HEAD HILL

Hyperbole, hell!

WHY I DIDN'T SHOWER FOR 21 YEARS

I have nightmares where I’m trapped in a shower. The drain is plugged, and the water won’t stop pouring down on me. Water rises to my ankles, to my waist, and then over my head. The shower curtain turns to glass, and my screams turn to gargles. A dark figure presses its face against the glass on the other side, and it watches me. I plead, but it won’t let me out. I swallow water and flail helplessly in my glass coffin.

I wake up gagging.

I know where the nightmare came from - I never have to dig deep. The incident is never far from my subconscious. Finding it is easy.

Getting over it is not.

It was the summer of my 12th birthday when the Hudsons moved in across the street. Three people, one of them a really old woman. She was tiny, frail; skeletal almost. Thin white hair; faded, blue flowery dress - her head hung from her neck and it wobbled as the man pushed her up a makeshift wheelchair ramp into the house. At the time I couldn't figure out if she was alive or dead.

A few minutes later she appeared in an upstairs window, sitting in her wheelchair. She was directly facing my bedroom, and I cautiously peered out from behind my curtains. Her head was upright now, and she stared at me. Just stared, without moving her head an inch.

I closed my drapes.

For days she sat at the window. She watched the cars putter down our suburban road and gazed at the neighborhood kids scurrying through their yards. I never saw anyone else in the room; never saw her move from that wheelchair. At night I’d nervously peek through the crack in my drapes. Her silhouette was still in that window, lights off, staring out into the darkness at my bedroom. I couldn’t tell, but I knew she was watching me.

The stories about her cropped up pretty quick amongst my friends in the neighborhood. That she was a witch. That she was just a doll. That she was actually dead. But I knew she wasn’t dead. Sure, I never saw her move from that window, not once. And I never saw her head turn. But I felt her eyes move as they studied me. I could feel her watching me. All alone in my bedroom, in the middle of the night with my drapes firmly shut, I’d wake up and shudder. Her eyes were on me, I just knew it.

I began sleeping on the floor. The lower I was, the better. Maybe she couldn’t see me if I was on the floor.

I told my parents that the old woman across the street was creeping me out. I pleaded with them to talk to the Hudsons and ask them to move her to a room without a window. They laughed and told me to let her live out her twilight years in peace. She was just watching the street, they said, and that probably made her feel happy and feel younger.

“Are you just going to stick me in a windowless room when I’m an old lady?” my mom laughed. “Remind me to move in with your sister when I’m in a wheelchair!”

A week later there was some commotion at the Hudsons'. I watched from my bedroom window as the man ran out of the house and opened up the double-doors of his van. He jogged inside, and he reappeared minutes later pushing the old woman in her wheelchair down the ramp. She looked frailer than before. She couldn’t have weighed more than 70 pounds. Her head was flung to the side, resting on her right shoulder. Her body jostled in the wheelchair.

But her eyes never left me. Watched me the whole time.

The man picked her up and placed her in the car. He folded the wheelchair and stuffed it in the trunk. He quickly hopped into the driver’s seat, the younger woman pounced into the passenger seat, and the man put his foot to the pedal.

The old woman’s limp head still faced me. It bobbed up and down as the van reversed down the driveway. I studied her face. It was expressionless, emotionless. Her tongue slightly hung from the right side of her mouth. But her eyes were on mine, and they stayed on me.

The van accelerated down the street, and it was gone.

My parents heard the news that afternoon from other neighbors: the old woman’s condition was getting worse, and the Hudsons had taken her to some sort of a home. She wouldn’t be coming back. I went straight to my bedroom, and I looked across the street. I smiled. Her window was finally empty.

The Hudsons didn’t come back the next day. No van. That night I looked out towards the old woman’s window. There was no one there; no wheelchair. But the bedroom light was on. I remember telling my dad I thought it was strange, and he just shrugged and said, “Must be on some sort of timer or something.”

I woke up in the middle of the night and nervously peered out my bedroom window. That bedroom light was still on. It suddenly flicked off, and I ducked below my window frame. I slowly rose and looked out, expecting to see the silhouette of that tiny, skeletal being. I watched for ten minutes, pinching and straining my eyes. The lights quickly flickered on and then off again.

I slept on the floor again, clutching my pillow close.

I had a late baseball practice the next evening. When I got home, my house was empty. My parents were at my little sister’s softball game. I headed to the shower to rinse off.

About three minutes into my shower, I felt cold. The hot steam was escaping the bathroom somehow, which didn’t make sense because I had shut the door. I wiped the shampoo from my eyes, turned my head, and I heard a strange noise that would haunt me in nightmares for years: the metal rings of the shower curtain being dragged across the shower rod. Someone was slowly opening the curtain.

The shampoo stung my eyes, and through the stinging I saw a dark figure behind the curtain. Long, pale, bony fingers gripped the curtain as it slowly opened. I instinctively backed up in the shower, and the curtain opened completely.

There stood the old woman. I must have only looked at her for one, maybe two seconds, but at that moment, time stood still. All these years later I can still draw you a vivid picture of the horrifying image in front of me. Disheveled white hair, crazy in her eyes, bones jutting out from under her stretched skin, stark naked. Blotchy skin, warts all over her body, skinny breasts hanging to her waist. Hair where I didn’t know people could grow hair.

She smiled grotesquely, and I felt the shower tile against my back and the hot water pound my face. In her other hand, the old woman held a letter opener.

“August,” she mumbled. “August, August, August.”

I leaped past her, knocking her tiny body to the floor. I ran downstairs, naked and sopping wet. In my panic I somehow remembered I was nude, and I yanked a pair of shorts out of the hamper in the laundry room, sending the hamper crashing to the floor. I high-tailed it on foot down the street, eventually winding up at my friend’s house.

When the police arrived they found the old woman, crumpled to a heap in the bathroom. The shower was still running. The policemen were all really nice to me, admiring me for my bravery. I told them what she said to me - “August” - and asked if they knew what she could have meant.

