Gossip Girl psycho killer

So begins Gossip Girl, Psycho Killer, a re-imagined and expanded slasher edition of the first groundbreaking Gossip Girl novel, featuring all new grisly scenes and over-the-top gore by #1 New York Times bestselling author Cecily von Ziegesar. Just as in the original story, Serena returns from boarding school hoping to make amends with her BFF ... Gossip girl, Gossip Girl Psycho Killer, Cecily Von Ziegesar, Fleuve Eds. Des milliers de livres avec la livraison chez vous en 1 jour ou en magasin avec -5% de réduction . So begins Gossip Girl, Psycho Killer, a re-imagined and expanded slasher edition of the first groundbreaking Gossip Girl novel, featuring all new grisly scenes and over-the-top gore by #1 New York Times bestselling author Cecily von Ziegesar. Just as in the original story, Serena returns from boarding school hoping to make amends with her BFF ... So begins Gossip Girl, Psycho Killer, a re-imagined and expanded slasher edition of the first groundbreaking Gossip Girl novel, featuring all new grisly scenes and over-the-top gore by #1 New York Times bestselling author Cecily von Ziegesar. Just as in the original story, Serena returns from boarding school hoping to make amends with her BFF ... Psycho killer Serena just kills them in the bloodiest possible fashion. While there’s more in this week’s issue of EW, see below for von Ziegesar’s thoughts on Gossip Girl ‘s strange new ... Gossip Girl Psycho Killer Author(s) Cecily von Ziegesar Country United States Genre(s) Young Adult Fiction Publisher Poppy Series Gossip Girl Pages 320 Book Description Welcome to New York City's Upper East Side, where my friends and I live, go to school, play, and sleep-sometimes with each other. It's a luxe life, but someone's got to live it . . . until they die. So begins Gossip Girl ... So begins Gossip Girl, Psycho Killer, a re-imagined and expanded slasher edition of the first groundbreaking Gossip Girl novel, featuring all new grisly scenes and over-the-top gore by #1 New York Times bestselling author Cecily von Ziegesar. Just as in the original story, Serena returns from boarding school hoping to make amends with her BFF ... Gossip Girl: Psycho Killer is an adaptation of the first book of the series. It starts off much like the original book, and goes o When I saw this book on NetGalley, I knew I had to request it. I’ve read all of the Gossip Girl series books (except one), so I wanted to see how this book fit in.

The Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman Series

2020.09.01 19:11 Boop108 The Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman Series

This article is illustrated with a lot of film stills. If you would like to see the illustrated version click here.
https://medium.com/@36toesproductions/the-crimson-bat-blind-swordswoman-series-20a7a957f007?sk=6c797b3f67cd9cea9d7baac3a15239b6
The Crimson Bat Series is based on a manga character created by Teruo Tanashita. There are four films in all. The first two were directed by Teiji Matsuda. The second two by Hirokazu Ichimura. Unfortunately, they are very difficult to find. The films in order are entitled:
Crimson Bat: The Blind Swordswoman (1969)
Trapped, the Crimson Bat/The Blind Swordswoman: Hellish Skin (1969)
Watch Out, Crimson Bat! (1969)
Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive (1970)
Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman
Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman is an amazing melange of movie styles and tropes blended with epic scale cinematography and melodrama. It has the gory hyperbole of Lone Wolf and Cub, the swagger of a Sergio Leone spaghetti western, the trappings of a Zatoichi film, and the artifice of films like The Ballad of Narayama and Kwaidan.
The plot and the sequence of scenes are difficult to follow. The story is a byzantine tangle that is meant to tie up neatly in the end but is too confusing to truly be coherent. Its failings as a narrative are of little consequence considering the visual feast that is laid before the viewer eg. A scene where our heroine Oichi so forcefully slices a man with her scarlet, sword cane that he flies into the air and ends up draped over a tree branch raining down a torrent of blood like a red beaded curtain in front of our heroine who stands stoic but triumphant against a darkening sky.
There are many posed moments where the screen becomes a dramatic tableau. There is a burst of violence and then everything stops while we wait for the shocked victims to fall from their frozen poses into bloody heaps on the ground.
The references to Zatuichi and Leone are very likely deliberate. A parody of Zatoichi even makes a cameo in one scene. A group of guards is running through the streets in pursuit of Oichi when they crash into a blind, masseuse, stumbling drunkenly through the street with a cane. One of the guards yells “Get out of here you blind masseuse!” For the uninitiated Zatoichi was a very popular chanbara (swordplay movie) series about a blind masseuse with a sword-cane.
As for Leone’s influence, it is apparent throughout the film. There are one-on-one showdowns on windswept planes and tense face-offs in gritty gambling parlors, but it is Leone’s partner in crime Ennio Morricone that really leaves his mark. The soundtrack to Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman is spectacular. Like the film, it is an eclectic mix of styles. The majority of the music is played on a sitar, tabla, and a flute. The sitar plays long sustained chords, and the tabla punctuates them with sparse clusters of tones. Above this thoroughly Indian sound floats the pentatonic, lyricism of Japanese flute music. It's odd but it works seamlessly. There are also moments when the soundtrack moves into a more Western mode with an orchestra but at the forefront is a grimy, acid, electric guitar that prowls along like an angry cat.
In addition to the chanbara story arc, Crimson Bat adds a combination of the female revenge film with the much older story of the scorned and pitiful women damned to a life of bitter sadness.
Both tropes have the potential to address feminist issues but in many films from the 60s and 70s, the entertainment is emphasized over content. The revenge plot is often used as an excuse to show an eroticized rape scene followed by a gory revenge scene. They weren’t about power, or injustice, they were just titillation masquerading as something substantive. There are some notable exceptions, and Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman is one of them. There is no eroticized violence against women in it. The one rape that does occur happens off-screen.
The life of the main character, Oichi, is a life of an outcast, as is typical of all good western-type hero’s, but part of her outsider status is due to her being a woman. She’s not a morally ambiguous gunslinger or a misunderstood fugitive, she is a woman who has never been recognized or valued by society. Her parents abandoned her, she is unmarried, and she is without rank or employment.
In the ideology of the American western, the gunslinger is a buffer between the good people of the farm or the prairie and the bad elements that need to be kept at bay. The innocence of the settlers is kept pristine while the gunslinger does the dirty, immoral, but noble job, of killing the bad guys. The gunslinger must remain an outsider because he is essentially antisocial and cannot be part of the community.
Oichi plays this role but she was forced into it by a society that does not respect or value women. Like the victims of society that she defends she too has been wronged, she too suffers at the hands of the greedy and unscrupulous. Unlike Clint Eastwood, she displays her pain and expresses her sympathy for the wronged. She is not a cold, steely, killer with a swagger and a cigarette but she is just as deadly.
Aside from the western trope, Oichi also represents the older figure of the wronged woman. There are many such figures in Japanese history and mythology. Such a woman is a symbol of the pain that societal obligation brings. Japan’s strict code of conduct and rigid hierarchy of position is the driving force in many of the country’s tales and tragedies. The woman wronged by the heartless man of high position, the couple torn apart by duty, the family turned against itself by tradition, all highlight the misery caused by Japanese society, while often refraining from actually challenging it.
Oichi is a woman society can not accommodate and so she must suffer on its margins. She can not rise up and overturn society, she stays in the shadows and fights smaller battles. She advocates for those like her who have been placed in an impossible position by a system that has no use for them. There are hundreds of Japanese stories and legends of wronged women who are fated to suffer. In addition, there is a never-ending supply of tragic ghost stories where women who have endured injustice in life come back as vengeful demons, like Oiwa, Ubume, or Banchō Sarayashiki.
Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman may have been an attempt by Shochiku studios to compete with Daiei Film studio’s Zatoichi, but it is also one among many movies from the 1960s and 70s that feature women as vengeful outcasts, such as the Female Prisoner Scorpion series, Sex And Fury, Ohyaku: The Female Demon, Blind Woman’s Curse, and The Red Peony Gambler series.
The early 70s was a time when modern feminism first began to take shape. The blending of the trapped victim with the vengeful anti-hero emerged as a popular idea. The same trend was taking place in America with films like I Spit On Your Grave, Ms. 45, and Last House on The Left. Japan’s blend included a second layer, that of the past and the future. By setting many of these films in the Edo period they speak not only about the status women but the history of how that status was created and maintained.
Crimson Bat: Trapped
The second Crimson Bat film is entitled Crimson Bat: Trapped. It came out the same year as its predecessor and was also directed by Sadatsugu Matsuda. It is in line with Crimson Bat: Swordswoman in that it draws heavily from both westerns and chanbara. However, Trapped is a more emotional film. Oichi is further developed as a character and we see her inner conflict brought to the fore.
Oichi feels as if she is so tainted by the sins she has committed that she is damned to a life of dishonor and exile. She believes that there is no turning back from the path she has chosen. She will have to keep traveling from town to town her entire life and work as a lonely bounty hunter unfit for society.
She however meets up with an earnest and sincere fisherman, who loves her and accepts her even after finding out what she does for a living. They have several emotional exchanges and Oichi begins to let her guard down. His unconditional love helps to open her up to true intimacy.
Her open heart allows us to see the true nature of the price she has paid for both hardening and hating herself. Clint Eastwood never experienced awakenings such as this. The second half of Trapped begins to feel a little more like a noir film. We have a heroine who wants to leave the dirt and sin of the streets but the streets will not let her escape. As Michael Corleone said in God Father 3 “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!” Hence the title “Trapped”
Oichi’s antagonist is Oen, a woman who has given herself over to the life of criminality, manipulation, and cruelty. To Oen, Oichi’s inner conflict is simply a weakness. Oen’s weapon of choice is her whip. She explains its nature to one of her victims and provides just a small window into her own motivations. “This [the whip] is made from women’s hair. Once it curls around you, you can’t get away. The hate of jilted women is woven into it.”
Oen is again a nod to the vengeance trope and women’s desire to finally be in the dominant position.
As the film progresses it becomes more stylized and operatic. The emotions become melodramatic and everything is brought to a grandiose climax. The final bloodbath happens in a sun-scorched, rocky, ravine but as it progresses it becomes increasingly more stylized. By the end, it is taking place in front of a rear projection screen rippling with waves of light while all else is dark. Eventually, the editing is reduced down to a quickfire montage of film stills and blood splatter.
Watch Out, Crimson Bat!
The third film, Watch Out, Crimson Bat! Was directed by Hirokazu Ichimura. Unfortunately, Ichimura does not do a very good job at all. The cinematography and compositions are far less baroque and are instead ordinary, utilitarian arrangements with the action in the middle and the key light on the subject. The theatricality and artifice are gone, and we are left with something far less creative.
In all four of the films, the plots are somewhat standard. They follow a spaghetti western structure. There is also some of John Ford’s sensibility in that there is a lot of sympathy paid to the honorable farmers trying to hold on to the simple and pure ways of the ordinary man, while the cattle rancher, railroad tycoon, or oil Barron tries to force modern capitalism down their collective throats.
All of these tropes are fine, but without some style, or originality they just feel flat and routine. Watch Out, Crimson Bat! Adds nothing to Oichi’s character or development. The film simply coasts on the momentum of what came before it. We take for granted that Oichi will side with the meek. We know she will earn people’s admiration but she will make no friends. We know she will walk off into the distance alone.
Both the second and third films have a lot of similarities to George Stevens’ 1953 western, Shane. There is the same hired gun who comes to kill our hero. There is the same limited role that our antihero is willing to play. In Watch Out, Crimson Bat! The ending includes Oichi exiting the film on a long dusty road while a young girl calls after her in vain.
The sitar and acid guitar are gone. They are replaced with a more conventional orchestra. The garish sound stage backdrops are gone and the bright pops of color and deep contrast of shadows are gone as well. It doesn’t live up to its predecessors and on its own its ordinary at best.
Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive
It is immediately apparent that the fourth movie, Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive is much better than Watch Out, Crimson Bat!. The opening music begins with that same acid guitar from the earlier movies, nasty and distorted. Then it is joined by a western-style classical flute. Then both instruments are replaced by an accordion. It's strange, unexpected, instrumentation that bodes well for a creative journey.
After the first fight scene is over we are treated to a brief but properly cinematic scenario. We see a wanted poster and then a crowd around it gossiping over the reward. A classic trope, but then we cut to a man on a horse swinging a kama (sickle) on a chain. He comes charging through and just as you think he is going to attack the defenseless villagers he whips the chain around the post with the wanted sign, rips the entire signpost out of the ground, and rides off with it. Now, that is a cinematic way to grab a flyer.
Then the familiar elements are set up. This time its the magistrate who plays the heavy. He wants to install a new port to promote big business and needs the local fisherman to clear out. Besides this central conflict, we have the continued tension provided by Oichi being a fugitive from justice. The poster from earlier was of her. Without her doing anything she already has a motley clutch of bounty hunters in hot pursuit, but of course, she gets embroiled in the central plot between the fishermen and the magistrate as well.
The film returns to a more personal arena that was lost in Trapped. Oichi continues to struggle with her desire to escape her outsider status and settle down, but the theme is expanded by several insightful depictions of supporting characters around her. The salient theme that emerges is characters finding their purpose. Its reminiscent of the Bhagavad Gita in that an individual’s purpose is not entirely within one’s control, and it may lead to tragedy, but the fulfillment of that purpose is the only correct path. The morality of your choices is secondary to being who you are supposed to be.
The fight choreography in the first two films was mannered and dramatic. Realism was traded in for arresting poses and gestures. The choreography in the third film was poor. The moves were unconvincing, undramatic and the blood was badly applied. This last film manages better fight scenes. We get a fight in a thunderstorm, and a fight in the middle of a fire. The moves are not perfectly believable but they are much better.
One of the most important features in any fight scenes is the number of edits. In Psycho, Hitchcock had 52 edits in his shower scene, but it was not a fight scene. It was a one-sided murder where we were meant to be as confused, disoriented, and terrified as the victim. The more edits you have the more control you have, but breaking a fight scene into tiny bits can completely destroy the action.
What made the Hong Kong, Kung Fu films so amazing was their sparse editing. The actors weren’t just actors. They were trained experts in kung fu who could really go at it. All the camera had to do was follow them. Hong Kong films were notorious for getting actors hurt but the result was a compelling and visually engrossing fight scene.
None of the actors in Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive were trained swordsmen, although they most likely had teachers and consultants. The fight scenes may not have been that believable but they weren’t edited to death and so successfully generated tension.
Oichi meets many men in her travels, and each movie features a dutiful samurai contrasted against a mercenary samurai. Often both samurai start off as Oichi’s enemy. Then halfway through the film, after a few fights, the dutiful samurai recognizes Oichi’s strength of character and superior sword skills and warms to her. The samurai’s honor and sense of duty allow him to align himself with her. In Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive the good-hearted samurai is named Sankuro, although I like to think of him as Mr. Eyebrows. He’s a hunky guy and fierce with a sword but has a soft heart under his kimono. He is also a bit of a philosopher and helps flesh out some of the themes in the film.
Here is a dialogue between him and Oichi. Oishi reproaches the samurai for not following his true path of being a doctor and helping people. Sankuro answers, “What have you become by helping men? You’ve become a fugitive. Are you satisfied with that? Are you happy as a woman?” Starring off into the distance Oishi Answers, “I don’t know. I don’t aspire to such great deeds as helping people. But there are people who are bullied and trod on.” I’ve been bullied too.” The scene and the dialogue are reminiscent of Henry Fonda in The Grapes of Wrath. An admiration for the laborer and a disdain for their oppressor permeate both films.
Oishi continues but sounds more like a noir detective again, “Someone tries to kill me, my sword comes out by itself. I feel warm blood on my skin. I hear a thud when the body falls. After that, I feel nothing.”Sankuro and Oishi embrace and continue talking and then Oishi calls out, “Don’t, Don’t hold me. No man who loves me can be happy.” It's a familiar melodrama but when its well played and in the right context it is still compelling. The whole scene is set to the vibrating chords of an accordion.
All four films have an air of self-awareness. They draw from familiar sources and invigorate those sources not only with a switch of gender but with a unique combination of elements. Its a familiar recipe but with different proportions and different techniques. The result is something new and unexpected.
submitted by Boop108 to flicks [link] [comments]


2020.09.01 19:10 Boop108 The Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman Series

This article is illustrated with a lot of film stills. If you would like to see the illustrated version click here.
https://medium.com/@36toesproductions/the-crimson-bat-blind-swordswoman-series-20a7a957f007?sk=6c797b3f67cd9cea9d7baac3a15239b6
The Crimson Bat Series is based on a manga character created by Teruo Tanashita. There are four films in all. The first two were directed by Teiji Matsuda. The second two by Hirokazu Ichimura. Unfortunately, they are very difficult to find. The films in order are entitled:
Crimson Bat: The Blind Swordswoman (1969)
Trapped, the Crimson Bat/The Blind Swordswoman: Hellish Skin (1969)
Watch Out, Crimson Bat! (1969)
Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive (1970)
Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman
Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman is an amazing melange of movie styles and tropes blended with epic scale cinematography and melodrama. It has the gory hyperbole of Lone Wolf and Cub, the swagger of a Sergio Leone spaghetti western, the trappings of a Zatoichi film, and the artifice of films like The Ballad of Narayama and Kwaidan.
The plot and the sequence of scenes are difficult to follow. The story is a byzantine tangle that is meant to tie up neatly in the end but is too confusing to truly be coherent. Its failings as a narrative are of little consequence considering the visual feast that is laid before the viewer eg. A scene where our heroine Oichi so forcefully slices a man with her scarlet, sword cane that he flies into the air and ends up draped over a tree branch raining down a torrent of blood like a red beaded curtain in front of our heroine who stands stoic but triumphant against a darkening sky.
There are many posed moments where the screen becomes a dramatic tableau. There is a burst of violence and then everything stops while we wait for the shocked victims to fall from their frozen poses into bloody heaps on the ground.
The references to Zatuichi and Leone are very likely deliberate. A parody of Zatoichi even makes a cameo in one scene. A group of guards is running through the streets in pursuit of Oichi when they crash into a blind, masseuse, stumbling drunkenly through the street with a cane. One of the guards yells “Get out of here you blind masseuse!” For the uninitiated Zatoichi was a very popular chanbara (swordplay movie) series about a blind masseuse with a sword-cane.
As for Leone’s influence, it is apparent throughout the film. There are one-on-one showdowns on windswept planes and tense face-offs in gritty gambling parlors, but it is Leone’s partner in crime Ennio Morricone that really leaves his mark. The soundtrack to Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman is spectacular. Like the film, it is an eclectic mix of styles. The majority of the music is played on a sitar, tabla, and a flute. The sitar plays long sustained chords, and the tabla punctuates them with sparse clusters of tones. Above this thoroughly Indian sound floats the pentatonic, lyricism of Japanese flute music. It's odd but it works seamlessly. There are also moments when the soundtrack moves into a more Western mode with an orchestra but at the forefront is a grimy, acid, electric guitar that prowls along like an angry cat.
In addition to the chanbara story arc, Crimson Bat adds a combination of the female revenge film with the much older story of the scorned and pitiful women damned to a life of bitter sadness.
Both tropes have the potential to address feminist issues but in many films from the 60s and 70s, the entertainment is emphasized over content. The revenge plot is often used as an excuse to show an eroticized rape scene followed by a gory revenge scene. They weren’t about power, or injustice, they were just titillation masquerading as something substantive. There are some notable exceptions, and Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman is one of them. There is no eroticized violence against women in it. The one rape that does occur happens off-screen.
The life of the main character, Oichi, is a life of an outcast, as is typical of all good western-type hero’s, but part of her outsider status is due to her being a woman. She’s not a morally ambiguous gunslinger or a misunderstood fugitive, she is a woman who has never been recognized or valued by society. Her parents abandoned her, she is unmarried, and she is without rank or employment.
In the ideology of the American western, the gunslinger is a buffer between the good people of the farm or the prairie and the bad elements that need to be kept at bay. The innocence of the settlers is kept pristine while the gunslinger does the dirty, immoral, but noble job, of killing the bad guys. The gunslinger must remain an outsider because he is essentially antisocial and cannot be part of the community.
Oichi plays this role but she was forced into it by a society that does not respect or value women. Like the victims of society that she defends she too has been wronged, she too suffers at the hands of the greedy and unscrupulous. Unlike Clint Eastwood, she displays her pain and expresses her sympathy for the wronged. She is not a cold, steely, killer with a swagger and a cigarette but she is just as deadly.
Aside from the western trope, Oichi also represents the older figure of the wronged woman. There are many such figures in Japanese history and mythology. Such a woman is a symbol of the pain that societal obligation brings. Japan’s strict code of conduct and rigid hierarchy of position is the driving force in many of the country’s tales and tragedies. The woman wronged by the heartless man of high position, the couple torn apart by duty, the family turned against itself by tradition, all highlight the misery caused by Japanese society, while often refraining from actually challenging it.
Oichi is a woman society can not accommodate and so she must suffer on its margins. She can not rise up and overturn society, she stays in the shadows and fights smaller battles. She advocates for those like her who have been placed in an impossible position by a system that has no use for them. There are hundreds of Japanese stories and legends of wronged women who are fated to suffer. In addition, there is a never-ending supply of tragic ghost stories where women who have endured injustice in life come back as vengeful demons, like Oiwa, Ubume, or Banchō Sarayashiki.
Crimson Bat, Blind Swordswoman may have been an attempt by Shochiku studios to compete with Daiei Film studio’s Zatoichi, but it is also one among many movies from the 1960s and 70s that feature women as vengeful outcasts, such as the Female Prisoner Scorpion series, Sex And Fury, Ohyaku: The Female Demon, Blind Woman’s Curse, and The Red Peony Gambler series.
The early 70s was a time when modern feminism first began to take shape. The blending of the trapped victim with the vengeful anti-hero emerged as a popular idea. The same trend was taking place in America with films like I Spit On Your Grave, Ms. 45, and Last House on The Left. Japan’s blend included a second layer, that of the past and the future. By setting many of these films in the Edo period they speak not only about the status women but the history of how that status was created and maintained.
Crimson Bat: Trapped
The second Crimson Bat film is entitled Crimson Bat: Trapped. It came out the same year as its predecessor and was also directed by Sadatsugu Matsuda. It is in line with Crimson Bat: Swordswoman in that it draws heavily from both westerns and chanbara. However, Trapped is a more emotional film. Oichi is further developed as a character and we see her inner conflict brought to the fore.
Oichi feels as if she is so tainted by the sins she has committed that she is damned to a life of dishonor and exile. She believes that there is no turning back from the path she has chosen. She will have to keep traveling from town to town her entire life and work as a lonely bounty hunter unfit for society.
She however meets up with an earnest and sincere fisherman, who loves her and accepts her even after finding out what she does for a living. They have several emotional exchanges and Oichi begins to let her guard down. His unconditional love helps to open her up to true intimacy.
Her open heart allows us to see the true nature of the price she has paid for both hardening and hating herself. Clint Eastwood never experienced awakenings such as this. The second half of Trapped begins to feel a little more like a noir film. We have a heroine who wants to leave the dirt and sin of the streets but the streets will not let her escape. As Michael Corleone said in God Father 3 “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!” Hence the title “Trapped”
Oichi’s antagonist is Oen, a woman who has given herself over to the life of criminality, manipulation, and cruelty. To Oen, Oichi’s inner conflict is simply a weakness. Oen’s weapon of choice is her whip. She explains its nature to one of her victims and provides just a small window into her own motivations. “This [the whip] is made from women’s hair. Once it curls around you, you can’t get away. The hate of jilted women is woven into it.”
Oen is again a nod to the vengeance trope and women’s desire to finally be in the dominant position.
As the film progresses it becomes more stylized and operatic. The emotions become melodramatic and everything is brought to a grandiose climax. The final bloodbath happens in a sun-scorched, rocky, ravine but as it progresses it becomes increasingly more stylized. By the end, it is taking place in front of a rear projection screen rippling with waves of light while all else is dark. Eventually, the editing is reduced down to a quickfire montage of film stills and blood splatter.
Watch Out, Crimson Bat!
The third film, Watch Out, Crimson Bat! Was directed by Hirokazu Ichimura. Unfortunately, Ichimura does not do a very good job at all. The cinematography and compositions are far less baroque and are instead ordinary, utilitarian arrangements with the action in the middle and the key light on the subject. The theatricality and artifice are gone, and we are left with something far less creative.
In all four of the films, the plots are somewhat standard. They follow a spaghetti western structure. There is also some of John Ford’s sensibility in that there is a lot of sympathy paid to the honorable farmers trying to hold on to the simple and pure ways of the ordinary man, while the cattle rancher, railroad tycoon, or oil Barron tries to force modern capitalism down their collective throats.
All of these tropes are fine, but without some style, or originality they just feel flat and routine. Watch Out, Crimson Bat! Adds nothing to Oichi’s character or development. The film simply coasts on the momentum of what came before it. We take for granted that Oichi will side with the meek. We know she will earn people’s admiration but she will make no friends. We know she will walk off into the distance alone.
Both the second and third films have a lot of similarities to George Stevens’ 1953 western, Shane. There is the same hired gun who comes to kill our hero. There is the same limited role that our antihero is willing to play. In Watch Out, Crimson Bat! The ending includes Oichi exiting the film on a long dusty road while a young girl calls after her in vain.
The sitar and acid guitar are gone. They are replaced with a more conventional orchestra. The garish sound stage backdrops are gone and the bright pops of color and deep contrast of shadows are gone as well. It doesn’t live up to its predecessors and on its own its ordinary at best.
Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive
It is immediately apparent that the fourth movie, Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive is much better than Watch Out, Crimson Bat!. The opening music begins with that same acid guitar from the earlier movies, nasty and distorted. Then it is joined by a western-style classical flute. Then both instruments are replaced by an accordion. It's strange, unexpected, instrumentation that bodes well for a creative journey.
After the first fight scene is over we are treated to a brief but properly cinematic scenario. We see a wanted poster and then a crowd around it gossiping over the reward. A classic trope, but then we cut to a man on a horse swinging a kama (sickle) on a chain. He comes charging through and just as you think he is going to attack the defenseless villagers he whips the chain around the post with the wanted sign, rips the entire signpost out of the ground, and rides off with it. Now, that is a cinematic way to grab a flyer.
Then the familiar elements are set up. This time its the magistrate who plays the heavy. He wants to install a new port to promote big business and needs the local fisherman to clear out. Besides this central conflict, we have the continued tension provided by Oichi being a fugitive from justice. The poster from earlier was of her. Without her doing anything she already has a motley clutch of bounty hunters in hot pursuit, but of course, she gets embroiled in the central plot between the fishermen and the magistrate as well.
The film returns to a more personal arena that was lost in Trapped. Oichi continues to struggle with her desire to escape her outsider status and settle down, but the theme is expanded by several insightful depictions of supporting characters around her. The salient theme that emerges is characters finding their purpose. Its reminiscent of the Bhagavad Gita in that an individual’s purpose is not entirely within one’s control, and it may lead to tragedy, but the fulfillment of that purpose is the only correct path. The morality of your choices is secondary to being who you are supposed to be.
The fight choreography in the first two films was mannered and dramatic. Realism was traded in for arresting poses and gestures. The choreography in the third film was poor. The moves were unconvincing, undramatic and the blood was badly applied. This last film manages better fight scenes. We get a fight in a thunderstorm, and a fight in the middle of a fire. The moves are not perfectly believable but they are much better.
One of the most important features in any fight scenes is the number of edits. In Psycho, Hitchcock had 52 edits in his shower scene, but it was not a fight scene. It was a one-sided murder where we were meant to be as confused, disoriented, and terrified as the victim. The more edits you have the more control you have, but breaking a fight scene into tiny bits can completely destroy the action.
What made the Hong Kong, Kung Fu films so amazing was their sparse editing. The actors weren’t just actors. They were trained experts in kung fu who could really go at it. All the camera had to do was follow them. Hong Kong films were notorious for getting actors hurt but the result was a compelling and visually engrossing fight scene.
None of the actors in Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive were trained swordsmen, although they most likely had teachers and consultants. The fight scenes may not have been that believable but they weren’t edited to death and so successfully generated tension.
Oichi meets many men in her travels, and each movie features a dutiful samurai contrasted against a mercenary samurai. Often both samurai start off as Oichi’s enemy. Then halfway through the film, after a few fights, the dutiful samurai recognizes Oichi’s strength of character and superior sword skills and warms to her. The samurai’s honor and sense of duty allow him to align himself with her. In Crimson Bat - Oichi: Wanted, Dead or Alive the good-hearted samurai is named Sankuro, although I like to think of him as Mr. Eyebrows. He’s a hunky guy and fierce with a sword but has a soft heart under his kimono. He is also a bit of a philosopher and helps flesh out some of the themes in the film.
Here is a dialogue between him and Oichi. Oishi reproaches the samurai for not following his true path of being a doctor and helping people. Sankuro answers, “What have you become by helping men? You’ve become a fugitive. Are you satisfied with that? Are you happy as a woman?” Starring off into the distance Oishi Answers, “I don’t know. I don’t aspire to such great deeds as helping people. But there are people who are bullied and trod on.” I’ve been bullied too.” The scene and the dialogue are reminiscent of Henry Fonda in The Grapes of Wrath. An admiration for the laborer and a disdain for their oppressor permeate both films.
Oishi continues but sounds more like a noir detective again, “Someone tries to kill me, my sword comes out by itself. I feel warm blood on my skin. I hear a thud when the body falls. After that, I feel nothing.”Sankuro and Oishi embrace and continue talking and then Oishi calls out, “Don’t, Don’t hold me. No man who loves me can be happy.” It's a familiar melodrama but when its well played and in the right context it is still compelling. The whole scene is set to the vibrating chords of an accordion.
All four films have an air of self-awareness. They draw from familiar sources and invigorate those sources not only with a switch of gender but with a unique combination of elements. Its a familiar recipe but with different proportions and different techniques. The result is something new and unexpected.
submitted by Boop108 to TrueFilm [link] [comments]


