LOLCREEPYPASTATHREAD.

Fallout 3 contains several in-game radio stations. The most diverse and important station is Galaxy New Radio. Many players of the evil persuasion know that you can kill Three Dog and he will be replaced by the technician Margaret. She is not a charismatic person and has very little it say, seeming to not enjoy her new announcing duties. She also never appears in person, and therefore cannot be killed. Once Three Dog is dead, you're stuck with Margaret.

What most players do NOT know is that under certain circumstances, GNR will become a "numbers station." A numbers station is a station that broadcasts an unusual coded message. Many of these exist in real life and some hypothesize that they are a nuclear retaliation control network. Simply check Wikipedia for more information about these odd broadcasts as they relate to the real world. Back to Fallout 3...

No one is really sure which actions are needed to hear the numbers station in Fallout 3. It appears that you must kill Three Dog, because no one has reported hearing the numbers station with him still alive. It also appears that you have to skip over the quest "Galaxy News Radio" where you help boost the signal so that the station can be broadcast further than just the immediate DC area. This is easy enough to do with either a speech check or simply using the FalloutWiki to look up where to go next and advance the main plot. Finally, you definitely have to destroy Raven Rock. The is the actual trigger to turn GNR into a numbers station and it will remain such for the rest of the game. However, the vast majority of the players who perform these three actions still continue hearing the standard GNR broadcasts, so there must be several more requirements the community has yet to isolate.

If you're lucky enough to have hit upon the right set of circumstances, just after destroying Raven Rock, you will get the message, "Radio signal lost" and a few seconds later, "Radio signal found." You cannot, however, actually listen to GNR just yet because you didn't boost the signal, and are out of range of the broadcast at the exit of Raven Rock. Luckily, Raven Rock is situated in the mountains and is right near one of the few places outside DC that you can get high enough to catch the signal. So far, the confirmed location to hear the GNR numbers signal are:

1. Within the immediate DC area obviously...this is true for the regular GNR throughout the game.
2. At the top of the ferris wheel on that backwater redneck island. I can't remember its name just now.
3. On the tops of some of the satcom arrays you can climb in the northwestern map area.
4. On the roof of Tenpenny Tower, though this may be within normal broadcast range anyway. Feel free to playtest and get back to me on this.
5. On the highest point of the broken bridge around Arefu...again, may be within braodcast range anyway.
6. On some of the highest points of the mountain tops in the area near Raven Rock. This is obviously your easiest chance to first listen to the numbers station.

When you tune in, you will hear an old familiar voice...Three Dog, despite the fact that you killed him earlier. However, you will quickly notice that he does not seem to be "in character." So I guess it's not technically Three Dog, but just the voice actor, Erik Dellums. He reads a series of numbers in a monotone, depressed sounding voice. He always recites a list of single digits between 9 and 12 characters long. For example, "nine-three-seven-nine-one-seven-two-zero-three-four." Hever never uses a multi-digit number like "eleven" or "forty." These numbers are followed by widely varying lengths of Morse code. This is then followed by the song "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire." All other music tracks seem to be inactive on the numbers station.





The Morse code was the easiest part of the mystery to crack, as the code is widely available and many people actually know it by heart. We quickly had a list of a great number of messages in English. Some sounded completely mundane and even comical, such as "Washed the car today, maybe Chinese for dinner." or "Have you watched my YouTube video yet, I uploaded myself kicking bums in the nuts."

You may be saying, "But wait, YouTube doesn't exist in the Fallout universe," and you are right. As far as we could tell, all of the messages sounded like they were based in our reality somewhere near present day.

Some of the messages, however, are quite sinister, such as, "The Queen has died today. The world mourns, as on days like these, we are all Brits." or "I can't believe they're actually done it. Not long left. The noise. I can't take the noise anymore. I have a pistol in the attic."





Just recently, a player on the wikiforums noticed a message that brought to light the meaning of the messages. He was reading a thread that collected all known messages, transposed from Morse to English, and saw the line, "one-two-zero-five-five-two-eight-two-zero-one-zero. What are you talikn' about? You'll be missed." He realized this referred to the recent death of Gary Coleman, and the quickly realized the numbers were the time and date of death. He immediately scanned through the messages to try and find more examples of this apparent future telling by a game that's more than a year old. The next message he read shocked him and pushed him to enlist the aid of the others to decipher the codes. The message was "nine-four-five-four-two-zero-two-zero-one-zero. Accident in the gulf, several dead. Oil spill apparently averted." He realized this was the BP explosion and the erroneous day-one assessment that the well was not leaking.

From this point on, all numbers will be transcribed as times and dates. All times were given in game in military format and remain so in this document.

Numerous members of the FalloutWiki message board began looking over the messages to see what else we could learn. We quickly found that most of the dates were after the game had been released, yet oddly some were from the past. "22:15 April 15, 1865 He's dead and blame will probably be placed on that actor, Booth. Johnson better not cheat me out of the payment." This shed new doubt on the official version of the Lincoln assassination.

As the community quickly started piling up interpretations of the messages, the mods of the site summarily banned everyone who had posted in, or even read the thread. All reference to the numbers station was removed from FalloutWiki and filtering software was put in place to prevent reposting of any relevant information. A few people, however, are trading emails and slowly finishing the translation of the remaining messages and putting dates to the existing ones.

"The Queen has died today. The world mourns, as on days like these, we are all Brits." 4:02 March 19, 2014

"Have you watched my YouTube video yet, I uploaded myself kicking bums in the nuts." 24:16 December 24, 2012

"I can't believe Britney's actually won an Oscar!" 21:33 Fruary 27, 2023

"I can't believe they've actually done it. Not long left. They were warned, but they just had to keep pushing the boundaries of science. The noise. I can't take the noise anymore. And the light, dear God! The Universe is slowly unravelling around us. I'm not going to wait for death. I have a pistol in the attic." This is actually the only message not preceded by a strig of numbers.

It may be worth noting that the latest date on any of the messages is 1:27 July 6, 2027.

If you go into this one tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, and the right bartender is behind the counter that night, you might be able to see a very exclusive gallery show of the lost works of one Henri Beauchamp. But, to get in, you have to prove you're a devotee of the artist to get in. You'll be asked, in clear and perfect English, "What would like to partake of this glorious night?" Answer "absinthe", no matter what. Any other drink, from whiskey to water, will kill you as you sleep.

The next question will regard the type, and you MUST answer one of two things: "The stuff that Man himself could not bear to take," or, "The good stuff. The best stuff." If you ask for any other absinthe, in any other way, you will be plagued by nightmares for 13 days. Each night's dream will be more horrible than the last, until, upon the thirteenth dream, your nightmare will follow you, every moment of your waking and sleeping life.

Don't try and cheat the barkeep: the door locked behind you. You have to drink what he gives you, doom or not. That such a powerful man granted you audience should be enough. Besides, I've heard that the dying complimented his drinks in their death throes.

If you make it that far before sealing your fate, the bartender will say, "Be sure you handle this with care; this is the finest I have." From here, you may do one of two things: Say, word for word, "I overestimated my fortitude, and I bid you good eve." If the barkeep nods, you may leave the door you entered, unharmed and with nothing gained and nothing lost (except the time spent inside).

Or you can go on.

You will be given a glass with a seven-sided rim, with each side twisting ever so delicately around the basin until forming a sleek and simple handle. You will also receive a very, very, very special absinthe spoon, in the shape of a key; the holes at the key's top serve as the draining point for the alcohol to pour over the sugar cube. And, of course, an unmarked bottle, stripped long ago of its label, scraps of paper sticking to its sides, covered in the rot of the decades past.

The spoon is completely flat, but has two distinct sides: one with a groove along the shaft of the key, and one without. Turn the shaft down, so its groove will be face down. If you attempt this face up, your absinthe will taste foul, your nose will burn, and your eyes will shrivel in their sockets with unspeakable horrors not of this world.

Now, if your spoon is the right way up, begin preparing the absinthe as one would (put the sugar on the spoon, and pour the alcohol over so it gains its color and "special qualities").

Say "cheers" to your friend, the barkeep, and bottoms up. If you don't, the absinthe will burn every innard it touches with the power and pain of sulfuric acid.




If you've done it right, the already dim lights will go off, and darkness will consume the bar. Don't be afraid; the darkness is the cue that you've been approved for the exhibit. Wait out the darkness, and keep silent as the dead, lest the bartender decide to make you so.

Eventually (not too long, two to three minutes), a green floodlight will shine brightly on a door on the far wall of the bar. The bar will be bathed in green, and not just from the floodlight. Little luminescent spheres will gently drift through the room, and the barkeep will no longer be there...nor any other unassuming patron inside before.