“It will be August in a few days,” one of them shrugged. “And you can never fully understand old and crazy, son.”

The Hudsons only came to our street once more to retrieve their stuff. The “For Sale” sign was up in days. My mom told me they couldn’t face the neighbors for what happened. Apparently they had taken the old woman - the man’s mother - to a special home downstate. Somehow, someway, the woman managed to escape the home and caught a bus back to our town. It never quite made sense to me - she was so old, so frail, so helpless. She could barely move those weeks she lived in that house. How had she managed to travel hundreds of miles on her own?

Anyway, you can imagine what this did to me. I didn’t shower for 21 years. I took baths, which I suppose aren’t that different - it’s still a tub, and it involves hot, soapy water. But a shower, with its closed curtain, water peppering the tub floor and steam climbing the walls - you get lost inside your own head in the shower. Thoughts consume you, and it feels so utterly safe. For a few minutes, you are alone from the world. It’s your own private, misty kingdom.

But that’s what makes the shower dangerous - you’re enclosed, vulnerable, naked.

You’re exposed.

I talked to people about it - my parents, a shrink - but mainly I tried to push the incident deep down into places where I couldn’t find it. I didn’t talk about it with anyone since I was a kid - life carried on. Besides the baths, I was pretty normal.

A few months ago, something inside me clicked. I felt the urge to re-examine the incident; it was almost like a voice in my head was telling me to do it. My head wanted closure.

I spent hours online one night, trying to track down any information on the Hudsons and the old woman. I finally found what I was looking for - an obituary for the old woman. She had died four years ago. Somehow that walking skeleton hadn’t checked out for another 15 years. The obituary photo was a black-and-white picture from when she was a young woman - it was a photo of her and her deceased husband on their wedding day.

His name was August.

And he looked exactly like me.

I closed the browser and stared at my computer desktop for ten minutes. It finally made more sense: why she called me August. Why she was obsessed with watching me. Maybe she used to write letters to her husband, and that’s why she was clutching the letter opener that night.

For a small moment, I felt a little better. Things always feel better when they make more sense.

“Honey, is everything okay?” It was my wife.

“I think so,” I said.

I took the first shower I had taken in years that night. I didn’t even jump when the curtain rungs dragged across the shower rod and my wife entered. But as she embraced me under the hot water, one question wouldn’t leave my head:

How come the young woman in that wedding photo looks exactly like my wife?

Story source.

HOLY SHIT!

SHITTY FLICKS: ZOMBIE NATION

Shitty Flicks is an ongoing column that celebrates the most hilariously incompetent, amusingly pedestrian, and mind-bogglingly stupid movies ever made by people with a bit of money, some prior porn-directing experience, and no clue whatsoever. It is here you will find unrestrained joy in movies meant to terrify and thrill, but instead poke at your funny bone with their weird, mutant camp-girl penis.

WARNING: I tend to give away major plot points and twist endings in my reviews because, whatever. Shut up.

Ulli Lommel is the guy at the party with a length of toilet paper stuck to his shoe, and he's trekking it around behind him like a limp tail, in between trips to the fish tank and the bean dip. Other party goers laugh, getting a kick out of it, and for the rest of the night, no one can take him seriously. Yet, despite this, he keeps getting invited to parties.

This is a perfect allegory for Ulli Lommel’s career. He has never, ever, ever made a good film. Not ever. And this isn’t one of those, “well that’s just your opinion, man” situations. If there was a big book called Opinions That Are Actually Facts, there would be an entire chapter called “Ulli Lommel’s Films Are Literally Shit.”

"Okay, this time, YOU ring the gong,
and I'LL scream MORTAL KOMBAT."

However, there is no denying that the guy is still filling Redbox machines and Netflix servers with his nonsense. He says "action!" and his cameras record stuff and suddenly there are studios out there who want to distribute it. I've seen enough Ulli Lommel films to know that if he can do it, anyone can.

Why not get started with this handy, no-effort recipe?

Ingredients

• 10-15 "actors" picked randomly from a variety of high school and community college drama programs (preferably ones dismissed for utter lack of talent)
• 1 part German wooden lead to stumble through English dialogue
• 1 abandoned warehouse to store all sets (police station with exposed sewage pipes clearly indicating it is shot in boiler room; apartment that looks like Ikea show room; furniture store whose door remains open all times of day despite lack of presence of staff or security team)
• 1/4 gallon of white paint (will not be enough to paint walls within camera range in said warehouse)
• 1 part crew man's accidental and blatant reflection in mirror
• 1 part stolen musical piece from The Exorcist (to be repeatedly used)
• Multiple parts flashback of fat bald man getting spanked
• 1 part clone of Parker Posey (for the mom role)
• 1 part asinine idea that, hey, since people liked Fight Club, let's have a scene where two men fistfight and fall into strategically placed cardboard boxes while surrounding friends and family shout encouragement, only never to mention the scene again

The boys were taken aback by Ulli's raucous laughter
after asking which color the latest script rewrite was in.

•  1/4 teaspoon of black make-up (apply generously; this will encompass ANY/ALL zombie make-up)
• Several parts weird, mood-breaking techno
• 2 cameras; one digital that shoots in good quality, one amateur home video camera that is glaring opposite the previous
• 3 parts lighting equipment to be blatantly captured in shot in every police station scene
• 1 part terribly out of place, unnoticed, non-utilized gong, placed in very fake police station
• 0 parts script supervisor
• 1 part audacity to use Marathon Man homage (in nonsensical way)
• 1 part random businessman that waits out in middle of woods to make business deals via cell phone, only to become fodder for zombie girls (who then steal car)
• 1 part mechanic who takes out penis behind door as zombie girls approach
• 1 part fake bloody penis
• 1 part hope that you won't realize Ulli didn't bother to write out the hero who disappears halfway through the movie due to real-life hospital visit
• 6 parts zombie girls to wear said black make-up under eyes up with no other make-up effects to be seen (except for continuity-be-damned close ups in mirrors)
• Multiple parts suspension of disbelief (cop takes offending woman to warehouse, partner waits outside, cop comes back out sans woman but with giant body-sized duffel bag, partner is not suspicious)
• 1 part completely ludicrous ending
• 0 parts logic

Directions

1. Take all said ingredients and throw haphazardly against wall.
2. Hope it sticks.
3. Look in awe at how movies literally about nothing can be made and sold for mass consumption.
4. Ingest generous portion, swallow with grimace as Ulli Lommel rips money from your pockets and laughs maniacally.

