The medic made his rounds during the fire, in almost complete darkness as he had so many times before, but never this short on supplies.
The bombardment moved to other ends of the line, most men dropped off to sleep in the still dark hours of the morning - New Year's Day, 1945.
The men awoke at first light with screams. They discovered that their bandages were not typical bandages at all, but hunks and strips of human flesh. Several men had been given fresh blood transfusions, with no blood supplies available. Each treated man was almost completely covered, head-to-toe, with the maroon stain of blood.
The medic was found, sitting on an ammunition tin, staring off into space. When one man approached him, tapped him on the shoulder, his tunic fell off to reveal all skin, muscle, and sinew had been stripped from his torso and his body almost completely dried of blood. In one hand was a scalpel, and in the other, a blood transfusion vial.
None of the men treated for wounds that night, in that camp, saw the end of January, 1945.
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In rural southern Illinois a toy company began selling "realistic" baby dolls to expectant mothers. But apparently after the mother had her child the toy baby would start crying. Eventually the "rocking motion" advertised to calm it down wouldn't work, and you couldn't get it to stop without shaking it. Eventually when it started crying the parent would have to beat it, and the beatings and thrashings would have to get harder and harder to get it to be quiet. The only thing that seemed to shut the baby doll up permanently was the bash its head against the wall to destroy whatever mechanism triggered the crying. On more than one occasion though, neighbours called the authorities to report child abuse, and when the police arrived they found the bloody remains of infants smeared across the walls and the floor. In most cases the mother couldn't understand why the police were there, she just "got rid of the stupid doll" as she rocked a baby-shaped bundle in her arms.
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In any city, in any country, go to any mental instituion or halfway house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls themself "The Holder of the End". Should a look of child-like fear come over the workers face, you will then be taken to a cell in the building. It will be in a deep hidden section of the building. All you will hear is the sound of someone talking to themselves echo the halls. It is in a language that you will not understand, but your very soul will feel unspeakable fear.
Should the talking stop at any time, STOP and QUICKLY say aloud "I'm just passing through, I wish to talk." If you still hear silence, flee. Leave, do not stop for anything, do not go home, don't stay at an inn, just keep moving, sleep where your body drops. You will know in the morning if you've escaped.
If the voice in the hall comes back after you utter those words continue on. Upon reaching the cell all you will see is a windowless room with a person in the corner, speaking an unknown language, and cradling something. The person will only respond to one question. What happens when they all come together?
The person will then stare into your eyes and answer your question in horrifiying detail. Many go mad in that very cell, some disappear soon after the meeting, a few end they're lives. But most do the worst thing and look upon the object in the person's hands. You will want to as well. Be warned, if you do your death will be that of cruelity and unrelenting horror.
Your death will be in that room, by that person's hands.
That object is 1 of 2538. They must never come together. Never.
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When it got hot in the valley, Thomas and Alfred drove their cows up to a cool, green pasture in the mountains to graze. Usually they stayed there with the cows for two months. Then they brought them down to the valley again.
The work was easy enough, but, oh, it was boring. All day the two men tended their cows. At night they went back to the tiny hut where they lived. They ate supper and worked in the garden and went to sleep. It was always the same.
Then Thomas had an idea that changed everything. "Let's make a doll the size of a man," he said. "It would be fun to make, and we could put it in the garden to scare away the birds."
"It should look like Harold," Alfred said. Harold was a farmer they both hated. They made the doll out of old sacks stuffed with straw. They gave it a pointy nose like Harold's and tiny eyes like his. Then they added dark hair and a twisted frown. Of course they also gave it Harold's name.
Each morning on their way to the pasture, they tied Harold to a pole in the garden to scare away the birds. Each night they brought him inside so that he wouldn't get ruined if it rained.
When they were feeling playful, they would talk to him. One of them might say, "How are the vegetables growing today, Harold?" Then the other, making believe he was Harold, would answer in a crazy voice, "Very slowly." They both would laugh, but not Harold.
Whenever something went wrong, they took it out on Harold. They would curse at him, even kick him or punch him. Sometimes one of them would take the food they were eating (which they both were sick of) and smear it on the doll's face. "How do you like that stew, Harold?" he would ask. "Well, you'd better eat it - or else." Then the two men would howl with laughter.
One night, after Thomas had wiped Harold's face with food, Harold grunted.
"Did you hear that?" Alfred asked.
"It was Harold," Thomas said. "I was watching him when it happened. I can't believe it."
"How could he grunt?" Alfred asked. "He's just a sack of straw. It's not possible."
"Let's throw him in the fire," said Thomas, "and that will be that."
"Let's not do anything stupid," said Alfred. "We don't know what's going on. When we move the cows down, we'll leave him behind. For now, let's just keep an eye on him."
So they left Harold sitting in a corner of the hut. They didn't talk to him or take him outside anymore. Now and then the dolled grunted, but that was all. After a few days they decided there was nothing to be afraid of. Maybe a mouse or some insected had gotten inside Harold and were making those sounds.
So Thomas and Alfred went back to their old ways. Each morning they put Harold out in the garden, and each night they brought him back into the hut. When they felt playful, they joked with him. When they felt mean, they treated him as badly as ever.
Then one night Alfred noticed something that frightened him. "Harold is growing," he said.
"I was thinking the same thing," Thomas said.
"Maybe it's just our imagination," Alfred replied. "We have been up here on this mountain too long."
The next morning, while they were eating, Harold stood up and walked out of the hut. He climbed up on the roof and trotted back and forth, like a horse on its hind legs. All day and all night long he trotted like that.
In the morning Harold climbed down and stood in a far corner of the pasture. The men had no idea what he would do next. They were afraid.
