SCARY STORIES AT 2AM

These are good creepypastas. I found them on the internet and you can too.

Dots In The Dark

A few years ago, my family moved into a house that didn't meet housing regulations: the electrical box was located right behind a large pillar, electrical lines were wired like they were done by a monkey on speed, and rooms were built with no possible connection to the air conditioning, making them hot as hell. However, the most strangest thing was the room I was put into. It was built somewhere in the middle of the structure, so it wasn't possible to have windows to the outside. So when the door closes at anytime of day, the room goes completely dark.

After I got all my stuff in the room and started sleeping there, I’d always find small marks on my body in the morning. I went to the doctor the first time it happened, but he didn't have any clue what it was. Because we didn't have any room in the house for me to sleep in except for the garage (and I’d rather drink liquefied rat poison than sleep in that roach-infested hole meant for cars to collect dust in), I had to keep sleeping in that room. These marks were always the same: two little rounded dots about a half-inch away from each other. While my family joked around that it was a baby vampire feeding itself with my own blood, the only one who said anything that made sense, my mom, thought it might of been a roach that came from somewhere in the house.

They constantly sprayed down the room with Raid to keep the roaches away, though it didn't stop the marks from appearing on me. Meanwhile, I wanted to test how far whatever's happening will go to do this to me. I tried wrapping myself in all my clothes, from covering my feet with socks to covering my head with one of my scarfs. The next day, I unwrapped myself only to find another set of marks on the back of my right hand. I borrowed my little brother’s night light when he went over to one of his friends’ house, just to have a little light in the room. Next morning, I find an odd smell and the night light disconnected from the wall socket, with the bulb shattered into pieces.

I asked my dad to sleep in my room for one night, while I slept with my mom. He complied, and he spent the entire night uninterrupted, while I ended up with more dots on my chest. I decided to stay up all night during one weekend, just surfing through the internet to kill time. Suddenly, my laptop crashed and when I went to restart it, I felt it. I could feel the mark being put right on the nape of my neck, and I could see it when I ran into the bathroom to check.

Because I regularly wore long sleeved clothing, no-one whenever I went to school or to anywhere else noticed unless I explicitly wanted to show them. I told one the entire ordeal and they offered to have me sleep over at their house to test something out. I slept there, and it seemed like the thing doing this to me was pissed by this. I say this because the next morning, I found two dots, bigger than usual, right on my forehead. She gave me a headband to cover it, as I went back home, back to the room.

I showed my family what had happened and they finally decided to leave this house and move elsewhere, far away from that room. I decided to sleep in the living room for the few days spent packing away everything. On the night we rode away from the house, I felt like a great burden was lifted from my chest as I fell to sleep during the car ride, resting against my mom’s shoulder in the back. Suddenly, a great pain pulsed through my eyeballs, forcing my father to stop the car on the side of the road. When I tried to open my eyes for them to check, I couldn't see anything but pure black. They said to me after they got me to the hospital that it looked like my pupils split, looking like those goddamn dots. I was blinded for trying to leave the house, and for trying to leave the room, and my punishment was to forever see the pitch black darkness of that room for the rest of my life...A few years ago, my family moved into a house that didn't meet housing regulations: the electrical box was located right behind a large pillar, electrical lines were wired like they were done by a monkey on speed, and rooms were built with no possible connection to the air conditioning, making them hot as hell. However, the most strangest thing was the room I was put into. It was built somewhere in the middle of the structure, so it wasn't possible to have windows to the outside. So when the door closes at anytime of day, the room goes completely dark.

Dopplegangers

What if we were slowly being invaded, but no one realized it.

What if no one realized it because the invaders were able to devour a person and then take on every aspect of their appearance and the ability to perfectly mimic their personality for other humans.

What if this has been going on for years, and they've been slowly integrating themselves into society, becoming the world leaders, the rich, the big names.

What if they're taking over the average people too? Your friends, your spouse, your family, your neighbors, the waitress who took your order yesterday?

What if you're the last human left?

Alligator Girl on Channel ASK-Y

I'm what you would call a lazy son of a bitch. There are only a few things in this world that would appeal to me, and the effort itself to pursue one of these passions is not a part of those several things. So, because I don't have the will to go out and frolic like a fucking fool through a field of tulips and daisies (to be honest, I haven't done anything outdoor-related in years), I sit in front of my prestigious TV. It's nothing new or fancy. At my most generous guess, it would probably be twelve inches. The upside was that it was a flat screen. I also had satellite TV, which was another thumbs up, I guess.

Sitting on your ass in front of an idiot box won't get you any success, it won't better your social life, and it sure as hell won't get you laid, but it has shown me many awful things that I'll be able to keep with me. I'll always remember one program in particular that has had me out of my seat, going through my neighborhood looking for the key to my own safety. It's all because of one of the programs I hate: infomercials. I hate nothing more than seeing "Paid Programming" instead of an actual title. No info, no story. Just some host selling America its next top useless gadget.

What made this infomercial much more different from all the others was not so much what they were advertising, but how they were advertising it. It was roughly fifteen minutes long, and was aired late at night (like how most infomercials are). More and more, as hours pass a new question pops up into my head. Recently, I asked myself, How did it air without struggle during the storm? Just a few moments ago, I asked, Who put that up for the cable company to air? and, How did it even air on TV? My mind can never stay at rest, I swear.

