“No idea. Well, it’s a bird. No clue why it’s here though.”

“Why not ask the Bear?” As I posed this question, I looked to the center of the playground only to see the large teddy bear sitting there motionless. His eyes seemed devoid of life.

“He’s asleep,” Jesse answered and got up. “I’ll ask him when he comes to. Pretty sure ole Cuddles is still It, bird or no bird though. It occurs to me that since the girls got here, I never thought to just walk on off. You know, just head to the horizon and see what is out there.”

“I get it, you had to keep an eye on the girls, just like I feel the need to keep an eye on you all now.”
“Yeah, maybe. Things are pretty safe here, though. Maybe after I ask the bear about the bird I’ll try taking a walk.”

After that, the children began playing with that damn spiked tether-ball. They wanted to play on teams of two, but with only three of them they’d need me to join. I turned them down. Having an adult would only give one team an unfair advantage. This was one of the more calm nights I have spent with the same children in each dream. Every night, I see the same evil playground, with the same children. This may seem a minor thing, but the fact that it never changes alarms me greatly. And now we have some mysterious bird in the distance that I am left to wonder about. 

Entry 4

We got a new staff member today. Her name is [ S ], and she is thin, blonde and has hungry green eyes. It was my turn again to help with making dinner. I am starting to think that the others have figured out that if they are less helpful, I will pick up the slack. That’s fine. Distractions are a godsend. Besides, all we had to do was put the food  in the oven and wait. Some sort of casserole that was pre-made. Really, only [C] seems to really know anything useful about cooking. Though I really do think all the cretins I live with could manage is just putting something in an oven anyways.

Rumors abound lately. Some say we are getting a new resident soon. One of the other residents mentioned something about him being skittish. Residents seem to come and go around here. Also, I am hearing muffled giggles once again about me keeping a teddy bear. Someone must have seen it as they passed by my room. I swear that my thoughts must be leaking out of my head somehow.

Let them laugh. Let them enjoy what they can in their insane little lives. Only I have some idea as to what I am holding at bay.

Entry 5

The staff has turned against me here as well! The broadcasts! The people! And that Goddamned Bear!

I can’t believe this. Soon after falling asleep the new staff person, [ S ], knocked on my door and told me I had to wake up. As I walked into the office, she had all the knives that were usually locked up in a cabinet arranged on her desk. When she saw my wide-eyed expression she merely laughed and then stared deeply into my eyes.

“What’s the matter?” she asked and licked the inside of her cheek. “Can’t handle a few knives? Hell, if you were a real man, you would at least have a gun on you. You are so good at bitch work. Maybe you are just a bitch. Who else would cuddle with a teddy bear at night?”

“How do you know-” I started, interrupted by her cackling laughter.

“We all know!” she told me. “Staff meetings are a riot here with all the talk of Poor Wittle Chuckles and his bear!”

She continued to laugh as she picked up one of the steak knives. Smiling, she pressed it into her skin just below her wrist and pulled down, the blade slicing into her fair skin. The dark red blood welled up at the initial cut, and then flowed down her arm as her eyes rolled up into her head and she moaned softly.

“You should try it, Big Boy,” she said as she opened her eyes. “Feels sooo good. And the taste is just delish.”

She put the tip of he tongue to her arm and slowly moved it up, gathering the blood onto it before pulling it into her mouth. I could only stand there, frozen in shock as she extended her arm to me, pushing the knife towards my chest. I think I tried to reach out to push the knife away, because I remember feeling the blade slowly bite into my hand. In the long run, nothing I did mattered.

The next thing I knew, I was back in my bed. I opened my eyes as I felt something heavy on my chest. My vision cleared soon to reveal the teddy bear I always keep hidden in my dresser sitting there, staring into my eyes. My mouth slowly opened, wishing to scream, and yet I was too terrified to make even the slightest sound.

Just a dream, I could hear in my mind, the bear’s same deep and rough words once again. Rest now.

And then just like that I must have been out again. I woke up in the morning to my alarm and checked the dresser, surprised to see the bear there. Now that I write this, I cannot be entirely sure he is the same way I left him, but nonetheless he is there. I don’t know what to think. Surely [ S ] will deny this. Tell me my memories are but dreams, some sort of symptom of a made-up illness. I need to go to the psycho-social rehab school now.

I don’t know what I am going to do.

Entry 6

I think Jesse and the bear had an argument. He would not so much as look at me and the girls seem to be trying to cheer him up by pretending to accidently stab each other with scissors. There's no blood, and they tell me it doesn't hurt.

Seriously, though. There is something wrong with them or my subconscious.


Entry 7

[This entry was crossed out and then scribbled over, so I guess he did not want us reading it.]

Entry 8

What is real? What is it like to live in space you can easily call reality and rest assured that your sleep takes you on flights of imagination only to deposit you back into the real world in the morning? I would really like to know.

The playground…may be different forever. The night before last, I found myself waking up there after falling asleep as per usual. Jesse was talking to the two girls. It sounded like he was reassuring them, but I could not make out the words. He then looked to me, and as the black haired girl let out a sniffle he ran out past the playground and into the empty field of rusted dirt. I couldn’t think of what to do until I saw that large black bird in the direction where he ran. Slowly I got myself to my feet only to find the two girls holding my hands.

“Don’t do it,” the red headed Beth told me as they both pulled on my arms. “He said he just had to know.”

Grumbling, I quickly shrugged them off and ran after the delusional boy. It is hard to explain, but no matter how much I ran, the teenaged boy seemed to not get any closer Even after he stopped running and stood by it. Once again, I could not make out the words but I could tell he was yelling at the bird, speaking not only with his voice but with grand motions of his arms. Just as my mind started to realize that I was neither tiring out from the running nor getting any closer, my vision faded to black rather quickly. I had to stop and hold my head to regain my balance, and when I opened my eyes, the black veil slowly opened, letting me see the young man being carried by the shoulders off into the sky by the bird. Now the black-feathered beast was much larger, dwarfing the child in size as it carried him off beyond the horizon. I stood there in shock for several moments before making my way back to the playground slowly. The two girls were looking to the giant bear as he slowly roused himself awake.

“Where did he go?” Theresa asked, her voice quivering. Now, I have never been particularly good with kids, but I put a hand on the girls’ shoulders to offer what comfort I could.

To Death, came the reply from the bear. Both girls immediately turned to me and collapsed into sobs. I kneeled and did my best to hold them, looking up angrily at the bear for the needlessly caustic reply.


Never approach The Raven. He will take you only to Death. And you must not believe His lies.

I did my best to comfort them. I let them cry, held them, and did everything I could think of to make them feel better. The next night, I was surprised to find that Jesse was still not there. I tried to lead the girls in games, tell them stories, and even a few jokes from my younger days. I know. Me telling jokes does not seem likely, but I did my best to keep them in good cheer as Jesse did. He meant the world to them, and now I am finally starting to understand this. In a way, losing him seems like the most real thing that has happened since I was given this damn bear. And this is what I see when I go to bed, not in the waking world. This makes no sense to me. So again, I ask…what is real?

Entry 9

[Patient J] from the asylum is coming. I overheard this from [C], when he was talking to the staff members. This is bad. I have no way of knowing if anyone will ever read this, and even less faith that anyone would be able to read both this journal and the last one. Suffice it to say, the evil behind the bear’s voice wants me to give the bear to [Patient J]. So far, since Jesse was taken, the bear has been pretty silent, so that is good. The broadcasts have been coming in louder…and yet right now they are more easily ignored. The children say the bear needs to sleep more, and I find myself more inclined to believe them lately. To be honest I have been feeling really down now that Jesse is gone. Maybe I should talk to the psychiatrist about this. Not about Jesse, obviously, but maybe about my moods. He seems rather eager at times to give me more drugs sometimes, and I should try to hold it together for the girls.