There's no danger by this point...consider it a safe point. If you didn't finish the absinthe, you don't have to, but you might need the alcohol. Either way, take the spoon and put it in the keyhole of the green-lit portal's doorknob. It will fit perfectly, and reach the end of the keyhole with a resounding click.

Inside is a small elevator, with the most beautiful woman any mortal eyes can imagine, bathed in the green glow in just such an angle that the light refracts beyond her into the shape of wings.

The Green Fairy herself will ask you, "Going up?”, and considering all the trouble you went through, it would only make sense to say yes.

Now, you have one more hurdle to clear. She will ask you, as you cross the line from the bar to the compartment, "How would you compare Beauchamp's surrealism to that of, say, René Magritte?" For your reply, you must say, "I've come to see more than art tonight."

If you don't, the green floodlight will blow out, the doors will slam shut, and the elevator will plummet through a seemingly infinite blackness before a red light grows brighter as the elevator nears the very depths of Hell.

Now, if your elevator begins to go up, the green light will also fade, but in its place will be the cool glow of the moon. But, before you even recognize it, the elevator will reach the top of its...well, let's call it a shaft to not get too intricate.

Now, I'm not as sure about this as the rest, but I've heard that, if the Green Fairy kisses you on the cheek as she leaves the elevator, you will always be blessed with a creative inspiration: a permanent, ever-changing muse. You can't ask her, you can't kiss her; she has to do it of her own volition. If not...well, nothing, but no reason to do it anyway and anger the woman who is responsible for keeping the Beauchamp paintings safe for so many years.

You will enter, from the elevator, a turn-of-the-century parlor, with a large poster of Henri Beauchamp on the left side of the opposite wall; on the right is a door.

Taking the time to read the poster is a fairly good idea, as it explains the very significance of Monsieur Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920's, always making art to try to be free of all premeditation, and managed to do so. You see, after one night in a tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, he began to paint...patterns.

First it was geometric patterns. Then complete fractals. Then images that would be in the newspaper the next day. Then next week. Then from fifty years ago. One hundred years in the future, two hundred years in the past...

Then, on his last night of life, he kidnapped three young girls from their homes at night, murdered them, and painted his finest masterpieces in reds and yellows with the blood and bile of virgins.

He committed suicide immediately after painting exactly 13 of these.

These are behind the door.

The first six, from the left, show, from left to right: the genesis of the universe, the only true visage of God as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Jesus Christ, the sprawling clouds of Heaven, every Pope from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of Jesus' appearance in his Second Coming.

The other six, on the right, show, from right to left: the cataclysm of the universe, the only true visage of Satan as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Judas, the sprawling flames of Hell, every human-embodied demon from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of the Antichrist in his Second Coming.

Now, six and six makes twelve. But what of the thirteenth?

This thirteenth painting is turned around on its wall pin, the image facing the wall. The space around it is roped up at a very wide diameter, and under the flipped image is a sign, in three languages. The top is in the scriptures of the Seraphim, the bottom in the runes of the highest demonic orders, and in the middle, in Roman letters.

DO

NOT

TOUCH

Now, like the kiss, I can't say this part with as much certainty, but all the same...I heard that, somehow, as he died, Beauchamp flayed his skin, his organs, his very soul, into some sort of collage. How he took his dead body and created such a horrific masterpiece, I could never say, nor would I ever dare to.

So...if you make it, maybe you can flip the canvas over and tell me sometime? You can tell me about it over a drink.

These are fake. Britney will NEVER get an oscar. And the Queen's already dead. I mean... Look at her.

Ever heard the "Backwards Music Station" Broadcast? I was listening to it. I swear I heard something calling my name... Just a faint gurgled "Allllennn". I hate that fucking broadcast. Scares the fuck out of me.

It's probably just background noise or "open feedback". But honestly... It's scary. The thought of... something or someone making the noises creeps me out. And given all the OTHER shit... Yeah. Creepy.

Berlin, Germany
April 30, 1945

Fate has taken it's course.

Adolf Hitler, Chancellor of Germany, allowed the tears to fall freely from his face. His wife, Eva Braun Hitler, lay beside him, the cyanide-induced seizures finally subsiding. He did not cry for her, though he felt her absence profoundly. No, Hitler cried for the death of Germany; the total devastation that had been visited on his country and his people.

As if on cue, the walls shuddered as more Slavic shells pounded the lands he had ruled absolutely for over twelve years. Above, the men and women of his country were being slaughtered and brutalized. The thought of his capital and his people under the thrall of the Marxist untermenschen was horrific, and yet now it seemed inevitable. If only Great Britain had seen the value in alliance, if only his Generals had led better against the Russians, if only...

Hitler's hands shook so violently at his thoughts that he dropped the cyanide capsule and handgun. His body was deteriorating, the disease he had carried with him since his early years was finally winning-out.

The Chancellor's mind wandered then, his thoughts going to his past in Vienna. His meager existence, the sights and sounds, the smells and the newspapers, the children in the streets...

Their eyes missing, black sockets staring at him.




As if stumbling over something in a dark room, a memory startled him out of his reflections. Horrified at the macabre, unnatural image burning into his consciousness, he shook himself back to the present. He was shaking all-over now, his body moist with sweat. His wife's body was still warm. The Russians seemed to be dropping everything they could over his head, the dull thumps and crashes never ceasing for a moment. The Walther PPK was cradled in his lap, the brass cyanide capsule close by.




Fate has taken it's course. Steeling his battered nerves, Hitler grasped the two items in each hand. Taking several calming breaths in preparation, he looked around the bunker that would be his tomb.

In the shadowed corner, stood him. He wore a deep black suit, his head cocked to the side. Though Hitler could not discern the creature's facial features, he knew there would be none.

This was Der Großmann, a name Hitler knew, and yet could not remember from where or when. Der Großmann did not move, his unnaturally-elongated body swaying like the branches of a tree. The creature reached fully to the ceiling of the bunker, yet Hitler knew the creature could become much taller. Though the being did not have any shape or contours to his head, the Chancellor recognized it was looking at him. The shelling above seemed to muffle, and the air in the room began to thicken, and Hitler knew the creature was going to speak.

[Strange. You were not to see me as I observed you ending your life.] The monster's voice was like three beings speaking in unison: a sultry female, a young child, and an elderly man. The elderly man held primacy of the three at the moment; Hitler knew the creature could change the primary voice to express itself in place of facial features.

Hitler sat frozen, his eyes wide. He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry and his mind was blank. Tremors set upon his hands again, yet this time he held on to the cyanide and handgun. The noise outside seemed to cease, and the only noise the Fuhrer could perceive was his shuddering breath.

Memories, images from nightmares and thoughts he had suppressed flooded his mind. Though the scenes and the events were all different, always were there the black-sockets of children, and always the Großmann was present. Places from Hitler's past seemed to be re-told in his mind's eye; the creature was there at the Putsch, was at his inauguration in '33. From Sudetenland to Paris, it had been there. Watching.

The monster in the corner spoke again, this time the voice was lead by the woman. (You are remembering now. This was unexpected.)

The Fuhrer was finally able to recapture his voice. "What do you mean?"

(You have been declared a failure, like Hess, Göring, and Himmler. That you can see and speak to me now means things have perhaps changed.)

The voices seemed to cause pain to Hitler, yet he felt his ire rising at the mentioning of the three men. "They all abandoned me, abandoned Germany at her most dire hour. They would sell us to the United States, the Slavs and the filthy Juden! They-"

(Failed. I have been at your side the entire time. I am aware of their failures.)

Hitler fell silent, his eyes falling on the handgun and cyanide. "They failed me. Germany has failed me. The untermenschen will destroy everything that my people strove to build. It is all over."

The ashen male voice returned, [You are a pathetic man, ruler of a dying Empire. Your hubris brought things to where they are now.]

The Fuhrer started, his ears not used to hearing such naked accusation and criticism. "You presume-"

The air suddenly tasted of metal, and the lights seemed to dim. The child's voice took primacy, and Hitler felt true fear weigh down his shoulders. -{I do not presume, manling. Your defeat was known well before now. You will watch your tone and show deference, bunkerfuhrer.}-

Hitler did not breathe, did not move, as he watched Der Großmann lift his arms towards him. Though he stood in a corner several feet away the hands easily reached the Chancellor's bed. Hitler did not resist, did not flinch, as the hands grasped the cyanide capsule and handgun, and pulled them out of his shaking grasp. The Fuhrer watched as the two items seemed to melt into the miasma that now enveloped the corner.

After a moment, the air seemed to return, the darkness formed back into Der Großmann's shape, and the voice of the woman was loudest of the three. (This was not an expected outcome, Adolf Hitler. It is a welcome surprise, both to myself and my Master. You have fulfilled the prophecy, you are indeed the Messiah.)

[(None of the views expressed in this story are the person delivering it to you's. Don't yell at him for being "Pro-Hitler", because he's not.)]