It was roughly a month and a half ago, when I was up late during a humid, summer night. I believe it was around 3:00 a.m. and it was storming out. Since I was sitting on my gradually fattening ass in front of the idiot box, I started to get a little annoyed at the "Searching for Signal" message played for prolonged periods of time. When it did disappear, it was temporary and sometimes all that would play would be a digital "glitch" of whatever was playing at that moment. Then, right back to searching for the goddamn signal.

I grew tired of the silence of the Television. I wanted to hear cars crashing from those "Caught on Tape" shows, incoherent screams of an audience at a pro wrestling event, or even the laugh of SpongeBob and Patrick. I picked up my remote, hidden in the nooks and crannies of the slowly aging and breaking recliner I was sitting in. I hit the "Guide" button to see what was playing on the other channels I normally watch. Most of the titles of the programs were gone because of the storm. The satellite was still trying to "collect data".

I was annoyed and about fed up with the cable. I was going to turn it off and go to bed, but after scrolling up one more page, I saw text in a program box. Alright! I thought to myself. That "Alright" quickly turned into a "For fuck sake!". That program I though I was going to see was titled "Paid Programming".

I humored myself. Most of the other channels I watch were still glitchy and gathering data. I'd rather try to watch something I didn't like so much without the glitches, than the best show ever and miss all the greatest parts because of glitches. Rolling my eyes, I highlighted the box with the words "Paid Programming" to see the info and the channel, which sparked some questions and oddness.

The info for "Paid Programming" wasn't what was usually in the info for infomercials (which was usually the title itself, again). The info said "Supplies are running out." Not only did the words create an odd and curious atmosphere, they also gave me the feeling of Deja Vu. That feeling when you've been there before, experienced this at some point, though I couldn't be sure of anything at the moment. My mind then went to the channel after it was done trying to figure out the info, but failing.

The channel's name and number was one I have not seen before. The channel number was 73, which I don't ever remember ordering, or even watching. What was even odder was its name. ASK-Y. What does that channel stand for? Why am I only seeing this now? More questions. As if I need more to comprehend.

Eventually, the thinking grew tiresome. I didn't want to think, just fry a few brain cells staring at some host make a fool out of himself trying to make cash off of some stupid product most people probably won't even need or use. The program was only 15 minutes long. It was scheduled to air at 3:15 a.m. and end at 3:30 a.m. Not having very many other choices, I highlighted the block, and pressed "Select" on the remote.

Static. That's all it was. All that was visible was fucking static. What little hopes of seeing something I had dropped like a dumbbell. But wait...static? Satellite TV does not show static when the receiver is on. It is only to show the "Searching for Signal" message on a black screen. Why was there static?

It went on for two minutes, and I just sat there gazing into it. I hoped my mind would entertain me and show me a face in the screen, just to fuck with me. I was getting desperate. When I was about to turn off the TV and call it a night, the loud white noise stopped and a sound that was very faintly remembered played in my head. Like I know it from somewhere. More Deja Vu, more stuff to think about (and I thought you fried your brain watching this shit).

I focus my attention back on the TV, and it appeared to be a bog, or swamp of some sort. Bullfrogs' booming voices could be heard, dragonflies could be seen as well as lily pads and dirty, muddy water. I took more notice of the scenery because it seemed to hold a sacred place in my mind. I paid no attention to the mumbles of voices in the background of the shot.

It was 3:18 when an Indonesian man stepped in front of the camera. Finally, something was going to happen. Only to be bullshited again for another minute. He was talking to someone outside the shot, and seeing as how the camera shook a little bit during response to the man in front of the camera, I figured it was the camera man being spoken with. The man in front of the camera turned away from the screen, to his right (left from my perspective) and yelled at something. The yell was full of rage, like it said something hostile or violent. Maybe a threat?

At 3:19, the Indonesian man spoke with a heavy accent. So heavy, most people wouldn't even be able to understand what he was saying. I don't know how, but I was able to decipher most of what this man was trying to say. He started, "Good evening, We have yet again, our high quality product available for sale! Stay tuned to watch us perform three tests with it to show how top quality it is." What are they selling?!

The host made a motion with his hand that said, "Come here". It was gestured to his left (the right of the screen from my perspective). At 3:20, a large alligator appeared. It had jagged and rough looking skin, and its teeth looked like they had been sharpened with a hard mineral. It was something out of a horror movie. It wasn't that creepy though; because of all the Deja Vu moments, I felt like this could very well be a part of them as well.

At 3:21, the host said, "Okay, first, we will test the quality of this creature's skin!" His hand reached up above the view of the camera and he was handed something. Bringing it back into the view, we see it as a sharp, serrated blade. With absolutely no expression of fear whatsoever, the host casually walked up to the gator like it was a domesticated pet. My heart dropped as he began to saw at the skin of the gator. Very oddly, and predictably, the alligator did nothing at all. He just lay down and took the cutting like it was a normal thing.

The host finished up at 3:23 and said, "See? Not one scratch is left on the skin." He was telling the truth. Not one scratch could be found. I was almost impressed by it. I kind of wanted to see if it would cut it. "We seem to be running out of time, so we shall begin the other two tests at the same time using the same subject!" He said it all with a smile. "We shall test the cutting capability of the teeth, and the power of the jaw." He backed away from the camera, and looked to his right, and screamed. He made a quick and violent gesture for whatever it was to get to where he was at. Screaming could be heard off screen, and the host got fed up and walked towards the source of the scream.

