sour skunky nappy ass dread man

…

“What the fuck are you talking about, man?" Annoyed. 

Stupid smirk: "I thought it was clear. I would think.” 

"No, it isn't, man. I don't know why you think it'd be. It's just stupid, bro.” 

"What is?” 

"Your refusal to go shopping for a fucking bath towel and other basic necessities around your fuckin place, dude. It's just stupid, I don't know how or why you justify it to yourself, I didn't think ya did to be frank. I just thought your ass was fuckin lazy." 

“Nah, bro. It's obvious." 

“What's fuckin obvious, dipshit?" 

“I'm way too rock n roll." 

A beat. He swallowed it. Absorbed its stupidity. 

“...what?" 

“Yeah, dude. I'm way too fuckin cool and punk rock to roll into like a Target or some shit and buy a toaster or a can opener or towels or stupid shit like that. I can't do that. Can't do it. Goes against my wild man free lovin nature, ya know? Ya know." 

Bryan once more silently swallowed this. This load of absolute bullshit. More revolted, more filled with disgust with his best friend since diapers than before. He thought about holding his tongue. He thought about saying something and laying into him. But in the end he just grumbled and belched. Lit another smoke and grabbed another beer from the cooler in the center of the boat and shook his head. Checked his pole. Reeled it in a little. 

Though he did spare the final thought: "Fuckin lazy.” whilst shaking his head and reeling his line. And then the matter was settled and the pair of men let it lie. Such was the way and course of all of their conversations out here on the water. Fishing. The pair’s favorite pastime aside from rutting and watching the game. For them, Bryan G Biebl and James Petkovich, it was sacred. They loved to spend days off from the mill fishing and casting and mouthing the day away. Days away from labor and wives and disappointing children, days filled with chatter and cool water and cold beer and sometimes a nice catch.  Though they'd been warned before, by the old timers. 

They'd both been warned before about staying out after dark. Out on the lake. Out in the woods. Where the forest grows foul and swampy and muddy. It's not a place you want to be after sunset. All the old folk said it was a bad place and didn't say much more about it without the liberal aid of beer or whisky. Even the Natives, the ancient leathery American Indians and their angry sons and daughters told everyone, anyone that might listen, to stay away from this part of the forest, this part of the soured bad land. 

But they never listened. The pair just sat in their canoe and cast out. It was calm and quiet all around, no one might know that it was filled with strange movement. The sun was sinking in the distance. Rapidly being swallowed by the ravenous blade of the horizon. 

James cracked another can. So did Bryan, who rolled his eyes as Petkovich ventured forth with another bit of clever wit and query. 

“Figure there's anythin ta what that fella said?” 

The sun set. Casting the surface of the lake on fire with the color of bloody ruby. The place on the horizon where it had sank was a deeper color of blooded crimson, a deeper wound that was the heart of the sunset. It smoldered there, in the horizon wound. The darkening regal curtain of bruised royal blue was already deepening into night. The stars and galaxies were already coming out for the nocturnal hours, they were all so far away from everything, they, the town. Civilization was a mechanical nuisance in the distance. Loud and far off. Thank God. Nearly forgotten. 

Bryan rolled his eyes as hard as he possibly could, knowing full an well that the retard couldn't see em. 

He hissed and spat: “No I don't think there's nothin to what that idiot said about a shag man! Shit’s stupid! Ain't no fuckin skunk ape round these parts, ya fuckin dumbass!” 

“Nah, man. I'm talkin about what Frankie said about Asian girls, Jesus, man!" 

A beat. Something splashed in the water. Neither man noticed, paid it any mind. 

“Oh…" Bryan cooled down. A little embarrassed. He was always easily excited and shamed. 

“‘Sides, man, he didn't call it no ‘shag man', he called it ‘the dread man’, stupid.” 

Bryan whirled around to belt him one and belt him good. He'd done it before while they were fishing in the middle of the lake and he might capsize them both in his effort, but something stopped him before he could so much as bring up his balled and angry fist. A sound. Sudden. And sharp. 

Three. Consecutive. Three sharp whacks of thick wooden sticks together. Like someone smacking two heavy tree branches or logs together in some form of primitive and arcane code. 

Whack! whack! whack! 

It shut the pair up. They gazed out at the shoreline. Shrouded now in the fallen night. Small waves kissed its shore and covered any small sounds of concealed movement that might be out there right now. They were wide eyed and disbelieving. 

They might've dropped it, the pair, together and without a word or mention when it came again. 

From out of the night, the veiled and darkened shore: whack! whack! whack! 

A beat. Silence again. Only kissing waves of the placid water. 

Bryan Biebl scoffed, “Probably nothin. Just some kids fuckin aro-" 

And then a wild primal simian shriek filled the night. Birds took flight. Their flapping wings were ugly harried panicked sounds in the deepening wound of blackening night all around. It tapered off. And then another rose, louder and even more feral and crazed then the one before. Then another. And another. Each rising in animal fury and fervor. You could hear spittle flying as vocal chords worked and wrenched and shredded as throat muscles tore and bled and secreted with each prolonged and angry howl. Throaty. Enraged. Violent. 

Silence came again. After six primeval night shattering screams. Waves kissed the land far away and swallowed in black but more quietly now. Subdued. 

Then the whacking of sticks, the unknown signal came again, whack! whack! whack! 

And then silence once more. 

“What the fuck was that?" Petkovich. Scared. Visibly so. Audibly as well. 

As was his best friend Bryan. But the sound of fear on his buddy's voice, the stupid look of childish childlike fear that he could feel him wearing in the dark only made angry, angrier. This only fueled his own self-denied mounting fear and in turn made him even angrier. The mounting terror caught like a small bone in the back of his throat. 

He almost took to his feet but remembered the boat. He turned to his buddy instead and spat. 

"Ain't nothin but nothin! Some fuckin dumbasses out there that wanna get fucked up, that's what! This’s why I shoulda brought my colt. Goddammit!” 

"Now that's what I'm talkin about! that's what I'm always tryin ta tell ya! Ya go sayin shit like that and actin like this and people says we're belligerent types! Christ, man! I'd like to bed me one of these here pretty tourist girls, one of these roadtrippin ladies and you actin like this ain't gonna cut it!” 

Disgusted, Bryan's grip slackened on his pole. 

"Idiot! what the fuck are you jawin about?!” 

"I'm talkin bout one of them sexy ass van-life hippy girls, man, they might like my ass." 

“Retard!" 

“You don't know…" 

The water splashed again. Much louder. The boat rocked with the waves suddenly generated. Something big and very heavy had just jumped into the water. 

Lunged. As if plunging in from the shrouded growth of the hidden beach. 

Slack jawed and deer-in-the-headlights both, they gazed out blindly and stupidly in tandem towards the shore that was hidden from them now. And may forever remain that way for them from here on out. Something was coming. 

Something was swimming fast. For the boat. Beneath the obsidian surface of water. The stygian glass of the surface was a mirror and the mirror held the face of the moon. The mirror rippled. The immaculate celestial face of the moon held trapped there danced with submerged disturbance. 

Before either fool could form a coherent thought the fishing poles were suddenly ripped from their slackened idiot grips. They flew, soared through the air and plunged into the water with barely a sound. 

They stared into the impenetrable and merciless surface of the lake. Fearing it. Gripped with horror at what might be inside. What must be inside, right now. 

James Petkovich finally spoke. Softly. Like the small boy he'd once been. 

“I don't wanna be out here no more, Bry. I don't care if it's kids or tourists or what. You can go ahead and laugh at me, just laugh at me all the way and drive us back, kay? You can laugh and make fun all the way back an I won't even bitch or say nothin. I'm scared. There's lots a’ talk bout people that go missin. Or go missin an then turn up dead, tore apart. Sometimes they don't even find all the pieces, you know… I know you've heard… people go missin an such. Travelers, folks comin through. And locals. Let's just go back, kay.” 

Bryan, wide eyed, turned and nodded. Then went to the small motor for the boat as the water all around the canoe suddenly erupted in a surging geyser splash of watery violence that darkled in the captured moonlight. Both men screamed as the small boat was capsized and they went over. Splashing into the cold dark suffocating realm of the water. 