Tuesday, October 11

Today, I drove my seven-year old son, James, and I into town to go Halloween shopping. I didn't have to buy any candy this year because we live in a cul-de-sac out in the middle of a farming community on the outskirts of the city. I moved there last year because I had divorced my wife and lost my old house along with most custody of James.

It's okay, though. James and I love Halloween. It's one of the few times a year that Tracy finds it acceptable for my only son to come visit me. James stays with her on every other holiday through the year: his birthday and everything else in between. I get to see him only on my birthday and the week before Halloween, unless the court finds it suitable for him to come spend the night every once in a while. Frankly, I'm surprised Tracy let him come shopping with me.

He showed an extremely strong attraction to a flamboyant green and purple Buzz Lightyear costume. It's really typical for a kid to have an eye for the most expensive thing on the rack, but I didn't have the heart to say no to those profound blue eyes. He also picked out the house decorations. I know we won't be getting any trick-or-treaters out where I live, but embellishing the exterior of our home was always one of our favorite things to do together.


Friday, October 21

It looks like James and I will be having some competition for the "best Halloween decorations in the neighborhood" award, which sadly, in this community, is only fictitious. When I lived with James and my wife, we won the trophy every year since he was three. Now, my next-door neighbor is really giving us a run for our money. It looks like he did quite the splurge on decorations, just as we did.

He must have ordered everything online, though, because aside from the cliche "Happy Halloween" banners and the like, some of the festive treasures found on his house and lawn were nowhere to be seen in the store that James and I went to - which sold primarily Halloween-related contraband.

The thing that stuck out most to me was the kite string strung from both ends of his garage door that suspended dozens of expensive-looking bones and skulls several feet off the ground. He had also placed several other bones sticking upwards, perpendicular with the edge of his lawn. It almost looked rather sinister. There was no color or detail, just random bones placed here and there, strewn about his overgrown and unwatered lawn. I think James and I have beat him, though.


Saturday, October 22

While walking through my house at dusk, I noticed a quick flicker of movement dash in and out of my peripherals outside my dining room window as I was preparing for James' arrival the next day. I can't recall why I chose to inspect was it was, seeing as how I immediately dismissed this movement as a cat or other small animal. I don't even know if I should be glad that I did.

I walked back in front of the window about a minute later and saw the same animation, but this time in the center of my vision. I walked back away from the window and slowly peeked out from the corner of the glass. I made out the shape of the very top of a person's head peering over the top of my fence and seemed to be watching me.

Whoever it was ducked down again right after they realized that we had made eye contact. I backed away from the window. I don't know why. I crawled over to the family room window, which was about fifteen to twenty feet to the left of where I was and facing the same direction as the dining room window.

I stayed, kneeling timidly but curiously grasping the curtain; I ever so slowly pulled back the cloth, only to reveal the masked fellow who was snooping around behind my property. This time, I saw the entire head. The mask had a gaping, dangling mouth, similar to the mask used in the "Scream" series. The only difference was that the jaw of the mask was swaying about in the wind and that it also had teeth.

A lot of teeth of all different shapes and sizes, surrounding the entire perimeter of the mouth. The expression on the mask was plain, and the tone of color was rather pale, with a sight gray discoloration. It didn't have a goofy smile or an intimidating stare, just a mouth hanging wide open and a couple of perfectly round, beady little chameleon eyes.

After about ten seconds of observation, one of the eyes appeared as if it was steadily drifting off - away from where it was fixated and, very slowly, began to scan to the right - and as soon as the eye seemed to lock onto where I was, he/she quickly disappeared. What a mask.


Tuesday, October 25

I don't really know my neighbor, much less where he gets all of his decorations. I noticed a new ornament of sorts in front of his door today. It was a ceramic bowl full of guts, strategically placed where one would put a bowl of candy if they were too lazy to answer the door for trick-or-treaters. Behind it was one large white piece of paper bound to the wall of his house with masking tape.

On it was written, in nearly illegible chicken scratch, "TAKE ONE." The whole sign had bloody fingerprints smeared all over it. Even more convincing was the bloody tape...and the bloody wall. Nearly the entire wall was smeared in brownish red. Spooky. The blood streams all over the place were even dried. I didn't know they made novelty blood that looked dried like that.

I've only ever talked to this neighbor once, and it was around the time that I moved in. He seemed rather distraught. Wen I approached him, I asked him if everything was all right. He said that he was late for work, which was odd because it was around 8:30 PM. I asked him where he worked and he revealed to me that he was a biologist and worked for the military, but said nothing more.

It was strange... every time I saw him after that, his pants had always ridden up his ankles a little bit more. He was always stumbling around awkwardly and constantly tripping over his own feet. My other neighbors and I liked to joke about him from time to time. I remember one specific instance when he was watering his shrubbery and one of his knees gave out. Backwards, like the way a bird's leg works.

It looked excruciating to me, but he just walked it off. I've only ever seen him outside again a couple of times after I saw this happen. We stopped making fun of him after that.

Last month, as I walked to the mailbox one afternoon, I had heard his kids crying really loudly and frantically. There wasn't any screaming to be heard, just horrible crying. The crying stopped later, which I was thankful for. I was having trouble sleeping through that horrifying racket. It's been several months since I've seen him last.


Wednesday, October 26

Ever since James arrived earlier this week, he has simply abhorred the idea of removing his costume. Little Buzz has been running ramped throughout the house quoting "Toy Story" and "Buzz Lightyear of Star Command." He hasn't changed once since he put it on, except for the time I demanded that he allow me to wash is because he was rolling around outside in the dirt, so to speak.

I haven't sen any more of this weirdo in the mask lately. It's probably some mischievous kid from the neighborhood behind mine. It's a cul-de-sac too, just a bigger one. There is a dirt road that accompanies an irrigation canal separating the two cul-de-sacs. My house is the farthest house from the main road, and the canal runs parallel to my fence. There's no bridge that I know of that one could use to cross the water, though. Maybe the guy just runs track in school.

My neighbor bought a new decoration. Why he's procrastinating so badly, I don't know. It's about 200 feet of lights to accompany the 200 feet of intestines he had previously thrown all over the tree in his front yard. The lights don't coexist with the prior decor, though. All I could smell when I went outside was the burning odor of his literally sizzling ensemble of mix-matched decorations hanging from the tree. When I went outside at night earlier on to go ask him to kindly turn off the lights, most of them appeared to be burnt out, so I went back inside.

Come to think of it, the smell wasn't so bad. I'd smelt it plenty of times before, I just don't know where.


Friday, October 28

I'm going insane. No simple words can properly describe what I believe I have witnessed. Today, I got another glimpse of 'the masked person.' What I saw this time was not at all what I would describe as a mask. I was sitting in my living room reading. The bay window in my living room overlooks the entire street I live on, and I had my blinds open.

I had lifted up my head and looked up and out the window at the nearly dissipated sun because I had heard what sounded to me like an asthmatic individual audibly struggling to inhale accompanied by a restless house cat. After a bit of listening to this unnerving sound, I stood up from my couch and walked casually toward the window. I cupped my hands above my eyes to deter the sunlight and pressed my face against the window... and I saw it.

It was pursuing a small cat. It ran like an ostrich. Its entire figure was covered in thin hair and big blue veins; its long, matted, nauseating black hair closely following its flaky, decomposing head. Its flapping, jawless chin bobbinghappily to and fro, occasionally slapping the sides of its scrawny, pale, indisposed neck. Narrow shoulders rhythmically bounding up and down in harmony with its tree branch-like arms, easily giving it at least a five foot reach.

Mammoth hands were dragging its chopstick fingers, tickling the ground as it ran. Its emaciated, stilt-like legs completed its horrific image. Altogether, I observed an eight-and-a-half foot question mark with greasy hair practically leaping from yard to yard chasing this poor creature for a reason obviously beyond simple sustenance. One could be no less than appreciative that they weren't in the shoes of this poor feline.

The cat approached a fence on the left side of the street, followed by its lanky predator. It began to scale the fence. The beast then proceeded to effortlessly jump from the sidewalk, clear the 20-foot lawn, and snatch the animal from the top of the fence with its talon-like claws, as a falcon might. The cat didn't stand a chance, nor did it even manage a voice to squeal.

I saw it for a whole three seconds before it disappeared into the shadows with its prize. That amount of time was more than enough to tattoo my retinas with its grotesque image.




Saturday, October 29

I now thoroughly believe that the aforementioned beast does, in fact, exist. I've never thought about calling the police, but we all know how they would never find a "monster." That is, if they would even respond to such a ridiculous call. I definitely couldn't call in and report a burglar or anything human for that matter, mainly because they wouldn't be looking for what needed to be caught.