HEY, KNOW WHAT'S A REAL MOVIE?

PESTA

Pesta is the personification of Black Death in Norwegian folklore. She would be dressed up in all black when she visited farms, either holding a broom or a rake. If she was holding a broom then everyone on the farm would die. If she was holding a rake, then some would survive to tell her tale.

PROJECT SCISSORS: “NIGHTCRY”

PRESS RELEASE: FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE 

PROJECT SCISSORS: “NIGHTCRY” 

28TH January 2015

Tokyo, Japan:

NightCry, the eagerly anticipated “horror adventure game” initially announced as Project Scissors, is coming to Kickstarter!

Inspired by overwhelming feedback from fans the world over, the NightCry team have unanimously decided to create a PC version of the ultimate horror game and are asking worldwide fans for their support in making it happen via the Project Scissors: NightCry Kickstarter campaign.

This highly anticipated game is currently under development at Nude Maker Inc., directed by Hifumi Kono (Director of “Clock Tower”, “Infinite Space”, and “Steel Battalion”) and co-created by Takashi Shimizu (Director of “Ju-On”, and “The Grudge”), NightCry was initially announced at the 2014 Tokyo Game Show as being for mobile platforms and the PlayStation® Vita.

In the game, players are invited aboard a cruise ship, where an evil presence has begun stalking and killing both guests and crew alike, resulting in the ship being lost at sea. As the player, you are unarmed and unprepared to fight back against the horrible evil that stalks you. All you can do is run and hide while searching for clues that might lead to your survival...

As a live action companion piece designed to dramatically expand upon the unique world and startling vision of NightCry, project co-creator Takashi Shimizu has created a short film that reveals another side of this dark universe and it’s environs.

You can view this short film and learn more about the Project Scissors: NightCry Kickstarter campaign from the following links:

Shimizu’s NightCry Short Film: http://youtu.be/QL77DK68Q_U


Kickstarter Link: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/playism/project-scissors-nightcry 

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ProjectScissors

In addition to working with Takashi Shimizu, Hifumi Kono has engaged a wealth of incredible luminaries from the Japanese entertainment industry, including Kiyoshi Arai (Concept Art, Final Fantasy XII, XIV), Masahiro Ito (Creature Designer, Silent Hill series), and Nobuko Toda (Composer, Metal Gear Solid series, Halo 4 & 5). And additionally, famed CG animation director Shinji Aramaki (Appleseed series, Halo Legends) will be serving as creative advisor.

Also, for the first time since the game’s initial announcement, we’re happy to reveal that Michiru Yamane (Composer, Castlevania: Symphony of the Night) has joined the team to collaborate on the soundtrack.

Even though Yamane and Toda have a shared history at Konami Digital Entertainment - NightCry is their very first collaboration together.

With the invaluable help of Kickstarter backers the NightCry team hope to create a definitive version of the game for PC, with additional platforms being considered, if the crowd funding campaign exceeds all expectations.

Official website: http://www.night-cry.com


Official EN Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Night_Scissors

Contact: Joseph Chou – (81) 90 3915 4351

Email: joseph@sola-digital.com

BLOODY VALENTINE

THIRTEENTH

TWO-SENTENCE STORIES

The doctors told the amputee he might experience a phantom limb from time to time. Nobody prepared him for the moments though, when he felt cold fingers brush across his phantom hand. 

I can't move, breathe, speak or hear and it's so dark all the time. If I knew it would be this lonely, I would have been cremated instead. 

I woke up to hear knocking on glass. At first, I though it was the window until I heard it come from the mirror again. 

Yesterday my parents told me I was too old for an imaginary friend and that I had to let her go. They found her body this morning. 

My daughter won't stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night. I visit her grave and ask her to stop, but it doesn't help.

More.

FOG

Once I was camping by myself in the woods in Western Germany near the French border. I had hiked remote forest road for a few miles and stumbled across an old German bunker, which wasn't unusual for this area. The top was caved in, but the walls were intact. I climbed around it and peered inside. It was more like a fortified guard shack than a fortress, and I spent some time exploring the two rooms. By the time I had finished, it was starting to get dark and I decided to camp at a spot I had seen a short distance away instead of staying in the bunker. After setting up my tent, I made a small fire and had dinner. Then I settled down to listen to the woods and enjoy nature. The fire burned down to embers and only gave off light when you looked directly at it. You could see the stars through the forest canopy and it got very quiet. At some point I fell asleep next to the fire.

Some time later I awoke. The fog had rolled in and it was so thick you couldn't see more than twenty feet. I couldn't figure out what had woken me up until I heard someone speaking a short distance away: the kind of loud laughing you hear around a campfire as friends share a beer and tell each other lies about the women they've known. It was far enough away that I couldn't follow the conversation, but it seemed to be coming from the bunker. I figured the place must a local hangout for the adventurous and decided to go down, have a look, maybe introduce myself and make some new friends. Moving carefully through the night fog, I made my way down the hill towards the back of the bunker. The laughter was louder as I approached and I started to see what appeared to be kerosene lights.

Just as I was about to say something, it struck me that the roof was back on the bunker. And the figures moving around the light appeared to be dressed in gray uniforms. I froze in place and watched for a few minutes as they appeared to play cards and joke with one another. I'm certain they were wearing Nazi uniforms. I backed away and quietly made my way to my camp. I checked the fire, but it was out. I spent the next several hours awake listening to the them. Then the fog began to clear out and sound faded away.