At 3:25, the host walked back into the shot with someone over his shoulder, fighting him to let them down. It appeared to be a teenage girl. She had jeans on (which seemed to be dirty from mud), and a long sleeve shirt. She wasn't from anywhere that infomercial was being filmed. She had no accent, and in fact sounded American. What should have been shock for me, was simply an expression of indifference. A Poker face, of sorts.

The host was having trouble controlling the girl and gestured for the help of the cameraman. The view shook once, and a fat man wearing a dirtied shirt with khaki shorts was now in the view. The cameraman picked up the girl's head by her hair and hit her in the face with a hard hay-maker. The sound of the blow was impressive; it was enough to control her and settle her down, for the moment. It made it easier for the host and the cameraman to grab her by her wrists and ankles and toss her to the left. Where the alligator is. That is when my heart dropped a little bit.

The alligator wasted little time. As soon as the girl landed with a thud, the alligator bit at her and consumed her entire arm. She let out a wail painful to hear for the normal person, and with that was heavy gasping and sobbing. None of that noise lasted long, as the alligator bit her neck from the side and consumed half of it. The screams and sobs turned into gurgling. Blood, I thought. The alligator let go of the neck and dug into everything else like it were a feast before death. It went from the neck, to the head, consuming it whole. The cracking and crushing sound of the skull made me flinch a little. From there, it went to the torso, to the legs and so on.

At 3:28 there was no longer a corpse for the alligator to tear. Body pieces were all over the swampy floor. Even the nearby water had a faint red tint in it. The camera then went back to the host, who said nothing. He just stared into the camera. He stared through the TV. He stared into me. The stare is what sent chills down my spine. It was like he was watching me, waiting for me to move or say something. When I did move, his eyes followed, and this continued until 3:29 when he said "Order it soon, because we are running low on supplies." Even while saying that, he had that soul piercing stare in his eyes. The channel went back to static, and the infomercial was over. All of that night was over to me, but what stuck with me was that stare.

From then on, I couldn't sleep as well as I used to. When I closed my eyes, I saw his. When my eyes were open, I saw his entire face. It was happening so often, I considered learning how to live with it. Eventually, I saw him on the television again. His entire face with the stare would be on for five minutes, then it would cut to regular programming. I grew fed up with it, I didn't want to see his face anymore. I ended up tossing out the satellite receiver and started reading to forget about him.

However, in the small sewers of my deepest system of thought, I had to go back over those questions. I had to ask why I was so sick of seeing the host's face. I had to look through all my thoughts that weren't fried by the idiot box. Did I not want to see him because of the stare on screen that I despised so much, or was it because he gave me that stare in the past and said, "We're low on supplies, so help me with this girl, or our restock will be instant."

It creeps me out, what he threatened. It creeps me out even more than the thought of being watched through the television screen.

Dead Bart

You know how Fox has a weird way of counting Simpsons episodes?

They refuse to count a couple of them, making the amount of episodes inconsistent.

The reason for this is a lost episode from season 1.

Finding details about this missing episode is difficult, no one who was working on the show at the time likes to talk about it. From what has been pieced together, the lost episode was written entirely by Matt Groening. During production of the first season, Matt started to act strangely. He was very quiet, seemed nervous and morbid. Mentioning this to anyone who was present results in them getting very angry, and forbidding you to ever mention it to Matt.

I first heard of it at an event where David Silverman was speaking. Someone in the crowd asked about the episode, and Silverman simply left the stage, ending the presentation hours early. The episode's production number was 7G06, the title was Dead Bart. The episode labeled 7G06, Moaning Lisa, was made later and given Dead Bart's production code to hide the latter's existence.

In addition to getting angry, asking anyone who was on the show about this will cause them to do everything they can to stop you from directly communicating with Matt Groening. At a fan event, I managed to follow him after he spoke to the crowd, and eventually had a chance to talk to him alone as he was leaving the building. He didn't seem upset that I had followed him, probably expected a typical encounter with an obsessive fan. When I mentioned the lost episode though, all color drained from his face and he started trembling. When I asked him if he could tell me any details, he sounded like he was on the verge of tears. He grabbed a piece of paper, wrote something on it, and handed it to me. He begged me never to mention the episode again.

The piece of paper had a website address on it, I would rather not say what it was, for reasons you'll see in a second. I entered the address into my browser, and I came to a site that was completely black, except for a line of yellow text, a download link. I clicked on it, and a file started downloading. Once the file was downloaded, my computer went crazy, it was the worst virus I had ever seen. System restore didn't work, the entire computer had to be rebooted. Before doing this though, I copied the file onto a CD. I tried to open it on my now empty computer, and as I suspected, there was an episode of The Simpsons on it.

The episode started off like any other episode, but had very poor quality animation. If you've seen the original animation for Some Enchanted Evening, it was similar, but less stable. The first act was fairly normal, but the way the characters acted was a little off. Homer seemed angrier, Marge seemed depressed, Lisa seemed anxious, Bart seemed to have genuine anger and hatred for his parents.