Earlier tonight, my neighbors threw a street-wide costume party at their place down at the end of the cul-de-sac. I didn't go because I had to work late, and after I picked up James from his friend's house, we anticipated having a game night with the two of us. My reclusive neighbor stayed at bay as well.

Some time during the night, James decided to take a bathroom break. He was gone for over fifteen minutes. When he returned, he seemed excited to inform me that he looked out the family room window and saw what he described as a "really tall weird-looking person with a bag" running patiently to the house where the party was being held, empty bag in hand.

They would disappear into the backyard of the house and, seconds later, bolt out of the lawn with a full bag and tear off towards my neighbor's house, wearing a costume. They repeated this process several times, each time wearing a different costume than before.

He said that on "her" last round, "she" stopped in the middle of the street, cocked "her" head to the right slightly, and "her" right eye slid to the side of "her" head and stared right at him as if there weren't a window between them. he said that "she" then turned "her" head 180 degrees and locked eye contact with him, and then "her" colossal mouth sluggishly transformed from a probing expression to the widest smile he thought he'd ever seen.

He said that its smile had then hastily collapsed, dropping the chin into a visible free fall which ended with a slinging slap on its chest. It then darted off into a neighbor's yard and that was when he decided to come alert me of his findings.

I looked outside the window, but I could see multiple figures...standing around inside the house of the party. I thought of that horrid monster smiling at my beautiful boy. I despised the idea. Next, I tried to envision what that particular smile might look like, though I really couldn't. I didn't think a jawless maw that gargantuan had any muscle at all to maneuver that flailing chin in the first place.

Lincoln skeleton, so-on; so-forth. Every one of them was strung up by the back of its neck, feet swinging, head looking down. I really wanted to ask this guy how he comes up with all this and where he gets it all. If he knows that last night's rain washed the color off of most of his little knick-knacks. I have to hand it oto him, though. The slew of morbid decor in combination with his dirty, run-down, cobweb covered home gives it a true horror movie feel to it.

Later that night, I had nearly passed out while finishing up some of my work when my doorbell rang again and again until I reluctantly rose up and walked toward my front door. It was past midnight.

I opened the door. It was my neighbor. No, not whatever lived next door, but the fellow who lived behind me on the other side of the canal. He was disgruntled. He was upset and threatening me about something but none of it sank in because one of the skeletons hanging from my neighbor's tree was staring right at me, jaw wide open.

It was smaller than the other skeletons around it. A gleam of moonlight revealed that a small string tied through a hole bored in the top of its skull was its support. I got goosebumps when I noticed that its eyes were still intact.

I then tuned in to the man yelling at me.

"You listenin' over there," He asked.

"Oh... yeah."

"The hell you tryin' to pull? You almost gave my wife a heart attack with that mask."

So, apparently, my son and I aren't the only ones who have spotted the neighborhood missing link. How could he possibly confuse that thing with me?

"And don't try to smooth-talk yer way outta this one, pal. I saw you jump clear over that fence of yours - the hell you managed to do that, I'm still wonderin' - and crawl right back into yer basement."

"...I'm terribly sorry..." I improvised. "I don't know what's come over me... If there's anything I can do-"

My heart sank. I thought about what he said.

I don't have a basement.

"Wait here," I nearly screamed.

I sped off into my house. I bolted down the hall. I began to spasm as I neared the guest room door. My trembling hands applied their convulsing energy to the doorknob, then turned and flung the door wide open to reveal my son, sleeping, facing the wall, just as I had left him. He normally doesn't sleep with his head all the way under the blankets, but I was too flustered to notice. I jogged, reassured, back out to my bewildered guest. I didn't know what to think anymore.

"Sorry...I just-"

He interrupted.

"Aww, save it. I, for one, do NOT care at all about your problems. You just stay the hell away from me and my family. Ya hear?"

"Yeah...sure..."

A calming chuckle dug its way into his angry tone right after I noticed the freshly familiar bottomless blue eyes stuffed inside the head of that skeleton.

"I gotta hand it to ya, though. I nearly died laughing when I saw you runnin' around wearin' that little kid's Buzz Lightyear costume."

When you are admitted to a hospital, they place on your wrist a white wristband with your name on it. But there are other different colored wristbands which symbolize other things. The red wristbands are placed on dead people.

There was one surgeon who worked on night shift in a school hospital. He had just finished an operation and was on his way down to the basement. He entered the elevator and there was just one other person there. He casually chatted with the woman while the elevator descended. When the elevator door opened, another woman was about to enter when the doctor slammed the close button and punched the button to the highest floor. Surprised, the woman reprimanded the doctor for being rude and asked why he did not let the other woman in.

The doctor said, "That was the woman I just operated on. She died while I was doing the operation. Didn’t you see the red wristband she was wearing?"

The woman smiled, raised her arm, and said, "Something like this?"

You don't believe in ghosts do you? Well I do... at least, now I do. It all started one night when I was traveling alone. I had to go to the my mother's house, she was old and needed me to take care of here. On my way there, I noticed a peculiar looking woman, tears rolling down her face, I just drove on by, trying to ignore her.


Just as I arrived at my mother's house, I saw the woman again, in the corner of my eye, but when I looked to see who it was in the corner of my eye, no one was there. So I proceeded into my mother's home, and cooked some dinner for me and my mother. After my mother went to bed that night, I saw the woman again, but this time, she was just down the hall from me, I asked her “Why are you tormenting me?” and she did not respond, instead she rushed at me, the next thing I know, I'm in a strange forest.


Lost, alone, and scared, I begin to look at my surroundings, I see many pine trees, and a few deer hanging around, it's odd though, deer shouldn't be around in the middle of the night. I tried to find my way home, but to no avail, the forest seemed to loop in all directions, I had no way to get back home, so I accepted the fact that I would have to live here.


The only thing I could think of was the cold of the forest, I decided to find something to keep me warm, but the only thing around was deer, and wood “I'll have to get their skins” I thought to myself, and then I started feeling hungry when trying to hunt them, I killed a few, but soon, I couldn't think about anything but hunger.


“Game” I thought to myself, eating the deer meat would be practical, as I am already hunting them for their skins, but the ones I had just killed had disappeared, as if they never existed. It was then that I realized – I was doomed. The ghostly woman doomed me to write this on the internet and to read the first word of each paragraph.

[(LUL.)]

Ever died in a dream and then woken up?

That just means an alternate you in a different timeline has died. Dreams about yourself are a glimpse into what's going on in alternate versions of yourself.

This also would explain why sometimes a person can dream of something, and then have it happen later. You simply have to choose the actions in the dream, and you become the version of yourself from your dream. Your timeline becomes his timeline, and vice versa.

Try to be more careful, though. Also, be mindful of what happened to those versions of you who died, will you? Remember: the waking you is also the dream of another sleeping you.

Russian researchers in the late 1940s kept five people awake for fifteen days using an experimental gas based stimulant. They were kept in a sealed environment to carefully monitor their oxygen intake so the gas didn't kill them, since it was toxic in high concentrations. This was before closed circuit cameras so they had only microphones and 5 inch thick glass porthole sized windows into the chamber to monitor them. The chamber was stocked with books, cots to sleep on but no bedding, running water and toilet, and enough dried food to last all five for over a month.

The test subjects were political prisoners deemed enemies of the state during World War II.

Everything was fine for the first five days; the subjects hardly complained having been promised (falsely) that they would be freed if they submitted to the test and did not sleep for 30 days. Their conversations and activities were monitored and it was noted that they continued to talk about increasingly traumatic incidents in their past, and the general tone of their conversations took on a darker aspect after the 4 day mark.
After five days they started to complain about the circumstances and events that lead them to where they were and started to demonstrate severe paranoia. They stopped talking to each other and began alternately whispering to the microphones and one way mirrored portholes. Oddly they all seemed to think they could win the trust of the experimenters by turning over their comrades, the other subjects in captivity with them. At first the researchers suspected this was an effect of the gas itself...

After nine days the first of them started screaming. He ran the length of the chamber repeatedly yelling at the top of his lungs for 3 hours straight, he continued attempting to scream but was only able to produce occasional squeaks. The researchers postulated that he had physically torn his vocal cords. The most surprising thing about this behavior is how the other captives reacted to it... or rather didn't react to it. They continued whispering to the microphones until the second of the captives started to scream. The 2 non-screaming captives took the books apart, smeared page after page with their own feces and pasted them calmly over the glass portholes. The screaming promptly stopped.

So did the whispering to the microphones.

After 3 more days passed. The researchers checked the microphones hourly to make sure they were working, since they thought it impossible that no sound could be coming with 5 people inside. The oxygen consumption in the chamber indicated that all 5 must still be alive. In fact it was the amount of oxygen 5 people would consume at a very heavy level of strenuous exercise. On the morning of the 14th day the researchers did something they said they would not do to get a reaction from the captives, they used the intercom inside the chamber, hoping to provoke any response from the captives they were afraid were either dead or vegetables.