Anyways, I have to be extra careful to keep this teddy bear away from [Patient J].

Entry 10

[Patient J] is here. He is just as nervous as he was at the asylum. Oddly enough, the bear is not calling for me to give him to [Patient J] so far.

Entry 11

The trips to the playground as I close my eyes have become rather depressing. Only the girls are there of course, but that is obviously not the reason. They don’t seem to appreciate the new card games I teach them and instead they usually run off to chase each other with sharp implements. Sometimes they try to entice me onto the nightmare of a merry-go-round, but I would prefer to not vomit in my sleep. Sometimes Beth will leave her playmate to sit at the edge of the playground and stare off into space. I try to tell Theresa not to worry when she does this, and at least she appreciates some of the stories I try to remember from my youth. Old yarns the grown-ups would tell me, you know. But even then I half expect to see Jesse walking back to the playground.

The other night while the girls were playing their own games, I spotted the large black bird standing out in the endless field beyond. After telling myself over and over this is all still just some odd dream, I walked out of the playground and towards the bird. Behind me, I could hear the giant Captain Cuddles rise to his feet and the sounds of the little girls scampering towards him. I kept walking though. I had to have some answers, even if I knew they would probably only make sense in this strange world my brain had conjured up.

After what seemed an impossible distance I was a good stone’s throw away from the critter when it hopped up closer to me, no longer the giant winged beast, but merely the size of a large black bird. It cocked its head to the side as I looked it over, and then emitted a low raspy laugh from its beak that sent chills down my spine.

You seem perplexed by all of this, I heard its voice in my mind, smooth and cultured. It had an accent to it that I could not place, yet I understood its words perfectly. I can see that your mind does not readily understand the difference between reality and the wild flights of your brain chemistry, so I shall forgo the usual game.

“T-the usual game,” I asked angrily. “What the hell are you? And what is this game? And where the hell is Jesse? Did he fail your little test?”

The game only allows for three questions. Jesse was wise enough to only ask three, and thus, no, he did not lose. I am simply known as The Raven, and yet I am much more than that. You could consider me the ruler of this realm, that giant plush toy back there one of my subjects, though a rather disobedient one. And Jesse woke up from this world, back in his bed, being fawned over by his concerned parents.

“Seems like you expect me to believe that,” I grumbled, now careful not to ask questions. This is just what I needed, another critter coming along and saying I’m “confused.” Just a nice way to say that it too thinks I’m crazy. I considered for a moment playing into this obvious ruse when I looked back to the playground and saw only what looked like the shimmering of distant heat in the air. As I looked back to the bird it hopped closer and looked up at me.


Don’t be too concerned. You are not connected to the bear like the children are. You will wake up on your own, no harm done, yet. It seems he is hiding from you too now, so sadly this is not the time that I find his little playground. I will though. As for you, your part to play in all this is coming to an end. Again, there’s no need for you to worry. You will not be the hero of this story. So I advise you try to relax.

With that this Raven flew off, without so much as a “Nevermore.”  I could not find the playground to return to that night, but the next night I woke up there again. The girls asked me what the beast and I talked about, but I felt it was best to not tell them. The bear could be right, he could just be a liar. And I could just be a loon in the end anyways. It’s too bad I have had to use up the extra pain pills to keep the bear at bay, from forcing my cooperation with headaches. It might be nice to put an end to all this.

Entry 12

The bear is gone! He is no longer in my dresser. I know what you are thinking but I did not just misplace him. Sure I thought it was oddly cold the other night, but that was because someone opened my window, probably from the outside. The doctors, the staff here, maybe even [Patient J] think they are so clever. They think I don’t know that this is all some sort of game they are playing. The truth of the matter is that I am well aware of what they are doing!

Last night, when they thought I was asleep, all of the staff came into my room. They watched me. Yep, that’s it, they watched me. All of them staring intently down at my bed and all I could do was try to close my eyes and pretend. Pretend to not see their true faces! Black, colorless eyes staring down at me! I know I am not a human, I am a thing they don’t understand. But at the very least they could let me rest. Let me take the smallest of breaks from the constant transmissions that have finally found me.

Oh yes, that’s a new thing. The man that my skull somehow resonates with is now talking directly to me. He’s all too eager to explain to me how weak I am, and how I am learning to do a bitch’s work in the cooking and cleaning. And he keeps droning on and on about how I might be able to make it in this world if it weren’t for all the illegal immigrants who keep flooding into the country! Just like [C]. No, [C] is just a guy. He was born here. Whoever his parents are don’t fucking matter you son of a bitch! Stop it right now the people need to know what sort of evil this bear might bring upon the whole freaking world!

It is an Evil Thing that was never meant to be in this world!! If you find it you must burn it to cinders and then spread them far and wide!


Entry 13

[C] is such a great guy. Assuming he did not hide the bear. You see, it stopped asking to be with [Patient J], so I figured it had gotten smart. I asked [C] to take a look around his room. He did not find anything. So I took a look. The morning staff were so busy getting some of the residents in the home to go out to the school that I was able to walk right in. He is one messy son of a bitch, but I managed to do a thorough search. Nothing. No bear. Not even a stuffed rabbit.

I checked under the bed, in his dresser and closet. Hell, I made sure it was not in the damn bathroom. The transmissions tell me they probably search my room when I am not around. That’s no bother. He does not have the bear. It is gone. Furthermore, I have not seen the children since it’s been gone. I may never know what the Raven thing was on about, but the more I think about it, the more I realize He might be the only hope in all of this. No, I am not looking for some Hero to come save me! I am not some Mexican Harlot Gypsy hoping to be saved by Mr. Fucking Moneybags! Damn could you just tone it down for a few minutes!

I can’t think anymore, sorry. It took me a few minutes to get back to writing this. The transmissions are screaming their garbage into my mind now. The man knows my name. The bear is loose. Stuffed animals can’t open windows. Can they? If you find it, destroy it. With prejudice. It cannot be allowed to wrangle in more children. In the hands of a weaker person, it could make the streets red with human blood.

I hope you find this journal. I hope my words get out before it is too late.

End of Journal

It is very important that you keep reading.

Keep your eyes focused on the screen. The bear has escaped from Chuckles. And now…it is right behind you. Don’t look, just keep looking at the screen. Unless, the bear is now you!

LOL, just kidding. I have no idea what happened to the stuffed critter. Yeah, I have had a few weird dreams after transcribing all of this, but that is to be expected. Couldn’t get the weird bits in the margins and all into a text document, you know. I’ll see if I can find some pictures to keep you all on the lookout. Like Chuckles said, this thing is apparently not of our world and all. Oh, yeah, nearly forgot to tell you about him. You are probably wondering why my buddy is sending me the journal and all. Well, apparently some time after he stopped writing in the journal, he became even more of a fucking recluse. I mean, I would get depressed too if I had a teddy bear wander off on me. So, he gets real quiet, still being the model citizen there, and then one day he calmly walks into the kitchen and puts his hand down in a pot of boiling oil. Staff must have been making French fries or something. Obviously not planning on having fried Chuckles. He was sent to the ER and I guess will be sent to another mental hospital. Maybe back to the one I work at, yay! I’ll update you on him when I can.

I don’t know what to think of this Raven. I have read a few Rituals about this bird, but the mythology is all over the place, if you believe that stuff. Anyways, if anything comes up, I’ll keep you posted. Happy dreams!