The episode was about the Simpsons going on a plane trip, near the end of the first act, the plane was taking off. Bart was fooling around, as you'd expect. However, as the plane was about 50 feet off the ground, Bart broke a window on the plane and was sucked out.

At the beginning of the series, Matt had an idea that the animated style of the Simpsons' world represented life, and that death turned things more realistic. This was used in this episode. The picture of Bart's corpse was barely recognizable, they took full advantage of it not having to move, and made an almost photo-realistic drawing of his dead body.

Act one ended with the shot of Bart's corpse. When act two started, Homer, Marge, and Lisa were sitting at their table, crying. The crying went on and on, it got more pained, and sounded more realistic, better acting than you would think possible. The animation started to decay even more as they cried, and you could hear murmuring in the background. The characters could barely be made out, they were stretching and blurring, they looked like deformed shadows with random bright colors thrown on them.

There were faces looking in the window, flashing in and out so you were never sure what they looked like.

This crying went on for all of act two.

Act three opened with a title card saying one year had passed. Homer, Marge, and Lisa were skeletally thin, and still sitting at the table. There was no sign of Maggie or the pets.

They decided to visit Bart's grave. Springfield was completely deserted, and as they walked to the cemetery the houses became more and more decrepit. They all looked abandoned. When they got to the grave, Bart's body was just lying in front of his tombstone, looking just like it did at the end of act one.

The family started crying again. Eventually they stopped, and just stared at Bart's body. The camera zoomed in on Homer's face. According to summaries, Homer tells a joke at this part, but it isn't audible in the version I saw, you can't tell what Homer is saying.

The view zoomed out as the episode came to a close. The tombstones in the background had the names of every Simpsons guest star on them. Some that no one had heard of in 1989, some that haven't been on the show yet. All of them had death dates on them.

For guests who died since, like Michael Jackson and George Harrison, the dates were when they would die. The credits were completely silent, and seemed handwritten. The final image was the Simpson family on their couch, like in the intros, but all drawn in hyper realistic, lifeless style of Bart's corpse.

A thought occurred to me after seeing the episode for the first time, you could try to use the tombstones to predict the death of living Simpsons guest stars, but there's something odd about most of the ones who haven't died yet.

All of their deaths are listed as the same date.

The Russian Sleep Experiment

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

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

Everything was fine for the first five days; the subjects hardly complained having been promised (falsely) that they would be freed if they submitted to the test and did not sleep for 30 days. Their conversations and activities were monitored and it was noted that they continued to talk about increasingly traumatic incidents in their past, and the general tone of their conversations took on a darker aspect after the four day mark.

After five days they started to complain about the circumstances and events that lead them to where they were and started to demonstrate severe paranoia. They stopped talking to each other and began alternately whispering to the microphones and one way mirrored portholes. Oddly they all seemed to think they could win the trust of the experimenters by turning over their comrades, the other subjects in captivity with them. At first the researchers suspected this was an effect of the gas itself...

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

So did the whispering to the microphones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The subject smiled.

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

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

You Never Know Who You Might Meet

“Good evening, Sacramento.” The newscaster’s serious voice filled the silence of my living room. “There are currently still no leads in the murder cases of three young girls that occurred in the area. Emilia Lasader, Jessica Grayson, and Ariana Sturn were all found raped and brutally murdered in the past month. All three of the bodies were found in a similar position, lying in an empty bathtub, with one leg over the other. Surprisingly, no blood was found at any of the scenes. It is believed that bleach had been used, but investigators are unsure. At this point, the most we can do is advise you all to lock your doors at night, and keep a watchful eye on your children at all times.”

I let out a bitter chuckle and switched off the television. What was I even doing here? I was sitting on my sofa, watching the news, what a waste. Since the day was still light, I figured I could go hang out at the park for a while. You never know who you might meet. I noticed that there were less people out than usual. Cowards, I thought. Afraid of a killer who goes after LITTLE GIRLS. Murderers killed people who were tempting to them, or had something to offer. As far as I could tell, these citizens were ugly and certainly not children.

I arrived at the local park near the primary school quickly, scanning the area for that special woman who looked as though she could fulfill my desires. I found her, and was absolutely haunted by her looks. Big brown eyes, peaches and cream skin, and best of all, golden curls that framed her delicate face like a halo. With her, was an older woman. The woman had long black hair and dark green eyes. The vibe I got from her was intense, almost frightening in a way. After introducing myself, I discovered that the females’ names were Brittany and Shia. Shia was the black-haired one, Brittany was the blonde.

Apparently Brittany and Shia were living together, in a small home near the outskirts of town. After a useless half hour of talking, I found myself right where I wanted to be, sitting in Shia’s living room, cuddling my sweet little Britt. Shia’s emerald eyes were fixed on me intently, as if she was trying to look into my soul. The odd vibe doubled practically every minute I was close to Shia. It went from odd to frightening to jealous to almost murderous. Not that I was really scared of her, considering I could take her down, so easily it was laughable.

The evening spent with this psycho was nearly unbearable, but being close to Brittany was worth it. Touching her creamy skin… taking in the aroma… running my nails, jagged and now showcasing a reddish tint in the top, over her limp body… I ached with desire at hearing her screams. Brittany fought a little at first, but we got through that phase quickly and hopefully quietly. Her and I lounged in the bathtub later that night. I laughed at the way her facial expression never changed, the way her legs remained wrapped around me no matter how I moved. Shia walked in on us soon after, her anger was unavoidable. I dealt with her in record time though, ignoring her shouts and blows. Before exiting the house, I treated my sweet little Britt to one last scrub down and even drained the tub for her.