They announced: "We are opening the chamber to test the microphones step away from the door and lie flat on the floor or you will be shot. Compliance will earn one of you your immediate freedom."

To their surprise they heard a single phrase in a calm voice response: "We no longer want to be freed."

Debate broke out among the researchers and the military forces funding the research. Unable to provoke any more response using the intercom it was finally decided to open the chamber at midnight on the fifteenth day.

The chamber was flushed of the stimulant gas and filled with fresh air and immediately voices from the microphones began to object. 3 different voices began begging, as if pleading for the life of loved ones to turn the gas back on. The chamber was opened and soldiers sent in to retrieve the test subjects. They began to scream louder than ever, and so did the soldiers when they saw what was inside. Four of the five subjects were still alive, although no one could rightly call the state that any of them in 'life.'

The food rations past day 5 had not been so much as touched. There were chunks of meat from the dead test subject's thighs and chest stuffed into the drain in the center of the chamber, blocking the drain and allowing 4 inches of water to accumulate on the floor. Precisely how much of the water on the floor was actually blood was never determined. All four 'surviving' test subjects also had large portions of muscle and skin torn away from their bodies. The destruction of flesh and exposed bone on their finger tips indicated that the wounds were inflicted by hand, not with teeth as the researchers initially thought. Closer examination of the position and angles of the wounds indicated that most if not all of them were self-inflicted.

The abdominal organs below the ribcage of all four test subjects had been removed. While the heart, lungs and diaphragm remained in place, the skin and most of the muscles attached to the ribs had been ripped off, exposing the lungs through the ribcage. All the blood vessels and organs remained intact, they had just been taken out and laid on the floor, fanning out around the eviscerated but still living bodies of the subjects. The digestive tract of all four could be seen to be working, digesting food. It quickly became apparent that what they were digesting was their own flesh that they had ripped off and eaten over the course of days.

Most of the soldiers were Russian special operatives at the facility, but still many refused to return to the chamber to remove the test subjects. They continued to scream to be left in the chamber and alternately begged and demanded that the gas be turned back on, lest they fall asleep...

To everyone's surprise the test subjects put up a fierce fight in the process of being removed from the chamber. One of the Russian soldiers died from having his throat ripped out, another was gravely injured by having his testicles ripped off and an artery in his leg severed by one of the subject's teeth. Another 5 of the soldiers lost their lives if you count ones that committed suicide in the weeks following the incident.

In the struggle one of the four living subjects had his spleen ruptured and he bled out almost immediately. The medical researchers attempted to sedate him but this proved impossible. He was injected with more than ten times the human dose of a morphine derivative and still fought like a cornered animal, breaking the ribs and arm of one doctor. When heart was seen to beat for a full two minutes after he had bled out to the point there was more air in his vascular system than blood. Even after it stopped he continued to scream and flail for another 3 minutes, struggling to attack anyone in reach and just repeating the word "MORE" over and over, weaker and weaker, until he finally fell silent.

The surviving three test subjects were heavily restrained and moved to a medical facility, the two with intact vocal cords continuously begging for the gas demanding to be kept awake...

The most injured of the three was taken to the only surgical operating room that the facility had. In the process of preparing the subject to have his organs placed back within his body it was found that he was effectively immune to the sedative they had given him to prepare him for the surgery. He fought furiously against his restraints when the anesthetic gas was brought out to put him under. He managed to tear most of the way through a 4 inch wide leather strap on one wrist, even through the weight of a 200 pound soldier holding that wrist as well. It took only a little more anesthetic than normal to put him under, and the instant his eyelids fluttered and closed, his heart stopped. In the autopsy of the test subject that died on the operating table it was found that his blood had triple the normal level of oxygen. His muscles that were still attached to his skeleton were badly torn and he had broken 9 bones in his struggle to not be subdued. Most of them were from the force his own muscles had exerted on them.

The second survivor had been the first of the group of five to start screaming. His vocal cords destroyed he was unable to beg or object to surgery, and he only reacted by shaking his head violently in disapproval when the anesthetic gas was brought near him. He shook his head yes when someone suggested, reluctantly, they try the surgery without anesthetic, and did not react for the entire 6 hour procedure of replacing his abdominal organs and attempting to cover them with what remained of his skin. The surgeon presiding stated repeatedly that it should be medically possible for the patient to still be alive. One terrified nurse assisting the surgery stated that she had seen the patients mouth curl into a smile several times, whenever his eyes met hers.

When the surgery ended the subject looked at the surgeon and began to wheeze loudly, attempting to talk while struggling. Assuming this must be something of drastic importance the surgeon had a pen and pad fetched so the patient could write his message. It was simple. "Keep cutting."

The other two test subjects were given the same surgery, both without anesthetic as well. Although they had to be injected with a paralytic for the duration of the operation. The surgeon found it impossible to perform the operation while the patients laughed continuously. Once paralyzed the subjects could only follow the attending researchers with their eyes. The paralytic cleared their system in an abnormally short period of time and they were soon trying to escape their bonds. The moment they could speak they were again asking for the stimulant gas. The researchers tried asking why they had injured themselves, why they had ripped out their own guts and why they wanted to be given the gas again.

Only one response was given: "I must remain awake."

All three subject's restraints were reinforced and they were placed back into the chamber awaiting determination as to what should be done with them. The researchers, facing the wrath of their military 'benefactors' for having failed the stated goals of their project considered euthanizing the surviving subjects. The commanding officer, an ex-KGB instead saw potential, and wanted to see what would happen if they were put back on the gas. The researchers strongly objected, but were overruled.

In preparation for being sealed in the chamber again the subjects were connected to an EEG monitor and had their restraints padded for long term confinement. To everyone's surprise all three stopped struggling the moment it was let slip that they were going back on the gas. It was obvious that at this point all three were putting up a great struggle to stay awake. One of subjects that could speak was humming loudly and continuously; the mute subject was straining his legs against the leather bonds with all his might, first left, then right, then left again for something to focus on. The remaining subject was holding his head off his pillow and blinking rapidly. Having been the first to be wired for EEG most of the researchers were monitoring his brain waves in surprise. They were normal most of the time but sometimes flat lined inexplicably. It looked as if he were repeatedly suffering brain death, before returning to normal. As they focused on paper scrolling out of the brainwave monitor only one nurse saw his eyes slip shut at the same moment his head hit the pillow. His brainwaves immediately changed to that of deep sleep, then flatlined for the last time as his heart simultaneously stopped.

The only remaining subject that could speak started screaming to be sealed in now. His brainwaves showed the same flatlines as one who had just died from falling asleep. The commander gave the order to seal the chamber with both subjects inside, as well as 3 researchers. One of the named three immediately drew his gun and shot the commander point blank between the eyes, then turned the gun on the mute subject and blew his brains out as well.

He pointed his gun at the remaining subject, still restrained to a bed as the remaining members of the medical and research team fled the room. "I won't be locked in here with these things! Not with you!" he screamed at the man strapped to the table. "WHAT ARE YOU?" he demanded. "I must know!"

The subject smiled.

"Have you forgotten so easily?" The subject asked. "We are you. We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind. We are what you hide from in your beds every night. We are what you sedate into silence and paralysis when you go to the nocturnal haven where we cannot tread."

The researcher paused. Then aimed at the subject's heart and fired. The EEG flatlined as the subject weakly choked out, "So... nearly... free..."

January 22, 2027: Dr. Hagiru Sato and his team of scientists from Japan, America, Canada, and Britain begin work on a matter-energy transference machine.

February 11th, 2033: First machine is tested successfully after over a hundred failed tests. Controversy over the destructive nature of the technology ignites.

July 18th, 2033: A catastrophic incident with an energy-matter machine destroys the city of Hiroshima, in devastation not seen since the atomic bombs were dropped nearly 90 years prior. Japanese government officials move to ban work on this technology, though Western powers urge them to allow it, despite the mishap.

April 22, 2035: First sighting of infected idividuals. Most are animals, some humans are also shown to be susceptible to infection. Most seen around the ruins of Hiroshima, which had not been rebuilt.

May 13th, 2035: Northern Japan is split off from its southern half as a nation-wide quarantine is enacted. Anarchy soon spreads through the infected regions. 15% of humans exposed to the disease are immune and show no side effects. 84.9% are affected fatally by the disease, which causes cancerous growths. 0.1% of those exposed are shown to successfully mutate. The "virus" is found to be a spreadable corruption of genetic material, which causes rapid mutations in infected individuals. All large animal life is soon infected.

January 1, 2040: 98% of all animals in Japan are wiped out; ecosystems ruled entirely by infected individuals.

May 8th, 2048: Japanese Defense Force engages infected individuals to preserve quarantine. Co-ordinated attacks by infected humans and animals are seen. High levels of intelligence confirmed.