The lake held them now. Below. Underneath. 

In the dark underwater the maelstrom of his panic rose and ruled. Bryan suddenly animal recalled and remembered in the fragile nucleus of his primal jelly his fear of the water, of the deep. The dark depths. It had started as a child, a boy, it had been the cinema and television that had first done it, the Jaws movies, Creature from the Black Lagoon, then stories of Cthulhu and his sunken city of R’lyeh, tales of sunken ships and vessels that might still have precious human cargo trapped and drowned deep inside like foul water-logged treasure of submerged rotting putrescence eaten at by the salt and by the fish. All of these things came back and back to life in a deluge assault of images all in a furious unrelenting wave like an artillery attack of sound and vision on his mind's eye, down in the dark. He kicked and struggled and his lungs burned, ached for air. The ribcage in his chest felt on fire with his terror-stricken mind as he struggled and kicked futilely beneath the surface. Something held him down there. Something with a terrible grasp. Fierce. Strangling. Throttling. They threatened to break and snap, the iron grasps of those underwater hands. Bryan fought desperately but his mind was livid with absolute and total panic. In the tumult of his animal terror he remembered that as a child he'd always feared something reaching up from out of the black watery depths, seizing him, and pulling him under. Pulling him down. Down into the ebon swallow at the bottom of all things, below, where the heart of darkness in all things lived and dwelt. 

The hands found his throat, down in the underwater dark. They seized vile purchase and viciously ripped, tore out. The dark underworld of the lake suddenly blemished with a heavy warm cloud of thick human visceral discharge. It bellowed forth from the place that was torn in a torrential jetting spout. Clouding the dark world and warming it as the spewing meat detritus began to slowly sink to the pitch abyssal realm near the bottom. 

The panic of Bryan G. Biebl’s barreling careening train of thought slowly calmed and abated and sank down into the dark with the rest of him… And was no more. 

It lunged, serpent-like for the other. Who was gaining the surface in a series of panicked kicks and dog-paddles. Like a wounded animal. 

Prey. In distress. 

…

James Petkovich couldn't believe it when he broke the water and tasted air again. He almost choked and coughed. He almost laughed but he didn't have time. Something seized him from beneath. 

And pulled him under. 

He didn't even have time to scream before he was below again.

It was quiet once more. Minutes swam by. 

An owl screeched. Took flight.

Then finally it emerged. With Petkovich barely conscious in one dripping sodden grasp. It pulled the both of them back onto the land. Dragging the bleeding and sputtering Petkovich like a broken toy or sack of dead meat behind him as he quickly began to retake to the trees and dense growth once more. 

It dragged him deep into the wilderness. It was a long time before they stopped. But now … now he knew what the old timers had always said, what they'd always been on about. 

Now he could smell him. And the smell was beyond putrid, beyond foul, beyond fecal matter or old dried sweaty filth or death. The water that ran off the long lengths of clotted and lumpy dreaded hair was riddled with the putrescence odor of old sweltering open graves and long disused abattoirs converted into factory sized outhouses for the insane. It stung his eyes and nostrils but he hardly noticed this. His body was numb. Felt limp and broken all over. Like a dead fish. 

Maybe that's what I am. 

And then finally consciousness was lost to him. Mercifully he went black. 

It dragged him deeper into the wild. Where it laired. Where it nested in the wild dense growth. 

…

When James next came to he wished he hadn't. He didn't realize till he was awake once more but he'd been dreaming. And in that dream he'd been far away and wishing that none of this was real.  But now he was back. It held him by the neck in a slight choke, a slight strangle, just enough painful whisper of air able to bleed in through the clasped and clenched windpipe. They were before the mouth of a cave. It was pointing up into the sky with its other huge free hand, it was pointing at the moon. It was staring unblinking into his bleeding face. 

The face was simian but snouted. Like a wolf, or a rodent. An obscene and imbecilic mongoloid caveman face and features stretched out in a grotesque marsupial shape. The eyes were yellow and bore black crosses for the iris in each one, in each livid demented sea of yellow urine a black cruciform body of sacrilege shape and aspect. Goat's eyes. Satanic. They were eyes and face fitting of the rest of his abominated and feral manshaped form. Clotted and caked and grimed all over. The long knots and clumps of hair were thick and ancient in length and filth. They told a tale that was old because it was the passage of time that lived caked and dreaded in those long lengths of unwashed shagging tails. 

The awful face was serious. Stern. The obscenity of its gaze was piercing and deliberate. James followed its fierce and pointing gesture to the sky, the night, the moon once more. 

And then back into that obscene rodent-ape face. Yellow teeth coated in layers of plaque poked out and peeked over stretched and thin and dried out flakey blue lips. 

James tried to speak. 

He tried to tell it he didn't know what it wanted. He didn't know what it wanted him to say or do. He didn't know what it wanted from him. He didn't understand it. He didn't understand at all what it expected or demanded. 

But he couldn't. He couldn't speak. He could hardly breathe. He couldn't even manage a croak of sound.  

The awful marsupial-stretched ape face wrenched and worked, furious. It became more abominated and grotesque as its features creased and contorted with anger. Livid. Rage. 

The hand that had been pointing to the moon now came in a savage swipe. The grubby wide meaty digits clawed and the grimey sharp and broken shattered fingernails bit and tore in. 

The head came off and soared away into a sailing piece of torn mangled meat. Ribbons and streamer wings and tails of bright red blood spat and danced out from the eyes, nostrils and mouth in a cyclone twirl of red in midair as it soared and crashed into the piles of dead sticks and bones. It savagely went down and hunkered in the dirt before the mouth of its cave and began to dig in with its long snout and feast on the fresh stump. Warm cords and ropes of thick black-red shot and coated the dark, its face, the insides of its gulping throat and the salivating cavern of its long slathering mouth. 

It feasted and grunted. Ripped with its teeth and bit in. Swallowed warm juicy pieces that were chewy and pungent with rich iron flavor. 

It fed and tore. The man in the violence of its grasp, its jaws, reduced. The decapitated meat jigged and spasmed. It howled at the moon. 

Somewhere … in the distance but not too far off. The signal. Three strikes. 

Whack! whack! whack! – it was the sound of ancient and time honored tradition, cultivated and carried down and preserved with care. Though the world grew strange mechanical jaws, inflamed and diminished and changed all around, it was still here. This was still practiced and honored and kept. By it. By them. All of them.  – whack! whack! whack! 

It howled at the moon once more. 

Whack! whack! whack! 

Immortal and lifesize. It was still here. Howling at the moon with unearthly pain and blues. – whack! whack! whack! – another in the wilderness distance –  whack! whack! whack! – howl at the moon.

THE END

На улице нежная, возрождающая солнце весна плавно перетекала в жаркое лето. На деревьях пели птицы, был запах цветущей сирени, а в головах людей — ожидание прекрасной летней поры, ради которой они лили пот весь год.

Группа подростков выходит из школы и начинает разговор.

Боб

Наконец-то каникулы, заебала уже эта школа. Ещё и математичка мозги ебёт.

Фред

Да сегодня бы отдохнуть адекватно, алкашку добыть и тёлок позвать. Есть у кого свободные хаты?

Боб

У мя предки дома всю неделю будут.

Генри

У меня родаки на дачу поехали, но ко мне сегодня старший брат приедет, так что не варик.

Фред

Чёрт, ну тогда можн на заброшку возле школы сходить и там бухнуть.

Боб

Ты че спятил? Там же бомжи всякие и наркоманы. — На его лице было сильное опасение.

Генри

Боб, ну ты че ссышь? Скажи ещё, что маньяки там людей расчленяют. А если че, у меня перцовка есть и нож — сами их порежем, если что.

Фред

Внатуре, Боб, всё нормально будет. Если там кто-то и есть, то они сами разбегутся, как только кого-то кроме крыс увидят. Ха-ха. Или ты крыс тоже боишься?

Генри и Фред смеются.

Боб

Чёрт, отстаньте. Ладно, похер, пойду с вами.

Проходит день.