2020.04.24 16:21 nilssonschmilsson7 Broke up with wife, started getting spiritual, my body was taken over by a spirit or something. This happened 8 years ago. [long read]

First of all, I hate talking or thinking about the paranormal. I used to be aggressively anti-paranormal. This was up until like 8 or so years ago. Ghost stories are douchey. This is a little better but still fits this sub.
It started after I got into heavy meditation. I was also journaling a lot too, more like "self-analysis" - I was really into Jung at the time. I was working through heavy bouts of anxiety that seemed odd and was convinced I could fix my head. I was also convinced that the fear or anxiety that I felt has to have a source deeper down in the unconscious mind. The idea that fear always has an object. I did not believe I suffered from generalized anxiety disorder or some chemical imbalance. I was convinced it was solvable via meditation or journaling. So while meditating I would allow that fear to surface and I would sit with it try to make sense of it. I would dismiss it and get back to breathing.
As I kept doing this, daily for months I started to feel genuinely better and literally felt like I was healing and taking back control. Anxiety started to disappear and I was gaining a crazy amount of confidence in myself. It was awesome.
It was about a year and half or so later (summer of 2012), when I started to suspect my wife of being not the person I thought she was. One night she came home (to our apt in Brooklyn where we lived at the time), and didn't expect me to be standing there. She had a duffel bag in her hand. I asked her what it was and she nervously told me it was her swimsuit. She tried to sneak in after swimming with some guy from work at the public pool nearby. I realized that not only was she cheating on me with this guy, but that the entire 4 years we were together, she lived this lying life, cheating behind my naive back with many men. A huge rabbit-hole started to open up as I started looking into this. Anyway, I ended up kicking her out of my life and felt a huge burden lift from my shoulders. I was in my late twenties, lived in an awesome apartment, had a great career going, and was freed from this chick who never seemed to contribute much to our relationship.
I continued with my deep meditation and self-exploration and started to experience stuff that Jung wrote about. "Active Imagination", he called it. I was sitting at my desk in front of my computer and the word, "Hubris" bubbled up underneath my eyelids. It was white in big block uppercase letters. I was like, wow, that's crazy.
A few days later I was in that same room (my office), smoking a little pot and doing more self-analysis, and started thinking about the Freudian "Oedipal Complex". My hands reached out on their own, grabbed what felt like a puzzle piece, and reached up to my forehead and pushed it into place. Moments later I felt a rush and experienced my first real "active imagination" scenario when I looked at the wall and saw images of men leaving what I interpreted as being their childhood homes ready to fight each other. That felt deep. I sat on that for a few days making sense of it in a psychoanalysis sort of way... that we all have misplaced aggression that we project externally on the world of men - in my case - my industry where I worked and battled other men for higher pay, better titles, etc.
A few days later I was sitting in that same office, painting using watercolors, various images that were popping up in my head. Similar to the last "active imagination" image, a new image popped up in front of me to the left of my journal. It was a square image cut down the middle. The left side was a big empty blue box, and the right side was a red box with a very low-resolution image of satan (not at all creepy, and I took note on how goofy the image was). It was moving in the box too. I was blown away by this and painted it immediately. I couldn't make sense of it at first but realized that the blue box was empty - Jesus (or the representation of virtue) was missing. Was the universe speaking to me about the state of world? I've never been a religious guy.
A couple weeks later, still going through minor psychosis-like experiences I came home from work one night. I grabbed a pot and filled it with water and placed it on the stove. I turned on the flame underneath the pot, found myself gazing at the blue flame, and immediately I felt another rush and turned around and rested my hands on the table behind me. That low-resolution satan image popped out in front of me again, this time it moved around a bit and jumped into my head. My eyes felt like they turned black. I immediately grasped my forehead and pulled (the air in front my head) as if I was pulling that cartoon-like satan from my mind. It worked and my eyes felt restored. I felt like the universe was speaking to me again in a major way. Like the blue flame that was heating that pot of water was again misplaced aggression in my unconscious mind and that I was on a journey that led me to satan (or society or someone - I wasn't sure). It's all pretty cryptic symbols and Jungian. I took a record of the experience in a journal and continued on with more experiences. Mind you, I was feeling very smart and confident at the time so I was not the least bit spooked. And, I'm a pretty nice dude.
Fast forward a few days or so, I was feeling I wanted to meet some new girls with similar interests. I was now living alone, was wanting to get laid and just meet someone new. I had all of this confidence and was single again. I went on meetup and found some meetups dealing with depth psychology, or Jung, or Freud or something like that. This attractive older woman popped out to me so I just dm'd her. I don't remember what I said but I basically invited her to grab a burger and beer with me. She went for it and we met up.
She was a psychology professor and was really into the stuff I was into at the time, but more of esoteric stuff. She was also really into Kundalini Yoga, which kinda interested me. We hit it off, but more as just buddies who would meet up, take Adderall, and talk about deep philosophy. It was really great. I remember telling her that she was the moon and I was the sun. She was into Eastern philosophy and I was all about finding answers using whatever made sense.
One night I was sitting in my computer chair after work, meditating and I noticed my right foot was moving upward as if I was unconsciously "grounding" myself or changing energy flows or something. I kept putting my heel back to the floor, but 5 or 10 minutes into the meditation, sure enough my heel would rise. I let it happen and just went with it. An hour into this meditation session, a white ball of energy emerged from my belly button, opening up what I learned was "chakras", starting at my pelvis, and bounced up the front of my body on all 7 chakra spots opening these energy centers that felt like big flowers with the pedals opening and spinning. It felt amazing. The white ball of energy disappeared in me somewhere. I wrote an email or text to that girl who introduced me to these concepts and told her about this. She was blown away and invited me to try Kundalini yoga with her about it. I was excited and we made plans.
I met up with her at some weird/neat place in Manhattan where the kundalini yoga studio was. It happened to be the winter solstice so was extra crowded. I didn't know what to expect but was totally weirded out. This type of thing definitely wasn't for me but I went through the motions as I was down for new experiences. Also this type of thing was all about energy and chakras, so I felt like maybe I belonged now? I received a message from an old friend from college telling me that that day was supposed to be the end of the world according to the Mayan calendar written thousands of years ago. With all of these apocalyptic images projecting from my head, and all my seemingly highly symbolic "happen-stance" experiences, (i.e. meeting this particular girl, chakras opening, the kundalini yoga on the esoteric end-of-the-world day, synchronicities, etc), I thought about it deeply. What did it mean?
Over the next weeks I continued my deep meditation after work. That chakra thing was alive and well and felt better and better everyday, kinda like feelings of ecstasy. I also felt special, like the universe is speaking directly to me in this highly unusual, very sophisticated way. That white ball of energy reappeared one day. It was during hurricane sandy so we were all off of work. It buried itself in my back, top left molar. Symbolic! I found a weird urge to google tooth extraction and even typed it in. I had no intention of pulling teeth or doing anything psychotic like that, but something in me forced me to look into it. The white ball of energy then moved from my back molar to the middle of my brain where I fell ill with flu-like symptoms for a few days.
In regard to this white ball of energy sitting in my back molar and me wanting to learn about tooth extraction, I found dental symbols would become a repeated symbol for me... getting teeth cleaned regularly, cavities filled, etc. preliminary work as to avoid a mouth full of infection and root canals. Like dealing with life's problems. Little bits here and there rather than letting it all build up and needing dentures.
After the hurricane thing passed and I was back at work, I came home one evening and found my landlord changed up the decoration outside my apartment. She put a table with some peacock feathers in a glass or something kitsch. I had another weird urge, this time it was to grab one of those feathers and try and write with it. I had an old ink bottle that my ex purchased for art stuff and the idea to dip it in that occurred to me immediately. I went along with it, bizarre as it was, and tried writing with this feather.
My hand started moving by itself as I wrote weird letters, something like, "mnmnvmnm" or something. I decided to ditch the awkward feather and just grab a normal pen. It kept writing nonsense. It then wrote something like, "the aliens are here". I was like "wowah what?". It reassured me and said, "we're all friends". It then told me, "the universe is evil".
Eventually it started talking to me in my own voice in my head, (not like schizophrenia, but rather as if it was me doing the thinking). It told me I was naive. It joked around with me a little too and I felt odd about that, as if this spirit, or universe symbol thing should be serious. A spirit telling me jokes was a little weird. Wait, a spirit in general, talking to me or even existing is fucking crazy.
Anyway, I had the urge to grab this huge paper pad my ex used for art to draw on. I found myself drawing huge circles and had the stupid idea to entertain the idea to showcase this crap as if it was art from some madman who speaks to God. I realized how that sounded so dismissed it immediately. Also, it was just circles. It then made me draw the infinity sign. It made me draw sine-waves and a handful of other wave-forms and told me that these all correspond to different planets. Leading me into the thought of the zodiac and that the sunlight is reflected off of all these planets and those invisible wave-forms are like strings that are connected to our souls. Everything was determined. Fuck, ok. It told me there was "wiggle room" in this determination. I was also feeling all my chakra flower pedals revolving around the skin of my body during most of this.
I continued on with life, went to work, etc. but was losing a lot of sleep as I spent most nights talking to this mysterious thing, meditating and doing chakra meditation. I stayed up for like 2 days, calling in sick to work, meditating and experiencing all of this esoteric oddball stuff. The spirit made me go into my bedroom one day and kneel on my bed, made tears fall from my eyes as I repeated, "I want to help people, I want to help people". It told me, "you will go back to hell and help the people there". I was still not that terrified believe it or not as I felt special. I felt like Harry Potter or something. I ended up just not going to work anymore and eventually quit.
One night I was meditating and felt these two serpents slide up from under both heels, up my legs (under my skin), and over my ears and rested both fangs on my 3rd eye chakra. Exactly like the medical symbol with those serpents wrapping up that needle or whatever, only they didn't wrap around me they just stayed on their sides, the left and the right side of my body. The "serpents" felt like muscles that were there but now being exposed to my awareness and tightening up so I could feel them. This liquid feeling opened up somewhere in my body and went into the fangs of the serpents, like venom I guess. The spirit made me do this weird hand gesture stuff as if I was trying to unlock the venom using some esoteric hand-code gestures which made me feel like I was on the verge of enlightenment or something. I was feeling on top of the world. I never did get the liquid to release, but the feeling of these serpents being right there, under my skin and biting on my forehead felt pretty real and stuck around for a few weeks. I never told anyone about most of this, as it warned me, "if you tell anyone we'll eat your brains and suck your blood". Yes, that should have scared me, but I felt like the universe chose me, again like Harry Potter or Neo or something stupid.
Fast forward a few weeks or months, my lease was going to be up. I had visited my parents back in my home city and had gotten into a huge fight with my dad over something stupid and with all my new confidence, etc. I stood up for myself in the face of my dad for the first time in my life. We were even chest to chest at one point, crazy. The spirit told me that this was a part of it.
When I was visiting them, during one of our arguments, heated arguments, my parents asked me to leave their house. I said fine and walked out. My dad came out and started pacing in front of the house and was acting very odd but was encouraging me to stick around for a minute. I didn't get it, it felt odd but continued our previous argument out front. A cop car pulled up and the cop told me that my parents both said I tried to kill myself and that due to this lie, I would have to be taken to the hospital against my will - cause that's how this works. I was beyond angry as I was handcuffed and put in the back of this cop car. What the fuck did my parents expect from this? I went along with it of course but was transferred to a facility the next day where they kept me for a week. I didn't understand how I was being kept for so long but assumed my phony parents were up to something and made up some lie to get me there longer.
Eventually, when the week was up, I had a court thing in a small room in the hospital. A legal thing I guess to hear my side of the argument to see if I was fit to be released. I was given an appointed attorney guy who talked to me a few minutes before this pseudo-court thing. The lawyer said to me right before we started, "don't do this to your parents". I was like, "what are you talking about? I am just being honest, I never tried to kill myself! I just want to go back home to NY". Why is this total stranger trying to make me feel guilty? My parents have this conman effect on people. It's narcissistic and fucked up.
Anyway, we went through the short process while my parents fumbled their words, and I was of course released. Also, my brother later told me he overheard both of my parents scheming this plan up when I wasn't around. And of course, he did nothing to help me.
I went back home to NY where the spirit stuff started up again. This time it made me run around backwards. I found myself literally running backwards in McCarren park like some lunatic. It looked as crazy as you could imagine. Well, if the spirit makes me do it it must be highly symbolic and awesome, right? I went with it.
I also found myself being physically guided by that white ball of energy. I put all my trust in it as I would close my eyes and let it guide me through traffic as I crossed busy streets. I did this a few times and sure enough, I was feeling like a puppet. I was avoiding cars and street obstacles with my eyes shut. Not yet creepy though, kinda awesome still. Was I going to be a superhero or something with this all-seeing spirit guiding me? What was next? Could you imagine how I looked? Oddly enough I also had an aire about me that made people respect me for some reason. One guy at a convenience store asked me if I was famous. So I got away with oddball behavior because of this.
I was approaching the end of my lease, was running low on money and of course, had quit my previous job and was unsure of my future, but was excited to find out what was next.
The spirit had me get rid of all my belongings, some stuff I regret getting rid of now, and had me move in with an old friend/previous roommate. He was usually at his girlfriend's, gave me his key and let me crash on his couch.
The first night I was there, he left to spend the night at his GF's apt. That night the spirit really started to turn on me. It made me feel like maybe I was not going to be a hero, but the opposite, like a serial killer or something. It made me consider suicide. It made me feel like that puppet stuff I was experiencing was going to make me commit terrible crimes and I'd have to watch my hands and feet as I did these things against my will.
Terrified of all of this, I ended up calling 911 and got an ambulance to meet me a block up the road (as not to embarrass my friend in front of neighbors). I got into the ambulance and told them I was feeling very off and that I could be a threat to people. The ambulance guy reassured me I was just having a bad day, but I was terrified, of well everything I've written so far about these serpents, this white ball of energy, this chakra stuff, this puppet feeling, the end of the world kundalini shit. This was maybe making sense - in a bad way. I didn't say any of that though, to anyone.
When I got to the hospital I asked the security guard to handcuff me because I felt I could outsmart anyone, considering the thing in my head... he seemed offended or something and told me to calm down and that he was in control. I said ok and waited in the waiting room. On the TV was a news report about that thing that happened in Boston, the marathon shooter guy. This blew my mind as I felt that all these psycho shooters had a spirit in them controlling them, maybe against their will? I felt, maybe that could be me, I mean I no longer feel like the driver of my soul! And this goofy spirit who told me jokes and made me get in those arguments with my dad, and all the rest is playing a weird game with me. That shooter stuff stuck with me for a while after that.
Anyway, the doctor immediately gave me a shot of something strong and I passed out for the night. The next morning I felt better, I mean I didn't hurt anyone! The doctor was really cool, gave me some anti-anxiety meds or something and I left. I went back to my friends' place. He wasn't there but I never told him or anyone that I experienced this spirit shit and that I went to the hospital.
Every day I stayed on my friend's couch this spiritual stuff kept getting worse. Terrible thoughts in my head, me feeling not in control. The spirit told me, "you will travel through your opposites until you find your way home". It told me, "love has not opposites". Right.
It made me stand up and picture my torso as being the chakra system in the kabbalah and showed a mess of string wrapped up in the chakras like a pretzel or a knot. It slowly untied the knotted mess and the ends of the strings were revealed to be above my left and right shoulders where two energy centers were... they were red hot, like actual heat. It kept repeating, "go to hell, go to hell". Oh right, I'm supposed to "go to hell and help the people there". What does that even mean?
At some point when I was at my buddies apt, I had another one of those visions. This time it was me, in the belly of some beast, flying toward earth from space like an asteroid. When I landed on earth I ran up to a nuclear power plant and put my hand on a big red button as I looked at the smokestacks. I imagined a huge explosion. I was terrified of whatever that symbol could mean.
A day later I walked into my friends bathroom and looked into the mirror. I saw a faint image of a clown that looked like I.T., and it said it was a trickster. It made me repeat in the mirror, "I want to be loved not envied". I just wanted to get back to my old life before meeting that girl who introduced me to all of this serpent crap. The "moon" I called her. I kept in touch with her, but was pretty wrapped up in all this imaginary crap.
I was trying to just keep it together. I stayed on my friends couch, intermittently experiencing these hellish things, applying for jobs in my industry, landing some notable interviews but unable to get anything going. I then decided I would go to a Buddhist retreat to meditate, get out of my buddies apartment for a few weeks or so, and figure out what was happening.
This was not a good idea. It was anything but relaxing. Everyone was phony, my mind was melting with weird symbols that I have yet to mention, and I was just not relaxed and felt that as my money dwindled I would end up a schizophrenic on the streets of NY. The "monks" or whatever were all very girlish men and it felt like a bunch of annoying vegans or something always outdoing you in everything. A 'better than thou' mentality for sure. Not the peaceful place I had expected at all.
While there, I ended up getting the urge to call my parents and ask them if I could move home (despite the many elephants in the room from previous unresolved arguments and the getting me locked up against my will by telling the cops I tried to take my life). They immediately said yes, no hesitation so I traveled back to my buddies apt, made a plane ticket, and eventually left NY. Was I going back home to my all-time most hated city? Was this "hell". What does that even mean?
I stayed at my parent's house for about a year before I got into fights with my parents again. This year wasn't all that terrible up until we started fighting. I got some random job for a while, bought a VW bug that was pretty awesome and hung out with old friends. Anyway, this time they overreacted during an argument, left the house and texted me asking me to be gone by the next day. I packed a backpack, left the house, the spirit guiding me still.
I won't go into these details too much as it is mostly boring, but I secured a short term job in my industry while living out of a cheap motel. I ended up finding a place, got a couple of other jobs where I ended up quitting and moving on to another job where I stayed for about 2 years.
Bummed out about how life has turned out but thrilled I'm not a psycho killer, a schizophrenic homeless man, and all the other weird shit I've worried about since this spirit stuff started happening, I got a dog and kept on with my life, not speaking to my family at all for about 3 years. The spirit kept with me though, but it was friendlier. I still was respected, and I still had decent judgment.
I ended up quitting that job cause I was unhappy with phony people again, and realized that this decision wasn't smart as I didn't have too many options in this city. I got a few jobs but the spirit started making me quit after a small amount of time - that along with the low pay and crappy/phony businesses I was working for I had no problem leaving - hoping to find something better.
I ended up going a while without work. The spirit started turning on me again and made me feel completely crazy.
My previous, harry potter-like feelings of being chosen for something awesome turned really sour this time and I started feeling like a madman again.
I was forced to reach out to my dad for help with rent/bills. I promised I'd see a psych and get on meds. I was sick of all this shit anyway and wanted something I could hope for... I took meds for about a year and got a shitty job and did that for a while. The meds made me feel terrible. I lost self-esteem, Jungian stuff was nowhere to be found, and I just felt shitty.
Randomly, I started to get that spirit stuff happening again. It would speak to me while I walked my dog, telling me that I would "kill everyone I know". I kept trying to counter this with the thought, "everything is symbolic, I'm not literally going to do these things".
It made me fear myself again. One night it got so bad, it made me believe I may be a psycho killer again. It showed me my belt and said the only way out is to kill myself.
I started to freak out, weighing my options and came to the conclusion I needed to hang myself. Having no clue how to do it, I locked myself in my bathroom for like 15 hours or maybe much longer, I really don't remember. I stayed in there with the belt wedged between the door and kept trying to do it while the spirit told me I was lucifer.
It had this musky smell leak in from underneath the door, the same smell from like 6 years prior when I was meditating in Brooklyn. I would go unconscious but would keep waking up while trying to hang myself, deep down I wasn't suicidal at all but just didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't want to be "lucifer".
Anyway, after a few more hours of sitting in my bathroom, the spirit told me that once I open that bathroom door, I would "stereotype" myself. But when it said this, it flashed an image of me becoming a real monster, like an evil monster from some horror movie. So I would hear the words, "if I leave this bathroom I will stereotype myself", but the image was way worse in my head. After way too long worrying about it, I summoned the courage to "stereotype myself" and open the door. I needed to tend to my dog too. I opened the door and thank God, nothing happened.
I went to sleep for a few hours, but when I woke up I decided to drive myself straight to the hospital. I did. I told them I tried to kill myself, they put me in a special room and transferred me to a longer-term facility the next day.
I ended up staying at this longer-term place for a couple of weeks before they let me go. I was not in a good place when I was there. My head was full of these images I mentioned, becoming a monster, etc. It all seemed real.
After a few weeks I was so sick of being in this unfriendly hospital, I got past these new terrible fears and monster images and was let go. One thing to note: when I first drove to the hospital, I called my mom the next day to tell her I was there. She didn't seem surprised and this felt very odd... was she spying on my through my cellphone GPS using the family plan my dad got me to sign up for to cut costs as they helped me with bills? How long has that been going on? Now I'm a paranoid schizo so saying this sort of thing is suspect, to begin with. More on this in a bit.
I returned home and tried to get back to normal. Something changed in me though as I lost all my self-esteem this time. I started to hate myself. Unlike before, I lost hope and was just confused. I would even repeat to myself: I hate myself, I hate myself as if the spirit was making me say it. It's not my positive personality to do stuff like that, it doesn't help anything and I am usually smarter than pointless self-shame and downer thoughts. But I went on like that for like a year.
Then all the sudden the idea to start self-medicating with weed popped into my head. It's legal, I used to love it, let's do it! So I started smoking a good amount. It made me feel better, it was exciting, dopamine was a nice change, and I started to think positively.
About 5 months into my pot-smoking phase, the spirit started speaking to me like it used to. It told me, "you have a clear view of right and wrong". It further told me, "you're on the Truman show". It told me that for the last few years while being helped financially by my parents, and now being roommates with my brother, everyone was and is still, stereotyping me on Facebook, in emails, and by word of mouth behind my back. "Serpent behavior".
It told me that my brother had been spying on me, taking pictures of me jerking off (through my patio door with crappy blinds), as I looked at internet porn. It told me that my brother was evil and that my death on the cross was not only these stereotypes, dating back 3 years ago when I first got on meds, but also when I tried to kill myself (my mom and dad facebooked the shit out of that I guess). But now I'm a pervert and sex offender. Yes, sex offender. It told me my bro made up shitty lies to make my jerking off (behind closed doors) sound worse, you could imagine what he came up with having so little to work with... My brother rumored these lies (says white ball of energy), to my friends, my ex, my family, and even my work client. It told me I was waking up to the "barbed wire of your families lies and deceit".
My mom, the spirit calls her a "petri dish for scam gossip", took this lie/rumor, and spread it to not only her friends and family but my personal contacts including job references and previous employers. The spirit told me that this Facebook scam my mom, dad, and especially my brother has created to stereotype me negatively, is my symbolic death on the cross.
So just 6 months ago I asked my brother, "are you spying on me". He yelled at me like a guilty ass, pointed to the phone in his bedroom and said no, check my phone. I looked at him confused and asked him, "what does your phone have to do with it?". I let it be, and he shook my hand. The spirit made me not make eye contact as he lied to my face. Fuck. I was totally caught off guard by the guilt and was worried about my future dealing with whatever it is that is happening with rumors.
I waited about 2 weeks and then hit my parents with texts and emails asking them to reassure me about my privacy. My privacy in regard to my suicide attempt, my mental issues, medication, masturbating behind closed doors, and yes the fucking sex offender stereotypes my brother made up.
I asked them to show me their Facebook pages to reassure me that they haven't made their 36-year-old son look like a retard and scumbag in front of everyone I know and more. They stopped replying to my emails. They started to say no to some of my claims but kept hitting me with the, "just take your medication" and look the other way bullshit. This was about 4 months ago.
My dad, who pays my rent told me that I am going to be homeless now cause he's not going to help me anymore as I keep "bothering" him with my questions about his Facebook scam and my privacy, the pervert lies, and all the rest. I replied with the same questions regarding my privacy, about Facebook scam posts, about emailing previous employers, about the sex offender, lie to make me look like a pervert. They keep avoiding all of it. Now I'm facing being cut off from my parents - because I'm standing up for my privacy concerns - all fed to me by the "spirit". And this is where I am at.
Keep in mind, my job references and clients are now supposedly involved in my parent's rumors and lies - so being cut off from my dad, is kinda a fucking big deal. I have reached out to a few of my previous employers politely asking them if anyone has reached out to them on my behalf... and what it was in regard to. This was about a month and a half ago. No replies.
Despite quitting jobs, I had a good reputation in my field up until this all started happening. People looked up to my ability to move on (quit jobs and change positions). Now, if the spirit is telling me the truth, I am no longer respected not even for replies to courteous and professional emails. I'm sure this is largely due to this phony facebook scam where my brother and parents write posts about my failures. About my suicide attempt, anti-psychotic meds due to "bi polar", or whatever they chose to stereotype me as. And now, of course, being a serial-masturbater or sex pervert or whatever it is they've rumored behind my back after catching me with my pants down behind closed doors in my bedroom.
Needless to say, I am 100% alone as I don't even get replies from old buddies. If I do they're very vague and empty.
I forgot to mention. About 6 months ago, before I came forward and started asking my family questions about my privacy concerns, the spirit told me that my dad would "castrate me" (mentally) on Facebook. It warned me that this would be the worst year of my life. Also, that my brother would make me famous. Crazy man. That along with the corona virus thing. I'm really nervous.
Alright, I didn't cover everything.
*Hypocrite family 2020.
submitted by nilssonschmilsson7 to Paranormal [link] [comments]


2020.03.14 12:39 CreateAccountEnter I'm willing to create a playlist per month. 🌌 ✨ 🎶 💜.

repeats will happen I guess. I'm not the best with names, of nothing. into my way with march
=== 2020 - Jan ==========================================================================================
soccer mommy - lucy
Inkraktare - See Me Fall
Holi - Feel Nothing Fail Nothing
Turnover - Humming
La Casa al Mare - I Don't Want To
We the Pigs - I Didn't Hurt
Night Flowers - Losing the Light
Tanikichan - Natural
Sleepwalk - Crumble
marcos y molduras - te puedes morir
WESTKUST - Jonna
Hyperdream - Someone Like You
Uztar - Combustion
DRESS - Angst
Southwest Hotel - Static
marcos y molduras - la de Parks
Uztar - Solo
Still Corners - Sad Movies
Blue Town - Good Day Sir
Rainy Days - Silverado
Lostwars - To Here Knows When (MBV Cover)
Be Forest - Florence
Los Marcianos - Supersonica
Claud - Just To Forget
Thrushes - Snowblind
broken little sister - don't let go
Soft Science - Still
Minor Victories - Out to Sea
Pencey Sloe - Bright Water
Spotlight Kid - Budge Up
Sway - Fall
VIM - Waiting
DIIV - Like Before You Were Born
Fantasyprom - I Know That You're Not
Pinkshinyultrablast - In the Hanging Gardens
WRAY - Hypatia
Basement Revolver - Wax and Digital
beabadoobee - She Plays Bass
RAY - バタフライエフェクト
Fragile Animals - Let Go
iris - Clementine
Lorelei - I Am a Road
Blushing - Control
Primitive Heart (Memoryhouse Remix) - Dying to Live (Memoryhouse Remix)
Pasteboard - Freesoul
住宅団地 - 融解の渦
VIM- Down
Panda Riot - in the forest (some kind of night fills your head)
dottie - 17
The History Of Colour TV - Left
Geowulf - Saltwater
Echo Ladies - Rebel Rebel
EDDYEVVY - Even After
Art School Girlfriend - Measures
Nebula Glow - Brand
Silver Liz - Him
Ride - vapour trail
Gaarden - Be Bent and Don't Ascend
Basic Nature - Gone
Crisis Arm - Never Say Goodbye
DRESS - For You, For Me
Moscow Olympics - Cut The World
Neiv - Indian Springs
Pia fraus - Yenissey
Blouse - 1000 Years
Spotlight Kid - Joy
XO - Coast
Mr. Breakfast - The Corridor
Hatchie - Try
Queridas - Pasantía
the churchhill garden - halo (the cure cover version)
Kero Kero Bonito - Flyway
Silver Rose - Sueños de amor
Rosemary Fairweather - Too Low
Star Tropics - The Other Side of Midnight
Lorelei - I Am a Road
Golden Graves - Trash
White Flowers - Night Drive
White Night Ghosts - Decadence
Second Still - Walls
Moving Panoramas - ADD Heart
Tourist Activities - Crystal River
Winnebago - At Home
Medicine Boy - One Hundred Bodies
The Daysleepers - Creation (Album Version)
Agent Blå - Child's Play