May 10th: They fail, and the nation of Japan ceases to exist.

October 13: The United States Carrier George W. Bush is attacked and sunk by an unknown force. Later revealed to be a co-ordinated assault by the infected. Use of atomic weapons to destroy all life on Japan considered, but denied.

February 12, 2052: Remaining inhabitants of Japan have appeared, by outward observers, to have begun adopting the infected into their religions. Part of this religion is a total-weapons ban, and the banning of violence against infected individuals. This is surprisingly effective at ceasing conflict with infected individuals.

April 2, 2055: Infected seen to have spread to North America. Military preparedness results in a far more contained infection. Hundreds of thousands in the United States, Canada, and Mexico die.

March 11, 2061: The United States Army begins experimenting with the combat prowess of infected animals, who are shown to have a friendly connection to humans who treat them well, much like dogs. Initial tests exceed expectations. Later that same year, China, Russia, Vietnam, and N. Korea react by signing the Kommu Pact, ensuring protection against the now utterly overpowered West.

July 2, 2063: The Kommu alliance declares war on the United States. Infected used to great effect.

November 9, 2066: The war ends. Communist states are dissolved, China and Russia (and all of Asia) are now under the jurisdiction of the NATO.

December 25th, 2072: The now divided regions that were once Japan begin to open up to the outside world. Mostly through scientific trade-off.

February 1, 2081: Japanese scientists sneak into heavily infected Brazil. They recover the DNA of one of the individuals believed to be one of the first infected.
Beliefs are that the infected are actually the next phase in evolution, and to find one of the originals would better help their understanding. There are many tried and failed cloning attempts, before a final experiment is successful. The result of this experiment, capable of self-induced energy-matter transference, is responsible for the death of dozens before escaping.

May 22, 2081: Ash Ketchum turns 10 years old.

[(One of my favorites, honestly. Puts a creepy-ish twist on Pokemon.)]

Howdy. You can call me "Jack." It's not my real name, but that's what I'll go by for now. I reckon the time to tell my story has come. Believe it or don't, but here it is. I suggest you take away the lessons it teaches, even if you dismiss it all as bullshit like 98% of the other stories on the internet.

But there's more truth in this story than any one of you could know.

Now, I've been out of high school for three years, but that's when this particular event takes place, so I'm going to have to wind my clock back a little here to tell the story.

Originally, for my first two-and-a-half years of high school, I attended a school in the deep Southern part of America, close to the gulf. We had all kinds of ghost stories growing up and if there was one lesson our super-conservative parents taught us, it was this: Don't go fooling around in things you don't understand.

Now, I was really unpopular at my high school in the South. My first two years of high school were a real pain because I was a big dork and everyone made fun of me. I was a loner and all I really did in class was play my Game Boy all day before rushing home to play an MMO I was addicted to.

All of that changed during my Junior year, when my mother's job moved us out West.

I started to attend a little Catholic high school with no more than around 250 students. It was at this time that I finally started to fit in and make friends. No one out here knew how much of a dork I was, so I opted to "hide my power level," as they tend to say on /a/, and try to make friends for once in my life. Who knows? Maybe I could even get a cute girlfriend if I was careful.

I started to meet people at the school. At a school that small, you end up knowing everyone in your class.

My first day I made a new friend named Sam and at lunch I opted to sit with him and his friends. He told me all about the other kids at the school - who was most popular, who the jocks were, so on and so forth.

He introduced me to his friends, too: Jim, a big jovial fellow who tipped the scales at 300lbs, Vogelman, our table's resident computer nerd and hacker, and Thomas, a musician who played electric guitar.

I also met Stephanie, the school's resident spunky Asian girl. Some of the guys said she could be a bitch, but she seemed cool enough. She was into gaming and never messed with any of us. She even seemed to think I was funny, so maybe that's why she started to call me at home after school on some days.

Sam told me all kinds of stories about her, like how she used to make snacks for guys at the school but then sprinkle Viagra all over them or pour laxatives into them so that anyone who ate it would suffer the brunt of her painful and arguably cruel joke. I just chuckled to myself and politely refused whenever she offered me anything.

Then... there was Rottenbacher. His real name was Jason, but everyone always called him "Rottenbacher" or "the Kraut" because he was a hardcore Nazi. He was an outcast and an loner, and no one wanted to be associated with him. Every day he'd wear a red Swastika armband to school just beneath his jacket where the teachers couldn't see, but whenever he'd get hot and slip it off - or whenever he was changing in the locker room - he'd be wearing the Nazi armband.

Furthermore, on Halloween and on school costume "event" days when he knew he could get away with it, Rottenbacher always wore an entire replica of an SS uniform like the Gestapo wear, with the black hat and the long boots.

He was a mean and angsty son-of-a-bitch. Whenever anyone told a teacher about him or asked him about the Nazi stuff, he'd shout racial or ethnic slurs at them, cuss them out, and yell "Heil Hitler!"

Furthermore, one peculiar thing that caught my eye was that I couldn't help but notice that Rottenbacher always walked with a slight limp, like he was in pain. Sam told me that somebody once saw him tightening a barbed Cilice in the locker room like the ones the Catholic priests wear to punish themselves for their sins.

It was a Catholic school so I, like most people, just assumed at the time that maybe he just wore the Cilice because he's a devout Christian. It was kind of strange for a hardcore Hitler lover like Rottenbacher, but it was high school and none of us preferred to think too much about stuff like that.

After he got done introducing me to everyone, Sam told me some of the school's old stories - including an urban legend that circulated about Kaylee, a girl that died mysteriously after playing some sort of "cell phone game." Sure enough, he could point out the girl in the year book to me and everyone recalled that the police had declared her missing under mysterious circumstances; she was presumed dead almost immediately thereafter. If you asked anyone exactly what happened, no one could tell you a damn thing. They always just said it was because she played the "cell phone game."

Sam. Stephanie the cute, mischievous Asian. Rottenbacher the self-torturing Nazi. The cell phone game. The police's investigation of a teen's disappearance. All of these people and events were about to come together to drag me into something in which I wanted no part. It wouldn't even be until over two years later that I finally understood how and why everything went down just the way it did.

Anyway, the last half of Junior year came and went, and the long summer passed us all by in what seemed like a heartbeat; it was finally time to begin our last year of high school.

Everyone was back for the new school year, pumped to start the laziest and most fun year of our high school lives. Even Rottenbacher, still limping around the school in that barbed Cilice, still spouting his Nazi garbage every time someone decided to mess with him.

The year started out eerily quiet. Word was that two more "cell phone game" related disappearances had happened over the summer to one boy and one girl from another high school and that the police were investigating a possible serial killer. According the the paper, the only common link the police had found was that every person who disappeared had received a text message that read, "Welcome to the game." None of the text messages had been sent from the same cell phone, so this evidence had been dismissed as circumstantial.

For me, things weren't half bad. It was this year when I finally started to open up more as a person. I had made a good circle of friends who I trusted and I felt more calm about being myself at this point. Gradually, I started to fit in more and more and pretty soon I was pretty popular in certain circles.

Stephanie liked to hang around with me more and more because of how funny she thought my jokes were. Before long, one day - which I still remember as one of the happiest of my life - she came to me in the middle of campus after school and looked up at me with this beautiful Asian eyes and that long, black hair and a smile to die for. She asked me right then, "Jack, will you go out with me?"

I laughed, ran, and jumped for joy. "Of course I will," I said, and danced around with her there in front of everyone. I finally had a girlfriend. I still remember that as one of the happiest days of my entire life, if not THE happiest. we went on dates, we hung out after school, and she even started to eat lunch with Sam, Jim, Vogelman, and I every day.

Maybe I wouldn't have been so happy had I known what was going to happen next.

It was one day at lunch when she was sitting with us, when she mentioned that while sleeping over with her friends one night, they had stayed up late with some girls from another high school talking about the cell phone game. She said that these girls knew all about the rules of the game and that they had explained it all to her in great detail.

Supposedly, you can join the game at any time by sending a text message at midnight to the right phone number. The text message was supposed to say, "I wish for the power to curse." If you did it right, you would get a message in return that said, "Welcome to the game," and, supposedly, this was the reason they had given for why the police found that message on the phones of everyone that had disappeared.

Stephanie went on to talk about the game. We all listened attentively to what she was saying.

She told us that once someone was in the game, they were in danger. Within two weeks, they had to complete one of a number of different tasks or else they would be dragged away in the night.

I stopped her right there. "Dragged away? By what? To where?"

She got silent for a moment.

"I don't know," she whispered before continuing her story.

She said that in order to protect oneself from being dragged away, you could one of two things:

The first was to find a special protective item. The item could be anything. You never knew what it was going to be, but it seemed that whatever the item was, it would make the bearer suffer in some way. This was considered a small price to pay in return for protection for as long as you wore the item.