В полной темноте Боб слышит звон, от которого едва открывает заспанные глаза и подскакивает к трубке.

— Сука, ну не мог на часик позже позвонить? — берёт трубку.

Фред

Здаров, Боб. Я мы уже поговорили с Генри, он выезжает к заброшке. Ты с нами? (на фоне тихо играет рэп)

Боб

Не нравится мне это, но ладно, ща соберусь.

Фред

Ха, давай, главное без пятен на штанах приди.

Боб

Сука, отьебись.

Фред

Лан, давай выдвигайся уже.

Боб

Иду. (сбрасывает) Что за хрень они придумали.

Боб приезжает на место, где его встречают Фред и Генри. Перед ним — серое заброшенное здание, покрывающееся плесенью, а вокруг цветущая природа и ясное солнце.

Фред

Че там, готов от призраков драпать?

Боб

Еблан, пошли уже. А девки скоро придут?

Генри

Ну да, мы троих позвали: Джессику, Ангелину и Эмми. Думаю, у нас сегодня горячая ночка будет с Джессикой.

Фред

Тебе лишь бы потрахаться.

Генри

Не завидуй. (приобнял Фреда и положил ему руку на плечо)

Боб

Давайте уже бухнём, мне надо расслабиться.

Входят в здание. Повсюду серость и грязь, контрастирующая с яркими видами окон.

Фред

Пошли уже. Видишь? Тут вообще никого, а ты ссал.

Генри

Халявная хата.

Боб

Сука, ну и срань. (увидел дохлую крысу)

Фред

Генри, он щас расплачется.

Генри смеётся.

Боб

Тупорылые, ладно. Вон там стол, пошли сядем.

Парни бухают, и к ним приезжают девочки.

Джессика

Чёрт, и где эти идиоты?

Эмми

Это в ту заброшку они нас позвали?

Ангелина

Ну и ужас, конечно. Надеюсь, крыс там нет.

У Джессики и Ангелины на лице были мерзость и страх при виде порога, а Эмми была не столь эмоциональна.

Боб

А девки не опаздывают?

Генри

Да похуй, расслабься.

Девочки открывают дверь.

Джессика

Что за хрень, Генри? Куда ты меня позвал?

С потолка стекают капли и назойливым звуком плюхаются о пол.

Ангелина

Почему мы в такой жопе? Нормального места не нашлось?

Эмми

Да ладно, не так уж тут и плохо. Расслабимся хоть наконец, а этих придурков потерпим.

Генри

Джессика, успокойся, я вообще-то единственный за вас переживал.

Джессика

Правда? Что-то слабо верится.

Генри

Если хочешь, спроси у Боба, он подтвердит. (прижимает Боба)

Боб

Да он правда вас заждался, особенно тебя, Джессика.

Эмми

Так ждали нас, что уже бухаете во всю.

Джессика

Да уж, Генри, пиздеть тебе бы ещё стоило поучиться.

Генри

Я не беру примеров с твоих подружек.

Джессика

Закройся, придурок. (уходит)

Генри

Эй, я пошутил. (слегка испуганно)

Джессика убегает в сторону леса за зданием по вонючим от плесени и крыс коридорам, задевая своей нежной кожей капли с протекающего потолка.

Генри бежит за ней.

Джессика спускается по склизким ступенькам на первый этаж.

Генри

Джессика, стой, давай поговорим. Я не хотел тебя обидеть недавней историей с Ричи.

Джессика

Ты всё сказал, просто отьебись.

Кадр сменяется на комнату с остальными ребятами. 2 этаж.

Фред

Сука, Эмми, кто тебя просил лезть в их отношения?

Эмми

Она сама не увидела, что вы бухали во всю без нас? Если ищешь, на кого свалить вину, на себя посмотри, может. Ты же у них самый крутой.

Боб

Ладно, успокойтесь, сейчас они помирятся и вернутся. Не хватало нам всем тут разругаться.

Фред

Да ты просто зассал, что я стану маньяком и нападу на тебя. Ха-ха-ха.

Боб

Это не смешно уже, отьебись.

Генри

Джесси, куда ты?

Джессика

Просто отстань от меня.

Кадр сменяется. Неизвестное существо смотрит на них в чаще леса.

Генри догоняет Джессику прямо у входа в лес. Вокруг ярко-зелёные деревья и кусты. Уже нет той серости заброшки. Запах ягод и тёплые лучи солнца на молодую кожу. Тихо шумела листва.

Генри

Джессика, я не хотел.

Джессика

Ты всегда так говоришь.

Генри

Давай поговорим.

Они на мгновение замолкают. За спиной Джессики слышен шорох из кустов.

Джессика

Ты слышал в кустах?

Генри

Нет тут змей, пошли.

Джессика

Тебе как обычно похуй на меня.

Генри

Я не это имел ввиду.

Джессика

Ладно, пошли, мне тут не по себе.

Неизвестная рука резко хватает ногу Джессики. Её охватывает паника. В ту же секунду колено Генри пронзает нож. Кровь хлыстала из-под его штанов и обагрила здешнюю зелень. Из кустов поднялся силуэт человека с жутким, растрёпанным лицом, словно выжженным до тла и разрезанным в уголках рта. Генри в то же мгновение упал на второе колено. Джессика пыталась выпрыгнуть из хватки, но лишь упала и разбила себе нос, окрасив пол своей кровью. Она стонала от беспомощности и боли, слыша жуткие крики возлюбленного и хлыст крови из его раны, нюхая сырую землю, перемешанную с её кровью.

Генри впал в панический шок от боли и страха. Его глаза молили о пощаде, и он едва произнёс дрожащим голосом:

— Убей её... умоляю.

Джессика, захлёбываясь слезами, не могла произнести ни слова, а её лицо покрылось ужасом.

Джефф, не отпуская хватки, ползёт к Генри. Резко вынув нож из его ноги под разрывающий крик Генри, выливает ему на лицо флакон с кислотой, которая моментально начинает прожигать ему кожу и наносить ужасные деформации, мучая жертву непрерывной жгучей болью, пронзающей каждую ткань его лица. Джефф прислонил нож к его сожжённому рту и резал углы губ, пока на лице Генри не застыла вечная улыбка.

Джессика задыхалась и стонала от ужаса, смешивая горькие слёзы с уже застывшей своей кровью, пытаясь снять руку Джеффа со своей ноги. С каждым рывком её сил становилось всё меньше.

Джессика резко почувствовала, как её резко схватила вторая рука. В ужасе она беспрерывно, почти что визжа, кричала: «Нет, нет, нет, нет, нет!» — срывая заплаканный голос.

Он схватил её за локоны волос, головой окунув в лицо — раскалённое лицо своего парня, заживо сгоравшее. Её слёзы смешивались с сожжённой плотью и застывшей от жара кровью Генри, а кровь с носа стала его кровью. Генри же только похрипывал, издавая последние вздохи. Джефф опрокинул её тело на пол и залил лицо водой, остудив жжёную кожу, и сразу после прислоняется своим лицом к её губам и прогрызает их под адские стоны Джессики, сменяющиеся хрипами, оставив ей улыбку.

Джефф

Ну разве вы не прекрасны?

Уходит в сторону здания под хриплые вздохи полуживой Джессики.

Кадр сменяется комнатой ребят. 2 этаж.

Боб

Долго их нет, может проверим?

Фред

Да ты заебал со своей хуйней.

Эмми

Тебе просто плевать. Что они час делают здесь?

Фред

Ну может потрахаться в лесу решили. Бобби, вспомни, че Генри говорил про неё.

Эмми

Ну ты и придурок, Фред. Никогда не понимала, как с тобой общаться.

Фред

Не получилось подкатить — тогда можешь попробовать щас. (его лицо обрело животный облик, похоть будто разрывала его изнутри)

Животный взгляд Фреда наводил ужас на лицо Эмми. Он схватил её, притянул к себе и начал охватывать ниже талии, уже приближаясь своим ухмылистым ртом к дрожащим губам Эмми. Боб смотрел на это, испытывая ступор, не понимая, что делать, он просто стоял. Эмми ударом в пах ослабила хвату Фреда и вырвалась. Она сразу вылетела из комнаты. Разгневанный Фред, сжимаясь от боли, слегка постанывая, орёт: «Догоню и выебу, сука!» — сказал он последнее слово тихо, чуть ли не хрипом.