=== 2020 : Feb ==========================================================================================
Wilsen - Ruiner
All Romantic Days - She Says
Laveda - Dream. Sleep.
Manic Sheep - Broken
Bored Spies - 沙鼠 E
dethgaze - Lair
Dear Tracks - Aligning With The Sun
Ellis - the drain
Cartwheel - Nothing
flirting. - Peppermint
극초단파(UHF Seoul) - 장마(Season of Rainfall)
See Through Dresses - Pretty Police
Paragon Cause - Save Me
Cosmic Child - one day we'll grow up soon and nothing will matter in the end
Letting Up Despite Great Faults - I Feel You Happen
Tallies - Not So Proud
Jay Som - I Think You're Alright
WESTKUST - Daylight
Bad Sav - Pets
HONEYMOAN - Still Here
True Primitives - Real Love
Crash City Saints - Souvenir
Soot Sprite - Bleed
Funeral Advantage - Gardensong
beabadoobee - She Plays Bass
Newmoon - Life in the Sun
Pure Hex - Fall
Grave Saddles - Cloudpunching
Star Horse - Of the Universe
Airiel - Introduction
Blushing - Sunshine
Pale Dian - In A Day
flowerbed - blame
fibril - splash!
DAZE - Vacío
Reveries - Find Me
Silver Bars - Lost You to L.A.
Your Friends Polymers - Like A Rainbow Glitch (2019 single)
The Enters - End of the Summer
Fazerdaze - Tired Of Waiting
DIV I DED - Open The Door
The Beaches - Distance
Silver Rose - Sueños de amor
The Giraffe Told Me In My Dream - Relapse
Cocteau Twins - Heaven Or Las Vegas
Temple of Angels - Seaflower
Tom Boyle - En otra etapa
Mundy's Bay - Goodbye
Castlebeat - Telephone
Some Gorgeous Accident - Luminescence
Basement Revolver - Romantic At Heart
Misty Coast - Revelation
Hush Pup - Bluffs
Turquoise - Chat Noir
Chain Wallet - Lost Somewhere
The Day - Grow
Flower Crown - Bender Szn
syrup, go on - Ego Sand
Chkbns - Belong
Ides Of Space - Arthur's Car
HuanHuan 緩緩 - Charlie
Pale Saints - A Thousand Stars Burst Open
MILK TEETH - MELON BLADE
Pendant - Plexiglass
dreamswell - Stale Flowers
The Shacks - Follow Me
Nurse - Rocka
COSme - Newclear
The Northeastern Railroads - Wet Streets Before Dawn
2:54 - Scarlet
LAUNDER - Wonder
the Joy Formidable - This Ladder Is Ours
Twelve Fluffy Chair - Vega
MERCURY GIRLS - All That Heaven Allows
Innocence Mission - Spinning
Field Mouse - White Elephant
The Radio Dept. - The City Limit
Tennis System - Technicolour Blind
Tycho - The Daydream
Grabbel and The Final Cut - Psycho Popsong
Nebula Glow - Nothing but a Shadow
Silver Rose - Take me Home
Pity Sex - Burden You
FOTOFORM - In Winter
Lunar Vacation - Blue Honey
The Raveonettes - Killer in the Streets
TOY - Left Myself Behind
NOTHING - Vertigo Flowers
marcos y molduras - la de Parks
Vidulgi OoyoO - Elephant
UHF Seoul - 테니스하기 좋은 계절입니다(Good Day to Play Tennis)
Pale Dian - In A Day
Barrie - Darjeeling
Longingsky - Stay Feat. Tyscha Wagemans
Fake Luxury - Pass me by
Winter - Expectations/ Exigências
Nightmare Air - Icy Daggers
Paper Lights - Caverns
Sleep Still - High Low
Todavía - Fallen
Gospel Gossip - Snow Came
Swap Babies - Touched
Gerda - L'amour étroit
Vidulgi OoyoO - Elephant
Purity Ring - Fineshrine


=== 2020 - March ==========================================================================================

Paper Lights - I Caught Myself Dreaming
Lunar Vacation - The Basement
Airiel - You Against The Rest of Us
A Beacon School - Fade In Nylon
Pity Sex - Wind-Up
Fringe - Backseat
Best Coast - California Nights
Aerial Love Feed - Raise Up
Sweam - Drift Aside
Lúa Gramer - Blenda
Deserta - Hide
Lubec - Sunburn!
Death and Vanilla - A Flaw in the Iris
Emmett Kai - Hate That I Love You
Ruby Haunt - Heather
Perfectly Out of Place - Dreams We've Had
The Fauns - Ease Down
Palm Haze - Second Round
Echolust - Decor Blonde
Drab Majesty - Oxytocin
New Age Healers - Satellites
Echolust - Decor Blonde
So Totally - mama
The Black Ryder - To Never Know You
The Giraffe Told Me In My Dream - Relapse
Overdriver - Stuck in a Dream
DIV I DED - Electric Age
Strawberry Generation - East George
Swiimers - Woodstock (Ver. E.N.S.D.P)
Lúa Gramer - Aspie
Olympic Swimmers - Father Said
Lowtide - Blue Movie
Infinity Girl - Ask
Nothing - Downward Years To Come
Sloome - The Mole
Veronica Falls - If You Still Want Me
plums - Daydream
HOLY FAWN - Blood Pact
submitted by CreateAccountEnter to shoegaze [link] [comments]


2020.02.22 20:10 youreastonefox Petition to re-release the original GG eps with Penn Badgley reading Kristen Bell’s voiceovers

High af re-watching season 3 and some of these voiceovers they make Kristen Bell say are so over the top, I’d die if I heard Dan’s voice re-doing the entire series. They should pay Penn a fat stack of cash to do it once You’s over with.
I say this as kind of a joke, but kinda not, I mean the Gossip Girl novel was re-released as Gossip Girl, Psycho Killer so there are crazier things that have happened, lol
submitted by youreastonefox to GossipGirl [link] [comments]


2019.12.06 05:15 Daku_Scrub I Found an Old Journal, and Something is Attached to It.

How This All Began.
It took a few days for me to find time to isolate myself and read the journal again. I didn't trust anyone else to walk in and not question the journal, especially if it was the Other journal. When I finally had a chance to have the house to myself I I immediately locked down my room and pulled the journal out of its comfortable hiding place behind my drawers. As my fingers brushed over the smooth leather I couldn't help but feel like it was calling out to me, like it wanted me to learn more of its story. The anticipation continued to build as I sat down on my couch, the energy was buzzing around my head as I slowly cracked open the smooth leather.
Entry #3: 20th of June, 1914 "They found a body jammed into one of the staff lockers. It has sent the building into an uproar of accusations and punishments. The staff act as witch hunters directly out of Salem persecuting anyone who raises even the slightest suspicion. I've managed to avoid any punishment, but I know the guards watch me. I know the doctors examine me as I move quietly around this dismal facility. I have the benefit that I've become rather popular with some of the more sensible staff, they see me as normal, or at least high functioning enough to have a conversation with. I get to listen to some of the gossip and secrets that spread through the building, that's how I first learned about the body they found.
It was a young man, one of the patients that has spent more than a few years locked away. He would often rant and rave for hours about demons and spirits hiding in the walls. He would scream about doctors performing rituals on him. His death certainly doesn't inspire confidence in the more skeptical staff, and especially not in me. Despite the terrible conditions of this facility, I have been rather fortunate in being granted my own personal quarters. I am occasionally visited by a young female doctor who seems to enjoy sitting in with me and examining me. She has come to me a few times now and I wouldn't be surprised if I start seeing her more.
Every night I still sit quietly in the darkness of my room, my back pressing against the wall as I listen to the distant screams outside my room. I stare into the darkness, wondering why I was forced to abandon my life for this prison. When I sit in that inky blackness, staring down at myself it almost feels like I'm not me in that moment. The world begins to blur in my mind, my thoughts begin to fade into a haze. I feel myself fall away into a comfortable fake existence where I can walk freely, act freely, and exist freely."
I set down the journal for a moment, rubbing my eyes slowly. That entry had drained me for some reason. It was strange. I was never bothered by the idea of death, but this person seemed even more calm about it than I am. I looked away from the journal for a moment, stepping over to the window for a few moments of fresh air. As I took in a deep breath of the cool night air my eyes were drawn towards the forest, the looming trees obscuring those crumbling buildings. I thought to myself briefly: "I could have walked right past a dead body and wouldn't even have known. I walked past plenty of lockers. Where was that body?" I shook my head and pushed away these wandering thoughts, closing the curtains to my window. The air would be nice so I left the window open as I went back to the journal.
As I reached for the journal I felt a strange pain in my hand, I jolted it back and looked down. The journal had shifted again, the torn leather had stabbed into my hand. It was sharp, too sharp for leather. I swallowed my hesitation and carefully grabbed the distorted journal. I forced open the cracking leather, as that same sickening snap filled the air around me. I had another page filled in now, a second page of harsh uneven scribbling. This page was stained and smudged with fingerprints, dark and murky, along the edges of the page. I braced myself but I had a feeling I knew what I would find in this entry.
Entry #2? "This cesspool isn't so terrible after all. The idiots who patrol the halls are as observant as fucking sheep. The doctors, as if they have any right to call themselves that, play with these degenerate lunatics like lab rats for their experiments. They aren't trying to fix these psychopaths, they are pushing them deeper into the madness of their own minds, and I love it. Every day I spend trapped in this place I notice more and more easy targets. Every one of them too brain-dead, too lost, to even fight back.
As much as I want to rip my way out of these padded cells and barred windows, maybe I will stay and they will see what a psycho can really do. Lately there has been a patient who screams all night like a fucking banshee. Every night I try to sleep he is screaming and raving about complete nonsense. I think I will pay him a visit. I want to show him how it feels to swallow his own vocal cords."
I thought, similar to the first time, that I would only get one entry in this twisted journal, but as I turned the page I was greeted with another entry. I couldn't bring myself to set this journal down, the rough leather dug into my fingers and the harsh writing hurt my eyes. I needed to finish reading whatever they want to show me. I was starting to question which side of this story intrigued me more.
Entry #3? "It took me a few days but I have everything I need. I know his room now, I know when I can slip in. It has been too long since I've gotten my hands on someone..." (There is a break in the entry, as if the writer went away and came back. The writing becomes very smooth and clean but is stained with heavy dark spots all over the writing.)
"Everything went exactly as I knew it would. The fucking lunatic screamed about demons even as I dug my nails into his neck and ripped the vocal cords out of his throat. The beautiful snapping noise of his muscles ripping apart as he began to choke on his own blood. He tried to fight back but I broke his fingers so he couldn't grab me. I broke his knees so he couldn't get away from me. I took my time until I went for his throat, I carefully twisted and curled up each finger until his hand was folded in on itself. It took a lot of effort to break his legs, snapping them up like I was folding his body in on itself.
Once I knew he was barely alive I went for the throat. I knew once he stopped screaming I wouldn't have long to hide him, so I worked quickly. I jammed my fingers into his throat and gripped, pulling as hard as I could to tear out everything I could get a hold of. I held it in my hand for a moment, the hot blood dripping down my arm, it felt so good. I held his head as I began to force the mess of muscles and organs into his mouth, he tried to resist even as he died from blood loss. I ended up punching through his teeth, I'll just make him swallow those with his own throat...
Even as I write the euphoria and adrenaline is still rushing through me. I keep having to stop as I listen to the guards rush around the halls looking for the killer. All they will find is the corpse of that damn lunatic and another set of his clothes sitting in the locker I shoved him in. This is just the start of the games I'm going to play. They locked me into this fucking pit, and I'm going to turn it into the hell I see it as."
I felt nauseous, it was different when I knew it was fiction. Some gore movie scene with fake blood. This was real, this person delighted in torturing and murdering that poor patient. I dropped the journal on the couch as I pushed my fingers through my hair, breathing heavy and slow. The images played in my mind over and over, two blank faces with one brutalizing the other. I sat back against the couch sinking in as I stared down at the journal.
It had returned to the beautiful smooth leather and clean pages. I stared at the page it had landed on, a late entry that I'm sure I'll read soon enough. I couldn't bring myself to read anything more right now. I reached down absentmindedly closing the journal, it felt cold and uninviting against my fingertips now. I pushed the journal between the cushions of my couch, closing my eyes again. I know I can't stop reading now, if I tried it would be on my mind all day and night. I think it's best I just take a short break and gather myself for what is bound to become a much darker story.
I took a break from the journal for the rest of that night, deciding it would be best to let my mind rest. Only after setting the journal down did I realize my hand was bleeding, the leather on the journal had left a deep cut in my hand, "how had I not noticed this before?.." I thought to myself as I went into the bathroom to bandage the cut. I wasn't going to take any chances so I grabbed the rubbing alcohol and dumped a small amount over my hand before washing and wrapping it in a bandage.
Everything seemed normal until I looked up into the mirror, my eyes met a sight that still has me shaking. I was looking into the eyes of a woman, she was beautiful with long silky brown hair and shimmering green eyes. It was only after studying my new reflection that I realized her eyes weren't moving like mine, they were.. studying me. Everything else moved as I moved, it was and wasn't my reflection. I slowly lifted my hand to the mirror, touching my fingers to the glass, her hand touched to the glass as well. That's when I noticed it. I saw something underneath her fingernails, bits of red sticking out as if she was in the middle of cleaning them. I looked up again, my eyes meeting her's. I realized her eyes weren't shimmering with beauty.. they were shimmering with blood-lust.
That was when she began to smile, a slow creeping smile that seemed to spread along her face, her skin slowly becoming blemished with deep red stains as I watched the small bits of red under her fingernails begin to soak her hands a deep crimson. She began to laugh and I could hear it filling the room, her nails pressing into the mirror until the started to split and crack, it was like she was trying to push her hand out of the mirror, she wanted to get a hold of me. She began to pound her other hand against the mirror now, the sudden crack of her hand against the glass sent me stumbling back. I landed hard against the bathroom wall, sliding down slowly as I felt the wind get knocked out of me.
It took everything I had not to choke on every breath, and hold myself together. I slowly opened my eyes when I was finally able to breathe normally, looking up at the mirror expecting to see some bloody woman crawling her way out, but I didn't see anything. I pulled myself up slowly, feeling the already forming bruise on my back as I looked into the mirror again and saw myself. I reached up and touched the mirror, my own hand was there again. I let out a slow sigh as I looked away, I had had enough of mirrors for the night.
As I stepped out of the bathroom I suddenly realized how quiet and dark it was in my house. My parents weren't afraid to keep lights on so seeing the dark hallways was unusual to say the least, and after what just happened everything seemed a little too unnatural. I reached out for the light switch, flicking it a few times to find the lights would not respond. I started moving quickly towards my room, I wanted to be out of the dark as quickly as I could. The hallway felt like it was dragging on forever, I was nearly ready to break into a sprint when I finally saw my door at the end of the hall. I pressed my hand against it, pushing it open but my room became the last thing on my mind.
As I pushed through the doorway I found myself in another trance state, my body suddenly not my own. The transition from reality to this strange echo of memory was seamless. I may not have even realized if it weren't for the sudden change of scenery. I was male this time, a clean white lab jacket and slacks on instead of the threadbare patient outfit from before. We lifted up a clipboard and began making notes but it was like a haze over the board. I couldn't make out anything he wrote. I began to scan my surroundings as best I could, taking in the polished tile floors illuminated by buzzing florescent tube lights overhead. The room was small, but packed tightly with large metal cupboards filled with various bottles and tools that I didn't recognize.
We began to walk through the room, making various marks on the hazy clipboard, it seemed we were taking inventory. I strained my mind to focus but every detail, every name and word seemed blurry and impossible to make out. I was so focused on trying to break through this haze I barely noticed the noises that began to appear faintly in the background, a familiar crackling noise.
As the noise came into focus, growing from low background static to a steady buzz with the occasional light snap of electricity I knew instantly what that was. As the noise grew we seemed to pick up our pace, writing faster before exiting the room all together and heading down the small hall I had been greeted with in the last trance. We entered that familiar room with the large chair, wires and cables running out of the chair in every direction. I knew it was no threat to me but this chair, with it's hard leather straps and thick sturdy metal backing, terrified me. I didn't want to see this chair ever again, and nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
We stood at attention in the room, a female doctor that was all too familiar was stood at a large control panel. We watched this woman move about this panel with an uncanny grace and control, she had likely done this hundreds of times. It was almost mesmerizing the way she slid between the complicated mess of switches and dials, setting everything exactly as she wanted it. My focus on the doctor was broken only by the sudden crash of doors being thrown open as two large men carried in a young patient. To my horror I recognized the patient, it was the same girl I had seen in the mirror, the same girl who's journal I had been reading just moments before.
She was flailing, trying with all her strength to resist the pull of these men but it was useless. She was forced down into the large chair, her wrists and ankles clasped down tightly under the rough leather straps. We watched silently as a restraint was placed in her mouth, her teeth marks visible in the leather as they fastened it into her mouth. It was at this point she began crying and screaming, I wanted to do the same for her. I wanted to claw my way out of this body and free her, but I was powerless. I watched helplessly as she finally gave up, slumping down into the chair with a look of utter defeat, her beautiful green eyes looking dull and lifeless. She didn't even fight as a large helmet was affixed tightly around her head, wires and cables streaming out of it all over.
It was only now that I realized the lack of sound I was able to perceive. I could hear every noise the chair made, every click and snap. I could hear the mumbles of protest coming from the girl strapped into the chair. What I couldn't hear was the doctor, I could see her lips begin to move but no noise was audible for me, though whatever she said must have terrified the patient because she began to thrash again with wild vigor. It was difficult to watch, the smile that formed on the doctor's face was sickening. I wanted this to end.
After speaking for a few moments the doctor slowly turned, placing her hand on a large switch, her eyes fixed on the patient as she continued to thrash as much as she could. As the doctor slowly pulled the switch my ears were filled with a deafening roar of electricity as it surged into the chair, and into this poor women's head. I watched her body suddenly rock forward, her eyes bulging out of her head as her nails dug into the chair so hard they began to bleed. Her body slammed back into the chair as tears streamed down her face and a thick foam of saliva began pooling around the restraint in her mouth. I imagine without that restraint she would have bitten her tongue off.
This 'treatment' if you can even call it that continues for some time. Each individual dose of electricity would last anywhere from 5 to 10 seconds depending on the intensity. I watched this poor patient thrash and suffer under the effects of each burst of electricity. At some point she must have pissed her pants, the sickly yellow liquid pooling under the chair and draining into the floor. I couldn't stand watching this, it made me sick in such a visceral way. It made me want to pry my eyes out before I had to watch another shock to this poor girl.
Whatever the doctor hoped to achieve it must have worked. With the final shock the patient's body stopped thrashing, the crackling of electricity still filling the air but I watched the young women's body become still and controlled. I could see the struggle as her muscles spasmed but her eyes has an eerie stillness in them. She didn't look at the doctor though, she looked directly at me. As the electricity dulled back to a sickening hum, the doctor slowly removed the restraint from the patient's mouth. When she spoke I could feel the change that had happened inside her. Her words were calm and slow, but were heavy with dread and rage. She wasn't speaking to the doctor, she wasn't speaking to whoever I was inhabiting, she was speaking directly to me.
"I see you there boy.." Her voice was soft but her words cut through me like knives. The doctor did not seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, marking down something on a clipboard she had grabbed shortly after turning off the machine. "I know you see me.. You've been watching this whole time.. and you've done nothing to help me." I wanted to respond so badly. I screamed out my responses but remained silent in this body. "You watched me suffer.. just like all of them. You.. I saw you. Now that I've seen your face I won't stop until I've peeled it off with my hands.." She began to giggle in an almost childish way, it was haunting. It felt like it was echoing around inside my skull and I couldn't get it out.
I woke up in a daze, the giggling finally disappearing leaving my ears ringing softly. I was in a hospital bed. As I looked around I saw my father asleep in the chair beside me. I slowly lifted myself to a sitting position, my body felt heavy and I was covered in a cold sweat. I slowly pressed the button to summon a nurse and waited quietly until she entered. She came over to me and began to quickly take my vitals, checking me for anything abnormal. She explained that my parents had returned home and found me unconscious on the bathroom floor, the mirror shattered with bits of blood on the glass. They had summarized I slipped, hitting against the mirror and falling unconscious on the floor.
The nurse woke my father who jumped up and hugged me tightly, exclaiming how scared they had been when they found me bleeding and unconscious. I slumped down slowly in the bed, my blood running ice cold. I know that isn't what happened at all, I knew I had left the bathroom. What's worse was when I removed the bandages around my arms. The cuts on my skin were small, small but deep, almost like someone had dug their fingernails into my arms.
submitted by Daku_Scrub to nosleep [link] [comments]


2019.11.22 20:05 darthvarda I was part of a teenage crime solving gang. It was so fucked up.

In August of 2012, we moved to a tiny town in the Rockies called Snowmelt. I wasn’t happy, but Dad didn’t care. He’d accepted a management position there and said I just had to deal with it. That life wasn’t fair. It really pissed me off. I became moody. Full of angst. I missed my best friend, the warm sandy beaches of southern California, but most of all, I missed Mom.
I enrolled as a sophomore at Snowmelt High, this prison-like building that sat close to a forest full of spruces and fir. The student body there wasn’t huge, and that just made everything worse. I felt like an outsider, like I didn’t belong. Probably because I was and I didn’t. I couldn’t blend in with the crowd, go invisible in the same ways I did back in California. I started wearing black, lots of it, and tying ribbons around my neck so tight they left red rings when I took them off.
Two weeks after I started, I saw a crowd surrounding a table in the center of the cafeteria. It looked like they were holding try-outs for something. A thick line of teens snaked around the room and every so often laughter or booing would erupt. I figured it was for a talent show, but then I saw the sign and did a double take.
LIKE UNRESOLVED MYSTERIES? URBAN LEGENDS? GHOST STORIES?
PUZZLES? RIDDLES? AND…

JUSTICE?

JOIN US
THE SPOOKY TEEN DETECTIVE FORCE
“Weird,” I muttered to myself as I shuffled towards the courtyard just beyond the double doors. I always ate out there, alone, away from the gaze and gossip of my peers.
Not even two minutes later, the doors opened and three other students walked out. Two guys and a girl. They looked around for a moment, spotted me, then ambled over. I tried my best to pretend I wasn’t even aware of their presence.
“Hey, you,” one of the guys said, he looked rich. He was wearing a rifle green sweater and tight, boot cut jeans that showed off his ass.
“Me?” I looked around, unsure why a guy as hot as him would be speaking to a girl as goth as me.
He threw me an easy grin. “Yeah, you. You’re that girl in my calc class, right?”
“What?”
“AP Calculus BC,” he repeated raising his eyebrows. “You know, with Mr. V.?”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“How old are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your age,” the girl standing next to him said. She had hair the color of gore. A dye job I suspected. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso and she looked around the courtyard with mild interest, like she was a patron at a zoo. “What is it?”
“Oh,” I said, “I’m fifteen. Why?”
“Wow,” the guy standing on the other side of the girl said. He looked rough, like a stoner. But, honestly, that wasn’t uncommon for the state we were in. “So, you must, like, be pretty smart then, huh?”
“Um, I guess?”
“Oh, c’mon,” the first guy said. He smiled wider, his teeth flashing white. “I saw your test when Mr. V. was handing them back. You’re fifteen. In an AP calc class. Getting straight A’s. You must be a fucking genius.”
“Um,” I said. It was the only thing I could think of saying.
“Hmm,” the redhead said puckering her lips prettily. “Maybe Deck’s right…maybe we can use you.”
“Use me?”
“You know, for, like, solving stuff,” the stoner guy said. There was a chirruping sound from his backpack and he quickly said, “Shhh, I’ll let you out in a sec, T.”
“What’s going on?” I asked. Then it dawned on me. “Wait, don’t tell me…you’re the people with the sign. You want me to join your…gang or whatever.”
“See,” the cute guy said, turning to the other two. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?”
The redhead clicked her tongue. “It’s not a gang. It’s a force.”
“What’s the difference?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The difference is,” she said, “we don’t cause crimes. We solve them.”
“Crimes?”
“Yep.”
“Solve them?”
“Solved thirty so far.” The cute guy smirked then shifted in a way that made his junk stand out. “That’s more than the police in town.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” all three said at once.
“What crimes?”
“Oh, you know, the usual,” the cute guy said.
“What’s a usual crime?” I put air quotes around the second to last word.
“Like, you know,” the stoner said. “Shoplifting, public intoxication, trespassing, vandalism, theft.”
The redhead glanced at him. “Yeah. And we’ve also caught pedos and pimps and murderers.”
Murderers?”
She nodded.
“Pimps?”
“Yeah,” the cute guy said. “We’d rather go after them than, you know, the prostitutes.”
“Sex work is real work,” the redhead said hitting her right fist into her left hand. “They deserve rights and protection.”
“Uhh…yeah. Sure. I agree. But pedos?”
“Ugh, they’re the worst.”
“Sick freaks.”
“I, like, fucking hate pedos, man.”
So,” the cute guy said after a moment. “You in or what?”
I glanced between them, my lunch forgotten next to me, then said, “Fuck it.”
 
There were four of us in total. Me, of course, Declan, Fiona, and Hook. Fiona was 16, a Junior. Both Declan and Hook were 17 and Seniors. I was the youngest.
Hook was our contact. He had a way of getting things we needed from people we needed to talk to. If we needed to be in a certain building at a certain time, we’d tell Hook and an hour later, he’d have a way. He also had a cat he brought with him everywhere. A Singapura named Terror. Said he called her that because she was a fucking terror to deal with. He wasn’t wrong. Everyone hated that little shit. Especially me. The bitch crapped and pissed on everything. And she yowled. At everything. Puffed herself up, fearless, and launched herself at anything that moved.
Fiona was our techie. She was a wiz with computers and other technology. When A/V Club wasn’t on, you could usually find her after school at the local arcade setting new records, beating all the boys. If we needed to hack into some database, look up some info, Fi was our girl. For a hot minute there, I thought she and Declan were a thing. Then she caught me one day looking at his ass, laughed, and said, “He’s all yours.” I asked her once about her hair, if it was au natural or something else. She put a finger to her lips, then gestured with her head for me to walk with her over to a corner. She leaned in close, then whispered, “The carpet does not match the drapes. I repeat, the carpet does not match the drapes.” I took a step back, slightly shocked, then we both started laughing.
Declan was rich. Stupid rich. But he, himself, wasn’t stupid. Shocker, I know. He said everyone expected him to be, so, to spite them, he was planning on becoming a lawyer, fight for capital jay Justice. He did still play a sport on the side though. Hockey. He was pretty good at it, too. He lived with his parents in a mansion on the side of a mountain and his dad bought him a new car every year. The year I met him it was a bright orange Land Rover. We’d ride around the mountains at night in it—Terror scrunched up, scowling, in one of the footrests—looking for leads. But that’s not all Declan looked for…I noticed him looking at me sometimes, watching as I tied on a ribbon or redid my eyeliner. He never looked away when I met his gaze, just smirked and chuckled to himself as I turned away, blushing.
And me? I was the “smart” one. The problem solver. The grandmaster. The maestro. I was expected to put two and two together and come up with a method, a rhyme, a reason. At first, I was nervous, I’d second guess myself, too shy to be of really assistance at all. It felt silly, honestly. The four of us, basically kids, being called upon by the local police to “check something out”. But, after some time and effort and support from the others, I grew more confident, even coming to enjoy the long nights and harsh realities crime fighting came with.
Despite what I’d initially felt about Snowmelt, I had found friends—real friends—and it finally felt like I belonged.
 
The first case I helped them solve wasn’t so much a hole in one as it was a tragedy. Three days after I joined The Spooky Teen Detective Force, a cop pulled up at Snowmelt High right as the bells signaling the end of the day were chiming.
“Probably wants to talk with us.” Declan strode over, ignoring several tittering cheerleaders along the way. Hook, Fi, and I followed close behind.
“What’s up, Sarge?” Declan asked, leaning into the window, making sure his ass was in clear sight of the cheer squad.
“Hey, Deck,” the sergeant said. “Got another case for you guys.” Sarge leaned around his son, Vic, who was sitting shotgun, eyes glued to his phone and handed Declan a manila folder. Vic was a Sophomore at Snowmelt High, and we’d seen him every so often prowling the grounds alone. We all thought he was more than a little suspicious, but none of us had enough balls to say anything in front of his dad.
“What is it this time?” Declan asked, taking the folder.
“Robbery,” Sarge said. “Over at Mr. Myers store. Someone broke in last night and stole a bunch of crap. We’ve got the CCTV tapes if you want them.”
“Yeah,” Fi said. “I’d like to take a look.”
“I’ll email them right away. Let us know if you find anything, alright?”
“Will do,” Declan said, then stood straight as the sergeant whooped his siren twice and pulled away. We followed Declan over to an abandoned picnic table and all sat down.
Fiona’s phone vibrated and she flicked it on. “CCTV footage,” she said simply. “Huh,” she said staring at her phone. “Anyone seen this guy before?”
“Actually,” Hook said, “I have. Down by the old tracks. I think he might live down there.”
“That’s weird,” Declan said rifling through the folder.
“What?” I asked him.
“Take a look at this.” He held the folder out to me. “Notice anything?”
“It’s all food and medicine and,” I paused, looking up at Declan, “baby formula.”
 
Hook led the way down to the old train tracks. We followed them until we found a nest of sorts deep within the forest. It looked like someone had been living out there for a while. A tarp was strung up between two trees and, underneath it, two people—a man and a woman—were passed out on a filthy, bare mattress.
“Junkies,” I said.
“What?” Declan asked.
I turned to look at him. “Junkies. See how their arms are all bruised up? Heroin I’m guessing.”
“Ah,” he said.
“What did she say?” Hook asked walking up. He had Terror held tightly in his arms.
“Junkies,” I repeated.
“Oh,” he replied, then, “shit,” as he stooped down to look closer. “You know, I never really understood why anyone would do drugs in the first place.”
I looked at him, incredulous.
“What?” he asked.
“Aren’t you, like, a stoner, man?”
He looked sincerely shocked for a moment, then started laughing. “I’ve never done a drug in my entire life.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Yeah, man,” he said. “I’m, like, entirely clean. Vegan for three years, get up every morning to do yoga. I just did a juice cleanse—”
“If you two are done,” Declan said, a hint of annoyance in his voice, “I’d like to get back to this.”
“Sorry, man.”
“Yeah,” I said, embarrassed, hoping I didn’t ruin anything between Declan and I. “I’m sorr—”
Suddenly, a wailing rose up from just beyond the mattress. A baby. I threw a quick glance at the others, then maneuvered my way around the mattress towards the broken laundry hamper serving as its crib.
“Well, fuck,” I said, looking down at the blotchy, bawling thing. “Maybe we shouldn’t book them. I mean, addiction isn’t a crime, right? They need help, not imprisonment.”
“Technically,” Declan said, “it is though. And that,” he gestured towards the broken hamper, “is child endangerment. So, unfortunately, yeah, we have to call it in.”
“But what about the baby?”
“I’ll check and see if they have any relative willing to take her,” Fi said. She walked over and cooed down at the still crying baby.
It just cried louder.
 