The second way was to bring someone else into the game. This could be done by sending the text message, "Welcome to the game," to someone else's phone. If someone received the text message from someone else who was in the game, then that meant that this person was now in the game, too, and subject to all of the same rules and consequences of the game. If the person didn't find a protective item themselves, or bring another person into the game, then they too would be dragged away.

The catch about the second was this: While the protective item, if found, could protect you indefinitely so long as you kept it with you, bringing someone else into the game would only buy you a temporary grace period. The first time you brought someone into the game, you'd get a two week extension. Then, only one week. Eventually the grace period would get shorter and shorter until you barely bought yourself any time at all by bringing someone else into the game. By that time, you needed to have found your protective item.

Even though I've always been something of an /x/phile, I didn't like hearing her talk about this stuff, so I told her it was a bunch of nonsense.

"You really think so?" She asked. "If it's true, it would explain what the police found. And imagine how cool that would be to be able to curse anyone who messed with you by bringing them into the game! You could get rid of anyone and no one would ever know."

There was an edge in her voice I'd never heard before from Stephanie. She almost sounded intoxicated at the thought of it. Truth be told, it scared me a little.

"Don't go talking like that," I told her. "Stuff like that's beyond people like you and me. We shouldn't go messing with stuff like that. What if you got involved in it and then it all turned out to be true? What would I do if something happened to you? Promise me you won't go messing around in that stuff."

She gave me a funny look. "I never thought you would be the kind of person to be scared of silly things like this, Jack."

"Well, I don't think it's right to mess around in stuff you don't understand, you know?" I gave her a concerned look. "Now promise me, Steph. Promise you won't go try it."

She sighed in annoyance. "Fine, fine. I won't play the scary cell phone game. ARe you happy now?"

I told her I was, but truth be told I was scared. I didn't believe her. In all the time I'd known her, I'd never seen her betray anyone or sleep around or anything, but she had always been a trickster and a liar, and would lie to anyone about anything if it got her ahead without hurting anyone else. But, to be honest, I always thought it was kind of cute and just accepted it as one of her quirks. But this time it was serious.

So, a few days later, when she came back and told us that she had joined the cell phone game, I was pissed.

"What are you thinking, Stephanie? You promised me you wouldn't do that!"

"Yeah, yeah I know! But it's not any big deal. I've already got it all planned out. Besides, if it's true and it works, it's too good of an opportunity to pass up!"

She held up her cell phone. "Look!" She said giddily.

A text message was open on the screen which read, "Welcome to the game."

"Kind of freaky, huh? I got it just after I sent the text at midnight, just like the girls said."

My jaw dropped. I was speechless and scared stiff. This game couldn't be for real, could it?

"Stephanie, if this is real, then you're in danger now. You've only got two weeks to find the protective item."

"I know. That's why I sent the text to Rebecca. I'm gonna find out if it's true or not!"

I hit the roof. "You did WHAT?! But Stephanie, if this is real then that makes you as good as a murderer! You cursed Rebecca and now she could die because of you!"

"Relax, Jack. I don't actually believe any of this stuff. But even if I did, Rebecca's always been a big time bitch. It's not like she doesn't have it coming anyway." She giggled that same mischievous giggle of hers that I'd always loved. But this time, I wasn't loving any part of it.

A couple of weeks passed and nothing happened. But then, one day, Rebecca didn't show up at school. At lunchtime, Stephanie was sitting around with us as usual when the assistant principal came to talk to us all with a megaphone.

"May I have your attention, please." Everyone got silent. "The police have reported that one of your fellow students, Rebecca, has gone missing."

Stephanie's golden skin turned white. She froze.

"Her parents are very worried about her. If any of you know anything about this, please come and talk to me after school. That is all."

"Stephanie..." I whispered. I was very afraid for her. I was very afraid for what she might do. She looked at me and said, "Don't say anything. Just don't."

She got up and bolted from the lunch room. I chased after her.

"Stephanie! Stephanie! What are you doing?"

She kept jogging away from me, her cell phone out.

"Don't try to stop me, Jack. If I'm going to survive, I'm going to need more time. I can get another week if I curse someone else, and that'll give me three weeks to find it."

"Stephanie, listen to yourself! Who are you going to curse? You'd kill someone else for a little extra time? Look what's happened to you!"

She was starting to cry.

"I know, damn it! But I know who I'm going to curse. No one's going to miss them, I promise."

"Stephanie, that's not right. You can't do it. No one deserves this. Let me help you! We can find a protective object for you together!"

She turned and showed me her cell phone. Her text outbox had a message which read, "Welcome to the game."

She had sent it to Rottenbacher.

I started to weep. I grabbed onto her as tightly as I could. "Stephanie, Stephanie. I love you. I'm so sorry. This isn't right. None of this is right."

She held onto me and began to cry deeply as well. We held each other there for nearly an hour like that. I still remember it like it was yesterday.

Then, that night before we went home, we both resolved we would start looking for a protective item the next day.

The next day, I was walking with Stephanie along the track after school when Rottenbacher approached us with his cell phone. He was furious. He held it up to her face.

"Is this your idea of a joke, you stupid slant-eyed bitch?"

Truth be told, I felt Rottenbacher had the right to be a little angry. Sure, he was a Nazi pervert freak, but with all of the whispers of murder going around, I could imagine anyone being angry about getting a text like that.

But even so, I wasn't about to let anyone talk to my girl that way.

"Hey, buddy, you watch your mouth. That's no way to talk to a lady."

"Lady?" Rottenbacher shouted. "This fucking slut is not a lady. She's just a bitch, and she tried to kill me! I bet you killed that other girl, too, didn't you? Rebecca? She's missing 'cause of you, isn't she?"

Stephanie began to cry again.

I pulled my arm back and punched as hard as I could at Rottenbacher's face. He stumbled backwards a few steps and grabbed at his lip, from which trickled a little stream of blood, but he kept his composure.

I halfway expected him to swing back at me, but he just stood there.

After a moment, he spoke.

"You just don't get it, do you Stephanie? I'M ALREADY IN THE GAME. I always have been. I know the fucking score. But unlike you, I never cursed anyone else."

"Bullshit!" I said. "If all that's true, then how are you still-"

Suddenly, I remembered the Cilice Rottenbacher wore around his leg that caused him to limp in agony, and what Stephanie had told me at lunch.

Whenever a new protective item was discovered, whatever it was, it would cause its bearer to suffer.

"Your protective item! You have one!"

Stephanie's eyes lit up. It was clear that had realized the same thing that I had. Rottenbacher smirked. "That's right. So I just figured your girlfriend better know that she didn't get any additional time for trying to curse me. I've already been there and done that."

Stephanie looked up at him with fear in her eyes.

Days passed and, try as we might, Stephanie and I couldn't find anything that could qualify as a protective item. We were approaching the two-week deadline and she was looking more and more scared by the day. Her hair was a mess, her usually bubbly personality was glum and distraught. She stared off into space during classes and prayed constantly.

After the two-week deadline passed, we were both terrified. She came to me at school and said, "Jack, I want you to sleep with me tonight. Stay with me all night. Don't let it get me."

I couldn't refuse. I showed up at her house late that night and came in through her window. We slept together. It was bittersweet.

She went to sleep holding me, but I lay awake most of the night watching and waiting until I finally fell asleep around 4:30 in the morning from sheer exhaustion.

The next day, when I woke up, all I could think was "Stephanie!" I looked around frantically. She wasn't in the bed next to me.

"Stephanie!" I said louder as I climbed out of the bed and began to search for her. I walked into her kitchen.

"Don't be so loud," A voice said. It was Stephanie's. I turned around to see her sitting at a round table in the kitchen. She was smiling and seemed as giddy as ever.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"My parents have already gone to work, but I don't want the neighbors to get suspicious and say something."

I wept with relief. It was over and she was safe. Nothing had come for her. I ran across the kitchen floor and hugged her, and kissed her all over.

Everything was perfect.

For two weeks.

Then I came to school one day and nine of our classmates had disappeared, including Sam.

Everyone was in an uproar. No one knew what had happened to them, or where they had gone. No one except for me and the person who had done it: Stephanie.

If the amount of time extended was halved each time you brought someone into the game, then nine people would have brought her just over two weeks. Which meant that her time would be running out again tonight.

I confronted her about it after school.

"Stephanie, the police are getting suspicious. You can't do this any more, and I can't watch you do this any more. It's wrong. It's evil!"

She looked at me silently. I still remember the look in her eyes that day. At this point, it had become clear to me that the girl I had known and loved was long gone, and all that remained was a soulless, wicked shell which clung to life and feared death more than anything. But, even so, I still loved her more than anything. She was my first and only girlfriend, and I couldn't let her go. I couldn't let anything happen to her.