Nightmares are the worst, right?
5
CreepyPastas Only / The Story of Chuckles
« Last post by PartyL1keStink on 11:45:23 PM 04/13/18 »
Part 1


Hello, people on the interwebs! I work at what used to be called an insane asylum. Nowadays, we just call them Mental Health Centers or Psychiatric Hospitals.  I won’t tell you which one, ‘cause I don’t want my ass getting canned. Anyways, I found something when helping maintenance clean up Chuckles’ room a year ago. ‘Chuckles’ is a nickname we gave one of the residents, and we’ll leave it at that. He left behind a notebook one of the therapists gave him. I took it home after we were done cleaning his room. Just recently, I cracked it open and started reading, because I don’t have a lot to do at home, and porn does get boring after a while. Even for a schizophrenic, though, there is some wild shit in here that someone else needs to see. And believe me, it’s not just his dreams and delusions. So, I’ll just post it here and let you take a look. I know, sounds like a terrible thing to do, but I think he wanted someone to see it. Lucky you! Just pretend it’s all fictional if anybody asks. I like my job, after all. I’ve made this as readable as possible while transcribing. Fancy word, isn’t it? Oh, the names of staff and patients have been removed.

Without further ado, here it goes:

Entry 1


I am not a human being. Human beings aren’t shoved away into comfortable prisons without having committed a crime. I have done nothing to hurt anyone. It’s just that the transmissions won’t stop. I don’t care about the state of man, how women, or boys who have not completed any trials of manhood are usurping man’s role in the world. They just won’t stop, droning on, and on about the State of the World. These corrupt doctors watch me through the vent shafts, making me hurt when I find a way to ignore the transmissions. I am but a cog in someone else’s machine, a subhuman cog. I don’t deserve to be human. I am only a tool of others and I can’t break out. I deserve this fate, but I have done nothing.

Dr. [redacted] gave me this stupid notebook to write in. They know about the transmissions, and that is why they are watching me! It’s all part of the game I am forced to play with them. Most of them tell me that I should not focus so much on what they call hallucinations. If I were hallucinating, the voices would be talking to me, but instead it’s like a man on the radio just talking. They think I talk too much. God forbid anyone tell staff we are being treated like animals or that the side-effects of the medications are unbearable. A serious voice in the halls of madness might be too much for them, or so I gather from being told to “lighten up” all the damn time. They want me to be as quiet as [Patient J], who is too scared to make a peep. That’s the only reason for giving me something to write with in a hospital like this. I wish they would just own up to it.

So I am stuck. No one will read this.

Entry 2

Was I asleep the whole night? No. Couldn’t be. Nurse [redacted] took me out of my room and screamed at me in one of the offices. She told me if I would listen to broadcast more carefully I would know how to live outside these walls; how to be a man. An orderly came and knocked on her door, I think to see what the ruckus was. When he came in she pulled a gun from a desk drawer and shot him right in the head. I could do nothing but freeze, my eyes open and jaw dropped. The sound of it rang in my ears, as wet, sticky blood and brain splattered and dripped from the wall behind him.

She said: “That boy could never be a man, always sucking from the welfare teat and not trying to get a real goddamned job!”

I got up and ran for the door, pulling on the handle but it would not budge.

I woke up in my bed. The covers are wet with cold sweat and I am writing this to catch my breath.

Entry 3

I could not help but cringe when [Nurse Redacted] walked past my room earlier today. She stopped at my door and put on such a face of concern I nearly believed it.

“What’s wrong baby,” she asked and came halfway in my room.

“You know what you did,” I said, my hand shaking as I spoke. “He did not deserve to die, no matter how inadequate you think he is.”

“Who are you are talking about, hon?”

“The orderly you shot.”

“When did this happen?” she asked as she walked into my room and leaned back against the wall.

“Last night,” I stood up straighter in my chair and tried to summon some bravery into my voice.

“I wasn’t here last night, hon,” she sighed. “We have talked about this. Give the meds some time. You were dreaming again.”

“I don’t have dreams.”

“Yes, you do. I promise you, I have not shot anyone here at work. When do you get to see the psychiatrist again? Maybe they need to try something a little different.”

“I think next month,” I said, my whole body deflating. “He needs to see his patients more regularly.”

“I know, baby. But there are a lot of folks here, and he’s only one person. I’ll see if there is anything I can do to help.”

“I’m sure,” the words left my mouth flatly.

“We’re not out to get you,” she said and straightened up. Taking a step to leave the room she looked back to me. “You spend a lot of time in here, maybe you should try making some friends. I don’t think you’ll be here forever, and getting used to being around others might help.”

“I don’t think they want to talk to me,” I said and looked away.

“No, they just think you are too serious all the time.”
“This is a serious place.”

“Ok,” she said and stepped out of my room, finally. “Fine. Just give it a think, and let me know if you need anything.”

The pills she wants me to take slow my thoughts and make me want to eat more than I should. This is why I am fat. This seems to be what they want.

The game continues.


Entry 4

One of the female orderlies gave me a teddy bear. It is kind of big and heavy. I have seen larger teddy bears. I think maybe it’s two feet head to toe. Normally they don’t give us gifts, but she said she is quitting soon, and doesn’t want to see it again. Tears were rolling down her face. I took it so she wouldn’t cry. Maybe she has no stomach for the game anymore.

The broadcasts say America should be running the world, not cowering from friends and enemies alike. Macho bullshit. The world is too complicated to be strong-armed like that. But it drones on, wanting the country to be the tough guy.

Entry 5

The broadcast was quieter than usual today. Normally it seems to echo against my skull as the boisterous voice rants and raves. Now it’s using an inside voice. The bear has been here for two nights. I also did not feel like stuffing so much food into my face. The nurses say I am being quieter, more cooperative. One even said I am beating out [Patient J] as her favorite. The others say they are not sure if this is a good sign.

Entry 6

An honest to God dream! I can’t believe how long it’s been. Humans dream, all the time. Every night, they tell me. I have not had one in so long that I can barely believe it. I guess I am not deserving of it being a good one, though.

I was stuck to my bed as I felt a rush of warmth come over me, and then I was being held down by black strands of almost nothing. This is how I knew it was a dream, because at night when they take me or lecture me, I see everything so clearly. This was different. The bed and the room seemed to be in my parent’s home for a moment, and once again it was the hospital room. A deep, rough voice called to me by name. I could not move. Soon, I was in some sort of playground being stared down by a massive teddy bear that looked like the one in my room. It said something, and all I could make out was “Not enough” or something like that. I think I also heard it say “Cut them open” but I am not entirely sure. Weird thing is, I felt better, like I was safe there. Definitely a dream. It was not a very pleasant dream, being looked at by a teddy bear like I am in some sort of sick fairy-tale, but not a nightmare.

Anyway, when I woke up I gave the bear a good looking at. Just a brown teddy bear, same as before, but a bit lighter. There’s a scarlet thread on the back of it, like someone stitched up an old war wound. Nothing too strange, I guess.

The broadcast has become whispers at times, now. Anytime they start to irritate me, I feel a wash of calm and then the voice quiets. Did not eat too much today. Nurse [redacted] says I am doing better, and we had a bit of a chat. Nothing important, just something about the weather. The other inmates are laughing at me, though.  I see them hiding their smirks when I get out of my room. I’m not as paranoid as you might think reading this. They mock [Patient C] because they think he drones on too long, and pull pranks on [Patient J] because he jumps at everything. I only see this in the TV and games room, and it can be relentless. I think they saw the damn bear while walking past my room. Best to keep it hidden. I don’t feel like being laughed at.

Entry 7

I had a very odd dream last night. Maybe that is not saying much after the one a few nights ago. So strange even having dreams now. The one the night before I heard children singing Red Rover, and I did not see any kids. It was something about a childhood crush telling me I was a crazy person. I got the sense that she hated me for it. But that’s not important. Before waking up, I swear I could feel those black strands of almost nothing holding onto me, and these kids were chanting the old Red Rover, Red Rover. And last night I saw them. Two young girls and teenage boy running around on some nightmarish playground dreamt of in Hell. The merry-go-round had what looked like razor blades on the outside, and there was a slide that was as tall as an office building. They were playing hop-scotch over hot coals. It seemed like only the outlined squares were safe and they kept pushing each other onto the hot coals and laughing. The little girls screamed when they touched the coals, but they ran over to me without injury. The older girl with red hair and freckles kept yelling “No Rules!” as she skipped around me and the smaller one with black hair and golden skin just laughed. The redhead could not be over twelve, and the other looked maybe ten. The teen, I’d say fourteenish, just rested against some monkey bars and smirked at me. When I was a kid, I used to flick my ear when I thought I was dreaming. It would either wake me up or not feel as painful in the dream. I tried it, and knew I was dreaming. The boy laughed and walked over to me, waving at the two girls to move away. They ran off to play tether-ball with what looked like a medieval spiked ball on a chain.