Things went like that for months. I grew closer to the gang and helped them solve several crimes in the process. Hook and I would shoot the shit every day after school while we waited for Declan’s hockey practice to end and Fi to be finished with A/V Club or tourneys at the arcade. Fi became my new best friend; she taught me all her gaming ways and I taught her how to use henna on her hair so the chemicals in regular dye wouldn’t damage it anymore. The tension between Declan and I grew and grew until it was close to bursting. But he never made a move no matter how many hints I dropped. And I didn’t want to embarrass myself, throw myself at him, rip off his too-tight clothes, just in case what I thought was there really wasn’t. I assumed he probably didn’t want to ruin the flow of the gang and I respected that.
Then, it happened. No, nothing between me and Declan. Something worse. Two weeks into March, a body was found. A sixteen year old girl. She’d been strangled. Over the course of March and into April, two more bodies were found. Both girls. Both teens. Both murdered. Then, near the end of April, Vic, Sarge’s son, went missing. A curfew was put into place. Dad started picking me up from school instead of letting me walk home or Declan give me rides.
The gang and I were working overtime. Studying for finals while also pouring our hearts and souls into trying to catch the bastard who was killing kids. It hit too close to home; the girls were so close to our own ages and the others said they’d known them in passing at school. Unfortunately, though, we had few leads and the pressure was starting to get to us. A couple days after the Vic was taken, Declan’s phone rang. He answered and we all watched with growing worry as his face fell with each second that passed.
“What is it?” Fi asked as soon as he hung up.
“Captain Cutler wants to talk with us. As soon as possible.”
“You think they found Vic?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. Captain wouldn’t say.”
Hook looked up at the clock. “I can probably skip my next period.” He looked over at the rest of us.
“I have it off, so, yeah, I can too. A/V Club can suck it.”
Declan turned to me. “I’m sure Mr. V. would understand,” he said.
I gazed up into the determined look on his face, then nodded.
 
Declan pulled his Land Rover into the station’s parking lot about twenty minutes after he got the call. Captain Cutler must’ve been waiting for us because he waved us into his office as soon as we walked through the doors.
“Sarge isn’t here?” Declan asked, looking out into the bullpen.
The captain shook his head. “No. He’s at home with his wife. I’m sure you can imagine…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head.
“Yeah,” Declan said, lowering his voice. “Yeah, I can.”
The captain cleared his throat. “We need you to meet with our liaison,” he said. “He’s arriving tonight.”
“Liaison?” I asked.
The captain nodded. “Special agent with the FBI.”
“You called the FBI?” Declan asked. For some reason, his eyes flashed with anger.
“No,” the captain said. He looked worried. “I didn’t. They called me this morning and said they were sending him to us. Said that since we’ve found more than two bodies, it could be a serial killer. He’s driving up here tonight, after he finishes up his work down in the city. Sorry, kids, but maybe this one is a little above your paygrade.” The captain glanced at Declan with something like fear then walked away.
“This is good though, right?” I asked turning to the rest of the gang. “The FBI guy can help us. I mean, they’ve already found three bodies. It’s only a matter of time before Vic is, well, you know. I’m sure this FBI guy has the skills and resources to work faster than us. Right?”
The others didn’t respond. Declan shook his head, disgusted, and stormed out of the station. He seemed ashamed of himself, upset that he wasn’t able to solve this case.
I felt bad. It felt bad.
 
We were allowed to break curfew to meet with the agent later that night. As soon as we walked into the little interrogation room he’d set up in at the back of the station, I glanced over at Fi and gave her The Look. She shook her head slightly, then rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. He was older, sure, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, and he looked beat, like he’d been up for days on end, but, damn, he was fine.
What, I mouthed at her.
She gestured with her head at Declan’s back and mouthed, Him.
So, I mouthed.
She shook her head again, scowling, You’re fifteen.
I made a face that was meant to imply that I didn’t want to screw the guy, I was just noticing how attractive he was.
Fi rolled her eyes again, so, I simply shrugged and hoped that no one saw this exchange pass between us.
“Well,” the agent said finally, looking up from countless papers strewn across the table. Amusement blossomed onto his face. “This is, uh, weird.”
“What’s weird?” Declan asked, puffing himself up like a young buck protecting his territory.
“Just never worked with a team of,” he looked back down at the papers, “teenage crime fighters before.”
“It’ll be fun,” I said, smiling. The agent tossed me a semi-appalled, semi-confused look, then shook his head in disbelief. Declan, though, Declan puffed himself up more. Just as I suspected he would.
“We’ve solved forty-two cases, sir,” Declan said, his voice dripping with distaste.
“Yeah,” the agent said. “I’m aware.” He gestured to the papers in front of him. “But, here’s the thing, I’ve been reviewing your work and—”
There was a mewling sound. Terror popped her head out from Hook’s backpack, then jumped down, right onto the table, upsetting the agent’s paperwork. We all watched with bated breath, knowing the tiny cat was about to launch herself forward and attack at any moment. The agent blinked in surprise then—to our surprise—reached out and scratched her head. Terror started purring.
“And what?” Declan asked watching him pet the cat with something like hatred.
The agent raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smile danced around his face. “And, honestly, it’s really shoddy. I mean, here you say that this old man, Harvey Bascomb, was haunting his own amusement park to bring in more visitors come Halloween. Booked him for fraud. But then here,” he shuffled some papers, “it says that during the same times those, uh, ghost sightings occurred, he was at the hospital visiting his sick wife who was dying of colon cancer. There’s video evidence of him coming and going from the hos—”
Declan scoffed. “That’s just what he wanted people to think.”
“Yeah,” Fi said. “He used to run the old tech repair shop on Mulberry Ave. He knew how to alter footage. Besides,” she continued, “he hated his wife. He was probably happy when she finally died.”
The agent opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, his expression turning from slight amusement to one of serious distrust. He ran his left hand through his wood colored hair, ruffling it up, then placed both hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, observing us. It was all I could do to keep from swooning.
Across the table, Declan crossed his arms and held frame, staring the agent directly in his grey eyes with his hazel ones. The rest of us stood quietly behind him, aware that a silent game of chicken was in progress.
Finally, the agent dropped his arms, leaned forward, and said, “Yeah, no.”
“No, what? No, you don’t want to help us?” Declan sounded triumphant.
The agent narrowed his eyes, an intangible expression taking up his face. He sighed. “This is just…” his voice trailed off.
“This is just what, man?” Hook asked.
“Fucking stupid,” the agent replied sharply, glancing between us. “I’ll deal with this in the morning. I don’t have time for this shit, right now.”
“What shit? You mean all those murdered girls? I thought you worked for the FBI. Don’t you care?”
The agent laughed bitterly. “Of course, I care. That’s why I agreed to drive all the way up here in the middle of the night after a full goddamn day of logging paperwork just to read more goddamn paperwork. I just—”
“Then why are you laughing?” Declan asked. “And you never showed us your badge. Do you even have one?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The agent lifted one side of his ass up, reached back (revealing a pistol holstered on his hip as he did so), and threw a slim matte black wallet on the table in front of Declan. Terror hopped on it, thinking it was some kind of toy, then yowled and hissed as Declan pushed her away to pick it up.
Declan flipped it open and stared at it for a full minute before tossing it back and saying, “Looks like a replica to me.”
And I swear on my mother’s grave that the agent looked mildly impressed for a split second before standing up. He stuck the wallet back in his pocket then started gathering up the papers.
“What are you doing?” Declan asked. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes. To my shitty, roach infested motel that I guess passes as a four-star establishment in this Podunk town where I’ll be reviewing the rest of your…work.” He stuck all the papers into a matte black binder, then stood straight. He was about four inches taller than Declan, bulkier too. And, from the way he held himself, I suspected he might’ve been in the military at some point in his life. “Then we’re all going to have a nice little chat with Cutler here bright and early tomorrow morning. Shit, I might even call up my boss too. See if maybe he can spare some more agents. You know, to figure out why all those poor girls were really killed. See if we can catch the scumbag perpetrator, or perpetrators, before Victor meets the same fate.” He flicked out his arm and checked a slim wristwatch. “Let’s say, 0800? Sound good to you?” Without waiting for an answer, he strode out of the room and closed the door softly behind him. Terror hopped down from the table and scratched at it, mewling.
As soon as the agent was gone, Declan turned towards the rest of us. He looked pissed. “You know what this means, guys?”
Fi nibbled on her thumbnail. “That guy’s gonna fuck up our streak?”
Hook held out his hand towards Terror, but she ignored it and kept scratching at the door. “Vic’s shit outta luck?”
I tucked my hair behind my ears and remained silent. Something about the whole exchange wasn’t sitting right with me.
Declan shook his head. “We’ve got to solve this case before that asshole special agent meddles with it.”
“But that only gives us, what, like ten hours, Deck.” Fi looked nervous.
“So? We’ve solved other cases in less time before.”
“I dunno, Deck,” I said, “maybe we should just let the agent—”
“Oh, fuck you,” Declan said suddenly. I blinked at him, shocked. “Yeah, you. You think I didn’t notice? Making googly eyes at that fucking piece of shit? You must be like half his age. That’s disgusting. But go on, go help that presumptuous prick for all I care. We can do this without you. C’mon guys.” Declan turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
Hook stood awkwardly for a moment before turning, snatching up Terror, and following him.
Fi shook her head slowly at me, then mouthed, Told you, before leaving too.
 
I didn’t go straight home. I couldn’t. Dad thought I was spending the night at Fi’s and I just couldn’t bring myself to ask anyone at the station for a ride. Instead, I walked to the 24-hour diner near the edge of town and got myself a milkshake. The waitress looked at me suspiciously but didn’t ask me why I was breaking curfew, thank God.
After almost thirty minutes of stewing in self-pity, the door jangled, and someone walked in. Someone I recognized immediately. The FBI agent. I guess he didn’t go straight back to his shitty motel after all. Or maybe he did and couldn’t stand it. I slid as far down into my booth as I could, silently praying that he sat somewhere on the opposite side of the diner. He did.
He ordered some black tea, a stack of pancakes three deep, a couple pieces of bacon, extra crispy, and a side of hash browns. I watched as he slid out of his jacket, pushed up his sleeves, and loosened his tie. He pulled out some papers from his binder and began reading through them, looking up periodically to thank the waitress as she brought out his tea and food.
I knew I was fucked. I had to stay at the diner until this black suited bastard left. And it really looked like he was settling in for the long haul. I wondered, bitterly, if this was just what this guy did. Meddled. Ruined shit. Fucked up everyone else’s plans by fighting for capital jay Justice. That thought cartwheeled me back over to Declan and I slid further down into the booth full of shame and regret.
Suddenly, just above the 80s music the diner was playing, a tinny sound rose up. It sounded like a ringtone. Because it was. It was the agent’s phone.
“Fuck me,” he said, none too quietly. “Now? It’s gotta be right now, huh?” He looked longingly at his stack of pancakes, then sighed, picked up his phone, and walked outside to take the call.
I perked up. This was my chance. It was now or never. I threw a ten-dollar bill onto the table, stood up, and tried to walk as casually as possible towards the exit. And I was almost there, too, about three steps away, when I got this sudden urge to do something I probably shouldn’t have.
I mean, his paperwork, his binder, everything was sitting right there, right out in the open, for all to see, including me. And I was curious, oh so very curious.
I glanced around nervously. The three other diners didn’t seem to give a shit and the one working waitress was nowhere in sight, so, I walked over and started swiftly flicking through the agent’s paperwork.
I was there maybe a minute before I uttered two words with finality.
Oh, shit.”
 
I texted Declan immediately, told him I had to talk to him, now, in person.
Look, he texted back, I’m sorry I yelled. It’s just…I really like you, and I thought you liked me too. Seeing you giving eyes to that asshole really pissed me off. And I mean, honestly, it’s gross. He’s old.
My heart fluttered, my stomach dropped. I know, I wrote back. I’m sorry, just dumb teenage girl hormones. He’s not even that cute. And I like you too. Like, a lot. But, Declan, can we talk about this later, I have something important to tell you. About the murders. Are you alone?
He didn’t reply for a full minute, then, finally, he wrote, Yeah. Parents are up in Steamboat. Come over.
I didn’t need telling twice, I slid out of the diner and glanced around for the agent. He was standing with his back towards me, in the middle of the parking lot, with one hand holding the phone up to his face and the other on his hip. He was looking up at the stars and seemed deeply engrossed in the conversation he was having with whoever was on the opposite end of the call.
“What do you mean, right now,” he was saying. “Look, I know I’m already up here, but I’m working on a case already as per our agreement with the Feds.” He paused for a moment, listening. “Fine, fine, I’ll check it out. Now, can I go? My pancakes are getting cold. No,” he said, a hint of defiance in his voice. “Not right now. After my pancakes, okay? Well, it’s either that or tomorrow sometime. Great, wonderful, thanks. Yeah, I’ll give you the report second thing tomorrow morning. No, it can’t be first thing. Why? Because I’ve got to teach some fucking psycho teenagers a hard lesson. Yeah. Understood.” He hung up without saying bye.
I rushed away before he could see me.
 
It took me about an hour to get to Declan’s house. I had to sneak back home first, get inside without waking my dad, steal his car keys, put his car in neutral and roll it down the hill, then start it up so I could drive up the mountain Declan lived on, my heart and head racing the whole time.
“Declan,” I said as soon as he opened the door. “That guy, the FBI agent or whatever, he has some incriminating shit. I don’t know if it’s enough to book them, at least not yet, but it’s bad, Deck, bad.”
Declan stood back from the door and gestured for me to come inside. “Slow down. What?”
I stepped inside. “I was at the diner. He was there—”
Who was there?”
“The FBI agent. I…I snooped. Through his papers. The agent had all the bodies examined. Again. By someone not from Snowmelt. They found strands of hair—”
“Hair?” a voice asked from behind Declan.
“What kind of hair?” another voice asked.
A head popped up from the couch. Someone stepped out of Declan’s kitchen.
“Was it cat hair?”
“Or human? Maybe dyed red?”
I glanced from “What’re…what’re they doing here?”
Declan started laughing. But it wasn’t his usual happy-go-lucky chuckle. It was mean. “They’re always too fucking smart for their own good,” he said.
“Or too curious,” Fi said. “It’s such a shame, I actually liked this one.”
Hook shoved Terror unceremoniously back into his bag. She yowled and spat. “I already called my guy, he’s finding a special place. A better one this time.”
Declan nodded, then turned to me. “Well, you know what this means, right?”
“What? No, I don’t.” I started backing away. “Declan, we have to leave now. Hook and Fi were involved. They kill—”
“Oh, c’mon, you’re not that stupid.”
“Deck,” I said, my voice high pitched and pleading. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You have to believe me. They’re dangerous.”
“Dangerous, eh?” Fi was smiling.
“Look,” I said, “I don’t know what those girls did to deserve it, but—”
“I wish you’d stop talking,” Declan said.
“They always jabber, man,” Hook said. “Always. Think it’ll help them in the end.”
“And it never does.” Fi was looking at her nails. She seemed totally unconcerned.
Suddenly, there was a muffled thumping noise and the faint sound of someone screaming.
“Guess Vic finally woke up,” Declan said in bored voice.
“You,” I said, then took a faltering step back towards the door. “You all are—”
“Finally figured it out, have you?” Fi raised an eyebrow.
Declan pulled something out from his back pocket, something silvery and sharp, and charged straight at me.
I raised my arm in defense and then—my world imploded and pain coursed through my body like a bolt of electricity. Declan had stabbed me, right near the crook of my arm. I screamed, then, without thinking, ran.
“Get her!” Declan yelled.
But it was too late. Fueled by adrenaline, I evaded both Fiona and Hook, crashed out the back door and into the forest.
I wasn’t looking where I was going, tears and pure panic blinding me. My left hand was clamped against my right arm, trying to stymie the flow of blood. Around me, the trees were thick, and I could hear them hooting behind me, taunting me, tracking me.
I stumbled through the woods for who knows how long. It seemed like both a second and eternity. I didn’t yell, tried to keep my steps as quiet as possible, I didn’t want them to find me.
And then I saw it. A figure. Squatting among the trees, a tiny flashlight held in their hand. They were flicking the beam left and right across the ground, seemingly searching for something.
“Help me!” I yelled, not caring if the others heard me or not. “Please help me!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the figure said, standing up and holding out their hands to indicate they meant no harm. “What the hell is going on here?”
It was the FBI agent. He must’ve been doing whatever it was the person who had called him asked him to do.
“They’re going to kill me!” I screamed.
He glanced around, his empty hand swinging up to his hip where his holster was. “Who’s going to kill you?”
They are!” My breath wavered. I was hyperventilating. “Those…those fucking murderers! You know! You knew! They killed…they killed them all! I saw it…I’m sorry…I couldn’t help—”
He took a deep, steady breath, then cut me off. “Hey, calm down. It’s okay, no one’s going to kill you while I’m here. Deep breaths, okay? Like this. Copy me. Good. Now, first things first, can I take a look at that arm?”
I hesitated. “You’re really an FBI agent, right? I heard your…your phone call. At the diner.”
If the agent was surprised by this, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave me a soft and sincere albeit exhausted smile. “I’m here to help. Promise.”
It only took me a split second to make up my mind. I believed him. And I trusted him. “Okay,” I said.
He examined my arm gently, then picked up a stick, pulled off his tie, and expertly secured a tourniquet about two inches above the wound.
“I know it probably feels too tight, but—”
“It’s fine. Thanks.”
He nodded. “C’mon, my car’s just over there.”
“Wait,” I said. The agent looked over at me searchingly. “They stopped. Listen.” I looked around. “They were right behind me. They might be watching us. They had weapons.”
The agent casually glanced around the woods again. “And I’m a pretty good shot. Even at night. C’mon.”
 
The agent drove me to the only emergency hospital in town. He remained silent the entire time, which I appreciated since I was in no real mood or state to talk. But I did see him glancing at me every so often. I think he was checking to see if I was okay.
He finally spoke up when we pulled into the hospital’s lot. “Is there anyone you want me to call? A parent or guardian?”
“My dad,” I said, choking on the words.
He nodded, then reached over me into his glove box, pulled out a little packet of tissues, and handed them to me before sitting back in his seat. “Do you want anything else? Ice cream, French fries, clothes from home? Anything at all?”
“Can you,” I swallowed, then started over. “Do you think you’d be able to stay with me. I mean, just in case they try to come get me or something.”
He blinked in surprise, then nodded again. “Of course. Absolutely.”
Inside the hospital, the agent spoke with a nurse who gazed up at him approvingly. Soon after, a doctor came out and called us over.
“Your tourniquet technique is excellent,” she said examining my arm. “They teach you this at the FBI?”
“Army,” the agent said simply. “How long will this take?”
“She needs some stitches. Maybe twenty or thirty minutes. But I’ll have to give her a brief examination too. Physical and psychological, that may take longer. She’ll need to do that alone. You’re welcome to wait out here if you’d like.”
“I’ll be here,” he said, pointing to a chair in the waiting room. “And I’ll give your dad a call.”
“Oh,” I said remember something. “His car is still at Declan’s house; he won’t be able to—”
“It’ll be okay,” the agent said waving my worry away. “We’ll get him over here ASAP. Whatever it takes. Now go, let the doctor fix you up. I’ll be right here,” he repeated.
 
The agent questioned me the day after. He was thorough and thoughtful, but I won’t bore you with the details.
Long story short, with my statement, he finally had enough evidence to charge The Spooky Teen Detective Force with multiple counts of murder, fraud, tampering with evidence, and other crimes.
Fiona was caught first. She’d tried to hack into some airline software down at a public library to fake a ticket from DIA out of the country. She made some rookie mistakes and didn’t make it far.
Next was Hook. Apparently, he’d gotten high for the first time with some transients down by the tracks and let it all spill out that he’d killed some people. The transients reported him and got the hell out of there. I heard that Hook literally shit himself when he saw the Feds running towards him.
Finally, they found Declan hiding out at one of his parents’ various vacation homes He thought he’d gotten away with it all and, honestly, that was the best part. To see his smug demeanor crumble was incredibly satisfying. He really thought that his parents could throw money at the problem until it went away. He was wrong. So, he started talking. I don’t know if it was because he was scared or proud of what he did, but I didn’t care. He was a fucking psycho. Apparently, he and the rest of his little gang had conceived this insane plot to pretend like they were solving crimes under the assumption it’d look good on their resumes or their records and it’d help them get into Ivy League schools. And when those poor girls figured out what was really happening, they murdered them. Honestly, I have no idea what Declan and the rest were thinking, their plan was so inconceivably stupid. The FBI agent told me that was probably for the best, that it wasn’t necessarily always a good thing to be able to think in the same way a criminal does. He looked more exhausted than usual as he told me this.
It wasn’t all good news though. They found Vic’s body the day after they caught Declan. He’d been stabbed several times then left to die in the woods. Apparently, he’d figured out what The Spooky Teen Detective Force was up to after the last girl, who he’d been dating, disappeared. From what I could tell, the FBI agent seemed pretty distraught he wasn’t able to save him in time. When he personally came to tell me and my dad that awful news, I noticed that his eyes were red. I think he might’ve been crying.
Sarge and his wife were absolutely inconsolable, their lives forever altered.
 
Dad moved us out of Snowmelt as fast as he could afford to, back to sunny California, near the cemetery where Mom was buried.
I went out to Mom’s grave every day, talked with her, told her what had happened, that I’d been diagnosed with PTSD, that Dad was letting me do homeschool, that I missed her. And it was there that I got my final surprise in the form of someone familiar walking towards me holding a little crate.
He sat down next to me. “Hey, kid, how’re you?”
“Oh, you know. Shitty. You’re in California now?”
“For a bit,” he said. Then, “And yeah, it really sucks. I’m sorry. Wish I could give you some sort of inspiring or helpful advice. But sometimes the truth is better. And the truth is that it just really fucking sucks sometimes.”
I nodded, then pointed to the crate. “What’s that?”
“Oh, thought you could use a little buddy,” he said. “Hope that’s not too presumptuous of me.” He popped open the crate and a feisty, tiny Singapura leapt out and onto his lap.
“Holy shit,” I said, “no way.”
“That asshole, Hanger, or whatever the fuck his name was—don’t tell me because I don’t give a shit and don’t care to know—was a terrible owner. Poor girl suffered quite a bit.”
“Yeah, but, Terror’s pretty terrible.”
He shook his head. “No, no, she’s quite sweet. She just needs some love.” Terror did seem happy in the agent’s arms. She was purring, her eyes were closed, and she had that little cat smile on her face. I’d never seen her so relaxed before.
I reached over and gave her a pat. She chirruped approvingly and snuggled deeper into the agent’s lap. “You want me to take her?”
“Only if you want to. No pressure at all.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe it’ll help.”
“I think it will.”
“What’re you going to do?” I asked looking over at him. “I mean, now that this is over.”
He stared off into the distance. “That’s the thing. It’s never over. Never. There’s always another missing person, always another psychopath, always another case. We live in a sick, sick world, kid. They’re some really fucked up people doing some really fucked up things. And, as much as it pains me to say this, I’m fighting a losing battle.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Fight for capital jay Justice? Try to help?”
The agent seemed to think about this. “Because I can. Because I want to. Because I’m up all night thinking about all the bad shit in the world anyway, so I figure it’d be better for me to actually do something about it. Action feels better than anger, you know?”
“Wow,” I said.
He glanced over at me. He had that amused expression back on his face. “What?”
“Are you, like, Bruce Wayne or Marc Spector or something?”
He chuckled. “That helps too.”
“What does?”
“Having a sense of humor. Oh, and beer. A copious amount of beer.”
We both laughed at that.
submitted by darthvarda to nosleep [link] [comments]


2019.06.14 02:45 elaforme Is That a Bear In The Woods

So this may be readable or it won't be. If I'm long dead then maybe some one out there might be able to make something out of it.
My names Brandon McKean I live in my cabin in the middle of nowhere ontario Canada. Yeah one of those Eh.
As I was growing up I always felt ostracized from the people around me, now I don't know why I felt like that I just did and was just another kid. I've had my good days and I've had my bad days like anyone else. But growing up I was prone to outburst of anger and violence, nothing to bad just raging at people and or the occasional punch the wall. But sense then I've become much more stable and I no longer get angry and hit walls, yeah a dam success story right.
Now you might ask yourself what's this guy going to say about his spooky cabin in the woods, but it's nothing about the cabin. It's about the town 45 minutes west of me. A small town called Simcoe yeah I know what a crappy name. Now growing up in a small town hours away from here I know what to expect of small towns people, they're wary of out sides and distrust you until you've proven yourself to the community.
Now I've never bothered trying to fit or join the community and I live far enough away for them to keep me at arms length, but the strange thing is that they don't distrust me heck they make every attempt to make me feel welcomed invite me over for bbqs and cook outs but I can never bring myself to or join in it just doesn't feel right.
Now yesterday I drove to town to restock my pantry was getting mighty low on supplies. While browsing I ran into quite a few of the regular folk Jason who works at the local pub Brenda who helps out the elderly as a home support worker and Dan who runs the local well only garage and is the only mechanic for kilometers.
Jason was a cool guy knows everyone's business and doesn't mind sharing and contributing to the town gossip. Brenda has been suspected of stealing her ward's medication to sell to the local junkies believe it or not yeah this place has them though their not around for long as the local law enforcement gives then encouragement to go somewhere else. Then there's Dan much like me he keeps to himself, he's not much into community events at least that's what Jason and brenda have told me.
At check out I noticed alot of missing persons posters at the cash. One read Judy 19 red hair slim build occasion last seen on Went worth street parents Mike and Linda sheers would love to have your help finding there baby girl, sad seeing that poster another said Jared mckennith 36 brown hairs green eyes 250 lbs last seen on Olmsted street his wife Becky mckennith is looking for any leads to his whereabouts. Another sad story the rest where obviously drifters or transients from somewhere else not here. My first reaction upon seeing those posters was that's not a me problem.
On my way out I ran into Tom Harris one of our local police constables. He was coming in to hang up a new poster we exchanged pleasantries and continued on with our perspective task mine being getting to the hard where store for a small bag of nails wood glue and a new clamp to fix my chair. He seemed distressed maybe more frantic. But again that's a him problem I have other things to do. A chair that needs fixing and supplies that need stacking in the pantry.
It wasn't till later that night that I herd some bad news on the police scanner, Judy sheers and Jared mckennith were just located as well as 3 other people. Good news was my first thought then a 10/35 then a 10/3 which is major crime alert and stop transmitting which is never a good sign.
The next day there where rumors of the bodies found just outside of town were the old daycare was located. Some were weeks old some where months old though the scariest thing was hearing how most of the bodies had huge teeth marks on them and missing appendages. The official story over the local radio station 94.7 fm was that the people were all killed by a large Bear a large bear I thought, bears tend to like caves and burrows not abandoned daycare's.
The stories of the giant man eating Bear where rampant through the small town. Now growing up as park of my anger management therapy I was taught hunting and tracking by my dad only thing he was able to give me besides his temper. I knew bears stay away from areas populated by people and as close as they would like to get is the local dump, these behaviors are just not bear behavior.
As one of the only local hunters in the area and I say local very loosely. I was called in to help search for the bear and maybe track down anyone else who was taken by the bear. I voiced my misgivings about the animal being a bear and that bears don't wonder into towns on their own accord. I was told it's a bear and its been confirmed by the local vet. I shut my mouth put my hands in the air and sat down crossing my arms in protest. Dammed fools was the one thought that went through my head.
We gathered our gear and met at the old day care the other two hunters were Jim seminton and Peter mckennith yes Becky's cousin. Small town remember, so I brought my biggest gun a nice little 40/70 lever action if there is a bear this will put it down in one shot and then some if its not my ass will still be covered Jim and Peter brought their 30 odd 6 rifles fair enough. First thing I herd was gees that's a nice gun for the weirdo who lives outside of town, I smiled finally someone whose got something normal to say to me. I grinned and liked eyes with Jim and said very slowly "I think I'm going to like you Jim like you alot", this took the huge smirk of his face and Peter put his hand on jims shoulder and said " hey he's here to help us out you don't think just the two of us can carry back that bear on our own do you" they looked at each other and smiled and Jim replied dam I can't argue with you there Peter. Police constable Harris showed us with his shot gun asked if we where ready to head out. We shook our heads in compliance and started looking for signs of the bear first at 20 meter intervals and then Peter hollered for us to make our way to his position, there we found a small petite hand with red and yellow nail polish on the finger nails. Harris covered his face hurried over to a tree and began to puke his face all over, that's when he screamed and fell backwards to the ground. Yelling casy casy no casy. Casy being his younger sister as we looked were Harris was pointing and screaming at there it was a mangled naked body of casy Harris missing a leg her hand and half her face. Peter and Jim also hurried away and started to puke their guts all over the shrubs not even 10 meters away. I pulled Harris to his feet and shook him till I got his attention and asked if he knew what he needed to do, he stammered a faint "yes yes I do" He got on his portable radio calling for a ambulance and for officer back up as well as some one to come pick him up as he's not able to finish the shift.
As Jim and Peter were recovering from their episode of puke and gag I herd what sounded like heavy foot steps who were making so much noise and predators would be avoiding us because we're scaring away the easy prey in the area, and with that thought the footsteps got faster and heavier. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge furry mass charge into Jim lifting him off the ground and vanishing into the darkness the only sounds in the night were jims screams off into the distance Jim didn't even get a shot off it moved so quick. After a few minutes Jim went silent me knowing that meant he was dead but Peter started to panic shouting out for jim wondering into the darkness without his torch on rookie mistake. It wasn't long before Peter also started to scream but he at least got 1 shot off with a muffled crack of his firearm and the faint flash off in the distance I knew that he to wasn't coming back. After a few minutes Dan the local mechanic can stumbling out from the darkness asking for help holding his side screaming that the bear had gotten him and some one shot him just now, and how it's not far from our location. He fell to the ground holding his side and the fact he was covered in bite marks meant this was not the culprit we where searching for.
The ambulance came and the towns last two police constables showed up 5 minutes later. Dan was taken to the hospital and I gave my statement. I was told there would be a search for Peter and Jim in the morning.
The next morning I woke up to find that one of the police constable was out side my house having a smoke. Now what was her name again Emily... Blake yeah that what it was. I came outside greeted officer Blake she said knock that crap off Brandon you know I hate it when you call me Blake I smiled chuckled and said "sorry Emily it just doesn't feel right after we stopped seeing each other" yeah fuck off it's not like I didn't try you know" yeah yeah sorry Emily I know it was my idea to break things off. Good she replied get your shit and get in the cruiser were going to look for those hunters you and Harris were with last night. I sighed and said dam it Emily I'm tired just get in the dam car she demanded I put my hands up and said Yes Officer Blake. We drove to town now she drives like a mad man and that 45 minute drive took 20. As we got out of the car the stench that was Harris's sister was in the air and they want me to help find the hunters from the night before. I said aloud you know their not hurt or hiding right their most likely dead. Blake and Hobbs oh Hobbs is the third police constable for Simcoe, said yeah we know I asked how Dan was they said he went last knight do to the gunshot. Shit in it was all I could say Blake responded oh so you do care about some people huh. I didn't say a word, and proceeded to to look at were the monster picked Jim up. It said it went south west away from town Hobbs only said let's go gripping his shot gun like as if it was the only thing in the world that he could trust.
I followed the tracks dam they were huge made the one set of bear I did find look like it a cubs. As we were walking the smell of death started to get stronger in the air, I stopped the officers and said "brace yourselves from those blood droplets there pointing to the ground we ain't far". We proceeded on, the smell got worse the the droplets started to turn into pools until we came to a clearing it had stopped the blood was gone the smell to. This was very peculiar to me were the fuck did we come out of, I stopped and said"this isn't right" Hobbs gave me a push and said we'll were are they. I turned and said I don't know they should be right here Hobbs started screaming at me for losing the trail and Blake tried to interject but something landed on her shoulder she went to wipe it away but her hand turned a dark murky red color and it smelled something foul and she started to wipe it on on her pants and then one fell on Hobbs. I took a step back and we all looked up and there they were 3 rights legs 2 left arms 1 head and 2 hands holding rifles we three just starred in aw of the site before us I took a breath and said "I don't think a bears going to drag those up there and tie them there like those are" we looked at each other and started to run back to the cars and the hell out of there. They called in for the Ontario provincial police this time this isn't a job for our small regional cops Blake said this shifts on another level.
Opp came we all gave our statements I was sent home and Blake and Hobbs got the next 3 days to themselves. Later on in the week Blake confided in me that they pulled over 20 people from the tree canopies that day Ir took them 12 hours to do it but they found almost everything aside from a leg a couple arms and 1 head. The bear story quickly turned into the psycho killer in the woods anytime a dog, cat or vagrant went missing they would be found in the trees days weeks sometimes months later. But the towns folk stopped disappearing after the forest next to town was cleared out.
I don't go into the woods anymore I'm selling my cabin and moving to somewhere a little less tainted by that thing in the woods. I do have one omission that thing wasn't a bear it was to big and to fast to bear a bear. It had claws the size of my hand and even bigger teeth and those pale empty eyes will haunt me till the day that I die.
Alternate ending
Now let me described to you the thing I saw that night Jim and Peter went missing. 7 feet tall 1.5 meter long legs 2 meter long arms yeah all 4 were that long the head of a large Buffalo skull one white protruding eye the other was light blue the fur was matted and covered with gore, you could see the muscle and tendons under it it was large around 4-5 hundred pounds now earlier I said I seen it out of the corner of my eye but to be honest when it picked up Jim it looked at me looked at me as though it knew me like the look you give an old friend you haven't seen in quite some time. I swear it smiled at me as to say it's been a while.
If your reading this then that means you have clearance and already know that this thing is a windigo in its true form, and that this one was hunting down the people in the town because of the tainted blood lines they have Dan was an accident Judy and Jared were things that were crossed with people the windigo killed them before their nature could come to the surface and the transients were roaming creatures in human form. Yeah that's why they were ripped to shreds the windigo have a treaty with the government we keep watch they clear out the other things we can't. Lieutenant Branded McKean date February 12/2013.
submitted by elaforme to u/elaforme [link] [comments]