In the morning, I could see down the hill to the bunker and the roof was caved in again. And there was no sign anyone was there. Was it my imagination? Or a Nazi reenactment group (which is illegal in Germany)? I don't think so. I'm convinced the fog opened a window back to an obscure checkpoint on a wooded road into France. And several bored soldiers were passing a quiet night while waiting for any vehicles that happened to drive by.

That's not the only time I've seen something in a deep fog I can't explain. It's like a bridge between worlds. When it's so thick you can't see ten feet in front of your face, I try not go outside anymore.

Story source.

BUY ME THIS

GRIN

Jeff Franklin, 17, grins from the backseat of a police car after using a hatchet and sledgehammer to murder his parents and critically wound three of his siblings. March 10, 1998.

MOTHER OF SPIDERS

CUT HIM AGAIN

It was summer. My best friends and I had all turned 13 and 14 that year and had been friends since we were toddlers. Our parents had all gone to school together and we were like brothers. Six of us in all. We were always inseparable. We decided pretty spur of the moment to take a camping trip up in a part of Appalachia that no one called home, but we liked to explore. No, I will not be telling the actual area. We spent the afternoon setting up our tents and made a game out of seeing who could camouflage theirs the best. We had three tents split between the six of us and they were just small two man things that we covered up with limbs and twigs ––- anything we could do to pass the time. And we were all competitive as hell.

We were a good piece off the dirt roads and trails that ran through the mountains. We had gone up on dirt bikes and four wheelers, but since one had a gas smell we had parked them further down an incline. We all turned in around midnight because we were planning on paint balling early the next day. All we had with us were our paint guns and pocket knives. Rob, my tent buddy, woke me up a while later and there was light shining out into the woods. Bright lights. Very bright. I stuck my head partially out and saw that the other four were already out of their tents and gazing up at two cars. With the way we were positioned, the car lights were illuminating the area above us, but not ON us. We were about 20 feet below that trail in a bit of a holler and inside a copse of trees. We could hear some arguing, some scuffling. I'm pretty sure we were all scared shitless. Neither car engine was running and whoever was up there wasn't too happy about something.

At some point one of the people above us yelled out in pain and someone growled out "cut him again!" Let me tell you ... your flight or fight instinct kicks in pretty damn hard when you hear something like that. We were all basically on our stomachs so we wouldn't be seen, but we were HEARING something that was obviously bad and someone was now hurt. We ALL knew that one of the guys talking was this asshole white trash drug pusher who liked to think he ran the town. He was addressed by name more than once. Not a damn one of us wanted to be on his bad side or be caught. For about an hour we laid there and listened to a man being questioned, antagonized, beaten and crying out.

The guy who was hurt kept saying shit like "a curse on your family" and "no matter what you do to me, you will pay more than me."

Eventually we heard car doors closing and the cars left. Not a single one of us even breathed I don't think. We didn't know if the hurt guy had been left or what the hell was going to happen next. It felt like it took the sun about twenty hours to rise. We all stayed still and on our stomachs even after the sun was up just listening. No, I'm not proud of that or especially keen to admit it. We were cowards and I would have gladly cried like a bitch baby if I thought it would have gotten me home sooner.

We didn't hear anything so we eventually stood up and went up the incline. There was blood on the ground and it was more than apparent that someone had truly been injured. We packed our shit, got on our bikes, and got the hell out of there. My parents demanded that we tell the police what we heard and take them out there to show them.

We did.

The blood was gone. GONE. We looked everywhere and couldn't find a single damn thing except the fresh tire tracks of the cars.

A few days later this guy went into the ER where Rob's mother worked and said he had been stabbed. I guess it was infected or whatever because he didn't seek medical treatment. He wound up dying after a few days. We found out that he was the son of the strangest damn people you could ever meet ––- but meeting them wasn't something you went out of your way to do. You kinda crossed to the other side of the road if you saw them coming. They were deeeeeep ass mountain people and folks had talked about them being into Voo Doo and shit from the time I was old enough to remember it. They were those people who your parents would use to scare you into behaving well by invoking their name. Other people would comment on who they had seen coming off "their" mountain and speculate on what kind of curse or blood debt they were dealing the devil for. A lot was blamed on that family. Random accidents, miscarriages, bankruptcy, job loss, you name it.

We didn't go to the funeral, but like any small town where you don't have a thing to do in the summer, people were lingering and making a spectacle out of trying to NOT make a spectacle of themselves. What we had seen had really gotten to Rob. And he was the kind of guy who was the perfect Boy Scout and he was very active in his church. It was weighing on him. Me and Rob found ourselves on the side of the road that the funeral home was on as the casket was being brought out. The old man, either the dad or the grandfather, looked at us and Rob goes, "Sorry, sir. Sure do hate to hear of your loss."

My hand to God, I swear on all that I hold dear, I am not exaggerating one bit when I tell you that old crotchety man stepped right up to Rob and just stared at him. The old guy was kinda bent forward in the back and taller than Rob so it was like he was causing Rob to bend backwards a little. I don't even know what I can compare it with. It was as if neither could look away. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest with the way he was nearly nose to nose with Rob and just locking eyes with him. It felt like an eternity, but was probably just a few seconds. Damn guy had the coldest gray-blue eyes I had ever seen. Then he kind of nodded his head a little and said, "Thank you, boy. You ought to get on home now."

Within the week the white trash drug dude was in the hospital having a heart attack. He didn't come out of that hospital alive and Rob's mom said the guy did NOT die easy. His son, the only one he had, was scraped up off the mountain a few days later after flipping his truck and being crushed not far from where we had camped. Another guy who supposedly ran drugs for them fell asleep at the wheel of his car and perished as well that summer.