“Hey!” I remember yelling at them. I don’t much care for kids, but I could not let them get hurt.

“Don’t sweat it, old man,” the boy said. “They ain’t gonna get hurt. Nothing here hurts.”

“And why is that, boy?”

To this he laughed and told me: “’Cause there ain’t no meat here, old man. That’s why he’s got you. The big bad bear don’t understand meat.”

“What are you---” I started to say, but behind the boy I saw it again; a gigantic teddy bear, sitting behind him with its head down.

“No worries,” the boy said and laughed. “He’s asleep.”

“Who…?” I tried to ask, taking a step back.

“I’m Jesse. Over there we got Theresa, and the ginger girl is Beth. I named the Bear Captain Cuddles. He’s still It, I think.”

“It?”

“Yeah, and he caught me, them girls, and now you! We don’t get a turn to be It anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Bet you don’t. No worries, though. Wakey-Time!” And with that, the boy shoved me, and as I fell in the dream I woke up, once more in a cold sweat.

Entry 8
 
 Nothing makes sense. I just saw the orderly Nurse [redacted] shot in the head. At least, it looked a lot like him. I swear that the bear is staring at me. Sitting on my dresser, his coal black eyes burrowing straight into my soul. The running commentary on the State of the World is diminished again. After I awoke from the dream on the playground, it got louder, but now it is quiet. How can he be staring at me? It’s just a stuffed animal. I see the psychiatrist tomorrow. Maybe I can get him to change my meds. Maybe I am losing it.

Entry 9

They told me I was asleep. They told me I was dreaming. Now I wonder if I am awake when I am not dreaming. The Broadcaster is on full blast now. Writing this is difficult.
 
I was about to fall asleep when I felt I could not move. The bear suddenly leapt from the dresser onto my chest. My heart beat so hard, I thought it might push him right off. Claws grew from his stuffed paws and he opened his mouth to reveal many rows of pointed razor-sharp teeth. He pulled his arm back and, just before he raked his claws across my face, I felt like I was sinking. Something pulled me into the bed. Into the bed! Soon I was on my ass in the playground of horrors, the giant bear and the children looking at me with dumbstruck faces.

“Man,” the boy said as he laughed, “your dreams are hardcore!”

“What?” I said, suddenly feeling very stupid as they stared at me. “No-no. This is a dream. That...”

“Was also a dream, man,” the boy said before I could finish.

“Teddy bears don’t do things like that,” the red-headed girl chimed in. “That was scary. He’s not scary like that.”

“Seriously,” the boy said and kneeled down closer to me. “It’s ok, old man. Just wait it out here and chill. You woke him up, for a minute. We saw. It was scaring the girls, though.”

“S-Sorry?” I mumbled, my mind racing to sort this out.

Just rest. My eyes shot open as I looked up to the bear. The voice was low and a bit rough, and though his mouth had not moved the sound in my head seemed to come from him. I would not harm you in such a way. Stay here with the children.

“Why would he have dreams like that?” the golden-skinned girl asked, looking back to the bear.

*His mind is disordered. It cannot hurt you, but it often confuses him as to what is real. *

“Oh,” she replied, and moved her black hair from her face. She then walked over to me and put her hand on my shoulder. The other two kids followed suit, and then once the boy wandered off the two girls sat close to me and talked. I don’t remember quite what they talked about, something about their parents. They prattled on so much, it became more of a background buzz to me, and yet it was oddly soothing. The red-head mentioned something about her mother working in hospital for people who were confused. That’s really all I can remember, as it got hazier and hazier from there.

I woke a few moments ago, once again in a cold sweat. My head is pounding from the damn broadcast. When I see the psychiatrist later today, I might as well ask about pain pills.

A teddy bear is telling me I am crazy. I just don’t know anymore.

Entry 10

The psychiatrist approved me for new meds. I lied and told him I was getting headaches, so they also approved me for some ibuprofen. I managed to hide it under my tongue instead of swallowing it at med time. I think I should save up some of these. I don’t know if they will be able to do the job, but…Look, I don’t know if anyone is reading this and I don’t know what is going on anymore. This bear in my dreams and in my room is dangerous in a way I can’t put into words. I know I should get rid of the stupid thing, but without it the transmissions would come back. When I even think about asking the staff to throw him away, I hear The State of the World on blast. It is so loud I can no longer hear myself think. Also, I am getting used to the occasional relief of being able to ignore them. It is starting to look like there may only be one way out of all this.

I am not strong enough.

Entry 11

I can hear him when I am awake now. Not the broadcaster, but the stupid bear. He’s in my head somehow. I swear this has never happened before. I had just gotten back from the cafeteria. I sat down on my bed and the broadcast was nearly silent. Then all of a sudden I heard him speak. It was like how some of the others describe the voices.

Some of your fellow inmates cannot move. They are locked within their own mind. I want to see it. Bring me to one of their rooms, and show me what their insides look like. I want to see what they are made of. No one will miss them.

All I could do was look up in shock. My eyes went to the dresser I had him hidden in. It was the same, rough sounding voice from the dreams. But I was not asleep. I swear on everything holy that I was definitely awake.

“I-I can’t,” I managed after the minute it took to process what he was telling me to do. “That’s murder.”

They are hardly alive.

“But they still are!” I put my hand over my mouth, hoping others did not hear me shout at a stuffed toy.

You are useless. I need to be with [Patient J]. He walked down the hall the other day. He has more of what I need than you. He would do as I ask.

“You think he would kill for you? No…this isn’t right…”

Give me to him. You do not enjoy the company of the children. Your dreams frighten them too much. This would seem an equitable solution.

“W-wait,” I said in a hushed tone. “What about the broadcast? You make it quieter.”

It is all in your mind. You have dealt with it for years.

“That’s not true. Damn. Even the bear that talks to me prefers [Patient J], huh?” The irony of the situation could not escape me. Despite what the others might say, I do have a sense of humor. I understand why they gave me that damnable nickname, even though I hate it.

*Believe what you like. Give me to [Jones]*

“No,” I said solemnly after a minute of contemplation. I have no love for [Patient J], but I also do not wish this sort of madness on him. I soon found myself to be correct when a dull pain started in the back of my head, creeping its way over my skull. Before I knew it, it started to squeeze my brain. The pain was enough to bring me to my knees.

Give me to him, the bear repeated, his words causing the pain to throb slowly. I fumbled around a moment before finding the painkillers I had saved up and rammed five of them into my mouth and swallowed as quickly as I could.

“No,” I told him and leaned down, holding my head. We sat in silence for several minutes before the pain gradually subsided. I stood and opened the dresser and looked down at the bear. “I may not be human. I may not be worthy. But, maybe just this one time, I can behave like a man.”

With that, I closed the dresser.
 
Entry 12

The broadcast is getting louder at the worst times. It is becoming hard to talk with the medical staff. I think doing this is starving him a little, though. He can now only give me the amount of pain I used to get when eating frozen dessert too fast, and it lasts about as long. The pain medication keeps this at bay. I just have to keep him away from [Patient J]. This might get easier though.