Life went on as usual, meeting new girls, spending evenings in new places, watching people cower as each murder remained unsolved… “Good evening Sacramento.” The ever so familiar monotone voice said. “Another tragedy has occurred in our city. Six year old Brittany Hardin was found dead in her home early this morning. There appeared to be no blood or sign of forced entry in the home, but Brittany’s guardian’s whereabouts are currently unknown. Hardin’s murder is thought to be connected to the recent murders of Ariana Sturn, Jessica Grayson, and Emilia Lasader….” As the voice droned on, a photograph appeared on the screen with the caption “RIP Brittany” The female in the picture had big brown eyes, peaches and cream skin, and best of all, golden curls that framed her delicate face like a halo. I ran my fingers through my new woman’s black tresses while switching off the television. It’s a shame that some people died so young.

The Rake

During the summer of 2003, events in the northeastern United States involving a strange, human-like creature sparked brief local media interest before an apparent blackout was enacted. Little or no information was left intact, as most online and written accounts of the creature were mysteriously destroyed.

Primarily focused in rural New York state and once found in Idaho, self proclaimed witnesses told stories of their encounters with a creature of unknown origin. Emotions ranged from extremely traumatic levels of fright and discomfort, to an almost childlike sense of playfulness and curiosity. While their published versions are no longer on record, the memories remained powerful. Several of the involved parties began looking for answers that year.

In early 2006, the collaboration had accumulated nearly two dozen documents dating between the 12th century and present day, spanning 4 continents. In almost all cases, the stories were identical. I’ve been in contact with a member of this group and was able to get some excerpts from their upcoming book.

A Suicide Note: 1964

"As I prepare to take my life, I feel it necessary to assuage any guilt or pain I have introduced through this act. It is not the fault of anyone other than him. For once I awoke and felt his presence. And once I awoke and saw his form. Once again I awoke and heard his voice, and looked into his eyes. I cannot sleep without fear of what I might next awake to experience. I cannot ever wake. Goodbye."

Found in the same wooden box were two empty envelopes addressed to William and Rose, and one loose personal letter with no envelope:

"Dearest Linnie,

I have prayed for you. He spoke your name."

A Journal Entry (translated from Spanish): 1880

"I have experience the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I see his eyes when I close mine. They are hollow. Black. They saw me and pierced me. His wet hand. I will not sleep. His voice (unintelligible text)."

A Mariner's Log: 1691

"He came to me in my sleep. From the foot of my bed I felt a sensation. He took everything. We must return to England. We shall not return here again at the request of the Rake."

From a Witness: 2006

"Three years ago, I had just returned from a trip from Niagara Falls with my family for the 4th of July. We were all very exhausted after a long day of driving, so my husband and I put the kids right to bed and called it a night.

At about 4am, I woke up thinking my husband had gotten up to use the restroom. I used the moment to steal back the sheets, only to wake him in the process. I apologized and told him I though he got out of bed. When he turned to face me, he gasped and pulled his feet up from the end of the bed so quickly his knee almost knocked me out of the bed. He then grabbed me and said nothing.

After adjusting to the dark for a half second, I was able to see what caused the strange reaction. At the foot of the bed, sitting and facing away from us, there was what appeared to be a naked man, or a large hairless dog of some sort. Its body position was disturbing and unnatural, as if it had been hit by a car or something. For some reason, I was not instantly frightened by it, but more concerned as to its condition. At this point I was somewhat under the assumption that we were supposed to help him.

My husband was peering over his arm and knee, tucked into the fetal position, occasionally glancing at me before returning to the creature.

In a flurry of motion, the creature scrambled around the side of the bed, and then crawled quickly in a flailing sort of motion right along the bed until it was less than a foot from my husband's face. The creature was completely silent for about 30 seconds (or probably closer to 5, it just seemed like a while) just looking at my husband. The creature then placed its hand on his knee and ran into the hallway, leading to the kids' rooms.I screamed and ran for the lightswitch, planning to stop him before he hurt my children. When I got to the hallway, the light from the bedroom was enough to see it crouching and hunched over about 20 feet away. He turned around and looked directly at me, covered in blood. I flipped the switch on the wall and saw my daughter Clara.

The creature ran down the stairs while my husband and I rushed to help our daughter. She was very badly injured and spoke only once more in her short life. She said "he is the Rake".

My husband drove his car into a lake that night, while rushing our daughter to the hospital. They did not survive.

Being a small town, news got around pretty quickly. The police were helpful at first, and the local newspaper took a lot of interest as well. However, the story was never published and the local television news never followed up either.

For several months, my son Justin and I stayed in a hotel near my parent's house. After we decided to return home, I began looking for answers myself. I eventually located a man in the next town over who had a similar story. We got in contact and began talking about our experiences. He knew of two other people in New York who had seen the creature we now referred to as the Rake.

It took the four of us about two solid years of hunting on the internet and writing letters to come up with a small collection of what we believe to be accounts of the Rake. None of them gave any details, history or follow up. One journal had an entry involving the creature in its first 3 pages, and never mentioned it again. A ship's log explained nothing of the encounter, saying only that they were told to leave by the Rake. That was the last entry in the log.