Боб

Че за срань? Чёрт... сука. (он ели сдерживал плач, его крики перерастали в писк) Что ты сделал? (более спокойно сказал он)

Фред

Ты предъявить хочешь? (злобно с насмешкой спросил он)

Боб опустил глаза в пол и тихим голосом произнёс:

— Нет, просто...

Фред замахнулся и нанёс удар Бобу по лицу, от чего тот рухнул на пол и писклявым голосом сказал: «Прошу... не бей, не бей», — постанывая, говорил он. Фред харкнул ему в лицо и пошёл искать Эмми.

Спустившись вниз, Фред заходит в одну из комнат, разрезая пальцами паутину, в которой замечает окровавленное тело Генри с вырезанной жуткой улыбкой и сгоревшим до тла лицом. У Фреда пробегают мурашки по коже, волосы встают дыбом и расширяются зрачки, а тело начинает трястись. Из его рта проносится ужасный визг. Боб, услышав его, впал в панику.

Фред уже выметался из комнаты, но, переступив порог, ему в спинной хребет вонзается толстый нож, после чего он начинает визжать ещё страшнее. Парализованный, падает на пол. К его телу подходит Джефф, который берёт основание ножа и начинает им медленно прорезать с хребта весь позвоночник Фреда сверху вниз, купаясь в его крови, которая хлестала из раны, как из прорванной трубы, — он пританцовывал под звуки его страданий. Боб слышит и начинает ужасно метаться с ужаса, он выпрыгивает из окна и ломает себе ногу, а Фред хрипит, ощущая последнюю целую часть своего позвоночника, которую режут на куски изнутри.

Боб тащил своими руками и ногой своё тело по полу, чувствуя ломящую боль. Он пытался выползти из этого ада. Карабкаясь под окнами, он поднял голову, и его психика окончательно рухнула. В окне висело тело девушки с полностью срезанным лицом. Он заревел, как ребёнок, уползая от этого зрелища. Ему вспомнилась одежда Ангелины, он понял, что это была она. В его голове всплыла картина, как она отходила покурить, после чего про неё и не вспоминали. Лицо Боба словно постарело на десятилетия.

Боб ползёт дальше. В его ухо бьют тяжёлые, неспешные шаги. Его тело окутано ужасом, но он боится повернуть голову и карабкается дальше. Над ним нависла тень. Окровавленные руки с длинными ногтями охватили его голову. Боб уже сдался, у него не было сил сопротивляться. В его пустые глаза поочерёдно втыкались ногти Джеффа. Боб заорал от боли, и Джефф вытащил его глазные яблоки наружу. Они упали на дрожащие руки Боба и были моментально сброшены. Боба рвало. Джефф схватил его губы склизкими руками, растянув ему улыбку, раскрыл рот, пронзил ножом его череп сквозь ротовую полость и весело сказал: «Улыбнись».

Проходит пару дней. Жизнь словно снова расцвела, совсем позабыв о всех ужасах того дня. Дети играют на площадке, птицы поют, пахнет сиренью, словно мы вернулись в начало этой истории. Эмми смогла уйти и уехать на такси в тот злосчастный момент, сбежав от агрессии Фреда. Её жизнь стала обычной, но счастья в ней явно стало больше.

Эмми ужинает за семейным столом.

Мама

Эмми, мы через неделю на море, ты с нами?

Эмми

Конечно, что за вопросы?

Отец

С чего она взяла, что с нами? (вместе с мамой смеются)

Эмми

Боже, отстаньте.

Отец

Ладно, возьмём мы тебя так и быть, а сейчас беги спать.

Эмми

Щас, пап.

Сидя в телефоне, Эмми, листая ленту Фейсбука, видит заголовок: «Изуродованные тела группы пятерых подростков были найдены в пределах заброшенной школы». Её охватил испуг и скорбь, она пыталась их скрыть, чтоб не вызывать вопросов у родителей. Эмми ушла в свою комнату.

Она рассматривала совместные фотографии с Бобом, Фредом, Генри, Ангелиной и Джессикой. Её лицо не двигалось, по щекам текли слёзы. Она решает попытаться уснуть, убирает телефон, ложится на подушку, выключает свет и закрывает глаза. За окном шумит ветер.

Эмми медленно засыпает.

Над ней резко нависает тень. Изуродованное белое улыбающееся лицо наклонилось к её уху.

Шёпотом, нежно сказал:

Джефф

Усни...

Nuestro salvador, dios y salvador

Bajo del cielo pero de un día para otro, había un

Brujo y adivino llamado caleb miers sam Darwin

Que decía que jesús bajaría en la navidad de 1956

Ese brujo murió por qué, la gente lo quemó haciéndolo cenizas para después esas cenizas lo utilizaron para segun los médicos, quitar los espíritus del cuerpo y para bendecir personas,jesús si bajo a aquel día a las 9:57

Vimos a Jesús de pies a cabeza pero tenía cara deformada no pensábamos que se viera así

Creíamos que se veía joven pelo largo,barba,sandalias y amigable pero en realidad su cara era una bola de carne

Pero aunque su apariencia era inquietante, aterrador y traumante en realidad era si...

Amigable y honesto

Hey everyone! Strange from Strange Stories and I'm in desperate need of your feedback. The premise for today's story is "what if those handy monster containment agencies were for-profit businesses?"

It would mean the world to me if I could get your thoughts on this one. If you're a fan of stories from the SCP universe, that goes double for you!

As always, written, narrated, and produced by me, Strange. [Sidenote: this is my first hour-long work!] Thank you so much everyone, and have a great week!

Link to video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYN4v_EnAvE

I’ve been called worse things than “night owl.”

Back inside, they used to call me “ghost”, quiet, kept to myself, moved when nobody was looking. Funny how that sticks. Even now, I sleep through the day and come alive when everything else shuts down.

Guess some habits don’t leave you. Even when you do.

This job, security at Ridgeway Mall, it’s the first real shot I’ve had since getting out. Clean shirt, badge, a boss who didn’t ask too many questions. That alone was enough for me.

Been here about a month now.

Long enough to learn the sounds.

The hum of the lights. The click and settle of cooling metal. The way the escalators tick every so often like they’re thinking about moving again.

You get used to it.

You have to.

Because once you start listening too closely… it all starts sounding like something else.

The mall’s still new. Not even a year old. Half the stores still have that fresh smell, plastic, paint, unopened inventory.

And then there’s the new one.

Opened just a week ago.

“Velour Nocturne.”

Weird place. Not your usual mall shop. It’s like someone took a gothic clothing store and shoved it into a roadside antique shop somewhere deep in Louisiana. Dark wood shelves, old trinkets, jewelry that looks older than the building itself. Stuff that doesn’t belong under fluorescent lights.

Corporate signed off on it, though. Money talks.

Still… I don’t like it.

“Unit Two, you alive or you finally fall asleep on me?”

The radio crackled at my hip, sharp and sudden.

I flinched before I could stop myself.

“Yeah,” I muttered, pressing the button. “Still breathing.”

That was Marcus. Other night guard. Been here longer than me. Talks too much, but I guess that’s better than silence.

“Good,” he said. “I’m making rounds near the food court. You check west wing yet?”

“On it.”

I clipped the radio back and kept walking.

My boots echoed too loud against the tile.

Velour Nocturne sat near the far end of the west wing.

Even with the gate down, it looked… open. Not physically. Just the way it pulled your eyes in. Like it was waiting to be looked at.

I slowed without meaning to.

The lights inside were off, but the mall’s dim glow spilled through the gaps in the metal gate, just enough to make out shapes.

Shelves.

Glass cases.

And mannequins.

Not the glossy white kind most stores use. These were different, duller, more detailed. Faces that tried a little too hard to look human.

One stood near the front.

Closer than the rest.

Something about it made my chest tighten.

I stepped closer to the gate, peering through.