I talked with an administrator. She seems to think I am ready to “graduate” from the facility into some kind of group home, pending the approval of the psychiatrist. Asking if [Patient J] would be joining me there would be telling. I still don’t know what sort of monster this bear is, but I have a feeling that keeping him away from the man he wants to be with will avert disaster. If those poor kids are real somehow, maybe I can wrest them away from his hold.

Entry 13

“Never play games you find on the internet,” the teen told me as I waited in the infernal playground to wake up. When I got there they started playing some game of tug of war using me as the rope. When one team would pull me, it was into the hot coals around the hopscotch outline. I was afraid it would hurt, but there were no burns on my feet. The boy gave me his little pearl of knowledge right before they chased each other with scissors. It seems the torment is to continue.

Doesn’t really matter, though. I am out of here tomorrow, and I am taking that stupid bear far away from [Patient J]. I have decided to leave this notebook here. Whoever finds this may think it the ravings of a madman, but then again if this gets out it, may do a little good.

If you are ever given a teddy bear, check its back for a scarlet thread. Be careful what games you decide to play. And most of all, do not let [Patient J] have the bear if you can help it.

End of Journal
   


I should tell you that the orderlies went into his room the following day. All they found was a skeleton wearing Chuckles’ clothes, and it attacked them!

Hehe, no. He was just transferred out to a group home somewhere in town. I am pretty sure he brought the bear with him. Patient J got transferred out too, a few weeks later. When I have a hot minute, I’ll see if I can get my buddy who works there to tell me how they are getting along. Weird shit though, right? Fuck, I have to get to bed soon! Maybe I'll search the instygrams for something cute to help with #sweetdreams and forget about #creepyteddybear.  So that’s all there is for now, interwebs! I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.


6
General Discussion / Was there ever a movie that truly scared you?
« Last post by Lyca on 09:45:04 AM 04/13/18 »
Yeah, I know that's a crappy title, also feel free to delete this topic if this has been done...

The question is: was there ever a movie that really truly scared you, and if yes, what was it? (or what were they if more than one)

I have a few.

As a tiny little kid my dad worked a lot of nights and late shifts and my mum liked to watch old horror movies on the TV. but she was too scared to watch them alone so she would bring one of us down (usually me) to watch with her. I just slept on the sofa for the most parts but this one time there was an old movie called 'Dr Terror's House of Horrors' and I slept through most of it, it was one of those old movies that had five little stories withing the movie itself. The only one I was awake for was one about a plant. A family had just returned from holiday to find a strange beanstalk style plant growing up the front of the house. Long story short it was evil, murderous and self aware. I was about 3 years old and for most of my childhood I was terrified of plants, especially climbing plants.

Another movie I saw at around 5 or 6 (thanks mother) was called 'Don't look Now' another old one. the ending freaked me out so badly I had nightmares for months. To this day I still think that is one of the scariest movies I've seen.

Lastly, when I was about 15 there was a cinema that showed old or banned movies on a Friday night. I heard they were showing The Evil Dead. It had pretty much been banned everywhere was a 'video nasty' and I sneaked in to watch it. Little kid me thought that was the most horrifying, realistic movie ever. Watching that at such a young age messed me up badly.

Ironically now the Evil Dead is one of my favourites.

On a side note, i really loved that old cinema, they eventually showed Carrie, Videodrome, Dawn of the Dead, Jaws and Christine and lots of other movies. It was super cheap to get in as well and they didn't seem too fussed about age. Only thing was it was kind of grubby, the seats and floors were sometimes tacky and had sticky patches. Much later I discovered that they showed 'different' kinds of movies on other days. I never went back after finding that out.
7
Story Critique / Facility Delta 4
« Last post by Apegacine on 07:20:15 PM 04/12/18 »
My name is Yvonne Logel and I used to work as a writer for Estrella weekly which was a no name piece of shit tabloid based in Hollywood california,  I had just graduated from Freie Journalistenschule in Berlin when my parents decided to take me and my siblings to move in with my mom’s brother in America since she was getting spooked by all the attacks and shit that was going on at the time.  Being a woman with absolutely no relevant connections in america and only one degree to my name I had a hard time finding any decent jobs.  So I was stuck at that godforsaken dump writing stories about vapid drama bullshit like Jay Garcia getting cucked by a high school quarterback, Some crazy bitch claiming that her neighbor sacrificed her son to some bird thing. and Baseball star Julian Cox getting caught jacking off in a public bathroom.  It was around seven months after I started working at that shit heap of a company that something on the news caught my eye.  I was taking a break from writing about my interview with some attention starved dipshit who found some mcdonalds bags while digging through the garbage can of hotshot chef Taylor Reyes, when I saw a news article about a prison in mexico where dozens of prisoners mysteriously disappearing before parole without any signs of a breakout. I looked around a bit and saw that similar incidents were happening in multiple prisons all over mexico.

I ended up reading several articles on the disappearances, Reading up on some of the prisoners and trying to compile all of the info together to make sense of it all. While working on that  I ended up losing track of time and had missed the deadline for my assignment. Naturally I got fired for that and the boss gave me an earful. Although truth be told  I never thought I would be so happy to get fired but it meant being free from writing articles on gossip for insipid twats who have nothing better to do then read about who is fucking who and which dumbass sluts were getting pregnant before hitting their twenties.  Also it meant I could research and write about the disappearances on my own time. I ended up working part time for a bar which was slightly better even if my new boss can be a bit of a massive bitch sometimes.

Now back to the disappearances. The first one happened early last year in a prison located in Veracruz with 70 prisoners disappearing and to this day all of the prisoners who disappeared have never been seen or heard from after the fact.  Even when their own family members and friends have been interrogated none of them reported seeing or hearing from them after they disappeared from prison.  The most common theory for how this happened is that the cartels made a deal with the more seedy side of the police since corruption is a well known problem in the Mexican police force and taking bribes is nothing new for policemen in mexico.  However something has surfaced that might have to do with the mass disappearances.

   Yesterday an article was sent via email to various news sites such as TIME,Buzzfeed and CNN from multiple Ip addresses all using the same email address “Sporophila_corvina@gmail.com”.  The IP addresses lead back to computers in libraries and schools in Texas,Georgia,oregon,wisconsin and maine, so it is difficult to locate anyone who sent the article and interview them.

   The article has been dismissed as viral marketing to drum up hype for a unannounced movie or something like that. However if the article is telling the truth it might just offer up an explanation for the disappearances.


Facility Delta 4 Infiltration Report
Agent codename shikra reporting in after infiltration of Facility codename Delta 4 located in Sierra de Huayacocotla.  At 10 in the morning a local contact dropped me off on the side of the road 30 miles away from the border of the facility via truck by a local contact. I came prepared with the standard gear HQ gives out for sneaking missions including a Suppressed OTs-38 stechkin suppressed revolver with some spare 7.62×42 mm SP-4 rounds,a PP-2000 SMG with 4 spare 44 round magazines in case I get caught, A hunting knife,3 fragmentation grenades and miscellaneous tools.
I hiked the rest of the way to the perimeter of the facility through the dense forest. It was lightly raining and there was a thick rog rolling in all throughout the day.  I carefully kept watch and looked for any guards while making my way through the muddy mess of wet trees and bushes.  I noticed that despite being a forest there were no signs of any mammals or reptiles living in the forest. However there were plenty of birds flying around but it was mostly just seedeaters and crows. Some of them were stoically sitting on branches in spite of the rain and kept moving their heads around frantically. It was around 8PM when I eventually reached the exterior of the facility. From what I was able to observe the facility consisted of a square windowless metal building that was approximately half an acre with spots of rust on the walls, one 6000 by 6000 meter wooden shed in the back. There were also five small sheds with one of them on the side of the wide side of the largest building with the other four sheds on the other side of the largest building. All of the buildings look like they were constructed a year or two ago.  the perimeter was surrounded by a 18 feet high chain link fence that had a large gate in the front. Keeping my distance I walked around the perimeter looking for a lightly guarded spot. There were only a dozen or so guards on patrol with most of them focusing on guarding the gate with only 3 guards around the shed in the back, So I circled around the facility and approached from behind the lone shed in the back. I slowly walked up to the fence and used a tool to cut a hole through the wire fence large enough for me to crawl through and started sneaking carefully towards the lone shed on the side of the main facility with my gun drawn, I saw no one in front of the door So I slowly turned the knob and listened for anyone inside before I threw the door open and closed it behind me.
There was one man in the room sitting in front of a group of computer monitors and a keyboard with a Glock G19 pistol. He got up and reached for his gun as I raised my arm while frantically sprinting towards him. Squeezing the trigger I managed to shoot him in the right side of his chest got right in front of him as he clutched the wound with one hand and aimed right at me. Thankfully before he got a shot off I shoved my gun in his face and squeezed a round off. I let his body fall to the ground and shot him yet again in the forehead to make sure he was dead. I took a quick look outside to be sure no one heard the fight. Only opening the door a little bit I saw no one and no alarms were going off so I must be good for the moment.
I moved the guard’s corpse to the side and sat down in front the keyboard. I replaced the spent rounds in my gun with new bullets and putting the old ones away before setting the gun down beside the keyboard.  I looked to the computer’s desktop and found nothing except for the recycle bin,A map of the facility and the program running the security cameras.