There were, however, many instances where the creature's visit was one of a series of visits with the same person. Multiple people also mentioned being spoken to, my daughter included. This led us to wonder if the Rake had visited any of us before our last encounter.

I set up a digital recorder near my bed and left it running all night, every night, for two weeks. I would tediously scan through the sounds of me rolling around in my bed each day when I woke up. By the end of the second week, I was quite used to the occasional sound of sleep while blurring through the recording at 8 times the normal speed. (This still took almost an hour every day)

On the first day of the third week, I thought I heard something different. What I found was a shrill voice. It was the Rake. I can't listen to it long enough to even begin to transcribe it. I haven't let anyone listen to it yet. All I know is that I've heard it before, and I now believe that it spoke when it was sitting in front of my husband. I don't remember hearing anything at the time, but for some reason, the voice on the recorder immediately brings me back to that moment.

The thoughts that must have gone through my daughter's head make me very upset.

I have not seen the Rake since he ruined my life, but I know that he has been in my room while I slept. I know and fear that one night I'll wake up to see him staring at me."

Squidward's Suicide

I just want to start off by saying if you want an answer at the end, prepare to be disappointed. There just isn't one.

I was an intern at Nickelodeon Studios for a year in 2005 for my degree in animation. It wasn't paid of course, most internships aren't, but it did have some perks beyond education. To adults it might not seem like a big one, but most kids at the time would shit themselves over it.

Now, since I worked directly with the editors and animators, I got to view the new episodes days before they aired. I'll get right to it without giving too many unnecessary details. They had very recently made the SpongeBob movie and the entire staff was somewhat sapped of creativity so it took them longer to start up the season. But the delay lasted longer for more upsetting reasons. There was a problem with the series 4 premiere that set everyone and everything back for several months.

Me and two other interns were in the editing room along with the lead animators and sound editors for the final cut. We received the copy that was supposed to be "Fear of a Krabby Patty" and gathered around the screen to watch. Now, given that it isn't final yet animators often put up a mock title card, sort of an inside joke for us, with phony, often times lewd titles, such as "How sex doesn't work" instead of "Rock-a-bye-Bivalve" when SpongeBob and Patrick adopt a sea scallop. Nothing particularly funny but work related chuckles. So when we saw the title card "Squidward's Suicide" we didn't think it more than a morbid joke.

One of the interns did a small throat laugh at it. The happy-go-lucky music plays as is normal. The story began with Squidward practicing his clarinet, hitting a few sour notes like normal. We hear SpongeBob laughing outside and Squidward stops, yelling at him to keep it down as he has a concert that night and needs to practice. SpongeBob says okay and goes to see Sandy with Patrick. The bubbles splash screen comes up and we see the ending of Squidward's concert. This is when things began to seem off.

While playing, a few frames repeat themselves, but the sound doesn't (at this point sound is synced up with animation, so, yes, that's not common) but when he stops playing, the sound finishes as if the skip never happened. There is slight murmuring in the crowd before they begin to boo him. Not normal cartoon booing that is common in the show, but you could very clearly hear malice in it. Squidward's in full frame and looks visibly afraid. The shot goes to the crowd, with SpongeBob in center frame, and he too is booing, very much unlike him. That isn't the oddest thing, though. What is odd is everyone had hyper realistic eyes. Very detailed. Clearly not shots of real people's eyes, but something a bit more real than CGI. The pupils were red. Some of us looked at each other, obviously confused, but since we weren't the writers, we didn't question its appeal to children yet.

The shot goes to Squidward sitting on the edge of his bed, looking very forlorn. The view out of his porthole window is of a night sky so it isn't very long after the concert. The unsettling part is at this point there is no sound. Literally no sound. Not even the feedback from the speakers in the room. It's as if the speakers were turned off, though their status showed them working perfectly. He just sat there, blinking, in this silence for about 30 seconds, then he started to sob softly. He put his hands (tentacles) over his eyes and cried quietly for a full minute more, all the while a sound in the background very slowly growing from nothing to barely audible. It sounded like a slight breeze through a forest.

The screen slowly begins to zoom in on his face. By slow I mean it's only noticeable if you look at shots 10 seconds apart side by side. His sobbing gets louder, more full of hurt and anger. The screen then twitches a bit, as if it twists in on itself, for a split second then back to normal. The wind-through-the-trees sound gets slowly louder and more severe, as if a storm is brewing somewhere. The eerie part is this sound, and Squidward's sobbing, sounded real, as if the sound wasn't coming from the speakers but as if the speakers were holes the sound was coming through from the other side. As good as sound as the studio likes to have, they don't purchase the equipment to be that good to produce sound of that quality.

Below the sound of the wind and sobbing, very faint, something sounded like laughing. It came at odd intervals and never lasted more than a second so you had a hard time pinning it (we watched this show twice, so pardon me if things sound too specific but I've had time to think about them). After 30 seconds of this, the screen blurred and twitched violently and something flashed over the screen, as if a single frame was replaced.

The lead animation editor paused and rewound frame by frame. What we saw was horrible. It was a still photo of a dead child. He couldn't have been more than 6. The face was mangled and bloodied, one eye dangling over his upturned face, popped. He was naked down to his underwear, his stomach crudely cut open and his entrails laying beside him. He was laying on some pavement that was probably a road.