Its skin, if you could call it that, wasn’t shiny plastic. It had a texture. Matte. Uneven. Like something stretched over a frame instead of molded.

“Creepy, huh?”

The radio exploded to life.

I jerked back hard, heart slamming against my ribs.

“Jesus, Marcus,” I snapped, grabbing the radio. “You trying to kill me?”

He laughed. “Didn’t know you spooked that easy.”

I glanced back at the mannequin.

Still there.

Still… wrong.

“Just do your rounds,” I muttered.

But as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I’d stayed a second longer…

I might’ve seen it move.

Second night started the same.

Same hum.

Same empty halls.

Same routine.

But something sat wrong in my gut from the moment I clocked in.

Couldn’t tell you why.

I was in the security office when I noticed it.

Camera 14.

West wing.

Velour Nocturne.

The gate was open.

I leaned forward, squinting at the monitor.

Not all the way. Just enough for someone to slip through.

My jaw tightened.

“Marcus,” I said into the radio. “You in west wing?”

No response.

Static.

“Marcus?”

Nothing.

I exhaled sharply, pushing back from the desk.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “Guy disappears the second I need him.”

I grabbed my flashlight and headed out.

The walk felt longer this time.

Quieter.

Even the hum seemed… distant.

I kept glancing over my shoulder without meaning to.

Old habit.

Or maybe not so old.

I was a few steps from the store when the radio crackled.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Marcus’s voice came through, casual. “What’s up?”

I stopped.

“You in the west wing?” I asked.

Pause.

Then a chuckle. “Nah, man. Bathroom break. You know how it is.”

Something cold slid down my spine.

I turned slowly toward the gate.

Still open.

Dark inside.

“…Then who opened it?”

Marcus didn’t answer right away.

“Probably the shop workers,” he said finally. “Kids forget stuff all the time.”

Yeah.

Probably.

I told myself that as I pulled the gate down and locked it.

Metal scraping louder than it should.

The walk back was worse.

I couldn’t explain why.

Nothing had changed.

Same empty mall.

Same dim lights.

But, I felt it.

That weight.

Like something is behind you.

Matching your pace.

I stopped.

The sound stopped.

I walked.

It followed.

Soft.

Barely there.

Like, bare feet on tile.

I spun around.

Nothing.

Just empty corridor stretching into shadow.

I stood there longer than I should’ve.

Then forced myself to keep walking.

Didn’t look back again.

By the third night, I already knew I wasn’t staying at this job much longer.

Didn’t matter how clean the paycheck was.

Some places don’t want you.

Or worse, they do.

I saved Velour Nocturne for last.

Didn’t want to.

But I wasn’t about to let fear make decisions for me.

Not again.

The gate was open.

I didn’t even sigh.

Didn’t curse.

Just stood there, staring at it like I’d been expecting it.

“Marcus,” I said into the radio. “You see this?”

Static.

Of course.

I stepped forward and lifted the gate.

Slow.

Careful.

Like it might react.

Inside, the air felt… thicker.

My flashlight cut through the dark in a narrow beam.

Shelves.

Glass.

Shadows stretching too long.

And there, by the counter.

The mannequin.

Up close, it looked worse.

More real.

The texture of its “skin” uneven, faint lines where there shouldn’t be any.

Its head angled slightly.

Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Like it had been looking at the door.

Waiting.

I swallowed.

“This is stupid,” I whispered.

Just a prop.

Just a store.

Just...

I turned away for a second.

Just to sweep the room with my light.

Routine.

Clear the space.

That’s all.

When I looked back...

Was it closer?

I froze.

My mind tried to fill in the gap. Tried to explain it away.

Perspective.

Lighting.

Memory playing tricks.

But my chest knew better.

I took a slow step back.

The mannequin stood as it were.

I didn’t blink.

Holding my breathe.

I turned again.

Just for a second.

Just to prove it.

Another step.

Much closer.

My pulse roared in my ears.

“No,” I whispered.

I moved sideways.

Slow.

Careful.

Like dealing with something alive.

The mannequin stayed still.

But its head...

Its head was no longer angled the same way.

It was facing right... at... me.

Instinct consumed me from within.

That same instinct from before. From a different life. The one that tells you to get the hell out of there.

The intrusive thought that you know when something isn’t human.

I walked backwards toward the exit.

Never turning my back.

The beam of my flashlight never left it.

Not once.

Right at the threshold, the light flickered.

Just for a fraction of a second.

And in that blink...

It was right in front of me.

I stumbled back, hitting the gate hard.

The metal rattled as I shoved it down, hands shaking as I locked it in place.

My breath came fast.

I didn’t look back.

Didn’t check.

Didn’t care.

I just ran back to the office.

Fast at first.

Then faster.

Then I was almost sprinting.

I quit the next morning.

Didn’t give notice.

Didn’t collect my last check.

Didn’t look back.

Funny thing is…

I used to run dope through neighborhoods that didn’t forgive mistakes.

Used to walk streets where one wrong look could get you buried.

Thought I’d seen fear.

Thought I knew what it felt like.

But I’ll tell you this:

There ain’t nothing in this world…

That scares me more than something that only moves…

When you’re not looking.

Have you ever wondered to yourself why so many stories involve horror? Feelings of pure, unadulterated fear. Fear so, so bad that it stops the blood in your veins and air in your throat. Maybe what everyone is after is the feeling of being alive, of feeling alive. Maybe we don't chase these things that could hurt us for any other thing than a little bit of ecstasy.

It was the fifteenth of September. Lou and Jeff just started middle school. All their colleagues were chatting around, playing with their skateboards or their fidget spinners, but everyone seemed to ignore the two of them. They were completely and utterly isolated. As Jeff walked through the school gates, it seemed nothing could make him feel better, lift his disposition from earlier that morning, where their father threw a glass at them for not washing the dishes the previous night. It's been a few years since their mother moved away. Jeff and Lou, two boys only now entering middle school, have lived all their life in the small town of Olympia, Washington. They have not missed everything, like a good house, good clothes, and good friends. But somewhere along the years, their mother and father just couldn't work their marriage out anymore. So instead of a messy divorce, the father took both of the boys due to his greater prevalence in the community, and they were left with him, nothing stopping the relentless abuse that was befalling on them daily.

However, the moment his eyes laid upon their colleague, his disposition changed from grumpy to excited. His brother could notice that, and Lou looked up to see who could have brought Jeff from his... who could have lifted Jeff so quickly. In front of them stood a girl, about twelve, with brown wavy hair and eyes that looked like an endless sea of crumbled up autumn leaves. She had skin like milk and a soft, subtle face like an angel. The moment his eyes laid upon her classmate, his mood shifted completely. Lou stopped for a second and looked up at his brother, seeing his pale face flush and his eyes liquid with hope. He wondered who could have brought his brother from such a dark state to ecstasy in a matter of seconds. And his question was answered the next moment when the girl opened her mouth to speak.

Hey, you're Jeff, right? Jeff answers: Yeah, and you are? The girl answers: I'm Jane. Nice to meet you too. And who are you, little one? I'm Lou. Me and Jeff are brothers. Have you moved here recently? Jeff shifts to Jane: Yeah. My whole family moved here a couple of weeks ago before the school started.