   I downloaded the map of the facility before looking at the other moniters and each of them were marked “fuera”, “celdas”,”Partos salas” and “comedor” each monitor had multiple feeds on a list to the side of the screen  with one feed taking the rest of the screen. I Turned my attention to the monitor labelled “Celdas” and cycled around the various camera feeds, I saw back to back rows of cages with one naked man in each cage who were handcuffed to the top by their wrists and with shackles around their wrists and ankles Some of them were screaming and crying to be released, others seemed to be shouting with seething rage and some of them just stared hopelessly into the distance.  There were around 30 men armed with AK-47 rifles patrolling the inside of the facility. Two of the guards went to one of the cage doors opened a door to one of the cages, One guard uncuffed a brown haired prisoner from the top of his cage while the other guard aimed his rifle right at the prisoner. The guard took the prisoner with him and shouted at him to follow and as they walked the second guard followed them from a slight distance keeping his aim focused on the prisoner’s back with a emotionless expression on his face.

   Briefly looking at the monitor marked “Fuera” I quickly cycled through the feeds and saw that the fog was obscuring them so I wasn’t able to gain anything of substance from them.

   Turning to the monitor marked “Portos Salas" I saw some more rows of cages but this time each of them had a naked woman strapped tightly on top of a gurney and I noticed some of them were in different stages of pregnancy.  Some of them almost looked like they were dead with them just laying still with the only sign of them being alive is the soft raise and fall of their chest, Others screamed and struggled against their restraints while a small few of them cried in hopeless anguish.

   The two guards and the prisoner from before brought the brown haired prisoner to one of the cages and opened the door motioning for the prisoner to get inside the cage with a red haired woman inside of it while the other guard shouted loudly at him and pressed the barrel of his rifle to the back of the prisoner. The brown haired prisoner seemed to be horrified at what he asked him to do, The brown haired prisoner gasped and tried to run away from the guard with the gun but the other guard slammed a nightstick into his gut and the guard with the gun slammed the stock of his rifle against the brown haired prisoner’s head, The guard with the nightstick struck the prisoner in the face breaking his nose making his face contort in pain before he was kicked to the ground. Then both guards started yelling loudly and harshly at the prisoner while cruelly stomping on his chest and stomach leaving him yelling and crying in pain, he seems to be begging them to stop as their stomping leaves large bruises on him. They stop their stomping and the guard with the nightstick carries the brown haired prisoner to the woman in the cage while he cries in horror.

   I shift to another camera feed and see one guard carrying two large jugs and a funnel with a tube attached to one of the cages in the corner. He opens the cage and a heavily pregnant woman is seen struggling against her restraints. The guard sets the jugs on the ground next to the gurney and he tightly grabs the woman’s head.  The woman screams furiously at him as he keeps her head in a vice grip. With no change to his stoic expression he forces the funnel into the woman’s mouth making sure the tube goes down her throat. Grabbing one of the jugs the guard pours the contents into the funnel which looked like a gooey mess of various vegetables and meat all blended together into a fine sludge. The woman chokes and gags as the disgusting slops was forced down her throat. The guard then picked up the other jug which seemed to be full of a weird cloudy liquid. After he finishes pouring the liquid down the funnel he waits a minute to be sure it all went down, He then removed the funnel and took the jugs and funnel with him as he went to the next cage over.

   Turning my attention to the monitor labelled “Comedor”. There was only one feed and the camera was above the entrance. Dozens of men were kneeling in a circle with lamps spread around the room with a circle of candles in the middle surrounding the object of worship.

   A large bird like creature with covered in dark feathers was standing in the circle of candles seeming almost as if it was basking in the praise of it’s thralls. The creature had a long rounded torso with strong wide legs and arms that ended in long dull claws and talons. It’s head was thin and tapered from his neck into a long beak. One man came into the room carrying something in his arms walking slowly towards the creature with his head bowed down in what looked like prayer.  When the sole worshipper gets right in front of the circle he kneels down and presents what seems to be a human infant to the creature. The Creature lowers its beak to the infant and opens his beak. I uneasily clicked off the “Comedor” feed and went to try and copy all of the archive footage from the security cameras to the portable drive I have with me.  Unfortunately a window popped up saying “Copia no autorizada detectada:Eliminación de emergencia y alarma activada” and all of the camera footage was deleted so I was only able to salvage the map. A horrible screeching sounded as the alarm went off. I ran out the room with the drive and ran as fast as I could from the facility, Some guards came after me and I had to fire a few rounds at them while I escaped into the forest.

   I managed to escape to the local town of Huayacocotla and drove over to [REDACTED] and then to [REDACTED] before writing this report to be sure they didn’t follow me. I didn’t see any signs of anyone tailing me so I should be in the clear. I will stay on standby for any further orders.

   So in conclusion it looks like yet another seeding facility.
8
Story Critique / Re: Eating Out
« Last post by Zathoth on 12:16:20 PM 04/12/18 »
A fleshed out twist on Ability, I like it a lot.

There's only two things that took me out of it
1. You segue with "Anyway" a couple times too many. Remove at least one of them.
2. Unless you need the references to The Frankfort Slasher I'd remove that too. It just comes off as corny, trying to make a possible connection to a real serial killer.
9
Story Critique / Re: Eating Out
« Last post by Filamena on 09:13:50 AM 04/12/18 »
Just as a quick thing or two...

This is part of a bigger project maybe? Yes it heavily draws from a really delightful bit of ashcan I read years ago. It’ll be posted with an essay about the original piece, so. Fair credit and all will go fairly.

I’m not sure about the title. It was originally just Ass. Idk.

Other comments welcome.
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Story Critique / Eating Out
« Last post by Filamena on 09:10:17 AM 04/12/18 »
This story is completely true. Moments and conversation are a rough approximation as best as I can remember everything. I couldn’t swear to every word being right, but pretty close. I changed one key thing, but that was only to protect myself which I think you'll understand when I'm finished. So anyway. Yes. This story is completely true except for the one thing that isn't.

Anyway I started working at this steak house about fifteen years ago. Maybe it was twenty. I was young and stupid and I thought I wanted to be a bartender. The dream was I’d write and tend bar and live a quiet life scraping by until my boyfriend at the time figured out what he wanted to do with his when he grew up. He was an artist, but nothing was ever finished. I only ever saw sketches and outlines. Vivid, intense pieces that were violent and beautiful and detailed. He said painting wasn’t his medium. He went by Drake, but that wasn’t on his driver’s lesson. You know that kind of artist, I’m sure. We didn’t live together. In fact, he refused to let me into his place a lot of the time. Said it was just too much of a mess to have a girl over and that he needed ‘space’ because he was an artist. I would have suspected he was secretly married or something, but frankly, I couldn’t imagine anyone actually marrying him. —I intended to marry him eventually because I was ‘different’ and thought I could be his manic pixie dream girl before I knew that term or what it meant.