2018.07.26 01:02 assorted_bomber Time Teller

I wake up, my mom yelled at me from upstairs to get ready.
“Jack!”
“Ugg” I moaned
I wasn’t ready for another day of hell! Also known as school. I drag myself out of bed, and got some clothes on. I come upstairs to see my mom watching TV, her face was pale, and she looked concern.
“What’s wrong?” I asked
She took around 15 seconds to even notice me.
“Oh nothing just...”
She froze, she couldn’t find the words she wanted to say. The TV caught my eye 4 children were found dead, the youngest being 10 and the oldest being 15, they all died from suffocating. Creepy, I thought what psychopath would kill innocent kids.
“Mom, I’m just going to head to school.”
She didn’t answer, but watched the TV with tears swelling in her eyes, she was sensitive to this types of thing, it might be because I’m 16 and that stuff makes her freak out. I head to school, I meet Mitch, and Jenny. Two good friends of mine.
“Hey Jack, did you hear about the children?” Mitch said
“Oh yeah I heard, that stuff is terrible” I exclaimed
“What a twisted and demonic person, I would kill such a sick bastard.” Mitch shouted with rage.
He got a couple weird looks, I told him to calm down. The rest of the walk was silent. We made it to school, and split up, the day was filled with gossip and theories, about the killer. I just wanted to forget about. Just thinking of waking up, with a person suffocating me was unsettling. I went home, and I couldn’t get any sleep that night, every sound I heard terrified me. A dog howling, a car driving bye. The things I never noticed before, suddenly kept me from sleeping. The next morning I woke up, my first thought was, I’m still alive. I head upstairs, I look at the TV. Two more lives were taken, a 13 year old boy I’ve never seen before, and a 16 year old girl named Jessica. Oh my god! She is a girl, from about 3 doors down the street. I run outside and sure enough, the house was surrounded by police tape, and their were cop cars every where. I never knew Jessica, she was a shy, emotionally unstable kid, who I thought cut herself, but she lived so close to me.
That day I got a lot of attention, people were consistently asking if I saw anything, I said no, and Mitch helped me get through the day, he new I was weird about these thing, and told people to stop with the questions. I came home, that night with so many emotions, fear, concern, and mostly anger! I went straight into the kitchen, I made myself dinner even though it was only 3:30 PM. I saw something in the corner of my eye, a large steak knife. Perfect, I thought to myself, I grabbed the knife and headed downstairs to my bed.
I watched TV and looked on instagram for hours. Right before I feel asleep I heard a door open slowly. Then footsteps down to my room, I jumped out of head and grabbed the knife and hid behind the door. My breathing was heavy, and I covered my mouth when I saw feet under my doorway, the door flew open and crushed my head against the wall. The man knew were I was at, he grabbed me by the neck and tried to choke me. I got the knife in a good position and sliced his face. He didn’t scream, but he released me and bolted out of the room. I tried to follow but rammed into a wall, and fell. A mixture off the stress, possibility head trauma, and being choked, caused me to pass out.
I woke up in a hospital, it turns out my mom found me and called an ambulance. I have a concussion, but that’s all. I’m the first person to survive the attacker. Mitch and Jenny came to see me along with a couple of friends, even strangers I didn’t know came in and gave me flowers and food. They asked questions like what did he look like and what did he do. The man was tall and had a pitch black it couldn’t have been natural, it was so black It was like his eyes were glowing, speaking of eyes he had ink in his eyes, or something to make his retina black, and his pupils were pure white. He was wearing a hoodie, and jeans.
After a week or two, nothing happened no murders no nothing, maybe the killer realized that one day someone could end up killing him. I went home, and for weeks nothing happened, I brought a gun to bed every night, but nothing happened. One night I went to bed early, something startled me, I woke up, and I heard footsteps heading downstairs. I grasped the gun tightly. It was under my sheets. The door opened slowly this time, my breathing was heavy but I managed to keep quiet. A man peaked through the door, it was him. The black face and retina, and the white pupils, but this time from the top right corner, to the bottom left was a stitched up area with red paint over it, it was were I cut him. He opened the door fully and walked in. I sat up pulled out my gun, and fired. The bullet went through his arm, he bolted out of the room, and this time I followed.
He ran outside into a car, and drove off, I got in my moms car and raced after him. His driving was terrible, he must have been bleeding out. He was easy to follow. He lead me to an abandon road, I thought about calling the police. Then I realize in all the commotion, I left my phone at the house. He pulled up to an abandon shack, it had a sigh saying Time Teller. The man ran into the shack and I followed. I opened the door to and saw an orb on a table.
“Fortune teller?” I whispered
Their was a piece of paper with peoples names on it, half of them had an x on them. Then the first one without and x on it was... me. Suddenly a door opened, and a bullet flew by my face. Without thinking I sprinted towards the door, with the piece of paper. Two shots followed, the shooter must have been in experienced, he missed every shot. I drove away to my house and called the police.
I looked at the paper I stole, and studied it carefully, beside the names were dates, they must have been due dates, but I looked a my name, the date is tomorrow,but he tried to kill me about a month ago.
Before I could finish that thought, police sirens filled my ears. Police entered my house and questioned me, I told them everything. They took me in a car and I tried to show them the way, but I was so focused on chasing the... Time Teller, that I completely forgot which way I turned. They dropped me off at my house, and then continued searching. Jenny came over later, I realized I forget to mention the paper. Jenny picked it up and read.
“This is strange!” Jenny said.
“Why?” I responded.
“The dates, you said they were due dates, right?
Before I could respond she continued.
“If so, why weren’t you targeted tomorrow. Or Jessica, look her date it’s in two years, so why was she killed so soon.”
“That is weird.” I said.
Suddenly the door bust open, Mitch enters the room.
“We have to go!” He shouted.
“What do you mean.” I asked.
“I’m done Jack, let’s go. We are going to that shack.” He said with rage.
“How do you know about the shack.” I said.
“Never Mind that, but you are driving me to that psychos shack.” She said
“No you can’t!” Jenny yelled
“Why not?”
Jenny pointed at the piece of paper. At the end of the list it said, “Mitch Miller” Mitch froze, his expression changed, from anger to fear.
“Whatever, he might try to kill me, but he’s not invincible.”
He took my gun and dragged me out of the room, we got in the car.
“I don’t know were it is.” I tried to explain.
“REMEMBER THEN!” he screamed.
He was acting nuts, but I was scared to call him out, I tried to remember anything at all. We drove around town for a bit, I could tell every minute, Mitch was getting more and more frustrated. We pulled up to a bar for some reason, after about 2 hours of searching.
“I need a drink” he said
We walk into the bar, and Mitch starts drinking. I need to stay sober so I can drive, I look at the TV 3 kids where murdered, The Time Teller was going on a killing spree, but why? Mitch was a little drunk but wanted to keep searching. We got cave into the car, and drove off. It was about 1:00 AM when we found the road, my heart sank. We drove down the road, and sure enough we found the shack, and the car of the Time Teller’s car.
Mitch gets out of the car, gun in hand, I follow with only a pocket knife. Mitch opens the door slowly, the memories flood my brain as we walk in. On the table is a piece of paper, we walk slowly. From behind us something rattled, Time Teller jump from a dark corner, and tried to stab me, Mitch luckily shot him in the leg. He managed to leap from the floor and stabbed me in my waist. I screamed in pain, Mitch couldn’t get a clear shot on him, Time Teller whispers in my ear.
“At least you will suffer before you end me.”
Time Teller tried to stab me again, but I managed to throw him off me, he limped away in around a corner, Mitch followed leaving me on the floor. I got up slowly, then I heard gun shots 5 of them, Mitch must have been out of bullets, then Mitch yelled in pain. I watched as blood splattered against the wall and Time Teller limped out of the room covered in blood, with a knife. He rushed towards me, and I limped after him, he stabbed me in the arm and I ripped the knife out of his hand and stabbed him in the neck. He fell on the floor, and dies soon after. I noticed the paper on the table and I walked over and read it. It was all the people that were killed and some survivors. It explains that, each person the Time Teller killed would do something terrible in their life. It came to me and it said, Jack will stab me in the throat, I looked at the body, it sent a chill at my spine. The people who survived, would be a suicide bomber, killed 13 people another person shot up a school, killed 22 people. I could read the rest, be for I fell on the ground from blood loss. I realized, I’m the villain in this story is me. Dozen of people will die because of me...
submitted by assorted_bomber to creepypasta [link] [comments]


2018.05.03 05:37 skrulewi A second viewing of You Were Never Really There, and David Lynch's 'Language of Cinema'

I know there were already a few decent threads about Lynne Ramsay's film You Were Never Really Here, but I wanted to contribute to the conversation myself, after my experiences today watching the film in the theater a second time.
Last night, a thread started over at /movies, with a very funny David Lynch interview. It's still running strong if you want to take a look. I think the quote in question is quite funny -
Lynch: "Eraserhead is my most spiritual film."
Q: "Elaborate on that."
Lynch: "No."
The end of the interview, however, hit me much harder than that funny exchange, which is where Lynch elaborates on this idea, using the language of film theorists and art theorists, who have been exploring this idea going back probably a hundred years:
[I've transcribed as accurately as I could:]
Q: I could ask you what the film is about, but you don't really like to tell people what your films are about. I can ask you... ask you instead what other theories you have heard, what have other people have reported to you...
Lynch: Oh, many many many things.
Q: Let's hear a few of them.
Lynch: No no no. Um.. you know... I always say... that, um, it's, see, it's, the film is the thing. The film is the thing. You work so hard to get, you know, after the idea, to get this thing built, all the elements to feel correct, the whole to feel correct, in this beautiful language called cinema. And, the second it's finished, people want you to change it back into words. and it's very, very, um, saddening, it's, um, torture, it's the film, the language is cinema.
When things are concrete, very few variations in interpretation. But the more abstract a thing gets, the more varied the interpretations. But people still know inside what it is for them. And, um, and even if they don't trust their intuition, I always say that... if some girl named Sally, she comes out of the theater, I don't have a clue what that means, she goes over with Bob and Jim to get a cup of coffee, Bob starts talking about what he thinks it is, because he knows exactly what it is, he starts talking, five seconds later, Sally is saying “No, no, no, no, it's not that!” And all these things come out of Sally, so Sally really did know, for herself. That's the beauty of it. It's just like life, you see the same, sort of the same things, but you come up with many many different things as you go along as a detective...
So, I watched the thing a few times. I liked it so much that I transcribed it, obviously, but by deciding to post here I'm aware I've opened myself up to a much more experienced crowd. I've never taken a film theory class, or done much reading on film theory. I know much more about music theory and literary theory and studied a bit of postmodern drama and music in college, but as I've gotten older, I find myself leaning into cinema with my spare time and attention, rather than experimental music or literature. I resisted this for some time, because I think I bought into the idea that cinema was some kind of 'lesser' art than literature or music. I can see now that this idea is completely bunk.
What Lynch is implying here, to me, is that cinema communicates with its viewers in its own language, just like a novel, a poem, a piece of music, or a painting. Which is obvious; but more so, what resonates with me more profoundly, is that this communication is really non-verbal. With paintings, the communication is obviously non-verbal. As a musician myself, I write music that plays with lyrics, and music without lyrics, but always felt aware that the best music was also communicating nonverbally. Literary analysis was infuriating to me, because as a on-again-off-again creative writer, I felt like writing a story was actually a sort of non-verbal channeling, and that the best pieces of literature transcended their words and became pure feeling, and yet, literary analysis is just an endless fire-hose of words. Long-form essays endlessly dissecting the intention and context of some novel whose author is long dead, whole classrooms participating in this amateur analysis year after year, categorizing the motivations and intentions of the same pieces by the same authors, and on and on.
Perhaps because I don't know anything about creating cinema, I've been able to maintain this appreciative dissasocaition with movies thus far. For the past several years, I realize I've been chasing this kind of feeling - and by attempting to describe it, right here, I am actually worried that I'm breaking part of that magic sensation that Lynch described above: I sit in the movie theater, as the credits roll, and my mind plays and replays scenes from the movie. Like a dream, I start to think about my life, scenes from my life. Gradually, I return to myself, to my seat, to the people in the theater with me. I wonder if they were affected by the film as well, what they are thinking about. Slowly, I get up, and I walk outside. The sensation peaks when I walk out, and like coming up from underwater, stand next to the street, under the marquee. The sounds of the city wash around me, the people talking, laughing, gossiping, making plans, going one way or another. And I just want to stand there for a few minutes, looking. The best is when it's late at night, and the street is mostly empty, and I can step a few feet into the street and look down at the streetlights, the rows, the empty storefronts and the night sky. And maybe a scene from the movie will play out in my mind, or perhaps a feeling from the movie will visit me.
In writing this, I felt tempted to say something like "And the street looks just like a movie, and I feel like I'm in a movie!" That isn't really it. That's just my mind attempting to put words to some experience and turn it into a cool idea, as opposed allowing it to remain a drifting effervescence. I know I'm not alone in this experience; in fact, I know probably everyone reading this has had some kind of experience like this. And you might describe it using different words, and put some other kind of meaning to it, and you would be right. So there's nothing special about this; other than that it proves that cinema is truly art.
Anyways, I saw 'You Were Never Really Here' last week. I loved it, but I didn't know why. I wrote in another thread that it felt strange: I wrote that it reminded me of a hipper version of 'Man on Fire.' I wrote that I couldn't tell if it was an art flick trying to be a thriller, or a thriller trying to be an art flick, or a success at both, or some kind of hybrid. Lots of words, and analysis. But I was struck over the weekend with the realization that I've just been thinking about the movie, regularly, multiple times a day, and the thoughts have no words, they're just feelings, memories, images, sensations. And then that reddit post came up yesterday, and I listened to Lynch's words, and I just became overwhelmed with a desire to see the movie again.
I walked from my classroom to the downtown cinema, on a weekday at 1:00. The film was still playing on the smallest screen, only two other viewers came to watch it. I was utterly transfixed. I allowed myself to just watch, watch, watch, without analyzing anything with words. I saw all kinds of tiny details the second viewing, little details around the edges of frames, that Ramsay put into her piece of art, that I missed the first time around.
In Joe's flashbacks, his father wears a towel on his head and carries a hammer. When Joe can't decide whether to do one more job or kill himself, he's stopped by a woman at a train station's glare who has a black eye; perhaps suffering from domestic violence herself? Under her gaze, he can't jump. Instead, he goes to the spa. He buys the hammer. When he slowly draws the towel from his head, he becomes his father. His father who has the hammer, with the white towel over his face. He embodies his father. When he kills, he is the spiritual embodiment of his father. He expects to die during every job, and indeed, attempts to kill himself at the beginning of the movie after saving the unseen first child in the opening scene. Failing again, the movie continues. The end of the movie, with its fake suicide scene, is just one of many failed suicides. Except in this one, he's woken from his stupor by someone else.
He's able to surprise the killers in his own house because he knows how to step quietly on the staircase, just like he did when he was hiding from his father.
He rolls down the window on his way to the lake, allowing his hand to ride in the breeze, and we hear - before we see - a rustling, and the camera turns, and its the breeze from the open window rattling the plastic covering his mother's body in the backseat. I didn't quite experience that scene the first time around; this second viewing, it crushed me.
Other moments: like the governer blowing on something just out of frame, or rocking a little chair. Or when Joe is contemplating jumping in front of the train and the woman notices him: I saw this the first viewing, and mentioned it above, but this second viewing, I noticed how when the strange woman with the bruise is introduced, she appears to be making eye contact at something just off center, just off to the right of the lens, and slowly the frame is pulled back, and we can see Joe leaning. That tension of her gaze, not knowing where it leads, it held for just a few seconds.
Other moments: when Joe's 'manger' is waxing poetic about his boat and steaks, and asks Joe how he feels about it, Joaquin's character just barely breaths out a 'what?' confused, totally uncaring and distracted from his manager's fantasy. On my second viewing, I had a sensation of realizing that Joe was being distracted out of his own, private fantasy, and I wondered what that might be.
The sound design hammering Joe as he moves through the city, overwhelming him, to the point to where the audience can barely hear the group of teenage girls ask him to take his photograph. We have to hear again, just like Joe, to their request, because our attention is elsewhere. We weren't paying attention.
Another poster noticed this, referred to it in their essay, and I noticed it the second viewing: when Joe goes to drown with the body of his mother, the soundtrack, framing, lighting all combine to outline the path to the lake as this beautiful walk into the sunset: a relaxing, warm bath. When Joe walks back to his car, the soundtrack is gone, and his footsteps squish awkwardly in the silence.
Finally, the countdowns, which tie Joe to the young Nina throughout the film. The countdowns introduce us to both characters before they ever meet, and tie their spirits together in the mind of the viewer. Their countdowns overlap, but aren't in sync. One ends before the other. One finds their catharsis, one finds meaninglessness, one reaches the end of their journey, another reaches their beginning.
At this point, my words are failing to accurately describe the sensation I felt on my second viewing of the ending scene of this movie.
While I feel like the 'dream' suicide in the diner was a bit of a misstep that took me out of the mood, I did feel much more positively about the ending in general on this second viewing. There was this sense that these two characters were spiritually interlinked. The countdowns contributed enormously to this sense, in addition to all the plot devices, acting choices, editing choices - especially the PTSD flashbacks. Nina's theft of Joe's revenge, by killing the governor, suddenly began to inform and make sense of Joe's breakdown in the governer's bedroom, on this second viewing. He's been looking forward to the one 'job' that ends with his death since he started this business. He channels his father to kill for justice and money. Like his father, he wishes to die, be killed, commit suicide. After breaking down, he stumbles through the house to a cacophonous soundtrack, seeing images of himself as a child, and his mother ... from the perspective of the spirit of his abusive father, whom he's still channeling? Is he crying because he made himself into a monster over nothing? Is he still his father? Or simply because he realizes that he's too tangled to untangle? Perhaps he never killed for good, he was just an evil man the entire time? Again, too many words here. The more I write, the more I move away from that feeling, that experience as he rips his shirt off and stumbles through that nightmare of a mansion.
The two men, lying on the kitchen floor, respecting each other, holding hands, singing together.
Joe's angst and childish recreation of his own personal 'Psycho,' caretaking for his mother, intermixed with his dutifully cleaning up after her in the bathroom.
His unbearable suicidality when asked by her about his ex from 20 years past - or was it 10 years? Or 30? Has his mother lost track of time? Does she remember what year it is, and does she know how she hurts him?
The language of cinema, as wielded by Lynne Ramsay and her particular toolkit, made all these moments. These moments evoked, for me, particular feelings without words. Spirit sensations. Each director has their own, and some create more effective moments than others. If the film is good, I carry these moments into the night, and then suddenly the film is more than just 'The broken hitman who goes to save the girl.' It seems to access a sort of mysticism. Which is crazy, I mean, the film is about a dude who stalks pedophiles with a fucking ball-peen hammer. But that's cinema, I guess.
I hope this perspective sticks with me, and that I can keep my senses, my mind, and my consciousness a bit more open every time I step into the theater. A good film finds its way in, if I'm open to it. I guess I'm just trying to put words to this sense that I've always felt when I've watched a good movie. And maybe, in so doing, I'm ruining it a bit for myself. I sure hope not! I love this forum, and I appreciate many of the thoughtful posts that I see here. After all, it's a forum board: all we have are words.
submitted by skrulewi to TrueFilm [link] [comments]