The most upsetting part was that there was a shadow of the photographer. There was no crime tape, no evidence tags or markers, and the angle was completely off for a shot designed to be evidence. It would seem the photographer was the person responsible for the child's death. We were of course mortified, but pressed on, hoping that it was just a sick joke.

The screen flipped back to Squidward, still sobbing, louder than before, and half body in frame. There was now what appeard to be blood running down his face from his eyes. The blood was also done in a hyper realistic style, looking as if you touched it you'd get blood on your fingers. The wind sounded now as if it were that of a gale blowing through the forest; there were even snapping sounds of branches. The laughing, a deep baritone, lasting at longer intervals and coming more frequently. After about 20 seconds, the screen again twisted and showed a single frame photo.

The editor was reluctant to go back, we all were, but he knew he had to. This time the photo was that of what appeared to be a little girl, no older than the first child. She was laying on her stomach, her barrettes in a pool of blood next to her. Her left eye was too popped out and popped, naked except for underpants. Her entrails were piled on top of her above another crude cut along her back. Again the body was on the street and the photographer's shadow was visible, very similar in size and shape to the first. I had to choke back vomit and one intern, the only female in the room, ran out. The show resumed.

About 5 seconds after this second photo played, Squidward went silent, as did all sound, like it was when this scene started. He put his tentacles down and his eyes were now done in hyper realism like the others were in the beginning of this episode. They were bleeding, bloodshot, and pulsating. He just stared at the screen, as if watching the viewer. After about 10 seconds, he started sobbing, this time not covering his eyes. The sound was piercing and loud, and most fear inducing of all is his sobbing was mixed with screams.

Tears and blood were dripping down his face at a heavy rate. The wind sound came back, and so did the deep voiced laughing, and this time the still photo lasted for a good 5 frames.

The animator was able to stop it on the 4th and backed up. This time the photo was of a boy, about the same age, but this time the scene was different. The entrails were just being pulled out from a stomach wound by a large hand, the right eye popped and dangling, blood trickling down it. The animator proceeded. It was hard to believe, but the next one was different but we couldn't tell what. He went on to the next, same thing. He want back to the first and played them quicker and I lost it. I vomited on the floor, the animating and sound editors gasping at the screen. The 5 frames were not as if they were 5 different photos, they were played out as if they were frames from a video. We saw the hand slowly lift out the guts, we saw the kid's eyes focus on it, we even saw two frames of the kid beginning to blink.

The lead sound editor told us to stop, he had to call in the creator to see this. Mr. Hillenburg arrived within about 15 minutes. He was confused as to why he was called down there, so the editor just continued the episode. Once the few frames were shown, all screaming, all sound again stopped. Squidward was just staring at the viewer, full frame of the face, for about 3 seconds. The shot quickly panned out and that deep voice said "DO IT" and we see in Squidward's hands a shotgun. He immediately puts the gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger. Realistic blood and brain matter splatters the wall behind him, and his bed, and he flies back with the force. The last 5 seconds of this episode show his body on the bed, on his side, one eye dangling on what's left of his head above the floor, staring blankly at it. Then the episode ends.

Mr. Hillenburg is obviously angry at this. He demanded to know what the hell was going on. Most people left the room at this point, so it was just a handful of us to watch it again. Viewing the episode twice only served to imprint the entirety of it in my mind and cause me horrible nightmares. I'm sorry I stayed.

The only theory we could think of was the file was edited by someone in the chain from the drawing studio to here. The CTO was called in to analyze when it happened. The analysis of the file did show it was edited over by new material. However, the timestamp of it was a mere 24 seconds before we began viewing it. All equipment involved was examined for foreign software and hardware as well as glitches, as if the time stamp may have glitched and showed the wrong time, but everything checked out fine. We don't know what happened and to this day nobody does.

There was an investigation due to the nature of the photos, but nothing came of it. No child seen was identified and no clues were gathered from the data involved nor physical clues in the photos. I never believed in unexplainable phenomena before, but now that I have something happen and can't prove anything about it beyond anecdotal evidence, I think twice about things.

The Tall Man

I know of an old Romanian fairy tale, highly unpopular even in its earliest iterations. It might be based on a particular event, or perhaps it is an extrapolation from existing Slender Man stories. The translation I'm most familiar with goes a bit like this:

Once upon a time there were twin girls, Stela and Sorina. They were brave little girls and had no fear of the dark, nor of spiders and other crawling things. Where other young ladies and even young boys would cower, Stela and Sorina would walk with their heads held high. They were good girls, obedient to their mother and father and to the word of God. They were the best children a mother could ask for, and this was their undoing.

One day, Stela and Sorina were out with their mother gathering berries from the forest. Their mother bid them stay close to her, and they listened, as they were good children. The day was bright and clear, and even as they walked closer to the center of the forest, the light barely dimmed. It was nearly bright as noon when they found the tall man.

The tall man stood in a clearing, dressed as a nobleman, all in black. Shadows lay over him, dark as a cloudy midnight. He had many arms, all long and boneless as snakes, all sharp as swords, and they writhed like worms on nails. He did not speak but made his intentions known.