So this restaurant, it was this tiny tight community and they let me right in. I was exactly the kind of functioning-tragedy that fit in with a place like it. It was a full staff split between day and nighttime workers plus some management that were pretty shitty but distant enough we rarely had to think about them. I guess there was some corporate over-bosses they had to deal with because it was a chain but I wasn’t savvy enough at the time to get what that meant.

I fit in fine because the existing staff, no matter what management had to say about it, had no patience for vapid college kids who would quit after a month. That kind was driven out pretty fast by the pace and tightness of the social web with the more established staff. Sometimes they put up with older ‘kids’ like me. People looking to ‘work some shit out’ with one foot out the door. Maybe it was because I was pretty good at looking like a lifer. If you’ve ever been on the other side of food service you know what I mean by lifer. Lifers are experienced, savvy, probably pretty damn good at their job, and probably very competitive when it became necessary. The thing about a lifer in food service is that they’ve learned not to waste their energy and when they need to hustle. I was a smart enough kid to see who was hustling, and therefore when to keep my head down and stay the hell out of their way. I guess that’s why Starr liked me just fine.

Starr was the quintessential lifer. She’d spell her name out when she told it to you. S-T-A-R-R. She’d get pissed when one of the kitchen guys, he went by Barry, would write it with one ‘r’ on an order slip. Barry left shortly after I started because someone ratted him out to his parole officer. It wasn’t Starr, but, again, that’s how these tiny communities work. I never got as good a read on her as I wanted, you know? Her motivations weren’t as clear as say, Anthony the evening bar manager who only hired big breasted blonds who couldn’t pour drinks to save their lives. Starr wasn’t so straight forward, and that made me liked her. She was a youthful 40, wearing tank tops and low rise jeans like she had no idea that was the uniform of a woman half her age. She had mastered her energy levels to a point that she seemed casual at all times. Even on shifts where she told us she was busting her ass to make rent money, she never seemed aggressive or competitive. She was, but she was so low key about it, so in control, that she never had to really step on anyone to do it. She had no patience for drama. She knew how to get a party going and how to keep it going without burning herself out. I learned a lot about living life right by watching her bartend and wait tables. She had nipple rings and would take any opportunity to show people her unbelievably perky, pierced tits. She was trashy, maybe we all were, but her trashy was mostly past tense. She’d been there, done that, and moved on because drama was too much work. But she had stories. Like, a Jerry Springer episode on acid. She was tough. Life had made her that way.

“No, she’s really special.” A dishwasher named Yulia told me once, in no uncertain terms right when I started. “She’s got a gift.” I spoke just enough Spanish to show the back-house staff respect and so they talked to me sometimes. Most wait staff don’t bother fraternizing much with kitchen or back-of-house. I’m a writer, I guess, so I like to chat with anyone. In bits and pieces from Yulia and some of the other staff, I heard more rumors about this ‘gift’ Starr had. I didn’t believe it or disbelieve it, but I wanted to see it none the less.  “She’ll help you out with this boyfriend thing.” Yulia told me once after I’d cried in the walk in cooler for twenty minutes on my lunch break. That was my personal business spread all over the tiny community I guess.

Anyway, I started to keep my ears open about this gift, you know, just in case it was something that would make a good story later. (Sorry Starr. At least I changed your name!) Maybe there was enough to it to help me out, like Yulia suggested, but probably it was just a bar trick. “She just knows what she knows,” one of the hostesses told me when I helped her bus a table after a crazy busy lunch shift. “It’s pretty neat when you figure it out.” She told me. I tipped out to the hostesses. Always. It paid off. Always.

I didn’t start sucking up to Starr or anything, but I did try to hang around a little more. Spend a little extra time by the bar at lunch time. She had these regulars durning the day shift. Functional alcoholics who drank through lunch but managed to hold down jobs and were probably mostly harmless. They respected her, I guess to these old fuckers she was young and hot but not so young they didn’t have a shot. No one crossed the line with Starr. Because she knew what she knew? Because she didn’t take shit? I didn’t know.

I know now.

Then it first happened, it was a Friday around three. We made shit in tips on Fridays durning the day, of course, everyone was saving their money for the big breasted blondes who’d come in around seven. I got by, so I didn’t complain much. I wasn’t a big breasted blond, I was a thick brunette with a little too much Plath in my head to be attractive in a bar. Starr was in early taking care of her regulars before they headed back to their miserable lives outside the bar. I was feeling sick from the salad I’d eaten at a convince store near by, and looking forward to relenting my shift. A few of the old timers were laughing, and one of them pointed me out. “Do her next!”

Starr, smiling professionally looked past her regulars to where I stood. “Let’s not bother her, huh? Kid’s been through enough today, thanks to you Ron and your fucking chop steak order.” Ron blushed and the men laughed.

“Ah, let her in on it, Starr. For me.” He put a five down on the bar without ordering. She took it and glanced my way then shrugged. Ron’s buddy, I think he delivered mail gestured me over. “Starr’s psychic.” The mail carrier told me. Ron nodded sagely.

“I’ve heard something like that.” I admitted.

“It’s not like that.” Starr said, gesturing like she was blushing and embarrassed. She was neither.

“Go on. Show her.” The mail carrier said.

Starr sighed, looking at him a second very seriously. “Last night’s creamed corn and salty pork.” She huffed, whipped up a bar towel and slapped him with it. “Drinking on an empty stomach this late in the day? Jesus Conner, what’s wrong with you?” The men had a good laugh. I didn’t understand what was going on, and it showed on my face. Conner apologized, something about his appetite going to shit since this new blood pressure medication he’s on.

“You gotta do her though.” Ron insisted thumbing at me.

“You wish.” She laughed at them. “Like we’d let you watch anyway.”

I gave her a noncommittal thumbs up, and the men laughed. But didn’t let up on what they were actually after.

Starr sighed and looked at me a minute. She was a white lady who stayed inside all day, and white like a glass of milk, but as she stared at me there was something even more pale, yellow, about her complexion. Must have been the light in the bar. Her eyes stayed fixed on me, but looking elsewhere. She was looking past me and through me and I got a little chill.

“Salad without the croutons, honey mustard, and an egg that was a little off.” She risked and shook her head. “Girl, you gotta stop eating out of that 7-11. They’re going to kill you.”

I stood stunned a moment, without really knowing why. “You can…”

“Predict what you last ate, yes.” Conner filled in.

They were laughing at my confusion, but not at me. “Told you, she’s psychic.” Ron told me.

“Not really.” Starr said with a shrug. “I just kind of know the last meal a person’s sat down and eaten.”

“What? Really? Like mind reading or something?”

She shrugged, and a shadow of exhaustion crossed her features. She’d explained this too many times. She hated this part. I smiled sympathetically at her, or tried to, but she wasn’t looking at me anymore. She was looking at the door as the bell just rang.

My boyfriend was walking in to pick me up from my shift. I wasn’t ready, and I hated when he came early. The management gave me shit about it. He was talking to a hostess, the cute red head with wide hips who wasn’t much over 18. I forget her name, but I remember her face and the way she giggled when he talked to her. 

“Ass.” Starr said quietly.

“He really is.” I muttered back.

“What? No. I mean. Last thing he ate.” Her voice was distant, maybe that was just a trick of the light, but in that moment her skin was white and her eyes fixed on my boyfriend.

“Oh, girl, your boy cheating on you?” Ron asked, slapping me on the back. “I’ll take you home any time. I’ll take good care of you if he’s eating out without you.”