2018.04.02 17:11 MrOnza118 Stalker

I moved into a new building when I was 11 , I had lived down the street in another apartment , I had friends in my old apartment complex but they moved out and my parents struggled for work so we moved as the rent increased.It was a lot cheaper than our old place , but my parents made due.
On the first day of moving in I met new people, they were playing around the building and I made new friends , they were all friendly and invited me to play with them , we had finished moving in so my parents didn’t mind.
We played a game called “manhunt” , it’s like cops and robbers except we played in the dark , during this time the sun went down around 6. So the game began , I was introduced to everyone so I would be familiar with them , I got the gist of the game and played along. Me and my new friend James looked for a place to hide , we played all around the building so the parking lot was included along with the roof of the building , me and James decided to hide on the roof.
The roof was the least spot checked in the game so I was told , since the roof was full of gravel the apartments below our feet could hear us if we stepped hard, so we walked extra slowly and hid . My new apt complex was 3 stories the roof being the 4th floor , now it’s a roof ,that means there is no walls, no railing, no nothing on the edge so it was dangerous , only thing to hide behind was the entrance the air conditioning boxes that’s why the door was locked and alarmed , but the local hoods found a way to beat it so they could smoke and drink up there.
Now as we walked on the roof I could see glowing domes of light all along he floor, I asked James what they were and he said it’s the domes of the apartments.
Now this was another reason that the roof was off limits, the glass domes would allow you to see inside the apartment and allow sunlight in , some had them in the living room some had them in the bathroom ,
I understand the need for privacy so I avoided looking in them , I walk along them but my curiosity beats my reluctancy and I peer down the one we are next to , James tell me that this one belongs to the “stalker” , i asked who that was. he’s a guy who only leaves his apartment late at night , he moves quietly and watches us play in the parking lot from his bedroom window like a stalker.
I believe We all had those scary stories as kids that we gave to strangers around us, so I didn’t really believe it till I saw it. Me and James inched slowly toward the glass dome , we wiped the dust off of it to get a better view inside , we saw the man a 6 foot 5 fat white guy with a comb over and Dressed like someones creepy uncle in a sweater vest , cutting up some meet in the kitchen , I didn’t see anything unusual but whatever he was cutting was strong as it took several chops with a butcher knife to break in half , lots of blood squirted out when he finally cut it , it was strange since I’ve never seen anything shoot out blood. It gave me the creeps
Suddenly a tap on my shoulder scared the shit out of me and I jump towards the glass and hit it hard , the man had heard me and stared at the dome in shock and quickly walked towards It and shit off the lights making it pitch black .
“IM GONNA FUCKING GUT YAH”
Him Waving the butcher knife in the kitchen before he turned off the lights was burned into my memory
We all ran off Into the staircase, because we were scared of getting into trouble by he manager. We were the last ones left to be caught in the game so the game was over. We spent the rest of the night talking in the parking lot next to James’s family car. It was dark outside , all of us were eventually called in by our parents. We all say our laters and each walked to our apartments
As I walked towards to the gate I looked up at my new building , I was glad that my first day here wasn’t so bad , I made news friends and made new memories
But the feeling of being watched over cane me suddenly , I looked up to the corner lit window of the third floor and I saw him
Just standing there with the light shining behind him.
Stalker, he was just staring at us walking home , I asked James if he saw him
Don’t look at him , then he’ll know it was us who were up there James kept his face forward and so did everyone else. But when I looked up again his shades were closed and the room window was dark.
The next few months flew by fast , I didn’t attend the same school as my fiends in my building, so I hung out with them when I could on the weekdays when I finished my homework , I felt left out since they talked about what had happened at school that day, eventually summer came and we were all on break .
The building had a big pool , and we spent most of our time in the pool area , just swimming and jumping back and forth from the jacuzzi and the pool. We went home showered and went back to pool area when it got dark just too talk and make plans of the games we were gonna play or tell scary stories.
One day the elevator was out of order so I took the staircase (my other post mentions this fucking scary staircase) , my apartment was near the farther staircase , so we all went home they took the staircase closets their home. so I was alone, it was about 12 o’clock and the building was dead quiet , I began my walk up the staircase , now the staircase had lights to guide the way up , but we sometimes would break these by accident during our ruff housing in the building. So I knew it was my fault I walked up the dark stairs. I ran up the staircase as I was scared like a 11 year old would be. I ran up to the 2nd floor and then up to the 3rd I neared the door but it swung open before I got there , in the dark a big figure stood in the doorway , IT WAS THE STALKER!
He greeted me in a soft voice “Hello there friend, going home are we?”
I stuttered with a response
(No one in my area talks like this)
“Ye ye yesss”
“You wouldn’t happen to be the one that walks on the roof ?”
“Ugh no I just moved in”
“Well welcome friend”
I froze in fear since I was alone in the staircase with this guy he stood there quiet on the top of the staircase , did he plan this?
I walked around him , as he walked down the staircase staring at me , he had a comb over and smelled of old people. He smiled all the way down , this gave me the fucking creeps. The staircase door slammed behind me and I ran into my apartment , locking the door as I checked through the peephole. My parents were in the living room and stared confused at me.
Through out my years living in this building I had a few run ins with this weirdo , everything my friends had gossiped about were true, this guy only left his house at night, no one ever saw him go inside only out. He went to his mailbox around 3am , he never took the elevator only the stairs , his door was unique , we all had cheap thick wooden doors , that looked like they were made of tree bark , he had a solid smooth metal door , he put in himself with 3 locks on the outside and who knows how many on the inside
But this could have been because my neighborhood had a high crime rate and he just wanted his things to be safe , one day during a game of manhunt I went on the roof again , i neared his glass dome again but it was replaced by a thick glass dome, we couldn’t see inside anymore , but he could probably still look outside.
Here and there we would catch him staring out the window , we joked that he was like a child molester or something, and that one day one of us would disappear.
We one day found his parking spot , he had two cars , a pickup truck and a white van (rape van?). I suppose he looked out his window to watch us , so we wouldn’t mess with his van , the thing about it though was that he sometimes had different plates , (nowadays since I drive I know this isn’t possible , you can’t have multiple plates on a car unless you’re doing something illegal ) but being a kid I never noticed , another odd thing was that his van had pitch black windows and a locks , now again it could be because lived in a shitty neighborhood.
One day during a game of football one of our friends kicked that Ball hard, it projected quickly towards the van , expecting it to leave a dent or make a loud bang we were ready to run , but when the ball hit the van , not a sound game off the van , the shit was built like a tank , we tested this by “accidently” hitting it with the ball again or tapping it , it was solid , now we wondered who would need such a sound proof van? A rapist ? A kidnapper ? All these weird ideas floated around our minds.
Now years past i was 15 and began to go out to high school parties , we didn’t hang out as much but we would sometimes post up in the pool area and chat. Our friends and friendship grew thinner , but the few of us left were still cool with each other. One day we managed to all be there at the pool talking like old times , when one of my friends told us an odd thing he saw when he was driving into the parking lot late at night
“So I came into the parking lot it was around 4am , you know me paranoid of getting jacked , I’m looking around in my mirrors and checking over my shoulders as the building gate slowly opens , I went to my parking spot and i backed In , now my parking space has all the lights broken and the manager is lazy to replace them , so I remove my steering wheel , I turn on the killswitch and I’m taking my time , I’m sitting in my car in the dark as I look for something I dropped in my backseats floor with my hand , I’m a little bent down reaching for it under my passenger seat. When I guess who I see? STALKER , it’s late as fuck and it’s cold , he’s just wearing a sweater vest as he walks to his van , but he doesn’t go into the drivers side , he unlocks the van and goes in through the back and closes the door behind him.
Now I’m curious so I stay in my car slumped down just watching , he’s in there for about 30min and I’m scared to get out of my car and go home , he eventually steps out of the back of the van slowly peaking outside the door which is now cracked open , he gets out quick and he stretches and he pulls out a suitcase while he looks around, again I duck , it was like a bulky suitcase that he has trouble carrying , now he’s a big fucker so whatever was inside must of been heavy, if even he can’t carry it, I sit there ducked down As he slams his door which gives off a heavy metal bang .
He locks the door and he looks around one more time and walks off with the suitcase towards the other end of the parking lot, I get out of my car and hurry on in to the building door on my side , I’m barley in the building and he’s already on the 3rd floor I stay in the walkway to the staircase in the dark with goosebumps and I watch him walk to his house the suitcase he looks around again and goes inside quickly , I walk to the elevator and take it to my house.”
Now we were all a little scared , we are all older but our younger selves fear I guess still was inside of us .
Then another one of my friends tells us a story that Allen told him, now Allen had moved to Texas after his mom ran out on his dad and his older brother basically leaving her family behind without a Trace. The only clue they had of her leaving was note she left on her own car in the parking lot which claimed she ran off with another man.
Allen lived on the second floor , near the other staircase , his balcony was on top of the parking lots roof , we always thought this was cool because we always lost our balls up there , and we could never get them down , so when Allen moved in we all went to his house and to his balcony and got all our old shit back , some toys that had made it up there from the 90s or previous tenants anyways his likes to smoke and always was on his balcony
His parents worked hard , his dad worked all day and went home and went straight to bed , his mom would be home during the day and would go to work late at night as a “waitress” (his mom was fucking hot so none of us believed she was a waitress ) , Now since he and his brother were potheads they used this time to get high , there spot of choice was on the roof of the parking lot far from their balcony , they would walk a little down and smoke in a blocked off area near the trash cans. They would get fined sometimes when someone saw them but this didn’t stop them so they always smoked there late at night , one night around. 3ish nearing 4 they were blazing it up , since they had just been fined they kept there noise to a minimum , only coughs where aloud Lol
They were about done , when they hear some muffled yelling coming from somewhere in the parking lot below them , they thought Maybe someone was getting busy in there car. So they kept quiet giggling trying to hear the sounds , but then they realized the sounds weren’t moaning , they were loud muffled shouts. They couldn’t make out the words but they could hear them, they looked around but could not see any cars from there view with any lights on , they assumed they were tripping maybe it was a opossum in the trees or something they make loud screams too so they ignored it , then they hear a Muffled bang and both. Get scared, maybe someone was doing a drive by , so they decided to just go home quickly , then as soon as they stand up from behind the wall they are startled by the loud roar of a cold engine
The lights on the STALKERS van light up and he peels off out of his parking space, now they were there for a cool minute , and never once did they hear the building door slams shut or even hear him walking towards his van or even shut the door of his van , this must of meant he was in his van the whole time they were up there , what if he was just looking at us smoking , no he must of just saw us that’s why he left, do you think The noises came from his van ? Idk but he left in a hurry“
They went home scared and confused that night ,
We all were getting goosebumps , sitting in the pool area in the center of the complex we didn’t say it but we all felt like we were being watched , we looked at one another and looked around , that’s when James said “don’t make it obvious but the stalker is outside of his door just staring , he smiled as he smoked a cigarette leaning on the railing , we all took turns peeking out of the corner of our eyes at STALKER, just standing there like a creep.
We all went home as soon as he went back inside his home . We said our goodbyes and went back to our life’s , we were already growing up so this was our last time we truly him out like we used too, I spent most of my time out and about the city or with school friends , every now and then we would see each other coming or going and say what’s up. Eventually most of us moved out , James was the Second last one to go ,his family had come into some money and they vowed to leave this hellhole I never even noticed he moved out , he had apparently came by when I was out to say goodbye , my brother said our goodbye to home for both of us .
The following week I spent a couple minutes walking around the building during the day,looking at our old spots and our carvings we made on the walls and the parking lot spaces we used to sit at , I went to an old abandoned car that. Belonged to someone in the building , it was unlocked and we usually sat inside the dusty old piece of shit car that had flat tires. On the dust of the window James had wrote “remember manhunt?” With a list of all of our names. I was sad but this cheered me up a bit , the rest of the year went by quick , I was the last one left.
One night I had come home pretty drunk after a party it must have been like 2am , i lazily dragged my feet on the floor as I walked to the elevator which I was happy was working as I knew I would never make the run up the stairs without injuring myself or throwing up , I waited for what seemed like 10minutes for the elevator to come down I mean we only had 3 floors but the elevator acted like it was 10floors up , the loud elevator churning made so much noise I didn’t hear anything , but when it arrived everything went back quiet mode.
But loud running sounds echoed through the hallway were the mailboxes were then like a bolt of lighting STALKER blew right past me towards the staircase , I was so drunk I new that this could have been me imagining shit but i managed to slow him down In my mind , I could see a look of worry and beads of sweat pouring out of his head and log scratches on his face , he’s a big overweight man in his 50s running like the flash , now In my lifetime living in this neighborhood I have only seen someone speed off running like this for 2 reasons , either someone is shooting at you , or the cops are after your ass. I did not hear any gunshots or any sirens so I chalked this up as my mind fucking with me but then I hear the door slams upstairs
He was already on the 3rd floor and running to his house making a shit load of noise when the elevator door closed , and I was still on the first floor I paid no attention, I made it to the 3rd floor and walked to my door , I had made it home , I snuck inside but STALKERS running had woke my house up , the room began to spin so I quickly went to bed before I threw up , I passed out as my mom scolded me for getting home late
I fell asleep for what seemed like a couple of minutes but was awaken by loud running footsteps on the ceiling it was about 4:30 , someone was running on the roof, I went to the kitchen to find my mother and father staring out the window in the living room from behind the blinds , what are you guys looking at?
I can’t go to fucking work because the cops are outside , they told me to stay inside when I was walking out , then I saw about 8-9 officers wearing riot gear storm by my house and head towards the east end of the building , in the opposite end of the floor another batch officers walked towards the east end too they all had there rifles up and told anyone coming out to be nosey to go back inside quietly , they made there way to a door , guess who’s it was ?
STALKERS , we all stared out the window as they got closer inching there way nearer. One swat officer with a battering ram swooped around the group and yelled out LOS ANGELES SHERIFFS DEPARTMENT struck the door, not even a dent. This pissed him off so he struck it again this time with a lot of force behind him, he managed to knock it off its hinges , but it still stood up ,he threw the ram on the side and pushed the door in with his hand then they threw a flash bang inside and they all backed off, it went off with a bang literally.
They all swarmed inside , rifles drawn, a couple of moments later they all ran out somehow a swat team member ended up on the roof he crawled out of the hole , he must of come out of glass dome , they yelled out to officers below on the first floor “HES NOT HERE HE GOT OUT FROM THE ROOF WATCH THE STAIRCASES!”
They scoured the building leaving no stone unturned now my building had become a real life version of “Manhunt” , I suppose the loud running I heard in the morning was STALKER running away after he escaped from the glass dome ,police and news helicopters and regular police spent the day surrounding my building , no one could leave without opening their trunk and there cars ,
We turned on the news and watched an Arial view of the building , finally we got some information.
*If you’re just tuning in we are live here in _______ , where sheriffs and federal agents conducted a raid on an apartment inside the complex in search of a man suspected of committing an attempted rape and murder of a young woman in the early hours of the morning , he’s also wanted on suspicion of various rapes and disappearances all around the county. *
Police were notified by the victim who managed to fight off her attacker before being beaten badly , she was raped and saw an opportunity to run out of the van he kept her in for a couple of days , she jumped out while he was driving , he pulled over and began to beat her unconscious when an officer in an unmarked car responding to an accident saw this going on and approached the suspect , he immediately ran and left the girl on the ground along with his van on the curb.
What the officer found inside , made him call for back up , along the walls of the van were scratch marks and a crude tally marks altogether making about 19 lines
Detectives later deduced That the markings were the number of victims in his spree crimes. It took years for the cops and the agents to round up possible victims and missing person crimes with similar traits , the biggest commonality was a white van seen either driving away or into the area , in the los angles area there’s about twenty thousand vehicles matching the description and all the witnesses had conflicting “license plate numbers”, so they hardly ever caught a trustworthy lead .until that night the cop decided to help a civilian.
All day I was stuck inside my apartment , a detective spent the day knocking on every door asking every tenant questions , some answered, some slammed the door in his face, he eventually made his way to my door, he knocked passively and asked my parents questions about him, they responded that they knew nothing about him, just the oddities of his personality. I had went to the kitchen to grab a soda as my parents talked to the detective , he was walking away when I passed by and he asked me if I knew anything , I didn’t really pay attention to his questions, as I was more concerned with thirst, it wasn’t until he abruptly said “hey” that I focused on him.
“You ever seen anything strange in this building?”
I’ve seen plenty, this isn’t a good place to live sir
“What about from that apartment down there?”
Well me and my friends always joked that he was a serial killer or a bad guy Since he always gave us the creeps
Why’s that?
Well he never leaves his house , you know kid fantasy shit, he only leaves his apartment for the mail
That’s not so odd
At 3am
“Okay that is strange”
I sat down on the table and my parents began to stare at me as I continued to ramble about STALKER
if my friends still lived here , They would give you more stories
I’m sure they would , last night did you see ______ him act strange
I was reluctant to share my story because I knew I would burn myself out to my parents about my underage drinking, I asked if I could tell him outside, he agreed. I told him the stories that I was told by my friends and previous tenants in the building p. He didn’t write any of this down, as he said it was all hear say, it wasn’t until I told him about “Alan’s” Mom that he began to record out conversation I thought he was focused on Alan’s drug use and I felt like a snitch afterwords , but he advised me that his drug use was of no interest of his , it was Alan’s Mom that he focused on.
He interrupted me midway in my story and began to quick fire some questions
Slim lady? Brownish blonde hair? Wearing a locket?
Yeah how did you know?
No reason , instead of asking about stalker he began to inquire about Alan’s Mom ,
What she looked like, were she worked and where she moved too .
I told him that Allen’s I Mom had ran out on them , and left a note on her car advising her husband of a new relationship she began and left for.
He looked through his binder and skimmed through papers
“Now look you’ve been cool with me and you’ve helped a lot , trust me what you’ve told me has pushed me miles beyond where I was , can I ask you for something?”
I said yeah sure
“Can I show you something?”
He hesitated with his fingers
I know this might be graphic for you, so tell me if you feel uncomfortable
I don’t mind I’ve seen a lot living here
He pulled out a photo from his file,
“Do you know this person?”
It was a badly decomposed woman that was in her 30s the decomp made her look older But I recognized the eyes , I recognized the skimpy dress, I recognized that locket
“That was Allen’s Mom !!”
Are you sure ? Yes, Where’s your friends apartment , he moved out years ago, Do you know where? Ugh no, but I think my brother has his number He lives over there
My brother even more reluctant than me slowly opened the door, he was paranoid of police , since he was always in trouble with the law , since he had warrants he avoided any interactions, he didn’t open the door when they knocked earlier . But seeing me on the other side of the peephole he opened
I didn’t tell him anything I stepped away , the detective did the same shtick he did with me , the detective showed my brother the photograph , at first he was uncomfortable with the photo, (he had a weak stomach) the detective began to ask if he recognized the any other people in the photos, he had a series of them ,so he flipped through them all showing him, my brother stopped him 8 pictures In, that’s Rachel Romero , that’s fucked up , that’s my fiends Mom don’t show me that shit., the detective turned and looked at me, with a single glance he now knew that my story wasn’t made up, he finally had a name for his Jane doe of 9years, and was ecstatic to catch a break.
Do you have an address so I can talk with your friends family , no, they moved to Texas all I have is his older brothers number , he still lives in California , let me go grab it.
Why do you have those photos my brother asked , did she have something to do with him , he pointed at STALKERS door. Well you guys are gonna find out soon enough , I might as well tell you. You see all these girls are all Jane doe’s that means no names no teeth ,no fingers or toes , tattoos cut off, completely blank. No correlations , all different ages , different ethnicities found in different places wiped clean , if she is who you guys say she is , then I have a lead. But as for now it’s just a theory .
You see almost all of these bodies where dropped off in heavy traffic areas , they were meant to be found , except this one , this one was stuffed in a suit case , buried in The Santa Clarita mountains , now that’s a long way from here, isn’t it a strange coincidence that she happened to live here at the same time with this psycho living a floor above her .
The body was found by firefighters who were clearing brush after big wildfire scorched the mountains along the freeway , the firefighters would note that she was probably buried higher up the mountain , but the mudslides had shifted the earth around her and pushed her down, with trees and debris now all reduced to ash , she surfaced about a year and a half ago.
For the next few days , different agents came by the house , taking boxes of things with them, FBI , ICE, all with badges and bright lettering on there jackets , eventually they stopped coming , they probably ran out of shit to take , the house was taped off with a big sign that said “active crime scene stay out under federal law“
I was in the parking lot helping my mother with groceries , when a flat bed passed us with STALKERS truck in tow, for some reason I got the feeling of being watched again, I looked up at the windows and there he was! Inside his old apartment , I pretended not to notice , this guy was straight up dangerous , I used my phones reflection to see if he was still there but he wasn’t , I was really stoned so I was probably hallucinating when I I looked up the first time he was surrounded by some maroon curtains, but when I looked up at the window it didn’t have any at all , like an empty apartment.
about a week later the news came on , and since this was a juicy story everyone watched since the story kept getting updated , the report was interrupted by breaking news
“A police chase had been going on for 30min , we have no confirmation on the suspect , but he apparently refused to yield to police after a traffic stop was initiated. I’m getting word now that the suspect matches a description of a man wanted by police of a serial rapist BURT WILLIAMS , who has been the target of a police manhunt for about a week now”
All week this was happening , someone matched the description , someone said they saw him , a lot of news coverage and a lot of tips, but they were always different people , but they sort of did look like him.
Now I’m getting word that the pursuit started in anahiem and had made its way north on the 405 , the pursuit began after the man handed a fake drivers license to a clerk at a gas station , the clerk refused to hand back the fake license and a fight ensued , police responsed to a call of a robbery and assault , when they arrived the suspect fled from Police in a Jeep Grand Cherokee, officers in pursuit realized the plates on the car were for a different make and model and reported stolen from a dealership in South Gate. They assumed the car was stolen and were treating this as regular police chase, until officers were notified that the person in the identification card matched the i.d photo For BURT WILLIAMS. Now it’s confirmed that this is in fact Mr Burt Williams.”
If your just tuning in now, police are in pursuit of a man wanted for rape and murder of over 24 women in Southern and Northern California. The man has been the subject of a state wide manhunt for weeks now, police responded to a robbery In progress when the suspect fled in a stolen vehicle.
This went on for an hour , different stations all had the same story , multiple agency’s were in pursuit , The police followed him into the city , but when he hopped on to the freeway Sheriffs took over and this was back and forth , he had made it all the way back up the valley before they got tired of the chase and made there moves to stop his vehicle , the managed to clear a stretch of the freeway and a Sheriff suv rammed into his car , spike strips took out one of his tires so his car was wobbling at a high rate of speed, so he slows down a bit, now they the police had had enough
Now for all of those who don’t know, regardless of what you did, cops in California hate pursuits , especially long ones at high rates of speed , idk why but maybe it’s because it makes them look bad since the high news coverage or cause a lot of people are put in danger during these chases , but they try there best to end pursuits quickly and safely, but one thing is for sure they’re mad at all of this, so it’s a certainty that they’re gonna beat your ass when it’s all over.
a lot of people might see this as police abuse at any other time, but this guy was a serial killer, a serial rapist and he’d been doing this for years. Everyone was hoping he’d crash and die , I hoped he’d pull over and run so they had a Excuse to beat the living shit of him. Eventually he stopped midway on the freeway , a stand off with him in his vehicle and police , sheriffs and agents creeping up slowly , swat arrived in an armored car provided cover for the police , he eventually stepped out of his car and walked towards police , even after the told him to lay down, he kept walking towards them, a shot rang out and he dropped the floor clutching his stomach ,
the helicopter turned the camera away and began to just verbally describe what happened , but he turned the camera back on him , he stood up and clutched his stomach , he wanted police to shoot him , but the swat team let out a bean bag that dropped him to his knees , now he neared closer to the armored truck every officer had there weapons drawn and aimed at him, the news anchor again updated us with the story and warned viewers that it was possible that police will open fire and that viewer discretion was advised.
They cut the feed off of the chase so I quickly flipped to another station , again the camera was cut . All the anchors on every station just described what was going on. Everyone assumed he got shot , and that he died , the anchors reported that he was laying face down on freeway.
The following day the papers reported new details , coworkers spoke up , random strangers told there stories , I read online about the victims backgrounds , a lot of Jane doe’s had been identified by there belongings, which were found in a hidden compartment in STALKERS apartment , i.d’s , credit cards, phones , necklaces all where matched to missing people and some bodies . But a lot of things had no bodies to match them with, the saddest shit was that children’s clothes with dna has opened up a new investigation , dozens of missing children dating back to 1996 .
there’s no confirmed number of victims , but it’s probably in the 30s, I mean they could only tie the victims that had confirmed dna which was only 8 people , the belongings added to his body count but was circumstantial evidence since there wasn’t a body to match it too, his rape count was in the 20s
I sit here typing this out on my phone before I go back into the courtroom and join my brother who’s here for emotional support for Allen, he’s older now , but he still looks the same , he and his brother are here along with the other victims families, you can feel the pain and anger in the room. All eyes are on you now STALKER
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2017.10.19 22:14 kellyrae11 The Murphy Horror House