I think about what happened from time to time. The police knew what we had seen and heard, but the bloody stuff was gone when we got back. I think they never really believed us and I'm not sure they ever told that old man what we saw either. I kind of think that old man looked INTO Rob somehow and knew. He never laid a hand on Rob but for about two weeks after that happened ... Rob was sick as a dog. To my knowledge Rob has NEVER talked about what happened that day or what it felt like to have that old man right in his face. We're all still close and our families get together about four times a year. Out of all of us, I'd say Rob has had the most success in life. But he will not step foot in the woods with us guys. He won't hunt, he won't hike, he won't camp out, he won't even go out deep sea fishing with us once a year. Claims that we might get into too much trouble if we're all together in one spot by ourselves again. Tells us to have fun and that's about it.

Story source.

IT'S COOL, GUYS...I FOUND BIGFOOT

So so stupid.

SAY, WHAT'S THAT? OH, JUST A PLACENTA TEDDY BEAR

On exhibition at the “Doing it for the Kids” showcase, this teddy bear was made using human placenta. A crafty alternative for those who don’t want to eat the placenta, but instead want to make a toy out of it and scar their kids for life.

DREAM HOME

I AM YOUR SISTER

When I was in college, my girlfriend got a call from her mother, and then from her sister five minutes after. Her sister was freaked out and the mother was, too.

Her sister was a new college freshman, and she and her new roommates decided to use a Ouija board one night. Apparently they had contacted some spirit who apparently knew her sister's name. They asked:

What is your name?

I don't have a name.

Who are you? 

I am your sister. I am a year older than you.

The next day, her sister called her mom and told her what the Ouija board spirit had said. Her mother then told her about the miscarriage she'd had a year before her sister was born. Her mother and father had never told anyone.

Story source.

WAKE UP

It is said that when a person undergoes a serious trauma, such as rape, assault, severe physical injury, etc., the brain slips into a fantasy world to protect itself. Oftentimes this fantasy world takes on all the characteristics of the real world they knew. Without being able to 

wake up 

a person could go on indefinitely living this fantasy life. Completely unaware that they can't 

wake up 

some theorize this is what happens in a coma. If a person goes too long and does not 

wake up 

they could become trapped in this world forever. The mind, however, knows this world is a farce and will subtly give out hints of this, trying to get the sufferer to 

please wake up.

RHODA DERRY

Rhoda grew up in Adams County, Illinois. During her teenage years, she fell in love with a farm boy, Charles Phenix, who lived a short distance from her home. His mother, Nancy, did not want her son to marry Rhoda because of the Derry family’s association with witchcraft. Rhoda’s grandmother was rumoured to be a witch and this helped instil a deep fear of witches into Rhoda.

Nancy confronted Rhoda about it and threatened to put a hex on Rhoda if she didn’t leave Charles alone. Some believe this was the event that caused Rhoda’s mental spiral into madness because of her fear of witches. Rhoda began to hear voices and claimed to see “Old Scratch,” which was believed to be a name for the devil. She also had visions of Nancy Phenix haunting her home.

The Derry family sent Rhoda to the Jacksonville Mental Hospital but it is believed that the hospital found her incurable and sent her home again. At that point, the family could no longer take care of Rhoda and she was sent to an Alms House in Adams County.

It was during her stay at the Alms House that Rhoda began to become very violent and had to be restrained on numerous occasions. At one point, she claimed she had seen “Old Scratch” and proceeded to use her long fingernails to scratch at her eyes until she went blind. She then lived in a world of darkness but her violent streaks continued. The staff at the Alms House felt Rhoda was a danger to both herself and the other patients so they decided to restrain her by placing her in a box covered with a canvas tarp. She could not escape this wooden prison and was confined to it for forty years. Her limbs shriveled due to lack of exercise and when she was finally released from the box, she began to walk with her hands because her legs had atrophied.

In 1904 Dr. George Zeller opened the Peoria Hospital for the Incurable Insane. Rhoda’s tormented path finally led her to this hospital, a haven where she and Zeller shared a fascination in one another. She lived her final days under Zeller’s care.

PERFECT CIRCLE

Summer between my junior and senior year in college. I was living in my college house in a small town in southern MN. Three of my housemates were also there that summer. We mostly spent our time working or getting drunk or trying to get laid. Typical awesome college summer.

One particular Thursday evening, we four ambled down to the local bar and drank a few pitchers and ate some hot wings. Our waitress was my friend Sarah. Strawberry blonde, blue eyes, 5'2", nice rack. We had all known her since freshman year so she stood around for awhile, shooting the breeze, whatever. About 11 or so we packed it in and headed back to our house, saying goodnight to Sarah as we headed out the door. My buddies all had to work the next day, so they headed off to bed; I worked night shift at the local hospital that summer, so I was used to being up all night. So I stayed up and watched some TV, figuring I'd fall asleep around dawn, wake up mid-afternoon, and then head to work the following night.

At about 2am, there was a frame-rattling pounding on our front door and I could hear a woman crying for someone to help her. Just as I reached the front hallway the door flew open (we never had it locked) and Sarah - our waitress - came running in. She was in boxers and a t-shirt - no shoes. She ran to me and grabbed on to me and I could feel her shaking. My buddies slowly came wandering out of their rooms, wondering what the hell was going on.

Eventually, the only sort of story we could get out of Sarah was that someone had been in her house that night. Her housemates were all gone for the summer, so she was living by herself. We told her she needed to call the police right away, but she got a really weird look and refused. She wanted us guys to go back to her house and see if anyone was there.

We armed ourselves as best we could. I grabbed my Maglite, and my buddies had baseball bats and golf clubs. We gave Sarah a pair of flip-flops and a sweatshirt and we walked the five blocks to her house. That's right, she'd run five blocks to our house barefoot. To describe her as freaked out is a bit of an understatement.

When we got to her house, her front door was standing wide open. She said she thought she'd left it that way when she'd run out. When we got into the house, at first everything seemed normal. The rooms were all tidy and clean; no dishes in the sink; no messy laundry on the floors; the windows were down and locked; the air-conditioning was running. There was no one in the house.