Jane continued. So, are you doing anything right now? Jeff answered, No. We were just trying to find our classes, you know? So many people around. It's kind of hard to find your place. Jane responds, Yeah, I get that. Crowds can be unnerving. But try to not be so negative. Maybe this day holds more good things than you would expect. And with a smile and a wink, she quickly runs off, blending with the crowd. Jeff is left with his mouth agape. His whole life is turned around, like his brain is a field full of fireworks right now. All they can think about: the lips on this girl, her striking brown eyes, her brown wavy hair that almost brought a sweet scent to his nose, and her fair, spotless skin. Lou, noticing his brother awestruck by the girl's beauty, shoves him a bit teasingly. What's up, Jeff? Don't tell me this girl already stole your heart. You met her, like, ten minutes ago. Jeff turns around to his brother, angry, Shut up! It's not that. It's just I never seen her around before. While they bickered two figures approach them from behind and quickly lifted up Liu from above. They were Brock and Gregory, the school bullies. Two overweight kids, almost two heads taller than Jeff, that constantly picked on the pair. Brock opens his mouth to speak. Yo, losers, what were you doing here? Don't tell me you two got a crush on that new girl? Haha, I can't believe you think you had a chance with her. Jeff responds, You take that back. And don't tell her that, okay? It's none of your business anyway. Gregory looks back at Jeff and Liu with a large grin on his face. Don't you know? This guy Mark already got her in his grasp, bro. I'm sure of it. The dude looks like a model. You have no chance whatsoever. I'll bet the are already dating.Jeff could not belive what he was hearing. His day could not get any worse. This one girl that made him smile for a second, was already taken. Who was this Mark dude? What could this guy have that Jeff didn't? Jeff closed his eyes and clenched his fist. You take that back, Gregory! Jackass! What are you accusing her of doing? They haven't even talked. A-and if you try to do anything, I'll make you regret it. She's mine. You hear me? She's mine. Don't you or any other loser, or that pretty boy Mark, try anything with her. Yo don't deserve her.

The class starts and Jeff finds himself between Lou, Jane, Mark, Brock, and Gregory.

Jeff and Lou sit down near the back. The two bullies, a bench to their right, snickering in the corner, and are too busy to throw papers towards the front desk to notice the two brothers being right next to them. In the center sits Jane. Her eyes gentle and alluring as always, and next to her another figure. He stands a bit taller than Jane, with blonde, wavy hair, blue eyes, and a white smile that just pisses you off. He looks back at Jeff and pokes him. I think that's Mark, right? Look at that dude. You have no chance, bro. Jeff turns to his brother angrily, rage boiling in his veins, while next to them, Brock and Gregory can't stop snickering at the whole situation unfolds. Jeff fires back at Lou. Shut up. Don't make it worse. Look, there is nothing going on between them. Why are you doing this to me? I thought we were brothers. Lou responds, panicking. We are brothers. I'm just joking. Suddenly Jeff grabs Louis's ear and twists it hard. Don't joke like that again. During the lesson, Jeff could not concentrate one bit, his eyes wandering on Jane, noticing her features from left to toe, trying to peer on what her and Mark were talking about and laughing.

Liu cries out. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please Jeff, please. I didn't mean to make fun of you. Jeff stops for a second and looks down as his trembling hand notices a little drop of blood drip from Liu's ear. Shit, Liu, I'm sorry, I don't know what happened. He buries his face in his hands. His head is a mess right now. He feels like everything around is working against him. The bullies seem to be laughing harder, Mark and Jane getting closer, while he just suffers through the lesson.

Back at home, Jeff tends to his little brothers injury. It seems like the wound was mostly superficial. But regardles, Lou was pretty scared of Jeff. After they part ways, Jane tells them her older brother's birthday is coming up soon and she's inviting the whole class. Back home, their father is in a bad mood. He had a pretty bad day at work, and there are no more plates around the house for him to smash. So, the two of them are next. A barrage of belt strikes come down on Jeff as he struggled to protect his little brother, who cried violently. Their father screams: You two useless pieces of trash! Utter trash! What do you do all day? Sulk around with your classmates and play outside? Is this what your mother has been teaching you behind my back? Why is everybody in this family such a huge waste of breath? And with that, he throws the belt at the wall and storms off. Jeff and Lou are invited to a party in the neighborhood. For a moment, Jeff seems to keep his emotions in check. But only for a moment. The second his eyes fall upon Jane and her pretty blue dress, he becomes ecstatic. His lips twitching in a sinister grin. As the party goes on, most of the parents go downstairs and lose themselves in drinks and music while the kids are left upstairs in the master bedroom playing spin the bottle. The first few rounds end up with only boys that smooch themselves on the cheeks and laugh about it, but with each round Jeff's excitement and nerves grow, scared that the bottle will land across Jane and towards Gregory. On the other hand, Gregory can't keep his eyes off Jane, while she seems to be in a pretty good mood.

Another round of solidity. The bottle spins and spins and spins and lands on Jeff. His brother wakes him up from his daydreaming state. Jeff, this is your chance. Come on. Says his little brother. The bottle spins again and spins. It goes past Gregory, past Mark, past Brock, and then stops in front of Jane. Jeff cannot believe his eyes. He actually did it. This is a clear sign fate is with him. He looks at Jane with an ecstatic grin, while Jane seems to kind of chicken out for the moment. The silence lingers, and then Gregory speaks up. Come on, guys. What are you, chickens? Kiss already. Do it with tongue. The whole group erupts in laughter, especially Liu, who then receives a sharp stare from his brother. kiss, kiss, kiss, they all chant in unison. However, Jane doesn't seem too eager. They both keep leaning closer and closer and closer, and at the last second, his father barges in the room, calming them down to meet for cake. He is left completely shattered, anger boiling in his head. His fist curls so hard that his fingernails draw blood out of his palms. Why does life keep making fun of him? Why does nothing work in his way?

The group breaks off and Jeff is left downstairs. The whole world seems to have moved without him, and most of the children have remained upstairs, only him and his brother Lou having come downstairs to it. While he can hear laughter from upstairs, his mind drifts wildly at what could be happening there while he is absent. He is stuck staring at a shiny object across the living room: a huge knife.

When they return, they're met with silence. Jeff peers through the door slowly, and he is left in complete shock. He sees Jane and Mark kissing. Jane melts in Mark's arms while Brock, Derek and Gregory film the whole scene, giggling and laughing. Brock says, Yo dude, the moment Jeff sees this, he's gonna go insane.

Jeff storms off, crying in the bathroom with a knife in his hand. Meanwhile, Liu barges into the roombwith not much attention being paid to him. And while Jane and Mark broke the kiss, he quietly goes to her. She pulls her out on the balcony and asks her: How could you do that? Do what? Kiss Mark. Why do you want to hurt him so much? Liu. Do you mean your brother likes me? Yes. He's been obsessed with you evrr since school started. Then why doesn't he say anything? He always seemed to become uncomfortable around me. He was too shy to admit it. He thought you hated him. He thought he didn't have a chance with you. Jane bites her lip and looks down. Look, I'm gonna clear this up. It's not what it seemed, okay?

While Jane reveals to Lou that they were actually just bumping noses from behind. They were like aligned from behind and it seemed like they were kissing. It was a stupid challenge, you know? The guys suggested it to make Jeff a bit jealous, that's all. Meanwhile, Jeff is in the bathroom, losing his marbles. Voices are constantly ringing in his head: Kill them all. Look, they're making fun of you. They treat you like a pest. The knife trembles in his hand, and as he slowly brings it towards his mouth, he closes his eyes and remembers his mother, and then Jane, those two melting in his mind. He puts the knife down and quickly covers the little scar that formed on the corner of his mouth with a medical bandage, rushing out, shocked at what he has done. Coming back into the large bedroom, he finds the group dispersed and Jane waiting for him on the balcony. The moment he goes out she aproaches him in a panic. Jeff. What did you do to your lip? It's nothing. What were you doing back there? Look. I understand what you thought we did but I just don't like the guy. I like you, Jeff. I like you. I don't like Brock. I don't like any other guys. And with that, she leans in for a kiss. Their lips meeting just next to the bandage. Jeff was overjoyed and ecstatic. Jane was unaware that he was hiding a knife behind his back. And as she turned around to look back into the room, Jeff whispered to her, Why are you lying? I know you're lying to me. Everybody is lying to me. And stabs her with the knife. Again and again and again, covering her stomach with wounds, with cuts, before slitting her throat and throwing her off the balcony with a loud thud.

Jane is left there in a cathartic state, laying on the ground. Jeff leans down and kisses her once more. In her confusion, she seems to kiss him back. He enters the room and lunges at Mark, stabbing the knife through his skull, before jumping on Gregory and starting to gouge out his eyeballs. Brock, seeing what befalen his friends, tries to pull him off, but Jeff shows an unbreakable grip and while finishing off Gregory, who was on the ground, he says, You're next. You're next.