Living in the town of Findlay, you hear a lot of urban legends. Scary stories and rumors, usually conjured up to convince the young kids to behave and not to stay out past their bedtimes. As I understand it, it wasn’t always this way. We moved to town two months ago in mid-August and immediately it became apparent that Findlay took this time of year really seriously. Apparently it’s coming up on two years almost to the day since a small string of seemingly random murders occurred here, all over the course of a week. All the flags in town are lowered to half-mast and candles and flowers have been piled in front of a memorial to the victims in the town square.
My mother and I haven’t paid this much mind. It’s sad, sure, but we have just been busy trying to acclimate to our new surroundings. Last Saturday afternoon we spent a few hours perusing the garage sales in our neighborhood, looking for antiques and interesting Halloween decorations.
We came upon a yard that was rather sparse in their offerings. They had some cardboard boxes of books, a rack of old clothes, and an interesting looking scarecrow sitting in a chair by the house. It had a sign tacked to its threadbare overalls: “$5”
Intrigued, I made my way over to it and was examining it with interest when a teenager approached me, also looking at the scarecrow. She seemed really nervous and wouldn’t take her eyes off the thing.
“Hi. Do you live here?” I asked, gesturing to the house. “This is a really cool scarecrow! Super vintage.”
She shook her head furiously. “No, I… I live down the street. I just wanted to… you’re new here, right? New to town?”
I nodded, a puzzled smile on my face. “Yeah, why?”
“Just… you shouldn’t buy that scarecrow. Okay? You should leave it be. Haven’t you heard the story?” she said in a hushed voice. I glanced back at my mother who was browsing through the boxes of books, sending her “Help Me” eyes in case this girl was a little unhinged.
“Uh no, what story?”
She leaned in and proceeded to tell me the story that I have transcribed below to the best of my ability.
The Murphy family prided themselves on a few important aspects of their modest, middle-class, Midwestern life: They rooted for their hometown football team even when they were playing awfully (which was most of the time), they insisted on eating dinner together as a family at least five nights per week with no cell phones allowed at the table, and every year they constructed the best Halloween yard display in the entire town.
It was something Jack’s grandparents had begun with him and his siblings when they were still small, and he grew up knowing that he would show his own kids the joy of spending a month setting up fake coffins filled with rubber mummies and half-decomposed zombies. After the family dinner but before it started to get dark, they would haul in the props and decorations from their storage shed and begin the painstaking process of arranging them in the expansive front yard. Gallons of fake blood would be spilled and countless bags of fluffy “spider webs” would be stretched across every tree and bush.
Over decades of improvements, the display had grown from a small cluster of foam headstones with a few green hands protruding from the ground into a massive fenced-off haunted experience, complete with fog machines and sound effects. The surrounding neighborhoods came to expect this wonderland of horror and looked forward to it, watching the Murphys begin to build it on October 1st and excitedly standing in line to tour it on Halloween night. Lana, the youngest Murphy child, had even made them a modest Facebook page to attract more attention.
The spooky tour itself took roughly five to ten minutes, depending on how quickly the groups moved across the yard. The display was arranged with only one entrance and one exit. It was barricaded on all other sides so the only way to escape was to finish walking through it – much like any traditional haunted house. The three kids took turns dressing up as voodoo dolls, murder victims or demonic clowns to jump out from behind the various props to terrify their visitors. At the end of the tour, everyone would receive their fair share of candy and orange pumpkin-shaped stickers that read, “I Survived the Murphy Horror House”, followed by the respective year. A great time was always had by all, and Jack felt pride in knowing he was making his late grandparents proud.
The display would vary slightly from year to year, depending on the latest and scariest props that Daisy, Jack’s wife, had either scavenged from the after-Halloween sales last season or created from scratch. A group of witches huddled over a cauldron might end the tour rather than the traditional chainsaw-wielding madman. A gravedigger might be on the left side rather than the right to accommodate creepier additions. As props were added, some were inevitably retired. Countless years of sitting out in the elements had begun to wear them down.
But one part of the display would never change, not if Jack had anything to say about it. In the very center of the tour, illuminated by green and orange spotlights and hung askew on a rugged cross-like post, was The Scarecrow. Jack made that scarecrow himself when he was eleven years old. Together with his father he gathered the hay and bits of old fabric necessary to bring it to life, and it had appeared in their display ever since. The burlap sack that comprised the scarecrow’s face was tattered and full of moth holes but it still bore its signature crooked smile, stitched in black yarn and curling up a bit too far on either side. It wore an old straw hat, a denim work shirt that once belonged to his father, patched overalls, and a pair of dusty boots. Its hair was an unruly black wig that Jack’s mother had found at a garage sale, sticking out from under its hat in all directions. And its eyes were painted on – dark red triangles sunken into its face.
The scarecrow was always the first to go up when the display construction began and the last to come down, in an almost ceremonial fashion. It was the centerpiece of the whole production, even if most of the trick-or-treaters didn’t find it scary anymore. Not compared to the more modern, detailed props. Jack didn’t care. The scarecrow ruled over the yard like a king, reminding everyone of where the tradition began.
That year, it was a week before Halloween and the display was almost complete. Lana, Ryan and Trevor had long since given up on decorating and were inside, busy arguing over who would get to dress up as Jason from Friday the 13th. Jack was doing what he always did as the big night drew closer – walking the whole display over and over, checking to see that everything worked and nothing should be tweaked. The sun had sunk below the horizon and Daisy was calling him to come in, but Jack insisted on one last stroll with his flashlight in hand. Rolling her eyes at her obsessive husband, Daisy relented and retreated inside to stop her children from killing each other over a costume.
Jack entered through the stone “gate” at the entrance to the tour and followed the path as it wound back and forth through the yard. Occasionally he would stop to scoot a rubber rat out of the walkway with his shoe or arrange a bloody vampire so its eyes caught the light a bit better. In general, all seemed to be in order. The excitement of knowing it was almost show time put a skip in Jack’s step.
He came around the corner to where the scarecrow was set up and at first he thought his eyes might be playing tricks on him in the dim light. The spotlights that usually illuminated the scarecrow were turned off. That in itself was odd, as all the lights were on the same circuit and the other lights were still blazing around him. Even in the shadowy darkness, it quickly became apparent that the wooden cross that held his old friend… was empty.
“DAISY!” Jack bellowed, spinning in circles and shining his flashlight every which way as if to catch the thief. Daisy poked her head out of the front door.
“You rang?” she replied, with more exasperation than concern.
“The scarecrow… it’s gone! Someone took it!” Jack shouted. He was now sprinting toward the end of the maze, checking behind every grave and looking in the front and back of an old hearse. He was sure someone was still lurking inside the display, snickering at his distress.
“I’m sure nobody took it, dear. You probably just left it somewhere,” Daisy sighed. Jack ran up to her, panting from exertion.
“You know it’s the first thing I put up! I saw it less than twenty minutes ago, it was there the last time I walked the maze!” he protested, still shining the flashlight around and behind the porch and into the dark stillness of the yard. Nothing else seemed amiss.
“It’s just some neighborhood kids playing tricks on us. I’m sure they’ll bring it back. We’ll arm the alarm system tonight before bed,” Daisy replied, taking her husband by the elbow and gingerly guiding him inside. She didn’t completely understand his fixation with the scarecrow but she hadn’t seen him this upset in quite some time.
“Okay,” he said with a huff, clearly not placated. And that was what they did. The alarm system covered the entire yard from the end of the driveway and back to the house. It was a simple motion-activated number, anything larger than a squirrel would set it off with blaring sirens and flashing lights. Because of this, they only ever armed it during the month of October and only for the two weeks leading up to Halloween when most of the expensive props were put out. They had been woken abruptly more than once in past years because someone’s dog got loose and triggered it accidentally.
That night, however, the alarm did not go off, and in the morning Jack awoke bright and early from a restless sleep. He ran to their bedroom window and peered down – their room was on the second floor and overlooked the front yard. Stunned, he could plainly see even from a distance that the scarecrow was back on its post! Its head was even drooping slightly to the right, just as he had left it the night before.
“How is this possible?” Jack asked anxiously as they made breakfast later that morning and prepared to usher the kids off to school. Daisy shrugged, more focused on packing lunches than their conversation.
“Maybe you were mistaken? You said yourself the spotlights were off.”
“No, I know what I saw! How did they get that scarecrow back on its post in the middle of the night without triggering the alarms?” he demanded. It was baffling to him. The scarecrow was as big as a full-grown man and unwieldy to carry. He always needed his eldest son Ryan’s help hanging it from the post, and he considered himself fairly fit. It must have taken at least two people to remove it and put it back, maybe three if they were young teens. Yet none of them had heard a thing. Daisy stuffed a bagel in his mouth and handed him his coffee.
“Maybe the alarm system is faulty, we haven’t used it in a year. I can have someone out to look at it tomorrow. Don’t worry so much Jack, you got what you wanted – its back, isn’t it?” she reminded him.
He was about to argue with her further when the sound of the morning news distracted them both. Lana turned up the volume on the TV in the living room and the rest of the family slowly congregated around it.
“Tragedy struck in Findlay last night when 12-year-old Marla Greenberg was found murdered in her bed. We are still receiving details but it appears she was-“, at this point there was a pause as the news caster swallowed thickly, his expression deeply uncomfortable, “disemboweled. Several of her internal organs are missing. There was no sign of forced entry and the police are investigating the entire Greenberg family. Findlay PD has declined to offer any interviews and the family asks for privacy during this difficult time.”
In shock and horror Jack reached for the remote, taking it from Lana and changing the channel before the news story could continue.
“Oh my god!” Daisy cried, her hands flying to her lips and her eyes welling with tears. “I know Marla, she’s in Trevor’s class. Oh, her poor parents!”
“For all you know, her ‘poor parents’ are the ones who killed her,” Ryan said with no small amount of snark. Trevor nodded his agreement, forever mimicking his older brother, and Lana just rolled her eyes. Daisy shushed them, still fighting back tears. Jack was also thoroughly shaken by this news although he tried not to show it. Nothing like this ever happened in their city. There were mostly happy, pleasant people here. The strange events from the previous night combined with this latest development to add to the heavy sense of unease that was building in his gut. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.
They hurried the kids off to school with multiple reminders to “Be Careful!” and “Hurry Home!” As soon as the bus drove off down the street, Jack called the alarm company and scheduled maintenance for the following afternoon. Whatever was going on, nobody was setting foot in their yard again without them knowing it.
That night it took Jack hours to fall asleep. The kids had all come home from school raving about Marla Greenberg’s murder and spouting several theories their friends had told them. Try as he might to change the subject at dinner, it was all any of them wanted to talk about. Jack supposed he understood; Marla had been their age, they must be frightened that something might happen to them too. The creepy time of year did nothing to help the situation, it all fed right into their mounting Halloween hysteria. After spending hours tossing and turning in bed, mulling it all over in his mind, he decided to give up and go get a glass of water from the kitchen.
As he rose from bed and passed by the bedroom window, something outside caught his eye. He hurried over and looked down into the yard, rubbing his eyes to make sure he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing.
The scarecrow was gone again!
His hands gripped the windowsill tightly, his knuckles turning white. It was everything he could do not to wake Daisy. He knew she would write it off as another neighborhood prank, cite the broken alarm system as the culprit, and assure him it would be fixed the next day. The straps that held the scarecrow to its post were loose and waving gently in the nighttime breeze and he could barely make out little bits of hay leading off in the direction of the exit.
Part of him wanted to sit on the front porch with a baseball bat and wait for the intruders to return, in case they decided to steal other props from them. But something about the whole situation gave him pause… why would they bring the scarecrow back only to steal it again? Were they just messing with him? What were they doing with it? It didn’t feel right. Reluctantly he retrieved his glass of water and tried to go back to sleep, but this time he cracked the window open a few inches to better hear what was going on in the yard. He slept facing it.
Jack woke hours later to the sun streaming in and Daisy shaking him roughly by the shoulder. Bewildered, he blinked his sleepy eyes open and stared up at her face – she looked extremely pale and she had clearly been crying.
“Jack, it’s happened again,” she said quietly, her throat tight. “Come downstairs.”
Not fully awake and barely understanding what she meant, he got up and reached for his bathrobe. In his haste, he forgot to glance out the window.
The TV was blaring when they entered the living room. The kids were poised in a semi-circle around it, frozen in place like statues as they watched the news story unfold.
“In a shocking turn of events, a second murder has taken place in Findlay roughly 24 hours after the first. The scene at 13-year-old Daniel LeBeau’s bedside was equally grisly according to Findlay PD. This time the boy’s heart and lungs were missing.”
Jack’s own heart sunk into his stomach at these words. The image on the screen showed crime scene tape crisscrossing the LeBeau’s front door as paramedics loaded a covered body into the back of an ambulance. Possibly most horrifying of all, they lived only two streets over from the Murphys. The Greenbergs at least lived on the other side of town. This was getting too close for comfort.
“Again, no sign of forced entry was found and the police are now convinced that this is the work of an organized, highly stealthy and sadistic killer. Findlay has decided to enforce a mandatory curfew of 9:00 PM for all children under 18 until the perpetrator has been brought into custody.”
Daisy switched the TV off. This time, none of the kids cracked jokes or even moved a muscle. Lana was quietly crying and trying to hide it.
“Dad, is someone going to kill us too?” Trevor asked with wide eyes, craning his head up to look at his father. Jack put a firm hand on the boy’s head.
“No, Trev. I would never let anything happen to you guys.”
“Jack, maybe we should keep them home from school today…” Daisy said weakly. She looked like she might pass out. Jack shook his head.
“No, we don’t put our lives on hold because some psycho is trying to scare everyone. That’s just letting him win. The police are doing their jobs, we need to do ours. Guys, do you want to stay home?”
Three heads shook slowly from side to side. Most likely they would feel safer in a school surrounded by plenty of adults and security supervision, not to mention all of their friends.
“Okay, then let’s get ready.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he thought he caught movement in his peripheral vision. Something was outside. He approached the picture window that faced the front yard and pushed the curtains further apart, expecting to see a bird or someone walking their dog. Everything was perfectly still in the Halloween display. Everything was as it should be.
The scarecrow, he was no longer surprised to see, was once again back on its post, smiling merrily in the morning mist.
Later that day as the alarm system repair men wandered around their property checking on all the motion sensors and wiring, Jack took another stroll through the display and came to a stop in front of the scarecrow. He stared up at it, hands on his hips, brow furrowed deeply in thought. He had taken a day off work to be there when the maintenance guys came and was spending the time trying to logically work through what could be happening on his property. He hadn’t yet told Daisy about the scarecrow’s latest disappearing act. He wanted to solve the puzzle on his own, and he knew her answer would be “it was just a dream”.
If the alarm system had been broken for the last two days, he supposed it was possible that a few older kids had snuck into the yard and moved the scarecrow. They must have moved quickly, especially last night – it disappeared and reappeared again within the span of at most three hours, by his estimation. Odd that even with the window open he didn’t hear them working. The straps that held its arms and waist to the post were literally nailed into the wood, so they would’ve needed to pull out the nails and then replace them afterward. How could they have not heard the sound of someone hammering?
He walked a bit closer to the scarecrow, examining it. Something was off about it, he could see it now that he was up close. It seemed… fuller than it usually was. Over many years, straw and stuffing had fallen out of its torso and limbs and the kids had diligently packed it back in every other season or so. But even with occasional fixes, it was always rather slim. Now its chest and stomach seemed robust as if it had been generously re-stuffed.
He almost chuckled to himself. What was he really suggesting here? That some kids were stealing his scarecrow just to, what… refill it? Make it look nicer? It was a ridiculous notion. Daisy or someone had obviously come out and stuffed it a bit more last night before they went to bed.
Sighing, Jack gave the old scarecrow a pat on the leg and went to meet the alarm company guys at the other end of the yard. They were finishing up their assessment.
“Ah, Mr. Murphy,” the lead worker said. He was scratching his head as he handed Jack a clipboard with some data and forms to sign. “Strangest thing. As far as we can tell, your alarm system is in perfect working order.”
Jack froze, pen in hand. “...What do you mean?”
“I mean, it works just fine and always has. We can test it and show y-“
“Yes, please do. I need to know that it works,” Jack interrupted, becoming somewhat hysterical now.
So they did. They took turns walking through various parts of the yard with the system armed, and sure enough it was quickly set off each time. They disarmed it immediately after every test so as not to cause an uproar with the neighbors. Jack insisted they try walking through the display itself and up to the scarecrow, just to be sure. They didn’t even make it halfway there before the sirens blared and the lights flashed.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Jack said under his breath after a solid half hour of testing the alarm. “Could the intruders possibly be disarming it and then arming it again when they leave?” he asked the workers. He was now desperate to find an answer, any kind of answer. Their leader shook his head.
“They’d need the passcode and access to the remote. There’s no evidence that the system has been tampered with.” He paused. “Mr. Murphy, nothing is officially missing from your property, correct?” He was looking at Jack with that suspicious side-eye that clearly indicated he was concerned about the man’s mental health.
“Well no, I mean not right now, but-“
“Then I wouldn’t worry. If you have any other concerns don’t hesitate to call us again.”
That evening as Jack was helping Daisy prepare dinner and trying to figure out a way to discuss everything he had learned that day with her, he overheard the children gossiping amongst themselves in the living room.
“I heard that they didn’t just take Danny’s heart and lungs, they took some of his skin too!” Trevor was saying to Ryan and Lana.
“Shut up, that’s gross and it’s not true,” Lana retorted matter-of-factly.
“Well my friend Christina lives a few houses down from them, and her sister Tasha said that the police found pieces of what looked like hay in and around the bodies,” Ryan chimed in.
“So… they were killed by horses?” Trevor asked with a frown.
“Or cows!” Ryan replied. This made Lana giggle.
“Guys, enough!” Daisy snapped. She left the kitchen to gather them for dinner. Jack hadn’t moved an inch the entire time he’d been listening to his kids’ conversation. He had seen bits of hay recently himself, hadn’t he? Hay and straw. Small piles of it leading off out of their yard when the scarecrow was taken. Could their disappearing prop and the two grisly murders be connected somehow? Was the person committing these heinous crimes also sneaking into their yard each night? It had to be a coincidence.
Still, his blood ran cold at the thought.
That night, after the security system was armed and Daisy and the kids were fast asleep, Jack sat up on the front porch with a flashlight in one hand and his metal baseball bat in the other. Bundled up against the chilly October air, he made sure to sit back in the shadows where he wouldn’t be noticed and he kept his flashlight switched off. This time he was going to see who or what was moving the scarecrow, and he was going to call the police. He just had to catch them in the act to prove he wasn’t going crazy.
Hours passed in stillness and silence. It was getting even colder, and Jack grabbed the blanket he had brought outside with him, wrapping it around his shoulders. Nothing in the yard was stirring. The props were all as they had left them, casting haunting silhouettes on the grass in the moonlight. From where he sat he could make out most of the scarecrow’s hat poking up out of the center of the display, and a few tufts of its frizzy black wig. He kept his eyes trained on it, the minutes ticking away. …
“JAAAACK!!”
The bloodcurdling scream split the night and snapped Jack out of his slumber – he had dozed off in the chair! At first he thought he had dreamt his wife’s cry for help but then it came again, from inside the house. Jack fumbled to turn on his flashlight and pointed it at the scarecrow with shaking hands – it was gone.
He leapt up and off the porch, triggering the alarm with an ear-splitting peal that drowned out Daisy’s screams. He sprinted closer to the display, shining his light up and over into the center of it but now he was certain, the scarecrow was definitely missing and piles of straw led away from its post. Away to the left and… past where he stood. Past him, across the porch… and through their open front door.
The screams mixed with the deafening siren of the alarm created total chaos as Jack flew through the door and up the stairs, his feet barely touching the floor, following Daisy’s voice. He pounded down the hallway and toward their bedrooms. He tried to hold his hands to his ears to block out the alarm but they still had a death grip on the baseball bat and flashlight. He wasn’t sure but he thought her cries were coming from Trevor’s room.
He arrived at the open bedroom door just after Daisy’s strangled yells were silenced, and were quickly replaced by his own. There, crouched over Trevor’s pale and mangled body, was the scarecrow. Daisy was slumped over on the floor behind it, a kitchen knife still in her limp hand as if she had tried and failed to defend her son.
The scarecrow ever so slowly paused and turned to look at Jack, who was still standing in the doorway with his mouth agape and his whole body shaking.
Its head was illuminated by the beam of Jack’s flashlight. The straw hat and black hair were all too familiar. But now instead of burlap and string, it was wearing Trevor’s distorted and bloodied face. His skin. It smiled far too wide and with Trevor’s mouth it said, “Trick or treat!”
By the time the girl was done telling me this tale in magnificent detail, the sun was starting to dip toward the horizon and the garage sale was closing up shop for the night. I grinned at her and thanked her for the entertainment. I guess it’s true what they say about small towns being full of colorful characters.
I promptly bought the scarecrow from the lady who was selling it. Who could resist with a crazy story like that? Totally perfect for the season! It’s in the garage at the moment but I’m going to set it up next to our porch tomorrow night, alongside our freshly picked pumpkins. I really feel like it’ll pull the whole Halloween vibe together!
submitted by kellyrae11 to nosleep [link] [comments]


2017.08.29 17:15 JVX86 Remember when TV stars of the 90s/00s would go on to star in horror/slasher/thriller/cult classic movies? 😱

Horror fans! I did some research for an upcoming article and had to dive into the gallows of the internet to compile this list.
Remember when TV stars of the 90s/00s would go on to star in horroslashethrillecult classic movies? 😱😱😱 Me too!
Who's your fav? Did I miss any?
• Jennifer Love Hewitt 📺 Party of Five 🎬 I Know What You Did Last Summer 🎬 I Still Know What You Did Last Summer
• Sarah Michelle Gellar 📺 Buffy the Vampire Slayer 🎬 I Know What You Did Last Summer 🎬 Cruel Intentions 🎬 Scream 2 🎬 The Grudge 🎬 The Grudge 2
• Neve Campbell 📺 Party of Five 🎬 The Craft 🎬 Wild Things 🎬 Scream 🎬 Scream 2 🎬 Scream 3 🎬 Scream 4
• Brandy 📺 Moesha 🎬 I Still Know What You Did Last Summer
• Katie Holmes 📺 Dawson's Creek 🎬 Disturbing Behaviour 🎬 Teaching Mrs. Tingle 🎬 The Gift 🎬 Phone Booth 🎬 Don't Be Afraid of the Dark
• Rebecca Gayheart 📺 Dead Like Me 🎬 Scream 2 🎬 Urban Legend 🎬 Jawbreaker
• Jada Pinkett Smith 📺 The Fresh Prince of Bel Air 🎬 Scream 2
• Joshua Jackson 📺 Dawson's Creek 🎬 Urban Legend 🎬 The Skulls 🎬 Cruel Intentions 🎬 Cursed
• Courtney Cox 📺 Friends 🎬 Scream 🎬 Scream 2 🎬 Scream 3 🎬 Scream 4
• Michelle Williams 📺 Dawson's Creek 🎬 Halloween H20
• Mekhi Phifer 📺 ER 🎬 I Still Know What You Did Last Summer 🎬 Dawn of the Dead
• Johnny Galecki 📺 Roseanne 🎬 I Know What You Did Last Summer
• David Boreanaz 📺 Buffy the Vampire Slayer 📺 Angel 🎬 Valentine
• Katherine Heigl 📺 Roswell 📺 Grey's Anatomy 🎬 Valentine 🎬 Bride of Chucky
• Laurie Metcalf 📺 Roseanne 🎬 Scream 2
• Danny Masterson 📺 That 70’s Show 🎬 The Faculty 🎬 Dracula 2000
• Jessica Biel 📺 7th Heaven 🎬 Texas Chainsaw Massacre
• Rider Strong 📺 Boy Meets World 🎬 Cabin Fever
• Elisha Cuthbert 📺 Popular Mechanics for Kids 🎬 House of Wax
Chad Michael Murray 📺 One Tree Hill 🎬 House of Wax
Paris Hilton 📺 The Simple Life 🎬 House of Wax 🎬 Nine Lives 🎬 Repo! The Genetic Opera
Chris Kattan 📺 Saturday Night Live 🎬 House on Haunted Hill
• Devon Sawa -📺The Odyssey 🎬 Casper 🎬 Idle Hands 🎬 Final Destination
• Justin Long 📺 Ed 🎬 Jeepers Creepers
• Jennifer Lopez 📺 In Living Color 🎬 Anaconda 🎬 Angel Eyes 🎬 The Cell 🎬 Enough
• George Clooney 📺 ER 🎬 From Dusk ‘Til Dawn
• Rose McGowan 📺 Charmed 🎬 Scream 🎬 Jawbreaker 🎬 Phantoms 🎬 Devil in the Flesh 🎬 The Black Thalia 🎬 Death Proof 🎬 Grindhouse 🎬 Machete 🎬 Rosewood Lane
• Tatyana Ali 📺 The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air 🎬 Jawbreaker 🎬 Fall Into Darkness 🎬 Kiss The Girls 🎬 The Clown At Midnight
Ashton Kutcher 📺 That 70’s Show 🎬 The Butterfly Effect
• Mila Kunis 📺 That 70’s Show 🎬 Gia 🎬 American Psycho 2 🎬 Black Swan
• Pamela Anderson 📺 Baywatch 🎬 Snapdragon 🎬 Naked Souls 🎬 Barb-Wire 🎬 Baywatch Movie
• Elizabeth Berkley 📺 Saved by the Bell 🎬 Showgirls
• Leighton Meester 📺 Gossip Girl 🎬 The Haunting of Sorority Row 🎬 Killer Movie 🎬 Drive-Thru 🎬 The Roommate
• Tyra Banks 📺 The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air 🎬 Halloween: Resurrection
submitted by JVX86 to horror [link] [comments]


2017.08.20 00:16 Ilunibi Matchmaker

After the events with Miranda the RA and her uncontrolled summoning of one of the most powerful Earls of Hell, I won’t lie and say I didn’t have my suspicions about Cereal Girl. She was always just there, always in the right place at the right time, conveniently a witness for every threat Miranda threw at me and each exchange I left pinned back on her door. A sliver of me was convinced that she was the real culprit, framing Miranda to throw me off of her trail and delighting in my misguided attempts to stop her.
Cereal Girl, however, turned out to just be an insomniac, 4/20 enthusiast named Erika Dolores Ellison.
Or “Eddie,” if you will.
She was half my size and stayed camped in the hall’s kitchen, an omnipresent fridge goblin who spent every waking moment functionally baked and cramming food into her mouth. She had a girlfriend attending an art institute in Georgia, came from an affluent family who she figured would be in debt by the end of her already faltering college career, and was accidentally the eyes and ears of our floor. Which, honestly, suited her fine. Freshmen girls were petty, their drama was hilarious, and she couldn’t help but be amused by the weird, metaphysical battle between me and Miranda.
Both of us were still floundering freshmen who never quite pulled out of that awkward loner phase, struggling to make friends we connected with or finding a place where we belonged. Most people avoided her like the plague because she had no filter or shame, just like people avoided me because I’m awkward and unintentionally abrasive. She watched my back when I was out of the building, and I taught her small little tricks here and there that she couldn’t possibly fuck up while high. She even got in good with Dead Coyote, to the point he started selling her some of his weed when she ran out.
My one point of contention with Eddie, though, was that she was a bit more, well, libidinous than I was. Not that I’m a prude--I grew up with Dead Coyote, and he had a library of sex magic notes that I accidentally found when I was ten--but she had a weird obsession with my lack of an active love life. After glancing across a few things about the left-hand path on the internet, she became absolutely convinced that I must be doing something wrong because “evil” spells were powered by the sheer power of dicks. After a week or two of convincing her that hypersexuality really didn’t have anything to do with petitioning demons, she decided it was still a national tragedy that I was a single virgin and made it her solemn mission to hook me up with anyone that had two legs and functioning reproductive organs.
The pool she drew from was shallow. Being an outcast on campus, she basically would invite me out to “parties” with “friends” she made off of school grounds, each and every one of them hauntingly similar to Dead Coyote’s old customers. I could tell that she was a bit annoyed that I’d escort myself out before taking one of her potential Cassanovas to bed, but honestly? They reminded me too much of bad times and I’m a woman with actual standards.
Thankfully, she seemed to have gotten over it by the time spring break rolled around. I’d not heard a crack about needing somebody to keep me warm at night since winter ended, and she hadn’t invited me out to one of her white trash hookah parties in over a month. Most of our conversations usually revolved around what JRPG she had been playing that week, what weird shit I’d experienced over the previous days, and how much we mutually hated our required Gen Eds. Getting me laid seemed to be the last thing on her mind and I was one hundred percent okay with the fact she’d given up since it wasn’t a huge priority for me anyway.
The day that break started, she stood with me outside as I loaded my bags into Dead Coyote’s trunk, asking a thousand questions about why it was him and not my mother that came to pick me up. I didn’t know how to tell a girl who grew up in an actual, functional family that Dead Coyote had practically raised me so I didn’t have to raise myself, so I shrugged it off and told her that we were just really close. There was a knowing spark in her eye, the corner of her mouth curling up in a saucy smile as she tossed a handful of M&Ms into her mouth.
“‘Close.’ Yeah. I get’cha.”
A part of me was offended and wanted to say something. That part of me shut up when Dead Coyote slammed the trunk shut.
“Oh, yeah, Eddie. Didn’t you know? Me and Seymour’re secretly married on the astral plane or some shit.”
“You can do that?” she asked incredulously.
“Fuck no.”
She took being shut down in better stride than most eighteen-year-old girls, nearly choking on candy and snorting a laugh as she hugged me goodbye and told me to give her a call if I needed anything. She didn’t plan on going back home because she liked her independence too much and had one more disc left of Final Fantasy VII before she was finally done, and that game had become a personal quest. Besides, she couldn’t get away with being stoned all the time if she spent the week with her parents.
It felt nice to be back at Dead Coyote’s apartment an hour later, throwing my bags on his living room floor and collapsing on the couch that had been my bed for four years.
For the first couple of days of my spring break, things went pretty swimmingly, as though there had never been a gap in the time that I lived on that sofa. There were trashy talk shows aplenty, gossip on every street corner, and frozen gas station pizzas stacked to the top of an otherwise bare kitchen freezer. Dead Coyote confessed, rather bashfully, that he’d been trying to work with essential oils because he found out the scent of lavender snapped him out of some lesser jitters. He offered me my first beer, and after I downed four of them we mutually decided that essential oils were for pussies and he was getting soft in his old age.
Day three was when things started to get weird.
It began with dreams, weird and slimy dreams that slithered through my mind like serpents and left me awake in a cold sweat, my stomach twisted, and my thighs pressed so tightly together that I’d have made a good mermaid. Sex dreams, wild ones, but wild in a way that was terrifying and scarring. A wet, coppery tongue against my neck, and I could wake up and still smell it in the air. Something rough and cold running down my back, claws digging into my hips, sensations I could feel when I’d snap out of it. The heat was awful, not a warm and sensual heat, but like sticking your face in front of an open oven door.
The first night, I ignored it. You see, occultist or not, I’m always hesitant to blame things on paranormal sources because a lot of the time, your world and your own brain can be ten times more unpredictable and strange. My eyes snapped open on the couch and I sat there, shaking in the dark, until I remembered how stressed out and pissed off Eddie had made me over the course of the semester with her constant attempts to hook me up. I told myself it was probably a combination of being a new drinker and having lingering frustrations about that whole mess. I forced myself back to sleep.
The second night was more intense. No licking, no claws, but I was nine years old and laying on the ground in the alley by Dead Coyote’s apartment, watching a blurry stranger with a knife talk about how tight he thought I’d be. I instantly recognized it as the same goddamn scene with Joseph Shepherd, but when my vision steadied and I looked up to see who was kneeling in front of me, Dead Coyote grinned back at me with eyes like obsidian stone. His teeth weren’t human. It was like somebody took the teeth of a dog and crammed them in a person’s mouth.
I woke up screaming. Loud, baleful howling that I couldn’t even stifle with my pillow. Dead Coyote--real and in the flesh--actually fell down the steps tripping over himself to get to me, though the adrenaline pulsing through me told me to get away from him as fast as possible. I was locked in the bathroom when a concerned neighbor came over to ask what the problem was, Dead Coyote awkwardly trying to convince him that, no, he hadn’t killed anyone and, no, he actually had no idea what was going on either.
When he finally coaxed me out from underneath the sink, I felt nothing but awkward shame explaining my nightmares to him. He didn’t seem scandalized more than concerned, and we spent a good twenty minutes playing armchair psychiatrist while I sniffled into my blanket. He figured it was a mixture of alcohol and hormones. He also conceded that he had no idea what he was talking about, but it made sense logically. Probably. If you squint.
“Either way, princess, if you want, you can sleep up in my room,” he offered with a tired shrug. “Maybe that’ll help.”
So, I followed him upstairs. I knew the offer was just because he was exhausted and didn’t want to deal with me crying anymore, but the idea of having somebody nearby made me feel safe. I curled up on his mattress on the floor, back-to-back with him, swearing up and down that if alcohol was the culprit that I’d just not drink anything the following day. That had to fix the problem, right? I dozed off with wet eyes and a renewed resolve, and I kept to my promise.
I didn’t drink.
But Dead Coyote did, and the more he drank, the more I realized that something was off about the way he was behaving. Mid-conversation, he’d stop and stare, almost like there was something strange or different about me and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Occasionally, if he thought I was distracted, I’d catch him gawking at me like a slack-jawed frat boy at a strip club, but the expression on his face was odd. There was a light on in the attic, a conscious effort he was trying to make not to do what he was doing, but whatever had a hold of him wasn’t going to let him turn away. I was convinced it was because of the fact he’d been downing vodka like a Russian warlord, but after the fifth or sixth time he caught himself, he grabbed a pen, opened his hand, and practically carved a banishing sigil into his palm.
When I asked if he was okay, he flatly told me I’d be sleeping in his room the rest of my stay. When I asked why, he told me he didn’t have a clear answer for me, but he was going to figure it out.
He was the one who didn’t sleep through the night that evening. I was out like a light when I heard him growling profanity just behind my head and felt him sit up and climb off the bed. I listened as he paced and mumbled to himself, as he walked downstairs to get a glass of water. He wandered around the living room a bit, then meandered back upstairs and disappeared in the bathroom. I heard pills rattling around in a bottle and secretly prayed they were legal before he finally laid back down and struggled to go to sleep. His twisting and turning and cussing kept us both awake.
“A bad dream,” he told me the next morning. He paused for a moment, considered his words, then added, “Same dreams you were having. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” I echoed. He ignored me.
“That shit ain’t normal. That shit ain’t natural. Princess, it was like somethin’ was fuckin’ my soul. Or like somethin’ that ain’t got a clue what fuckin’ is was trying to fuck my soul. Bullshit. Pure fuckin’ bullshit.”
He decided that it had to be his fault, somehow, and that maybe he had messed up a ritual and invited something in by accident. With an exhausted sigh, he had me go get his holy water from beneath the kitchen sink and went to dig his leftover sage out of his closet. Our morning was spent cranking the radio up as loud as it could go to keep ourselves awake, smudging every corner, crevasse, and crack in his apartment, and then collapsing on the couch to eat cold fridge pizza and watch Maury. Dead Coyote ended up on my shoulder, asleep and drooling on my hair by the time the show’s host got to the first paternity test result.
No offense to Dead Coyote, but he’s capable of slobbering like his namesake and his spit had the distinct odor of garlic, Listerine, and death. I let him get in a nap, albeit begrudgingly, but the second I could shake him awake without feeling like the world’s biggest bitch, I nudged him off of me and excused myself to take a shower. Hair clung to the side of my neck. I grimaced and hoped there was enough shampoo in the apartment for the both of us.
Now, are you one of those people who gets scared there may be somebody behind the shower curtain while you’re bathing? Like, maybe you’ve seen Psycho one too many times and now you feel the need to check every three seconds to make sure a serial killer isn’t creeping up on you? I used to not be like that because I used to think I wasn’t a coward, but after we cleansed the apartment and I was in the process of cleansing myself, I kept getting this sinking feeling in my stomach like I was being watched. That slight, weird pressure that makes the back of your neck tingle like when somebody is standing directly behind you.
But it was coming from everywhere, and it didn’t stay slight. My face dropped when I realized I could physically feel something beating down on me like the air had become ten times heavier, that I could taste something sour whenever I inhaled, that my brain could pick up on a force, a personality that I couldn’t see. The shower was hot, but the bathroom grew hotter, and my mind raced back to when I was thirteen years old and I fucked up summoning Marchosias. When I opened my eyes when I shouldn’t have.
I peeked out of the shower.
Dead Coyote greeted me. Except not. I knew those eyes and that incorrect smile. I had seen it in my dreams and in that summoning circle all those years ago, and there he was: Not-Coyote, just standing there. Grinning. Strangely enough, he wasn’t very threatening, but he seemed to be enjoying the fact that I was paler than normal and about to piss myself.
I yanked the shower curtain down and nearly brained myself scrambling for the door. I felt something rough drag across my side as Not-Coyote reached out to touch me as I flew, naked and screaming, down the stairs. I had no time for shame or dignity or anything, only enough time to glance up the stairs when I hit the bottom and see Not-Coyote tilt its head and calmly walk from the top of the stairs to Dead Coyote’s bedroom.
Dead Coyote himself, having dozed off again, sat up like Frankenstein’s monster when I hit the bottom landing. He stared at me, nude and dripping with shampoo still in my hair, his brows knitted together in confusion. For a good, long minute he was absolutely silent, stuck in between being puzzled and mortified. When I had yelled myself hoarse and the same good samaritan neighbor from before was banging on the door and threatening to call the police, he finally found his voice.
“Uh, princess? You, uh, you forget what pants were for a minute or, like, is this some kind of weird white girl mating ritual I’m not aware of?”
I ignored him, instead pointing up the stairs and screeching at the top of my lungs, “Glasyalabolas!”
After I was walked back up the stairs to rinse my hair and dress myself (because I sure as hell was not going up there alone), and after Dead Coyote spent thirty minutes trying to convince the police that this wasn’t a case of domestic abuse, we sat outside on the stoop of his apartment staring at cars because I didn’t want to be inside. I hadn’t really realized just how scarred I was from my first tryst with Glasyalabolas until that moment, that very brief moment where I fucked up envisioning his polar opposite and brought forth a monster that got a kick out of stealing Dead Coyote’s face. The dreams couldn’t have been helping, either, with the alley scene replaying over and over and over in my head like a fucking movie trailer.
“Didn’t Miranda threaten you with Glasyalabolas twice?” Dead Coyote asked dryly, practically inhaling his cigarette. I didn’t look at him, instead looking at the neighbor who called the police, watching me from the sidewalk as he dragged his garbage to the curb. He still looked suspicious and I was absolutely humiliated. I thought back to my first, disastrous summoning and how I’d felt so much safer just physically feeling Dead Coyote’s presence in the circle. Like a little girl, I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“She did,” I finally answered. My voice was still cracked.
“I seem to remember tellin’ that bitch I’d end her if she fucked with you, yeah? And she ain’t just fucked with you. She messed with me. Ain’t sure which one I’m more mad about.”
He exhaled smoke out of his nose and made a growling sound in his throat.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve ruined someone, princess.”
We barely discussed a plan. I waited outside, clutching a beer in my hand while he went through my belongings to check for any sort of talisman that could have been hidden in my things. When nothing turned up, he quietly walked back out, locked his door, and escorted me to his car.
The car ride was silent. He didn’t even turn the radio on. I stared blankly out the window, angry and embarrassed. How many times had I done rituals and how many times had I called upon spirits and how many times had I proved myself useless in the face of anything more powerful than a disembodied spirit? I couldn’t help with Furfur, I nearly killed a kid with a raccoon bone in sixth grade, and now I was trembling and shaken over a demon I’d actually encountered before. Even though I tried to convince myself it was a reasonable response to the patron demon of murder, I couldn’t help but compared myself to Dead Coyote.
He fought Furfur. He was going to go fight a girl who summoned Glasyalabolas. The man knew no fear. I desperately wanted him to be proud of me, but I felt like trash.
Also, he’d seen me naked, and that shame made it hard to make eye contact with him.
The parking lot in front of the dorm building was mostly empty, save for Eddie’s car and a couple of others. He practically pulled right up to the door and barely waited for the car to stop rolling before he jumped out of his seat. I quickly reached over to throw the car in park and turn it off, tucking the keys in my pocket as I tailed him inside. The lobby was a ghost town, the RA office predictably empty and ninety percent of the denizens having fled the campus for greener pastures. Dead Coyote’s footsteps echoed through the nothing as he stomped up the steps to get to my floor.
He punched in the security code. He entered the dorm hallway. I huddled down as I glanced at the cameras hoping that campus security or a hiding RA wouldn’t come running him down to try to pick a fight because, with Dead Coyote on his warpath, I knew it would end with him arrested. I tried to hide my face as he stopped dead in front of Miranda’s room, glowered at her tacky cork board covered in well-wishes from friends, and punched the door.
Not knock. Punch. As hard as he could. The door rattled, the sound echoed down the hallway. I waited for anyone to poke their head out to see what the fuss was about, but it seemed that the place was entirely abandoned. Except for--
“Miranda’s not here.”
The voice was calm, steady, muffled, and punctuated with crunching. It was a shock, a shock enough that Dead Coyote short circuited for a moment, standing there with a blank expression on his face and his fist still raised to strike. Standing in the middle of the hallway and clutching a bowl was none other than Eddie. She smiled and waved a spoon at us. It was Cocoa Puffs this time.
“She went to Florida, I think? Other RAs are taking her shift or something, but I think they skipped out, too. Fuckin’ assholes, right?”
She chewed, she swallowed.
“What are you guys doing here anyway? You got, like, three days before you gotta be back, Seymour.”
Exhausted, embarrassed, with dark circles ringing under my eyes and my hair a mess, I told her everything. About the dreams, about the weird way Dead Coyote had briefly acted, about the fact I felt so unsafe that I couldn’t sleep in the living room. I told her about the dog-toothed Not-Coyote that chased me out of the shower and that the neighbors called the police and that my only guess was that Miranda had stepped up her game. Dead Coyote had come to wreck her shit, but now we’d driven all that way for nothing and it was going to be a royal bitch to have to go back home and purge the apartment harder than we’ve ever purged anything before.
“It would have been easier to make her fix it herself,” I groaned.
The more I spoke, the more the color drained out of Eddie’s face. She kept shoveling cereal into her mouth, but there was this wide, wild, fearful look in her eyes like a deer standing in a hunter’s crosshairs. Dead Coyote noticed it first; he clapped me on the shoulder and stared her down like he was trying to will her to spontaneously combust. When she drank the final drops of chocolate milk out of her bowl, she wiped off her mouth with her sleeve and shook her head.
“Oh. Fuck. I didn’t know it would do that.”
I said earlier that I taught Eddie how to do small tricks and charms that she couldn’t fuck up while she was high. What I didn’t know was that Eddie had also been doing research of her own, mostly using Wikipedia and New Age websites manned by folks who didn’t really do any hard studying. It wasn’t that she was wanting to do anything malicious more than she thought it would be a nice gesture if she used what I taught her to try to “help” me out since I wasn’t receptive to her more normal attempts. After all, every college girl wants a guy who could make her walk crooked the next day, right?
She was worried, she said, that the reason that I wasn’t actively looking for love is because I was comparing every man I met to Dead Coyote. That there was unrequited love there, and that I was lonely and sad and unfortunately un-laid because I was holding out for the golden trophy that was a thirty-year-old Honduran man with unkempt hair and neck tattoos. And maybe, just maybe, she could surprise and impress me by playing demonic matchmaker with all of the cool stuff she learned to save my love life and keep me from being such a bitter, frigid person.
“I didn’t expect it to fuck up so bad,” she practically whined.
When the door to her dorm swung open, I couldn’t help but be impressed by her set-up. Even Dead Coyote let out a murmur of surprise at the expertly placed and drawn sigils drawn into the carpet with fabric marker, the assortment of candles all in the correct color, the lights dimmed appropriately, and even tokens she’d collected from us: one of Dead Coyote’s cigarette butts and an old tube of lipgloss that I thought I had lost. As angry as I wanted to be, I was actually kind of flattered that she took the art seriously enough to get it right, even if most of her source material was lacking.
Especially in terms of Glasyalabolas. Because Miranda had never drawn the damn sigil right and Eddie herself had the memory of a goldfish, she didn’t associate the threatening notes with her own helpful ritual. She just knew that Wikipedia said that Glasyalabolas was a big, mean dog who could play matchmaker if you asked nicely, and that she vaguely remembered me telling her that I didn’t like the alternative: “Thor Deer.”
“The fuck did you ask him to do, chica?” Dead Coyote finally asked, after a moment to admire her attention to detail. Eddie shook her head in shame, but after some prodding, finally looked up and squeaked a response.
“To have her naked with you, in your bed, and you both up all night.”
There was silence, then Dead Coyote exploded into laughter, laughter so hard that he sank to the ground in tears, snorting like a feral pig. He told her that, why yes, her request had been fulfilled, that Glasyalabolas had done his job, but not in the way she would have hoped. He had kept us up with godawful, painful, terrifying sex dreams. He had left me so scared to be by myself that I slept in his bed. He did scare me out of the shower while I was undressed so Dead Coyote got a look at me that he, quite frankly, wasn’t expecting.
“You have to be literal,” he explained. “Why didn’t you just ask Glasyalabolas to coerce us to fuck or somethin’?”
“I felt awkward saying it that way.”
We spent the next couple of hours helping teach her how to release spirits and dispel hexes, over the top of her apologizing again and again, nearly in tears because she didn’t realize that magic could backfire so badly despite how many times I had told her it could. It was a bit of an ego stroke to hear her tell me that she didn’t actually think it was possible because she never seen me fuck up so badly, but whatever confidence boost I had was marred by Dead Coyote listing off a lengthy series of things I had ruined, destroyed, killed, cursed, and broken over the course of my illustrious career. By the time I got to helping her scrub up marker from the carpet, she was laughing at stories of me making my first animal sacrifice (it was a pigeon, I cried, it escaped inside his apartment). It was as though she thought she hadn’t messed up at all.
It didn’t stop Dead Coyote from giving her a pretty stern warning on the way out. One that involved breaking both of her arms if she ever tried to summon anything ever again. The only reason I was spared from being chided for teaching her how to do anything in the first place is because, even with the knowledge that Glasyalabolas should be gone, I was still secretly shaken, nauseous, and way too embarrassed about being caught in my birthday suit to actually look Dead Coyote in the face.
With three days left of my break, I sucked up my fear and decided to head back home milk my time off with my favorite person for all it was worth. Besides, even if I was going to forgive Eddie, I still needed time to get over how unbelievably stupid she was. The inside of the apartment still smelled faintly of sulfur and I could occasionally still feel the prickle of an unknown presence tingling down my spine, but it was weak enough that it was obviously residual. Dead Coyote even coaxed me into relaxing about my streaking incident, reminding me of the time I found him passed out in his bathtub in high school.
In his words, “We’ll call it even and never speak of it again.”
But even with the awkwardness and even though I knew we cleaned up pretty well, I kept thinking of Glasyalabolas’ face and the dream about when I was nine. It was forgotten during the day--during the times I was actually enjoying myself--but in the dead of night the first day we got back, I found that I couldn’t take being alone in the living room. Shit would just loop in my head, a highlight reel of trauma, again and again until it propelled me to get up, drag myself up the stairs, and knock on Dead Coyote’s door.
I slept back-to-back with him on his ratty floor mattress for the rest of my spring break. It made me feel like I was a four-year-old but it was worth it to sleep soundly, to feel safe. I just knew I could never tell Eddie whenever I finally spoke to her again.
She’d never let me live it down.
submitted by Ilunibi to nosleep [link] [comments]