But then we got to Sarah's bedroom.

My first thought was literally "There was a tornado in here." Her vertical blinds were bent and twisted into each other. Her drawers were open, and clothing strewn about the room. All of her lights were on; her TV was on; her radio was on. Directly in the middle of her floor was a pile of junk, like someone had dumped a drawer on the carpeting: pens, envelopes, key-chains, junk. AND IT WAS ALL ARRANGED IN A GEOMETRICALLY PERFECT CIRCLE, about two feet in diameter.

My buddy Troy said "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Back at our house, Sarah told us what had happened. Just thinking of her story now, I've got goosebumps again.

Sarah's shift ended at 1am. She'd cleaned her station and then walked back to her house from the bar. She said she'd made sure all the doors and windows were locked, had climbed into bed, watched a little TV, and then she thought had gone to sleep about 1:45. She didn't think she slept very long.

Shortly after falling asleep, Sarah was awakened by a clicking sound. She sat up in bed when she realized the sound was her vertical blinds clicking off of each other, as if they were blowing in a breeze. Since she had just checked all the windows, this didn't seem possible. Then she realized her TV was back on, which she had just shut off. Strangely, however, there was no picture; just a blank blue screen.

Then she saw the little girl. Sarah said she looked like she was about six or seven years old. The little girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of Sarah's bedroom, and at first Sarah thought she was playing with a toy or something on the floor. Sarah's first reaction wasn't fear; her first thought was that this little girl was sleep-walking or something and had managed to get into the house. So she said "Honey, are you okay? Do you know where you are?"

At the sound of Sarah's voice, the little girl looked up - and she had no eyes. Sarah said she could see through two holes where the little girl's eyes should have been; she could see the room behind her. Sarah jumped up, ran out of the room, ran out the front door, ran to our house. She said she came to our house because she had seen us at the bar that night and knew we were home.

Sarah said that while at first she thought the little girl had been playing with a toy on the floor, she now thought the girl had been arranging her stuff in that circle. That perfect circle of junk on the carpet was exactly where the little girl had been sitting.

Story source.

HOLDER OF THE END

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "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 successfully.

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 horrifying detail. Many go mad in that very cell, some disappear soon after the meeting, a few end their 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 that if you do, your death will be one of cruelty and unrelenting horror.

Your death will be in that room, by that person's hands.

That object is 1 of 538. They must never come together.

The Holders.

REVEAL

ECTO

THE INTRUDER

The Intruder is a silhouette and similar in shape to a Siamese cat. When sitting, it is about 7.5 feet tall. It has two overly large, slanted eyes, which glow a bright fluorescent green, and have no pupils. It blinks these eyes occasionally. Other than the eyes, it has no other discernible facial or body features.

Whenever you enter your home after dark, The Intruder is always watching. It sits about 10 feet away from you in plain view. It remains immobile and does not even try to conceal its presence. While outside, it can only be seen by one person at a time. If it were to be within the sight range of two people then the first person who sees The Intruder would remain being able to see it while it would remain completely invisible to others.

It emits no noises of its own. The only time it can be heard is when it is stretching its claws on a tree or your house siding. If you approach it then it will run away very quickly and violently, kicking up dirt and rocks. The sounds of the wind from The Intruder’s movements and flying debris from under The Intruder’s feet can be heard. If you were to throw an object toward it or discharge a firearm at it you would get the same effect. Once you turn back to the door to insert your key you will find that The Intruder has noiselessly returned to its previous position where it continues to watch you.

Some say that The Intruder listens to your key hit the lock. They say that The Intruder can eventually ascertain the shape of your key simply by hearing the pins of your lock moving. It is unknown how many times The Intruder must hear you unlock your door before it can determine the exact shape of your key.

You see, The Intruder wants to kill you, that is, if this creature is even capable of wanting anything. Perhaps it is better to say that it intends to kill you. However, The Intruder can only kill you inside your house, and may not force its way in. Furthermore, it cannot enter an empty house. You must already be at home in order for it to enter. If you were to run outside of your house once The Intruder enters, The Intruder will pursue you, drag you back inside, and then kill you.

If you ever hear a key hitting your door in the dead of night then it may be The Intruder trying out its key that it has made. The Intruder only tries to use its keys when it is close to perfecting them, so if you do hear it trying to unlock your door then you can be certain that it will have a proper working key within a few nights. If you enter your house through another means, for example a garage or screen door, then you may suddenly find it them inoperable from the outside, through both remote or attempted physical operation of the door. If you attempt to leave your door unlocked in order to prevent The Intruder from hearing the shape of your key, then you may be disappointed to find that the door has been locked by the time you arrive at home.

If you hear a key hit your lock it is advised that you turn off all of your lights and attempt to push on the door to try and prevent The Intruder from entering, although it likely outweighs you. Once The Intruder enters your house all light sources above that of a candle become blinding to all inhabitants other that The Intruder. If you have time to light a candle then it is suggested, as this will still allow you to see the silhouette without becoming blinded. A very small advantage that you may have is that, once inside a home, all inhabitants are able to see The Intruder simultaneously.

The Intruder will kill every human inside of the house. It will only attack pets if the animal chooses to engage The Intruder. Most animals choose not to engage The Intruder. The only time that the Intruder will make any noise of its own is during a kill strike. The Intruder will make a quick hissing sound during this strike, and will not make this noise again until it claims its next victim. The Intruder has never been known to kill anyone without hissing during the kill strike. It will usually try to completely disable its prey to the point where it cannot move before it makes the kill strike. It is thought that The Intruder prefers to disable its prey before a kill strike because the act of hissing may be the only time that it is vulnerable to damage. This is purely speculation however.

Story source.

DID SOMEONE ASK FOR INSANITY?