The group there erupted into laughter, including Starr. “I’m sure your wife would love that. I think your middle daughter’s her age, isn’t she?”

Ron attempted to defend himself, I slipped out of the group tho to grab my purse and clock out for the afternoon. I didn’t talk to him about any of it. But I thought about it a lot. There were a million ways she could have made that assumption. It didn’t take a psychic to see the way he behaved, or me crying between shifts. The public secrets in our little community could easily look like psychic ability if you didn’t pay attention to whispers.

And yet. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. How he wouldn’t let me into his place most of the time. How he kept me at arm’s length but never out of his grasp. “You’re perfect.” He told me that night while he was screwing me. “I couldn’t make a girl as perfect as you. I shouldn’t even be allowed to touch you. I make you dirty just by looking at you.” Which is a funny thing to say when you’re dick-deep, isn’t it?

I thought it was hot talk. Meant to keep me invested.  Beautiful sexy words so that I wouldn’t complain about all the things he didn’t do for me. Like help with the bills that piled up at my place, the food I paid for, or the fact that I never got mine durning sex unless I did it myself. He was a pig with an artist’s sense of how to say just the right things. Everything was carefully crafted to make me feel special so I stuck around while he cheated or whatever. The problem was, it did make me feel special. When he noticed I was alive at all it was obsessive. Worshipful. Intense.

I wondered how many other girls he was that intense with.

So anyway, I spent a few weeks after that stewing about it. I realized with the molasses-slow thinking of a stupid kid in love, that I had no idea who this guy was. The intensity I was feeling didn’t actually replace how little I actually knew about him. He was a void with pretty words and an apartment I couldn’t visit that flirted with my coworkers in front of me and didn’t even get me off. What was I even doing with my life?

I think I was literally in the middle of thinking ‘what am I even doing with my life’ that Saturday night. I’d picked up a shift, I was exhausted, with a pocket full of cash and the worst back ache I could remember having. My period was due and I just knew this was all going to end in a big damn fight with the boyfriend. I wasn’t ready. So I married two bottles of ketchup together and threw the now empty one away, when Starr came over to me. She looked tired but chill, and considering how hard she’s partied all night and how much she’d pulled in on tips, I was frankly impressed by her chill. “Hey, girl, we’re going to hit a bar a friend of mine knows. Its a slightly older crowd, but you can just chill out. You need a break.” I did, but I couldn’t imagine what a sad sack I’d be to hang around with. I started to apologize when the door bell chimed. Someone had forgotten to lock the doors after our last customers left. Or a hostess had let him in. Either way, my stomach dropped.

“Really, girl. Come out with us. Tonight.” She was looking past me, where I was looking.

“He been eating ass while I was working mine off again?” I asked her flatly.

She laughed once, a nervous bark of a laugh, then looked back at me. “Girl, don’t go home with him tonight? Alright? Come out with us, or go home and lock your doors. But don’t mess with him tonight, okay?”

“That a premonition?”

“No.” She huffed. “Just look at him. He’s building up to something dark. That’s got nothing to do with psychic.”

He loomed in the door way, not talking to the hostesses, who’d all sort of vanished as he came in. The bouncer, Jerome was watching him. Jerome never even so much as took a second look at him. But there Jerome was, giving the eye to Drake. The man I was going to save because he was a misunderstood artist. Drake with his dark hair in his eyes. His breathing heavy. I watched his right hand clench and unclench. I’d seen that before, a twitch of his, but somehow tonight it was different.

“You hear me, kid?”

I did, I nodded, I grabbed my purse from the bar and made my way to the front door. He moved in on me, standing over me, breathing on me. “You look perfect.” He said before I could say anything to him. “I had something special in mind.”

I shook my head. “Hun, I’m tired. I can’t. It was a long shift. I just want to go home and sleep. We can do something tomorrow maybe.”

He moved in on me more, actually putting the toe of his boot on the top of my sneaker without putting any pressure there. Yet. “I made dinner. I bought flowers. There’s candles. All that romantic shit you love. Its all set up at my place.” He reached up to grab my arm. Not touch, not even hold, just grab.

“I said I’m tired. I’m sorry you went to any trouble, but no. I’m going home tonight. Alone.”

His snarled at me, like no exaggeration. A snarl. “No, you’re perfect just how you are. We’re going to have a good time tonight.” This meant he already had half a hard-on and was ready to go. At his place.

“I’m not interested.” I thought about him ‘eating out’ with other girls. Treating me like shit. I thought of another sweaty night without a good orgasam and I hit fuck-it. “How about no. Not tonight, not ever. How about I’ll leave your shit in a box outside tomorrow and if you ever show up again, I’m calling the cops. I’m done with this. With you.”

He squeezed my arm and put his foot down harder on top of mine. “That’s not how this works. Let’s not make any unfortunate mistakes here. You’re perfect for me, and that’s how it’s gonna stay, okay? I wanted to show you some of my art tonight.”

In the distance, a siren sounded. Maybe in my head, or just around in the neighborhood. It was that kind of neighborhood. I pulled back, and the bouncer moved into my line of sight behind my boyfriend. Jerome arched a single brow at me, and I nodded.

“Alright stud. I think we’ve seen enough.” The bouncer stepped in, my boyfriend spun around, his eyes wild, and then he shrank. Jerome had a foot and a hundred pounds of muscles on my misunderstood artist. So no. He wasn’t going to try that shit on anyone but me. “You’re gonna do what the nice lady asked and leave. And you’re not going to come back here. She won’t even have to call the cops. You feel me?”

Our bouncer was off-duty. A lot of bouncers are. I don’t like cops, but I fucking loved him in that second.

My now-ex-boyfriend deflated and the menace was gone. He let go of me, and slunk cravenly for the door. He didn’t threaten me when he left, but his eyes told a story. Of what he’d do to me if he ever caught me alone. You know that look? I mean, I hope you don’t. I hope you never do.

Anyway, about a month later of not ever being alone to be caught that way, I got contacted by the cops. His landlord was complaining about a smell, and I was an emergency contact, and yeah I had a key I’d never used, so would I open the door and save them some paper work?

Normally, I hang up on cops. But. I’d forgotten about my copy of the key and one last jab felt good some how, so I decided to meet the polite young officer at my ex’s place and handed over the key. Or that was the plan. When we arrived at the floor, the smell was so bad the landlady went back into the elevator. Cop called for backup, but took the key, curiosity got the best of him.

In my head, I imagined that Drake had artistically killed himself in there and it was probably my fault. I felt a pang. The smell of death does a lot to you. And make no mistake, the acrid creeping stink that had ruined the hallway was the smell of death.

“Do you… do you think he’s dead in there?” I asked, choking.

The cop shook his head and unlocked the door. “Wait here, my partner’s on his way up. Under no circumstances do I want you to even look inside this room. You got me?”

I nodded. He hadn’t answered my question.

I didn’t look inside the room. I waited outside. Eventually, a lot of different cops were asking me a lot of questions. I even ended up down at the station for a few hours. No one offered me coffee or a lawyer. I wasn’t a suspect. I had to buy my own soda at the vending machine. It was surreal.

I still don’t know all the details. They don’t just tell you that shit like on TV. I know he’d done something bad. Really bad. He’d done it a few times. He was set up to, maybe, do it to me the night I told him to fuck off. He liked chubby girls. There was a specific reason he liked chubby girls. He skipped town, probably because of the run in with my bouncer. He never got caught, and I’ve been real careful about men since then.

You don’t have to believe me, I wouldn’t. But you can google the Frankfort Slasher (https://youtu.be/r7fIbdGWhBc) if you want. It was never officially solved or connected to my ex. The news reports talk about the sexual assault on the victims and the cutting. They don’t tell you about the missing meat.

I never asked Starr why she wasn’t more, yanno specific, about her readings. I left the state too soon after all of it to be able to.
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