2017.03.18 18:34 GoesOff_On_Tangent [American Psycho] Patrick Bateman is gay

Throughout the movie, we see Patrick hold a pretty apathetic contempt for all the women in his life. Even when he's in the middle of sex, he's just focused on himself, like it's some sort of validation for all his hard work at maintaining his body. And attractive women are status symbols to him, he doesn't sleep with them because he wants to sleep with the most beautiful women in the world, he sleeps with them so he can take pride in knowing he can sleep with the most beautiful women in the world. These could be typical behaviors both of of a psychopath, or a closeted, high-status wall street broker.
But what I think is telling at Patrick's encounter with Luis in the restroom, who throughout the movie is presented as a bit more effeminate than his Pierce and Pierce peers. Patrick goes up to choke Luis from behind, who then turns to kiss Patrick on the hand and says "I've seen you looking at me."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCo6TtUkCWc
Patrick becomes visibly uncomfortable in this scene and then quickly exits the bathroom. On the surface level, we could just take this as him being grossed out by the silly gay guy at the office. We could also take it as Luis showing him true, genuine affection for who he is as a person, one of the only people to do it in the movie, and that's why Patrick becomes so distressed and doesn't kill Luis, the same reason why he doesn't kill Evelyn or Jane.
But what I think is that he actually does like Luis, that he was sending glances Luis' way in the past, and this is the very first time realizing he is attracted to men. Patrick thinks he's a psycho because he hasn't forged any true connections with people. But he's failed to make genuine connections with guys because he's afraid of revealing his true self and not fitting in, and he's failed to make connections with girls because he's never been all that into them. Even in moments where he does try to make an honest connection with a woman, when he's talking with what's her face about his love for Whitney Houston, he gets laughed at. So he doubles down on the masculinity thing by working out, calling gay guys faggots, wearing expensive suits, yada yada. But he also doesn't realize that everything he is doing is stereotypically effeminate too: caring too much about one's body and appearance, using expensive moisturizers and beauty products, and talking about style, clothes and fancy restaurants, and gossiping like school girls with his closest friends.
I found a blog post that also shares this same theory. They make some really interesting connections, and although I don't agree with this author that all the men in the movie are closeted, I think that at least Justin Thoreoux's character is straight, who from what I remember, is the only one who truly shows affection to a girl in the movie when he nibbles on Evelyn's ear. It also sheds light onto why Patrick says he's the most interesting person he knows: Thoreoux's character is 100% comfortable about himself, he's not trying to put on a show or mask or hide anything, and that makes him more genuine, and in turn more interesting to Patrick. But I think this last point from that blog post is very compelling.
A few of the cast, chiefly Price and Bateman, also have AIDS. The book’s serial killer theme is another kind of sick joke. So many popular movies and books, then and now, have made the center of their stories a deviant maniac and his grotesque achievements; the suffering and death caused by a disease that was a far more effective and massive killer go unspoken.
So according to this author, American Psycho isn't so much a lampooning and criticism of 80's/90's-esque Wall Street corporate greed, even though that is a big component of the book and movie. It's more about all these guys who are harboring secret homosexual feelings in the midst of the AIDS outbreak, but doubling down on their desire to appear masculine and fit in and not let their true selves be revealed.
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2017.01.03 19:20 JustThatGuy100 Since you guys liked my mastermind theory, here are my victim/killer predictions!

Hello everyone! Thanks for the feedback on my original theory! I've done some more thinking, and I'm back with my guesses for who lives, who dies, and who will kill/be killed.
I heavily advise you to read my first theory here so you can get some context on chapters 5 and 6, since they are extremely complex and needed a post on their own to make sense. My focus on this post is directed towards the first four chapters, as those are where the bulk of the "fat trimming" of the cast will take place, so to speak.
Plus, with leaks likely around the corner, I want to get my guesses out before the leaks hit, so I don't get accused of going off of the leaks in case I'm right. This seemed like as good a time as ever to throw out my guesses.
CHAPTER 1:
Victim: Shuichi Saihara (Ultimate Detective)
From a logical perspective, it's interesting that the only talent to make a reappearance is the Ultimate Detective talent, making Saihara stick out like a sore thumb from the rest of the cast; and not in a good way, either. While many people have pegged Rantarou as an easy candidate to be the first death of the game, it seems like it's too obvious; at this point, we've seen the most interesting/well known/most advertised character get the axe first three times so far (Maizono was advertised to be Naegi's love interest, everyone wanted to know why Togami was back, and Yukizome was Munakata's love interest).
At this point, the game is playing with us, and Kodaka will likely keep some patterns going, but break others, as a way to keep us guessing. This will be the first pattern broken to confuse us. We think Rantarou is going to die, so, naturally, he'll live and play an important role in the story. It seems to me like his character was delibrately designed to mirror Komaeda in how he acted prior to the reveal that he was nuckin' futs, but will ultimately turn out to be a smart, sharp, but also easygoing and good natured person.
The same cannot be said, however, for Mr. Saihara. Him sharing the same talent as Kirigiri makes him an easy candidate for the "partner" character, since he is the detective. But, his talent also makes him, logically, the best possible target for the first kill. Think about it from the killer's perspective; if you wanted to get away with murder, you would want to kill the person most likely to catch you. If Saihara is the first victim, then it will make it that much harder for the killer to be discovered, as the person whose talent and job it is to solve crimes is now dead.
Killer: Angie Yonaga (Ultimate Artist)
The first killer is usually the most "distant" from the other students (Leon was the most outwardly jarred about being trapped in Hope's Peak next to Maizono, and Teruteru's perverted personality made it difficult to form relationships with his classmates, usually scaring them off or making them somewhat uncomfortable.) I get the same vibes from Angie and her constant religious talk. To continue with the theme of "keeping and breaking patterns set by previous installments," Angie will be the most obvious choice as the first killer, and she will deliver.
The other reason why I have her pegged as the first person to draw blood is the two second execution clip we saw in one of the trailers, showing off an Ancient Greek Statue, standing in what appeared to be a marble temple of some kind, with Monokuma's head on it, striking some Jojo-esque poses. Angie, as shown in her splash art, seems to be big on statues, which would fit in with her talent, as art, and by extension, statues, is one of the most common ways to display devotion towards a god. It would fit in perfectly with the executions being ironic to the talent of the killer in how she would die to the thing she loves - a statue of God.
Finally, she also seems like the most likely person to continue the tradition of the over-the-top breakdown that we see in the first killer of each game. My thoughts on how she'll break down is that she'll act like Saihara's death was a sacrifice, but nobody will pay any mind to her, and just say it's just "Angie being Angie." Then, once the truth is out in the trial that Angie is the prime suspect, she'll begin by denying, much like any other person accused with murder, then begin to say things like "God is protecting me," or, "my fate lies with my devotion to God," things like that. However, once more contradictions are discovered in her statements, she will begin to become more unhinged, losing faith in her god, as he is not protecting her life, even though she sacrificed Saihara so she could escape GIA, and spread the good word to the rest of the world. Once the trial draws to a close, she'll completely lose her mind, as the one thing that she put all of her faith in didn't deliver to her in her time of need, and instead deliver her to justice. Seems to me like she'll be dragged off to her execution terrified of what awaits her in the great beyond, after her god failed to manifest and protect her.
Surviving Students: 14
CHAPTER 2:
Victim: Miu Iruma (Ultimate Inventor)
It's unfortunate to see her go, but ultimately, it's her voice actress that confirmed it herself. Iruma's VA let it slip that she didn't have that many lines, but she supposedly still gets the same kind of character development as Fujisaki. Fujisaki was Chapter 2's victim, and combined with Miu not having many lines, seems like she'll be axed off in the second chapter, but her death will leave a legacy with another important student, and will ultimately play into defeating the mastermind. That person is none other than Kiibo.
With Iruma being an inventor and Kiibo being a robot, it seems to me like these two will form some kind of friendship in the early stages of the game. Iruma seems like the kind of person who would be fascinated at how Kiibo, while a robot, is able to act like a human being. Likewise, Kiibo will likely welcome Iruma as a friend since they have a common ground with each other. That being said, because it's Danganronpa, if two people like-like each other, one of them is gonna die.
In my eyes, Iruma's death will definately play into Kiibo's development as a character, and will also play into the future of the game's story, but I'll get to that later. Let's just say that Iruma's character will be used as a plot device.
Killer: Kirumi Tojo (Ultimate Maid)
With Chapter 2 likely taking place in a hotel, according to some screenshots, I believe that the mystery of Chapter 2 will be a call back to the beginnings of the murder mystery genre. Going in hand with the "psycho-cool" theme that V3 is giving off, I think a noire-style story for a chapter in this game would be fitting, and since the hotel shown off in some screenshots and trailers looks to be modeled after early 1900's architecture, it would be fun see a more classic approach to this particular case. I personally think that pieces of this chapter will be love letters to the old tropes of murder mystery stories, and the killer revealed will highlight the most well known one, "The ButleMaid did it."
Going off of what patterns will be broken and kept, Iruma's death as a victim plays into the development of another character, but the nature of the killer will change from the previous two games.
In DR1 and 2, the killer of the second chapter was responsible for the death of a semi-important character (Mondo "killed" his brother, and Peko killed Sato). So, it would be natural to assume that Hoshi is the prime suspect for our 2nd chapter killer, however, I don't think that will be the case. The only people he is responsible for killing is Mafia members, and he seems to beat himself up about him being a serial killer to organized criminals. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would kill an innocent person. In fact, he's the prime candidate for our "distant" character who becomes more open as the story progresses, much like Togami and Kuzuryuu grew in DR1 and 2. That, and having the goofy looking character be a killer two games in a row would be boring. It would be much more interesting to see him live.
Tojo seems like the more likely candidate because of how she fits in with how Chapter 2 looks like it will be set up. Housekeepers, especially in fiction, go about their day by living off of gossip and drama, so it isn't out of the question to say that she may take advantage of the fact that Iruma and Kiibo are getting so close, to kill Iruma and frame Kiibo, framing a narrative that he was using her, and that a robot cannot feel any kind of real emotion. This seems like a really interesting set up, as it will be the perfect way to develop Kiibo's character, and Tojo appears to be manipulative enough by her appearance, as well as her quiet nature, to pull it off.
SURVIVORS: 12
CHAPTER 3:
Victim: Tenko Chabashira (Ultimate Akido Master)
Tenko is my least favorite character. She's loud, obnoxious, and hates dudes. A particular theme in this series is that when a double murder comes around, a fan favorite character is killed, and one of the more hated characters is also killed. Tenko is the latter. Her outward and loud hatred towards boys is something I guarantee will get annoying after a while, much like Yamada's obsession over 2-D girls and Saionji's bullying got annoying while they were alive in their respective games.
However, my second reason for her dying as a victim plays into the entirety of how Case 3 will likely play out, and when I talk about who I think the killer will be, it's going to make sense.
Victim: Kaito Momota (Ultimate Astronaut)
Momota, or as this sub likes to call him, Space Weedman, is an interesting character. He gives off all of the usual vibes of a survivor; dumb, comic relief, and useless. Overall, because he seems so similar to how Hagakure and Owari were in their respectie games makes him such an easy pick for a victim in this game. He doesn't seem capable of pulling off a murder, but his loudmouthed personality may come across as annoying to some characters, particularly Chabashira.
This guy will be Hagakure done right, and he will be funny, endearing, and have a decent level of development to make us think he'll live and be a more likeable version of Weedman, but it'll all be for naught, and he'll turn up dead in Chapter 3.
Killer: Tsumugi Shirogane (Ultimate Cosplayer)
I absolutely love the idea of Shirogane faking her death, disguising herself as the person she actually killed, and use that as a way to fool everyone into thinking she was the killer, but voting for the person she was disguised as. The two people I chose as victims will play into this very nicely, in my opinion. We all remember how bad Celeste's case was in DR1. I mean, it was dead obvious who did it. I personally think, however, that V3 will take the best elements of the 3rd Chapters of both previous games, and create a double-murder that's actually good, and has a decent payoff.
The reason why I chose Momota and Chabashira as the two victims for this case is that their deaths both would benefit Shirogane from a tactical perspective. The case will originally look like how 2-3's case went, with Kaito being the premeditated target, and the second victim being an unfortunate witness who was killed because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. However, the second victim will originally be discovered as Shirogane, but it will ultimately be revealed that it was Chabashira who was killed, and Shirogane used her talent to disguise herself as Chabashira, act as if Kaito deserved to die, and fool her classmates into voting for Chabashira. However, once everything is unraveled, it will be revealed that Shirogane intended to kill two people, much like how Celeste did in 1-3.
The third chapter of both games brought minor conflicts between different classmates into a major climax (Ishimaru and Yamada's fight started with Alter Ego's reveal, and Saionji bullying Tsumiki.) Kaito, with his loud and obnoxious attitude, and Chabashira's hatred towards men, makes it seem like those two will be at odds for the first half of the game, and their hatred towards each other will be capitalized on.
Secondly, Shirogane and Chabashira appear to be the same height, making Chabashira, out of the current surviving classmates, the easiest person for Shirogane to pose as. However, what I believe will be Shirogane's undoing, is her eyesight. She will do her best to at as Chabashira, but since Shirogane wears glasses, and is the only character in the cast of V3 who wears glasses, could make for a good reveal, as Shirogane would have to take them off to complete her disguise. Because of that, she'll overlook one small detail that will ultimately unravel her plan, because her eyesight is terrible, and be outed as the 3rd killer.
Surviving Students: 9
CHAPTER 4:
Victim: Korekiyo Shinguuji (Ultimate Anthropologist)
The 4th chapter always sees the death of "honorable" characters, and Shinguuji looks to be cut from that kind of fiber. I think he's going to be made out to be a misunderstood character. Hell, it's outright said that he comes across as a potential murderer. That's why he won't kill. A lot of people think that the clip from an execution shown in a trailer (it shows a thorned vine dangling from a spider web, signalling some kind of tale about Budha that would take too long to explain,) as proof that Mr. Shinguuji will kill in this game, but I think that it's the opposite. Shinguuji is more interested in the beauty of humanity, and while he may distance himself from his classmates, and hold his theory over the safety of others, he won't commit murder himself. Instead, to our surprise, he will turn out to be the victim in Case 4, possibly sacrificing himself to save another student from the killer of this case, also fitting in with the theme of sacrifice in the 4th chapter of each game. I would like to see us witness Shinguuji's death, perhaps the case is set up to look like it was an accident, and in a panic, Shinguuji pushed the intended target for this case out of the way of whatever was going to kill them, and take the blow himself.
Killer: Gonta Gokuhara (Ultimate Entomologist)
Going back to the Spider Web execution, I think that this will actually be what kills Gokuhara. People payed so much attention to the symbolism of the small clip shown that they seem to have forgotten that spiders kill insects. What is Gokuhara's talent? Entomology! While the buff characters of both games (as well as the nonsense speaking Bandai, and the Great Brozu, for that matter,) have all had hearts of gold. We are long overdue for a killer with big muscles, and we've already gotten a taste of Gokuhara's dark side. He hates it when people insult bugs. It's his berserk button. This, to me, proves that he may be hiding a darker side to himself, a dark side that will make its appearance in full force when the proper motive presents itself. While I think it would be great to see our resident swole make it to the end, I think it's safe to say that we should wait for Danganronpa 4 in two years.
Either that, or Gokuhara actually is a nice guy, but accidentally causes the death of Chapter 4, and because he was the one who set off the Final Destination-style rube goldberg machine of despair that kills Shinguuji, he'll have to be the one to take the blame, and will try to cover it up out of fear for his own life. Either way, I think that Gokuhara's days are numbered.
Surviving Students: 7
CHAPTER 5:
Victim: Kiibo (Ultimate Robot)
Killer: Kiibo (Ultimate Robot)
Going off of my original theory, Kiibo will kill himself after discovering the identity of the mastermind. He will already be somewhat at odds with himself with the death of Iruma, the first person he'll make friends with in this game, but discovering that his own father was responsible for his despair, it will send him over the edge, and cause him to kill himself out of grief. His death will be the "trap," like how both 5th chapters of the original two games were.
For more information, please read my theory on why I think Kiibo's creator, Professor Iidibashi, is the mastermind, to fully understand why I think he'll be the victim, and killer, of the 5th chapter.
Surviving Students: 6
CHAPTER 6:
Mastermind: Professor Iidibashi
To put it shortly, since I've already stated my reasoning as to why Professor Iidibashi is the mastermind, his motivations are out of fear towards the Ultimates. He will be a survivor, or at the very least, highly invested in the HPA tragedy that nearly brought the end of the world, and will develop a very strong hatred towards the Ultimates. His plan is to infiltrate Gifted Inmates' Academy, massacre its students using his inventions, then use his skills to create copies of Monokuma to make it look like it was a resurgence of the Ultimate Despair, then swoop in and save the survivors when the count reaches 2; with the people he wants to survive being Rantarou, and Kiibo. My reasons as to why those two specifically are the ones Iidibashi wants to live are discussed in fuller detail in my last post.
SURVIVORS:
Kaede Akamatsu - Ultimate Pianist
The protagonist of the game will make it to the end, as per usual. I'm in the camp that believes that she will live, despite some people saying that she'll die in the first chapter. While I'm not opposed to her attempting murder and failing, I think that writing a murder from her perspective (being the killer or the victim,) would be difficult, and feel more like a twist that was written in for the sake of being a twist.
Ryoma Hoshi - Ultimate Tennis Player
Him being a murderer of mafia dudes makes him a prime suspect as a killer for a couple of reasons, but the fact that he's so open about being a killer gives off the vibe that he'll be too easy of a choice as a killer himself. He seems to be remorseful, believing himself to be below his classmates because of the crimes he committed on the streets. If anything, he'll gradually open up and accept his humanity, making him the first goofy looking character to survive. I look forward to seeing how Sad Hoshi develops.
Rantaro Amami - Ultimate ???
Going off of my theory, Amami can't remember his talent because he was the first person to have the memories of their talent succesfully erased by the scientists of Gifted Inmates' Academy. Him being alive is important to the plot because this has to be revealed, and he has to be the one to discover it. While I don't know what his talent is, nor do I have a guess as to what it could be in context with the story, I think it would be an interesting twist to see his talent be something completely irrelevant to the plot, and him not remembering his talent is more important. It would be a nice subversion of the "Ultimate ???'s talent is extremely important to the story" pattern that the first two games developed.
Kokichi Ouma - Ultimate Supreme Leader
Kokichi is someone who comes across as mysterious, but in a playful way. He seems to be the type of person who likes to mess with people, and because of that, him being mischievous may come into play during the trials. He introduced the lying mechanic in the demo, and because of that, I think he'll be the rival character in this game, playing a similar role to Komaeda and Togami, but he has a different motivation. Unlike Komaeda, who manipulated the cases to create his version of "hope," Ouma will mess around with the cases of V3 for his own amusement, much like Togami, but Ouma won't do it because he thinks he's better then everyone else, instead, he'll do it because it's fun.
That, and he clearly tries to playfully antagonize the cast. The scene in the demo where Kaede meets both him and Kiibo shows him making fun of Kiibo because he's a robot. I think that this will be a prevalent theme throughout the main game, where Ouma will take small jabs at Kiibo, and sometimes take it a bit too far. But, when Kiibo kills himself in Chapter 5, we may see Ouma partially blame himself for driving Kiibo to kill himself, causing him to mellow out, and reveal his backstory.
I think it would be fun for him to change his backstory with every free time event, kind of like the Sous Chef in Ratatouille ("I killed a man, with THIS THUMB!" ). He'll be playfully mysterious, but ultimately reveal himself to be a decent guy in the end, just someone who likes to mess with people. It's just his way of saying "hello."
Maki Harukawa - Ultimate Caregiver
Maki is interesting as a character as she seems to be the most normal person in the game, but at the same time, it's also what I think ensure her survival. I would be legitimately surprised to see her die in this game, as nothing about her design or character screams "Oh yeah, I'm gonna die," to me. Her talent will prove useful, as I can see her possibly developing a relationship with the Monokuma Kids. While regular children hate her, the Monokuma Kids will be the only "children" that develop an attachment to her, which would set up an interesting dynamic between these characters. Maki could use her relationship with them to manipulate the kids into giving the surviving students valuable pieces of information to solve the mystery of her predicament.
I like the idea of her being the rival of this game, as she seems to be a very no-nonsense type of person, making her an excellent foil to the lying mechanic. If it's required to use the lying mechanic to progress through the story, I can see Maki being somewhat abrasive towards Kaede for using dishonest tactics in order to discover the truth, and while Ouma could also make sense as a rival type character, he would most likely pick up on Kaede as a liar, snicker to himself, and see how the situation plays out. Maki will call Kaede out on her bullshit the second she sees it.
Himiko Yumeno - Ultimate Magician
Last, but not least, is the mandatory "filler" character that we see make it to the end of each game. Hagakure was the filler in DR1, Owari was the filler in SDR2, and Yumeno will be the filler of V3. Why? She doesn't fit anywhere. I honestly cannot see her killing someone, not even in a big twist, or even dying as a murder victim, because she also seems somewhat sharp. When I heard her title for the first time, I immediately thought she would be a killer, but when she was shown off to be someone who seems to be faking her powers as a magician, not unlike Reigan from Mob Psycho 100. Other then her revealing that she's a fake with her magic as a one-off joke, possibly with the dumb characters who are still alive being the only ones surprised at this, I don't see her offering much to the story outside of providing a couple vital clues in the trials due to her being somewhat observant. Both survivor batches seem to have a character that's just kind of there, and Yumeno will likely be the one who fits the role in this round.
Well, there you have it. There's my predictions, as well as my explanations as to why I think they will live or die. Once again, thank you for reading, and I'm thankful for any input or discussion you guys can offer. I can't wait to hear what you guys think!
Hopefully the deaths weren't leaked over the two hours I spent to write this theory.( ._.)
EDIT: If there's anybody out there who has datamined the demo or seen the sprites, PM me what I was right on, but keep the big spoilers (mastermind especially,) to yourself. I'm only interested in the first few chapters.
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'Gossip Girl, Psycho Killer': Cecily von Ziegesar sounds ...

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