SMILING

Back in school I had a good friend named Ryan, and well, he was my only friend. After school we always went to his house to hang out. His house sat almost in the middle of a big grazing field, which mostly worked in our advantage as it gave us a lot of room for playing outside. Since the house was in the middle of the field, you would have to follow a long driveway to get there. But that’s enough description so let’s cut down to the flesh of the story.

It was 8:00 in the evening and a huge fight broke out between my parents and me. I was frustrated and couldn’t stand it any longer so I called Ryan’s house, as I needed to break away from this mess. He picked up the phone and was surprised hearing from me at such a late hour (we were kids back then), but after hearing my story he said I could come over, although he said he was going to be away at football practice until 9:00, so I would have to wait for him.

I agreed.

A mistake.

It was night and it was dark. It didn’t mind the dark, but I never liked the road that led to his house. Its wavy pattern would sometimes make me sick, especially if I was traveling in a car. But now that was not the case, I was on my bike. The disturbing part of this story will not happen on this road, though. It will happen once I reached the house.

Parking my bike by the side of their empty garage, I walked up their front porch and reaching the door, rang the bell. The door opened almost as soon as my finger let go of the button, giving me a jump. There was no wait; it literally opened up almost instantaneously. Then I saw.

It was his mother. I always liked his mother; she was kind, sweet, and always offered her support whenever I felt down.

But I could tell something was wrong with her.

Her usually bright eyes seemed darker. Her hair was not neatly tied in a bun behind her head; it fell upon her shoulders. Before I had the chance to examine her further, something much more unsettling caught my eye. She was smiling.

She did not greet me, or start talking. Just kept smiling and stared right at me.

Feeling very uncomfortable, I asked if everything was all right. “Come inside and have some tea with me,” was her answer. Before I had the chance to answer she went back into the house. It was then that I noticed that she was wearing her bathroom robe. Having neither the disrespect to decline her offer, nor the guts to stay outside in the night, I entered the home and closed the door behind me.

Heading towards the kitchen I could hear her humming a strange tune. The moment I entered, she stopped humming and an overwhelming silence took over. Without waiting for a conversation to start, I took a seat at the kitchen table. She was standing in front of me, with her back turned in my direction. I tried not to look at her and started awkwardly looking around the room, until the tea was ready. I was thinking. Ryan’s mom would always seem warm and loving and eager to talk about anything concerning my school, family life, and anything else. Now she was just silent. Saying nothing. I spent the next five minutes in this deep thought.

And then it occurred to me.

She hadn’t moved at all during the whole time I was in the kitchen. With her back towards me, I could see that her hands were hanging down her shoulders. Her head was tilted to the left. Thinking something was wrong, I stood from the chair and approached her from behind. Making an awful lot of noise while doing so, she did not move a single bit. Carefully I approached her from the right side to look at her face to see if she was all right. The following sight still haunts me to this very day.

Her eyes were wide open and she was smiling.

Being as unsettled as I was, I decided it’d be best to go back home. “I think I better be off now, I have a lot of schoolwork for tomorrow,” I lied, and receiving no answer in return, I headed towards the front door and stepped outside onto the porch. I wasn’t scared, well maybe just a little bit, but mostly I was just weirded the fuck out.

As I was moved down the porch towards my bike, I caught a glimpse of two lights at the far end of the wavy road. It was a car. “Finally,” I thought. Ryan was around ten minutes late. However, as the car was nearing the house, I began wondering who was driving Ryan back from football practice. His dad was at a business trip, and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. Ryan himself was too young to drive a car so who else? I was getting more and more anxious as the car was nearing the house. Who was driving Ryan back? The car pulled into the garage and stopped. Ryan was the first one to get out, giving me a “What’s up, man?”. But the person who came out of the car next was his mother. She noticed me and asked how everything was.

Source.

SLENDERMAN

WENDIGO

A wealthy man wanted to go hunting in a part of northern Canada where few people had ever hunted. He traveled to a trading post and tried to find a guide to take him. But no one would do it. It was too dangerous, they said.

Finally, he found an Indian who needed money badly, and he agreed to take him. The Indian's name was De'Fago. They made camp in the snow near a large frozen lake. For three days they haunted, but they had nothing to show for it.

The third night a windstorm came up. They lay in their tent listening to the wind howling and the trees whipping back and forth. To see the storm better, the hunter opened the tent flap. What he saw startled him. There wasn't a breath of air stirring, and the trees were standing perfectly still. Yet he could hear the wind howling. And the more he listened, the more it sounded as if it were calling De'Fago's name. "Da-faaaaaaaaay-go!" it called. "Da-aaaaaaaaay-go!" "I must be losing my mind," the hunter thought.

But De'Fago had gotten out of his sleeping bag. He was huddled in a corner of the tent, his head buried in his arms. "What's this all about?" the hunter asked. "It's nothing," De'Fago said. But the wind continued to call to him. And De'Fago became more tense and restless. "Da-Faaaaaaaaay-go!" it called. "Da-faaaaaaaaay-go!" Suddenly, he jumped to his feet, and he began to run from the tent. But the hunter grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. "You can't leave me out here," the hunter shouted. Then the wind called again, and De'Fago broke loose and ran into the darkness. The hunter could hear him screaming as he went. Again and again he cried, "Oh, my fiery feet, my burning feet of fire . . ." Then his voice faded away, and the wind died down.

At daybreak, the hunter followed De'Fago's tracks in the snow. They went through the woods, down toward the lake, then out into the ice. But soon he noticed something strange. The steps De'Fago had taken got longer and longer. They were so long no human being could have taken them. It was as if something had helped him to hurry away. The hunter followed the tracks out to the middle of the lake, but there they disappeared. At first he thought that De'Fago had fallen through the ice, but there wasn't any hole. Then he thought that something had pulled him off the ice into the sky. But that made no sense.