Their mother tried not to listen, but she could no more disobey the tall man than she could forget how to breathe. She walked into the clearing, her daughters shortly behind her. "Stela," she said, "take my knife, and cut a circle on the ground big enough to lie in." Stela, who was not afraid of the tall man, nor afraid of the quiver in her mother's voice, obeyed what her mother said. "Sorina," the mother said, "take the berries and spread them in the circle, and crush them underfoot until the juice stains the earth." Though Sorina wondered why her mother asked her to do such a thing, she obeyed, because she was a good girl.

"Stela," the mother said, "lie in the circle."

Stela, though she worried she might stain her clothes, did as her mother asked.

"Sorina," the mother said, and bid Sorina cut her sister open with the knife.

Sorina could not; would not.

"Please," her mother said. "If you don't, it will be worse. So much worse."

But Sorina could not, and she threw the knife away and ran home, crying. She hid under her bed, afraid for the first time in her life. She waited until her father came home from the fields, and told him of the terrible thing she had found in the woods. Her father comforted her and told her she would be safe. He went to the woods, his axe in hand, and as he commanded, she stayed by the hearth, waiting for his return.

After some time she fell asleep. When she woke, it was to the sound of knocking on her door at the darkest hour of the night. "Who is there?" she said.

"It is your father," the knocker said.

"I don't believe you!" said Sorina.

"It is your sister," the knocker said.

"It cannot be!" said Sorina.

"I am your mother," said the knocker, "and I told you it would be worse." And the door, locked tight before her father left, fell open as if it had been left ajar. And her mother stepped in, her sister's head clutched in one bloody hand, her father's in the other.

"Why?" wept Sorina.

"Because," said her mother, "there is no reward for goodness; there is no respite for faith; there is nothing but cold steel teeth and scourging fire for all of us. And it's coming for you now."

And the tall man slid from the fire and clenched Sorina in his burning embrace. And that was the end of her.

New Cell Phone

A couple of months ago, my friend's cousin (a single mother) bought a new cell phone. After a long day of work, she came home, placed her phone on the counter, and went to watch TV; her son came to her and asked if he could play with her new phone. She told him not to call anyone or mess with text messages, and he agreed.

At around 11:20, she was drowsy, so she decided to tuck her son in and go to bed. She walked to his room and saw that he wasn't there. She then ran over to her room to find him sleeping on her bed with the phone in his hand.

Relieved, she picked her phone back up from his hand to inspect it. Browsing through it, she noticed only minor changes such as a new background, banner, etc., but then she opened up her saved pictures. She began deleting the pictures he had taken, until only one new picture remained.

When she first saw it, she was in disbelief. It was her son sleeping on her bed, but the picture was taken by someone else above him... and it showed the left half of an elderly woman's face.

The Creature In Your Mind

Ever tried to figure out what that thing that always lurks inside your mind was? Haunting your dreams? Eating you in your nightmare? Now you can finally face him, talk to him. But be careful... Who knows what can happen to you?

It must be a new moon night in December. When it's exactly 1:28 in the morning, you must go to bed, wearing plain white clothing. The same rule applies to your bed sheet. If you don't have any white bed sheets, don't put them on your bed or the ritual won't work. Lay down, act like you're sleeping. But I suggest you to not sleep on your back because it might be more painful. Close your eyes, and wait until you start to hear whispers coming from behind your door. When you start to hear those frightful whispers, say in a low voice, "Come to me, I want to talk." If done correctly, the door will open, and you will suddenly fall asleep. Otherwise, you will just sleep normally.

While sleeping, you will instantly wake up inside a small room, with two windows in opposite walls. Outside the windows, there are endless night skies raining blood both up and down. There's nothing but a table, two chairs and blood. Blood everywhere. Act like you don't mind that, not at all. Just get the closest chair, and sit down. Say confidently, "I'm here." The door in the other side of the room will open, and it will come. A creature that will have an unspeakable appearance will appear. But somehow, you will feel like you're just facing the thing you most are afraid of, whether it's a person, an object or a place. Just stare at the creature as it approaches and sits down. Don't panic, it won't hurt you. At least not physically.

The creature will start to talk. Its voice will give you shivers that even your soul will feel. But act like you don't mind. Just listen. It will talk about the secrets of your life, your future, and will speak about the scary truth of existence. You still have to avoid reacting despite how unsettling and utterly frightening it is. Otherwise, it will attack you, and you will die in your sleep. Once he stops talking, you will know. He will lean his head on his right fist. You shall say at this time, "I understand. Am I worthy to know?" He will ask to see your hand. Show it. Do not disobey. If you do correctly, he will put something in your hand; you can't tell what it is at the moment. But when that happens, you will wake up, and it will be exactly 7 in the morning.

You will notice something in your hand, it will be closed. Open it, do not worry... yet. You will see what the monster placed in your hand. It can be one of these four possibilities: If you see a quarter in your hand, every night will give you a very pleasant dream. If you see a little rubber duck, your dreams will be memories of your childhood. If it's a little key, you will be able to see your friends' secrets through your dreams. But if there's nothing at all, the next time you sleep, you will never wake up again. The effects of the objects lasts exactly six days. After that, your nights will get back to normal.

But I shall tell you. During these six days, never, never get rid of those objects. Always take them with you, all the time. The creature knows what you're doing.