"It's okay," She said. "I won't do it anymore. I've accepted what I need to do, and I'm going to do it. No one else is going to die because of me."

"Stephanie... are you sure? Maybe we can still find a protective item for you if we look now."

She looked down sadly. "There's no use in running from it now. I just want to spend the night with you tonight, okay? One more night together. That's all I want."

I was heartbroken. Everything was too melancholic and too melodramatic. I was so sad at hearing her words, at the thought of her being taken away.

I threw up. I vomited and retched over and over again into a nearby garbage can trying to fight back an endless stream of tears.

That night, she slept with me again. Sick, weak, and tired, I passed out from pure exhaustion at 3:00 AM.

Less than an hour later, though, I awoke with a start.

Stephanie was gone.

I sat up and looked around in terror, then found a note. I read it.

"[Jack]: I'm sorry for lying to you again, but I'm not ready to die yet."

A chill went down my spine. I continued to read.

"I've figured out what I need to do. Don't worry, as I promised, no one else is going to die because of me."

What could she be thinking? I looked around my room. Suddenly, I noticed that the .45 caliber pistol my father had bought me for my 18th birthday was missing from my room, and everything made perfect sense.

That's why she had wanted to spend the night with me tonight. She wanted my gun. she was planning to go after Rottenbacher and take HIS protective item.

As fast as I could, I threw on some clothes and bolted for my truck. I sped off towards Rottenbacher's apartment.

When I got there, the lock had been shot off and there were voices inside.

I pushed the door open. "What's going on here?" I demanded.

I looked around. Stephanie was holding Rottenbacher at gunpoint with my .45. The apartment walls were covered in pictures of Adolf Hitler and Swastika banners. There were whips and chains scattered around the bedroom floor. Rottenbacher was stomping around in long sleeve pajamas and cursing at her in his typical neo-Nazi form, screaming at her about 'home invasion' and 'calling the police' and this and that. He was even wearing that stupid Nazi armband. It was obvious this guy was a lunatic fanatic.

Stephanie screamed at him. "Shut the fuck up!"

She fired a round at the wall behind him and winced.

I remember my ears ringing from the loudness of the gunshot and a sharp pain in my inner ear, but I was too tense to worry about it at the moment.

"Now give me that barbed torture thing you're always wearing or I'll kill you right now."

Her voice was all malice.

Rottenbacher stood in place for a moment and slowly began to remove his pajama leggings.

"you're making a big mistake," He said. "You should just accept the way things are and die with dignity. You're not going to get away with this."

He removed the cilice from his leg, from which trickled a small amount of blood and handed it to her.

Immediately, she slipped it onto her own leg with one hand, fumbling with my pistol as she tightened it until it hurt, and her own leg egan to bleed a little.

"Let's go, Jack." She whispered and turned to leave.

I started to walk out with her. From the apartment, I heard Rottenbacher's shouting.

"You won't get away with this! He's going to come for you and he's going to drag you off to Hell for what you've done! You're going to pay for all those kids!"

I could see that she was sobbing a little as we walked away.

I was sick. I was disgusted with everything. I was disgusted with Stephanie for being so cruel and selfish and I was disgusted for myself for seeing all of this, and seeing the signs, and not doing anything to stop it. But at least now it would be over.

As we walked back to my truck, I said a small prayer for Rottenbacher in the hopes that he could find a new protective item within two weeks. He may have been a racist bastard, but in a way, he was still better than Stephanie if what he said about never cursing anyone else was true, and he didn't deserve to die just for that.

I drove Stephanie home. She was exhausted. I would have given her a kiss on the cheek, but I was too sick and just wanted the whole ordeal to be over.

"Good night," I whispered to her.

"Good night, Jack. I love you," She whispered back, and climbed out of my truck and went back to her house.

I started to drive home, exhausted from the day's events.

Suddenly, my cell phone began to vibrate. I picked it up. It was a call from Stephanie.

I answered.

"Hello?"

The first thing I heard was a shriek, followed by what sounded like the noise of pounding at her door.

"Jack! Help! He's here! He's here and HE'S COMING FOR ME!"

"What? Hold on, Steph!"

I pulled a U-turn in my truck and sped off back towards her home. Stephanie was becoming more frantic.

Suddenly, on the other end of the line, I heard the sound of her door being bashed in, followed by another shriek. I could hear Stephanie screaming at the top of her lungs, a hideous, blood curdling scream. I still remember every moment of it perfectly, and I remember her screams word for word.

"No! No! I don't want to die!" Adrenaline surged through my heart and I floored the accelerator.

"No, no, no! Stop!"

She screamed again and I heard what sounded like the phone hitting the floor and Stephanie's screams getting further and further away.

And then, dead air.

"Stephanie? Stephanie?! Answer me, damn it!"

Getting no response, I hung up and called the police.

When I arrived at Stephanie's house, the front door had been smashed in. I parked my car on her lawn and jumped out, carrying my .45 caliber pistol with me.

I ran inside, searching the halls. Everything was in slow motion.

Then, I came to Stephanie's bedroom. I turned on the light and checked all of the corners with my pistol leading the way. At length, I lowered the gun as something caught my eye in the center of the room. Stephanie's cell phone lay on the floor next to her bed.

In the middle of the room, in the carpet, was a very small patch of blood. It wasn't more than a few drops. But the most chilling sight of all was that from the edge of her bed to the door of her room which lead out into the hall was a trail of claw marks that she had left as something or someone had dragged her away to her doom.

I couldn't take it any more. I turned and left her room. On the way out, I couldn't help but notice that she had torn out most of her fingernails clawing at the carpet and that they lay scattered near the trails her fingers had left.

I went out into the street and threw up again. I could hear the sirens coming in the distance.

Days passed, then weeks, then months. The police did investigations; they questioned me time and time again, and every time my stories were all the same. I told them the truth as I knew it, as unbelievable as it was. I don't think they believed me, but all of the evidence supported my story and there was nothing to implicate me in any of the crimes, so at length they finally let me go.

Things gradually went back to normal.

Our class eventually recovered from the losses of so many of our classmates, and over time my mind kind of accepted what had happened until it seemed like a distant dream. I graduated and moved on to college.

But there was one thing that still bothered me through it all, and that was Rottenbacher. He had been exactly right. Even though Stephanie had taken his cilice, he never vanished in the way that she and the others did.

But there is one thing that I do know, and that is to this very day, if you ever see Rottenbacher, he's still always wearing that red Nazi Swastika armband.

[(My absolute favorite. Read it. Cherish it. Love it.)]

You just moved into your new apartment, in a very big city. After a year of this life, you have almost given up hope of making any friends, be it at work or any other means. You feel very lonely. After looking for a peaceful place to spend your time, you find a quiet diner on the outskirts of town. The waitress is very attractive. Also, she seems to be the only employee there, ever. You never see anyone else eat there either, ever. The place is perfect for you.

Making love to her becomes a routine. You go there every night for dinner and then to see her.

You eventually make other friends, and eat at the diner less and less. After some time, you stop going completely.

At a bar with your best friend, you tell him about the fun you had with the waitress at the diner. He says he absolutely must see her. You take him there one night, but the building is in a state of ruin. The front door barely opens. The grimy insides of the diner are disgusting, and behind the counter is a moldy corpse, reeking of pus and rot.

When the police come to the scene, they interview both you and your friend. You are shocked to hear that the body is of a runaway girl from another province. The police tell you this is a homicide, and that she was also raped dozens of times after she was killed. The police say they can get a match for DNA and eliminate you as a suspect. You are suddenly very worried.

John's father handed him a well-worn list at his 18th birthday party. He told him it was a family tradition, that it was time to be a man.

"This list has been passed down through our family for generations," John's father said.

"It's a list of names, though, father," John replied, his face twisting into a confused expression. "In fact, I know one of these people. How can this list be that old?"

"Well, that's what you get for being the son of Death," John's father said coldly.

A young couple had a baby, but as they were poor and could not afford to keep it, they decided to kill it. They went to a lake in the dead of night and having rowed a boat to the middle of it, dropped the baby into the water, while the mother kept murmuring, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Some years passed and the couple decided to marry. They had a new baby girl and the family was living happily together. When the little girl became four years-old, she suddenly started pestering her parents to take her to the lake. The parents were reluctant to go, but finally gave in because the girl was so persistent. As soon as they arrived at the lake the girl said, “Daddy, I want to be on that!” pointing at a boat. Again reluctantly the couple gave in to her entreaty. They were in the middle of the lake when the girl said, “Daddy, I want a wee-wee.” The father, not knowing what else to do, lifted her up above the water so that she could do it, checking first that no one was around.

And it was that very moment, when the father’s hands were wrapped underneath the girl’s knees, and both were facing the water, the daughter looked back at her father over the shoulder and said, “Please don’t drop me this time.”