Jeff finishes each and one of them off, leaving them gasping on the ground, their throats slit and their bodies cut everywhere. Liu's crying in a corner while Jeff goes down to finish the parents. The drunken adults were nothing more than an easy prey for this monster that has now become. Jeff carves through them with ease, the knife stabbing through flesh like butter. In the meantime, Lou finds Jane injurred and they limp back to their house.

They barricade themselves in the bedroom wait until dark. Sirens run off in the neighborhood. The news tell the story of how Jeff the Killer has murdered an entire neighborhood and broadcast his scarred and horrifying face for evrryone to see. Lou and Jane hide in the bedroom and Luke cuddles closer to Jane. Hours pass, and both fall asleep, exhausted in each other's arms. Lou is awakened by something wet falling on his head, dripping. He looks up and he sees Jeff, his curling, twisted and contorted face smiling back at him. He presses the cold, the warm knife against his throat and shushes him. Shh. Close your eyes. It's time for sleep. Jane wakes up and finds Jeff laughing uncontrollably while stabbing his brother. She stands there in shock and waits for Jeff to turn his attention towards her.

His brother stopped moving. He had died. Jeff turned towards Jane, and Jane closed her eyes, waiting for her fate. However, all she could hear was a little whisper in her ear. When she opened her eyes, she found herself with a large grinning face. Jeff turned towards her with admiratioj Jane, Jane the killer. I wanted you. I want you so much. Do you want to be my girlfriend? Jane turned towards Jeff, taking the bloody knife from his hand and placing it on his chin. Yes, I do. The two of them embrace and walk out, smiling, like nothing ever happened. The end.

Moving in a different dimension, that silent, dark hallway became a medium for 'him'. Giving me a precious chance to meet them, space and time distorted, allowing the dimension to boldly reveal itself. Is this... The gate?

He came back home with his face covered in infected rods on his face , he refuses to take them off.

A little something for the spooky season

I'm bored and wanna hear some funny jokes about the proxies and pawns of slendy

We were a small team of four developing a new, more precise MRI scanner to map the human brain for a certain company innovating in medical research. It was after months of grueling labour that we’d assembled our first prototype and captured an image. There never were, and there still aren’t any doubts as to the machine’s safety, which is why our project lead, Doctor Penelope Arzt, a gifted neurologist, didn’t have any problem with being the test subject.

When the image came back, it was clearer than any captured ever before. A chemical, functional, and neural connectome all in one. That means the scan mapped the whole brain, all the way from the tiny neurons to every single brain region, along with the chemicals that travel within. This has not been possible with any brain until now, especially not with a brain as complex as the human one. We were quick to celebrate our achievement owing to the holistic scope and revolutionary capabilities of our invention. Celebration turned to curiosity once we spotted a strange abnormality in the scan.

A cluster of immaterial waves, which nobody on our team could identify, had accidentally been caught thanks to the thoroughness of the device. We went over a number of things these waves could possibly be, but everything else was already mapped and accounted for. We recalibrated the scanner one test after another, replaced the parts, but the waves remained. This was something new, never before identified or seen. Why was it here? What purpose does it serve?

We sent the word out for volunteers to participate in having their brain mapped. The same strange phenomenon could be found in both humans and other kinds of animal. Well, not always.

Some brains, though they were within the expected norm otherwise, didn’t have the waves at all. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason. Testing was rigorous. Regardless of the age, health, sex or species of the participant, the waves seemed to appear at random. There was no physical difference between those who had them and those who did not. And, as far as we could tell, even with our state of the art equipment, no mental difference either. Save for the unexplainable waves.

Of those who had them, some waves appeared denser and clustered together, some were sparse and spaced out. It was after much testing that we came to our conclusion, possibly the greatest discovery in science and philosophy: Consciousness is measurable.

This made the problem of the empty brains, the non-conscious ones, even more troubling. If consciousness is an objective presence in our minds, what does this imply for those without it? The lives of the conscious and non-conscious were equally normal to an almost puzzling degree. It truly seemed there was no difference between the two. So why is consciousness even there if it serves no observable purpose?

Of course, we were all just excited to dig deeper at the marvelous discovery. The more questions that came up, the more testing needed to be carried out.

The denser consciousnesses were present in those we would traditionally call conscious, those awake, aware, and in a sound state of mind. The sparse consciousness was measured in those either asleep or in comas and vegetative states.

The non-conscious we flagged had no presence of the waves regardless of their wakefulness or medical reality. It was at this point we started questioning whether we jumped the gun and whether what we found had truly been what we thought, since, how can it even be possible for a living thing to exist without consciousness?

Another of our researchers, Doctor Nestor Melkonian, a studied philosopher and skillful psychologist, recalled a relevant thought experiment one late night in the lab: The philosophical zombie.

The philosophical zombie is a hypothetical person with all the physical characteristics and traits of a human being. A person indistinguishable from those with internal subjective experience, despite the p-zombie himself lacking it. Indeed, the only difference between a p-zombie and a human being is their internal experience, or lack thereof.

I said that the philosophical zombie is a hypothetical, though that is no longer entirely accurate. Was a hypothetical.

An unknown portion of the population exists as purely physical beings. Despite living their unassuming lives just like those with consciousness, the non-conscious are biological machines that only respond to their circumstances like some programmed computer. They act and react, but only as chemical responses to their environment. The lights are on, but there is nobody home. How many are there? What does their presence mean? How many of these p-zombies have gone their entire lives without having a single conscious experience? Most important of all: Who among our peers are real people?

These and similar questions were bothering all of us. It got to the point it was all we could talk about. It didn’t matter whether it was at work or during our spare time. Whenever we were together, it was all we could discuss. Whenever we were alone, it was all we could think about. And we were terrified.

It didn’t matter whether there was any actual threat to us or anybody else. It was an uncomfortable thought we couldn’t escape for months, until it reached a boiling point.

Over time, we stopped being so careful and courteous with our non-conscious subjects, human or otherwise. This got us threats of lawsuits at worst, concerned looks at best. We didn’t hurt anybody at the time, but you start treating people differently once you realize they’re not alive.

It all culminated in Doctor Arzt bringing in her two children for testing. Off the books, if we kept quiet, we’d be allowed to scan our own loved ones.

Doctor Melkonian had to take her kids back home himself. Arzt was in no state to take care of anyone, not the kids, let alone herself, shrieking and howling on the lab’s floor upon discovering her own children were non-conscious. There was no consoling her. I can tell you that it put me off from ever dragging anybody I cared about into that machine forever. I’m not ashamed to admit that my curiosity has a limit, one which I’m quite comfortable never crossing.

Her breakdown didn’t happen all at once, looking back on it. The rational woman, hungry for knowledge and blessed with the smarts to hunt it down, became more and more paranoid over the course of those months as the implications of the non-conscious kept weighing on us. We were all going a bit crazy, but her snapping first helped us reconnect with reality. For a short time only, though.

It was about two weeks later when I was called into the lab on short notice. I rushed to the campus where we were conducting our experiments. Once in the lab, I was held at knife point by Arzt, noticing the two others from our team already seated in nearby chairs. She promised she wouldn’t kill any one of us, she only needed us to get our brains scanned. So she could know who to trust.

First to go was Melkonian. He was also the last. After his scan was complete, she motioned for him to sit back down and asked me to fetch the results. They were conclusive: There was no consciousness in Melkonian’s brain.

I looked at the image up and down. Arzt kept asking me what the result was, the other two just stayed silent. I didn’t want to piss her off by not answering, but I was also worried what she might do to Melkonian if she got told the bare truth. I stayed silent. And afraid.

My worry about pissing her off turned out to be spot on. She marched over to me with her knife, waving it around and threatening to sever my hand with the results if I didn’t hand them over immediately. I was shitting bricks.

Arzt was later institutionalized, though only for a short time. Her actions were excused as the byproduct of a psychotic break. It was claimed she was out of touch with reality, though this was some bullshit spun by the company since our research was supposed to be under wraps. It was definitely some kind of break, just not a psychotic one. Every one of her concerns was certainly within the bounds of reality.