As he stood wondering what had happened, the wind picked up again. Soon it was howling as it had the night before. Then he head De'Fago's voice. It was coming from up above, and again he heard De'Fago screaming" . . . My fiery feet, my burning feet . . . " But there was nothing to be seen. Now the hunter wanted to leave that place as fast as he could. He went back to camp and packed. Then he left some food for De'Fago, and he started out.

Weeks later he reached civilization. The following year he went back to hunt in that area again. He went to the same trading post to look for a guide. The people there could not explain what had happened to De'Fago that night. But they had not seen him since then. "Maybe it was the Wendigo," one of them said, and he laughed. "It's supposed to come with the wind. It drags you along at great speed until your feet are burned away, and more of you then that. Then it carries you into the sky, and it drops you. It's just a crazy story, but that's what some of the Indians say."

A few days later the hunter was at the trading post again. An Indian came in and sat by the fire. He had a blanket wrapped around him, and he wore his hat so that you couldn't see his face. The hunter thought there was something familiar about him. He walked over and he asked, "Are you De'Fago?" The Indian didn't answer. "Do you know anything about him?" No answer. He began to wonder if something was wrong, if the man needed help. But he couldn't see his face. "Are you all right?" he asked. To get a look at him, he lifted the Indian's hat. Then he screamed. There was nothing under the hat but a pile of ashes.

MANGIA!

I guess this chick hasn't read that book.

MISSING

A very unsettling and odd vanishing happened to Christopher Thompkins from Ellerslie, Georgia. He was last seen by work mates standing on the shoulder of the road facing the woods at 1.30pm on 25th January 2002. He literally vanished within seconds leaving the survey crew very perplexed. They walked back to where they had seen him only to find his boot hanging on the barbed wire fence along with blue fabric from his pants. On the ground beneath were coins that had fallen from his pocket. The woods on the other side of the fence were inhospitable and swampy.

David Paulides, former lawman turned investigator, tells us that during his time working with traffic accidents he has seen shoes left behind by people who were literally “hit so fast that they were knocked right out of them”. He says that logistically it looks like Christopher was reefed out of his boots and dragged through the fence in such a position that all the coins fell out of his pocket.

When gravity drags coins to the ground it means that the opening for the coins was either facing the ground or the container holding the coins was removed at a great speed - very similar to the magician who removes the tablecloth without disturbing the cutlery. This means that Chris was either upside down or sideways.

Six months later the rancher who owned the land found the other missing boot 900 yards away next to the swamp. Christopher Tompkins is still missing.

LEVITY

DO NOT PANIC

 The following is from the US Government Peace Corps Manual for its volunteers who work in the Amazon Jungle. It tells what to do in case an anaconda attacks you.

1. If you are attacked by an anaconda do not run. The snake is faster than you are. 

2. Lie flat on the ground. Put your arms tight against your sides, your legs tight against one another. 

3. Tuck your chin in. 

4. The snake will come and begin to nudge and climb over your body. 

5. Do not panic. 

6. After the snake has examined you, it will begin to swallow you from the feet and always from the end. Permit the snake to swallow your feet and ankles. Do not panic. 

7. The snake will now begin to suck your legs into its body. You must lie perfectly still. This will take a long time. 

8. When the snake has reached your knees slowly and with as little movement as possible, reach down, take your knife and very gently slide it into the side of the snake's mouth between the edge of its mouth and your leg, then suddenly rip upwards, severing the snake's head. 

9. Be sure you have your knife. 

10. Be sure your knife is sharp.

CONGREGATION

HEY, KNOW WHAT'S A REAL MOVIE?

SURPRISE

I work for a property-securing company. We send contractors to vacant homes to change the locks and do winterizations. The other day, one of my contractors was doing an initial secure and routine inspection on a home. He’d been in the house for about an hour and headed to the basement for the required photo. It was very dark down there but he trusted his camera flash to get a decent picture.

He stayed on the stairs and took a photo before entering the basement to check for trip hazards or giant spiders. When he looked at his camera, this is what he saw.

He left after that.

SLOW AND STEADY

TORTURE

An aged human skeleton encased in an iron cage was found at Hempstead, L.I. It is believed to be an early pirate torture device. The criminal would be bound in the metal cage and hung from a scaffold until they died of starvation.

SPECIFICITY

REQUEST

Normally you sleep soundly, but the thunderstorm raging outside is stirring you from your sleep. You begin to doze, then another crash jolts you awake. The cycle lasts most of the night. So you lay there, eyes open and outward, looking at your room stretching out before you in oblong shadows. Your eyes move from nameless object, to object, until you reach your mirror, sitting adjacent to you across the room.

Suddenly a flash of lightning, and the mirror flickers in illumination. For a scant second the mirror reveals to you dozens of faces, silhouettes within its frame, mouths open and eyes blackened. They stare out at you, their black pupils fixed upon your face.

Then it is done. Are you sure of what you have seen? Unsettled, you don't sleep for the rest of the evening. The next morning you remove the mirror from your wall and toss it in the trash. It didn't matter if the vision you had seen was of truth or falsehood, you wanted to be rid of that mirror. In fact, you scrap every mirror in your house.

Weeks pass and the event of that night falls into passive memory. You are spending the day at a friend's house and it's time to use the bathroom. While you are in there the faucet starts to run without you prompting it. Taken aback by this, you do not yet act, trying to reason with your paranoia in your mind. The water starts to steam and a skin of moisture covers the mirror up above. You're watching intently as words form: "Please return the mirrors. We miss watching you sleep at night."

HUH

FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE

After stabbing a woman to death in 1945, serial killer William Heirens carved this message onto the wall: 

“For heavens sake catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself.” 

This earned him the nickname The Lipstick Killer. He was the longest serving US prison inmate (65 years) and was imprisoned until his death in 2012. He confessed to three murders.

HEY, KNOW WHAT'S A REAL MOVIE?

FROM HELL

 

From hell. 

Mr Lusk. 

Sor, I send you half the kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer. 

Signed                                           

                   Catch me when you can 

Mishter Lusk

NEW YEAR