They decided to take the cows down into the valley that same day. When they left, Harold was nowhere in sight. They felt as if they had escaped a great danger and began joking and singing. But when they had gone only a mile or two, they realized they had forgotten to bring the milking stools.
Neither one wanted to go back for them, but the stools would cost a lot to replace. "There really is nothing to be afraid of," they told one another. "After all, what could a doll do?"
They drew straws to see which one would go back. It was Thomas, "I'll catch up with you," he said, and Alfred walked on toward the valley.
When Alfred came to a rise in the path, he looked back for Thomas. He did not see him anywhere. But he did see Harold. The doll was on the roof of the hut again. As Alfred watched, Harold kneeled and stretched out a bloody skin to dry in the sun.
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During the wedding reception of a young couple, the guests decided to play a drunken game of hide and seek. It was decided that the groom was "it" and he eventually found everyone except his new bride.
The longer he searched the more frusturated he became and he was soon furious thinking she had left. He decided the game wasn't funny anymore and went home without his bride. As weeks went by, he accepted that she'd had second thoughts and went on with her life so he did the same.
A few years later a cleaning lady dusted off an old trunk in the attic of the building where the reception had taken place, out of curiosity she opened it.
Inside the trunk was the rotted body of the missing bride who'd apparently became locked in the trunk she'd chosen to hide in.
Whether she'd suffocated or starved was unknown, but her face was frozen in a scream.
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Two students decide to go skiing for the weekend, and are having such a good time they decide to blow off the exam that they have scheduled for Monday morning in order to get some final runs in before they head back to school. They decide to tell the professor that they got a flat tire and therefore deserve to take the exam at a rescheduled time.
Hearing the story, said professor agrees that it really was just bad luck, and of course they can take the exam later. At the appointed time, the professor greets them and places them in two separate rooms to take the exam.
The few questions on the first page are worth a minor 10% of the overall grade, and are quite easy. Each student grows progressively confident as they take the test, sure that they have gotten away with fooling the
professor. However, when they turn to the second page they discover that they really haven't.
The only question on the page, worth 90% of the exam, reads: "Which tire?"
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Once a girl, only of the age of sixteen's mother had just become divorced. Her mother, had soon found a new boyfriend though. One night it was her mother's first night out with her new boyfriend. Thinking that her daughter was old enough to look after the house for a few hours she asked her if it was okay if she went out that night. The daughter agreed, saying that she could look after the house until her mother's return.
She heard her mother leave so she went a little while later and locked up all the doors in the house before going to bed. She listened to some music for a while before trying to go to sleep. All was quiet except for one tiny sound in one of the other rooms...drip...drip...drip...
The girl thought that it must be the leaky tap in the kitchen so she left her warm bed and walked to the kitchen. Sure enough the tap was dripping do she placed a flannel underneath it before returning to her room. She was just about to get into bed before she heard it again...drip...drip...drip...
She thought that it may be the bathroom taps this time so she left her room and walked towards the bathroom. The dripping noise got louder..drip...drip...drip...
She entered the bathroom and walked towards the sink. It was fine...drip..drip..drip...
She turned towards the shower, the shower hidden behind its curtain.
...drip...drip..drip...
She pulled back the curtain and stared at the shower.
There was her mother's decapitated body in the bath, her head tied to the shower head by her own hair and her blood dripping into the bathtub.
...drip...drip..drip
Behind the girl the doors slams shut..."the blood was too old..."
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Stop. No, don’t look. It just encourages them.
You know who I’m talking about. Them. More specifically, her. Keep those eyes focused here, don’t look. Don’t even glance. Use your peripherals, because I know you see her. Just at the very edge of your vision?
Glance to the left side of the monitor, but don’t glance beyond it. There, your peripherals should have picked up a bit more. You saw her in the corner, didn’t you? You saw her black hair billowing across her pale face, the loose nightgown she wears over her emaciated frame. She’s been there for a while, just waiting. That’s how they spend their time. The spirits of the damned. The ones unfit for heaven, yet avoiding hell. The ones who walk the Earth with their sins on their shoulders. They live in constant, insurmountable, indescribable pain. The story goes that when St. Peter takes pity on a soul who has committed a grave sin, like murder, rape, torture, cannibalism, or worse, he punishes that soul and sends them back to our plane, to exist among the living until they’ve successfully repented for their sins. But first, he rips out their eyes, so that they can covet nought. Then he tears their jawbone from their skull, so that they cannot speak evils.
No, don’t look. She has moved closer, but that is only her curiosity. She can’t actually see you, not as you could see her. She sees in outlines, in blurs and motions. Her empty sockets let her see a person’s soul, yet it is useless to her. She lives not on the person, but on the body. Her spirit hungers for communion of the flesh, but she is eternally denied. Only the Savior can be a proper conduit of communion, to satisfy her cravings. She has tried, though. She has tried often in the past.
She certainly has taken an interest in you, hasn’t she? You see, she feeds on the living. She, like many before her, found humans to alleviate her ailments. She starves for communion, but humans like yourself can work as a…placebo, of sorts. She’ll try to get you to turn, to see into the voids which take residence over where her eyes used to be. She’ll pull you in, hypnotizing you with the dark, hollow sockets. She’ll close in even more, excitedly exhaling on your supple skin. She’ll jab her rotted teeth into your slender neck and lap the blood with her flopping tongue. I’ll scrape in with my fangs and scoop out your flesh like ice cream. I’ll yelp with glee at the warmth of your innards as I slash into your fatty abdomen. I’ll pull the bones from their sinew and suck the marrow out like a candied filling. I’ll jab my bony fingers into your eyes and take them for my own. I’ll rip your jawbone from your skull and use it as my own. I’ll become whole again, with your help.
But it’ll only work–
–if you look.
I shall post more soooooon~