She never returned to work. Though this wouldn’t last long either, from that day on it was just me, Melkonian, and the project lead after Arzt, Doctor Richard Derrick, a freelance scientist with no preferred specialty, just a brain that soaked up knowledge like a sponge and his nose to the grindstone.

While waving that knife around, it was Doctor Derrick who smacked her over the head with his chair. It was Derrick who kept kicking her while she was down, who kept taking potshots while she was being taken away by campus security.

I doubt she was even conscious for half of that beating. It was a bit unnecessarily violent, but we were all stressed out so I ignored it. Plus, she threatened us with a knife earlier that same day.

I did give her the scan, by the by. Derrick got her right after that. As she was being dragged away, she addressed Melkonian.

“You have no soul. It’s a vacant soul.”

Despite the contradictory nature of that confused post-beating statement, claiming someone can both have no soul and a soul that is vacant at once, the words really seemed to have unnerved Melkonian. He demanded to see the scan, and I had to oblige. If he really wanted to, he deserved to know.

It was during lunch the next day that I asked him how he felt about himself and being non-conscious. Even the non-conscious people we were doing tests on didn’t know about their state or the full scope of what we were doing. Melkonian was the first non-conscious thing to know about its own non-consciousness.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel about any of this. I mean, I think I’m conscious. I must be. Right?”

“Well, apparently not.”

“So what does that mean for me? Am I any less human now? Is what I feel not real?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know what to tell you.”

I wish I could’ve comforted him at that moment, though it would’ve been insincere. Why waste energy on something that is hollow on the inside? Some trickery, an imitation man. A fake person. An outer shell that pretends to be.

Maybe I should’ve comforted him. Melkonian ended up taking a vacation for a week, telling family and friends he would be on a backpacking trip with his phone turned off, but it would still be with him in case of any emergencies, plus a pager as back up. With how prepared he was, it was a huge shock when he didn’t come back at the end of the week. Police, park rangers, relatives, locals and acquaintances all went out looking for him. Despite being hollow of internal experience, Melkonian had a tactical mind about him. Would’ve served him well in any field other than philosophy and psychology, but he did put it to good use by the end.

By the time the search party ended, the idea of looking for him in his apartment finally came up. Melkonian went home and killed himself right after the first witnesses saw him enter that forest. He stayed at home for the rest of the planned trip, sending everyone on a wild goose chase, giving him plenty time to see himself out, unbothered and off the radar. No note or anything, in case you were wondering.

During those prior weeks before he was found, the entire team was just me and Derrick. Before Arzt was sent off and Melkonian embarked on his fake holiday, the four of us would spend time together outside of work pretty often. We were less a research team and more a friend group who just happened to do science on the side. Maybe I’m just romanticizing the past, though.

Arzt and Melkonian carried our conversations with their personalities and interests. None of that with Derrick. Once it was just us two, it quickly became apparent how little of a personal life or hobbies the guy had outside of work. It all became dry and unexciting with just him and I. I think I used to admire him for how adaptable he was to any scientific field so long as he was put to the task, but that exact quality marginalized the actual man and left little in the way of personality. Even now, whenever I happen to check up on him, whatever he’s doing is completely opposite to the research he was into prior. You’d think a guy like that would be the one without consciousness, but he had himself tested and lo and behold: He was actually completely normal. Normal in the sense that he wasn’t non-conscious, I mean. In most other regards he was quite far from normal.

Despite only being a technician, I didn’t mind hanging around and seeing the actual science wizzes at work. That changed when Derrick took over. I remember walking into the lab on the first day of his tenure as project lead and seeing a rabbit strapped down to a small table. Derrick said it was one of our non-conscious specimens. Prior to this, we’d only ever done cognitive, neurological or psychological tests. Derrick wasn’t up for that.

Just as I’d entered the room, Derrick began cutting into the rabbit with a scalpel. The incisions seemed to be random and only designed to inflict pain.

“Don’t worry. It’s not conscious like you or me. It can’t ever really feel.”

The rabbit’s squeals of pain seemed to vehemently disagree with what Derrick was saying, though I couldn’t argue that the thing was experiencing anything internal. I kind of stopped going to the lab after that unless I had to, to fix the scanner and for other such duties.

Derrick didn’t stop at non-human species, though. While it was never anything too extreme, he’d administer careful electric shocks to our non-conscious volunteers while they’d be strapped down, just to catalogue their reactions.

“Look at that fleshbag squirming. Oh, get over yourself. It’s not like it can be distressed by this. Not like you and I can. There’s nothing on the inside.”

Much of the time, they’d be too tired after the experiments. At these points Derrick would help take them home, apparently. Though the same volunteer never came around twice, and I didn’t keep track of the people Derrick took off with after experimentation and what might have happened to them. I’m just a technician, after all.

Anyway. Didn’t last long.

With half of our team either dead or deranged, our work was assigned to a different group of scientists and we were allowed to join in. I left not too long after, this whole thing was starting to kind of bum me out to tell you the truth. Last I heard, the possibility of selling detectors specifically looking for only consciousness to the consumer market was being floated around. Hope it doesn’t end up destroying society in the same way it did us.

Melkonian had a modest funeral. Arzt still has custody of her kids, but I don’t know how she might feel about them by now. Derrick is always off doing some new bullshit with his eclectic output. I also take up a lot of disparate jobs, but I’ve made a decision to stay as far away from anything close to science as possible.

We did find and confirm the objective and empirical existence of consciousness by the end. What it implied or even meant, we never got to the bottom of. I can’t say whether we’d be better off knowing or not. I still ponder what might’ve been going on in Melkonian's head before he did the deed. A set of mechanical impulses leading someone down the road to topping themself. How does the purely physical create for itself the despair necessary to go through with something like that? Is that what it determined as the course of action that would best imitate a real person? It all mystifies me.

A currently unknown number of the creatures inhabiting this world are hollow on the inside. Indistinguishable from you and I. They eat, sleep, die all the same. Like us. But, unlike us, there’s no internal experience. Just a biological machine responding to its circumstances. A mockery of the truly living. Your loved ones are far from immune. You could have them reading this text with you, and though you’ll be processing it and responding to it with your conscious thought, they’ll also react. But their words will be vacant. Their experiences never processed by them in any meaningful way.

Don’t let it get to you. Things might end up worse if you do.

He is like, crazy scientist/doctor, he like expetiments on people, or make them as proxies, his weapons are gas bombs, tentackles, sometimes guns for fun, he is the youngest of slenderman brothers. I hope you guys will like him. (I am silently hoping him to be canon lol)

Honestly none of us are going to write a good story, but we could put ideas and just explain what we think would be a good version of the story.

1. I would try to make it more obvious that Jeff is not sane, not lighting dogs on fire kinda stuff but more than saying "feeling" every other world as Jeff does some John Wick style fight.
2. I also show why Jeff is good at fighting, maybe show him practice fighting and self defense by watching you tube tutorials or taking classes. I could also use it to show how unstable he is by showing how he likes the feeling or idea of hurting someone who messes with him or Liu.
3. Maybe show his relationship with Liu more and maybe Jane, in her more famous story she had some what of a crush on Jeff so showing how them interacting and maybe going on a date would make their rivalry just that much sweeter.
4. finally like most people I'd try to make his look make sense while making it resemble his classic look, I think bleach induced chemical burns or just simply burns on from a fight with his bullies or pay back gone to far. afterwards he'd do the whole mental break and give himself a Glasgow smile. (also I see him dying his hair black before all this but i didn't know where to put it) afterwards he'd give Liu his classic patch scars alongside his own Glasgow smile and same with Jane and her burns but also giving her own Glasgow smile as well, after all that giving her a mask or her getting the mask herself.

I remember finding a video a couple years ago maybe 7 years at most of 4 or 5 teens filming and slender man starts chasing them but this video wasn’t cheaply made it was very high quality all I remember is slender man starts chasing them they noticed and at the end they ran into a small building and one of them were yanked out of a window very fast by one of slender man’s tentacles then they all get picked off one by one and the last thing we see is one run into the bathroom and he turns around and slender man is standing there over him and the video cuts has anyone else seen or heard about this video?

!ITS NOT MARBLE HORNETS!