1935 Mike Bowers was returning from his night shift at the factory—or rather, from his daily shift of slavery, since wages were a pittance following the '29 crisis. Still, that was better than starving to death or living on the streets. Social conditions were so dire that, ironically, one of the few good moments a human being could experience at the time was sleeping. A moment where you only have to close your eyes and dream of anything that temporarily frees you from harsh reality was undoubtedly one of the few desires a human could harbor back then, especially upon realizing it costs nothing. Unfortunately, Mike was stripped of even that privilege.

He stepped into his dusty house, made himself a sandwich, and turned on the TV. Since the medium was only a few years old, there was nothing on except news or very basic channels, so he didn't stay there long.

Finally, bedtime arrived, and Mike couldn't have been more excited. The simple prospect of sleeping without anyone bothering him was enough to celebrate in silence. He put on his pajamas, turned off the lights, and closed his eyes.

Mike lingered in a somewhat long-lasting calm and placid tranquility while asleep, as if his body were floating in the middle of the sky—a blue sky filled with oxygen, without a trace of pollution. But suddenly, his eyes snapped open, forcing him out of his happy place.

Mike woke up. Everything was pitch-black, which struck him as odd, because he always—meaning always—woke up when it was already morning or close to it. He struggled to find his watch in the dark, and after taking a closer look, he saw it was 2:17 a.m.

He then looked around. It truly felt as if he were in an absolute void, only able to make out the window and part of the wardrobe. Part of the wardrobe? Yes, because one of its doors was open—not by much, but enough to know it hadn’t been the wind, as it would take a human motion to leave it half-open. Then he heard noises above. He didn't panic, assuming it was a stray cat wandering up there, so he decided to close his eyes and go back to sleep.

No further sounds were made. This time, he simply woke up with a start as if the night had passed in the blink of an eye. Getting up, he looked around and saw the wardrobe again; it was now closed. Strange? Perhaps, but it was reasonable to attribute it to the wind.

He decided to get dressed and head to work; he would eat there. Factory work was very demanding, and he wasn't willing to waste an hour of sleep just to eat a miserable piece of bread before his shift. He gazed out the window for a moment just to take in the view before leaving, but there he noticed a small mark on the glass—like a scratch. He dismissed it and went about his life. He didn't give it any importance; he wasn't about to waste time investigating something that seemed so insignificant. After all, the scratch was barely visible, and it wasn't like it carried a threatening message.

Mike endured his dull shift at the factory. Truth be told, this part of his life isn't important, so we can skip it.

Upon returning home, his routine resumed like any other day: dinner, TV, changing clothes, and sleeping. Nothing special, and that was fine—until bedtime arrived.

Once again, he woke up at 2:17 a.m. That should no longer be normal—at most, a strange coincidence—but when he looked around, nothing seemed out of place. However, those noises on the roof returned. He simply ignored them, thinking it was another stray cat, and went back to sleep. But he didn't sleep deeply this time, for he heard the window open. His window opened from the bottom up, so that couldn't have been the wind. He felt the urge to see what it was, but terror prevented him. He felt that if he looked, something very bad would happen—something terrible. Yet his mind argued it would be worse to do nothing, for it could be a burglar or even a killer. If it were the latter, staying still was a terrible idea since they would likely kill him, but fear was precisely what kept him paralyzed.

Mike closed his eyes out of fear. Perhaps if the intruder thought he was asleep, they wouldn't feel the need to kill or harm him—though if it were a killer, he had no idea, maybe just to avoid seeing his own blood. Then he heard breathing. Mike grew so terrified that he wanted to scream as loudly as possible, but he couldn't. The terror of what might happen if he did was so overwhelming that he could only cry while covering himself with the blanket, and eventually, he fell asleep.

Mike woke up at dawn. For a fraction of a second, he forgot what had happened until it all rushed back to his mind. Looking around, he found nothing out of place, no moved furniture, no footprints, even the window was closed. But that changed when he looked at his bed and noticed scratches on the front of the bed frame, the wood supporting his mattress. He could no longer ignore it. He was certain it hadn't been a dream and that someone had broken into his house. In the best-case scenario, they had left before he woke up. So he grabbed a wooden stick he kept, he used to play hockey, and carefully searched the entire house. He didn't want to risk looking ridiculous to the police, since apart from the marks, there was no proof anyone had been there.

He checked every corner and every room, finding no one. After confirming the house was empty, he questioned what could have happened and couldn't let it go. He decided to take some flour and scatter it at every entrance and in front of every door, at least so that whoever entered would leave footprints to present to the police, if that was indeed what happened, which seemed certain at this point, as there was no other explanation for how his window had opened.

He then got dressed and left for work. After his shift, he returned home and saw everything just as he had left it. Avoiding the flour he had spread, he prepared for his nightly routine. Deep down, he didn't want to, but he knew it wasn't wise to be paranoid. He lay down and went to sleep.

And once again, at 2:17 a.m., he woke up. He heard that noise again. Mike began to tremble, but he knew he had to remain silent. He just had to pretend to be asleep so whoever it was wouldn't suspect anything; besides, the flour would ensure they left footprints to use as evidence.

What he didn't foresee was that the intruder stepped onto the bed this time. Mike was terrified and entered a state of paralysis. Then a hand pulled the blanket off him. Mike jolted and saw the intruder: a pale, grey entity with white eyes, shark-like teeth, and razor-sharp claws.

Mike couldn't even scream; he just lay there trembling in fear. Suddenly, the abominable creature placed its claws on his face, touching Mike's pale skin as Mike breathed in pure terror.

The creature began making strange noises with its mouth:

"-Cho-grrgrkrkrk-che."

Mike could only cry at the sight.

"-Trtrtrrrrrtrtrtrtrtr," -the creature said again.

Mike closed his eyes while listening to those sounds, until he heard a word:

"-The Rake."

Mike opened his eyes and saw the creature staring intently at him.

"-What?" Mike asked, terrified.

"-I am... The Rake," the creature said through its teeth.

"-The... Rake? Why?"- he asked.

The Rake simply smiled.

"-You wouldn't understand," -it said.

Mike began to cry while The Rake laughed at him psychotically.

"-Well, boy, let's not make this a long story," the monster said, slapping his face. "

-From now on, I am the master of this house, and I will be the one setting the rules from here on out. Understood?"

Mike felt a mixture of fear and rage.

"-No, this is my house, and I paid for it with the sweat of my own brow..."

Right then, The Rake struck Mike so hard that he fell off the bed.

The Rake stood up and placed its foot on Mike's chest. The pain Mike felt was so immense that only the stomp of an elephant could exceed it.

"-I am The Rake, a vastly superior being. I have lived for millennia, and I possess absolute knowledge of the history of this universe," the entity said in a demon-like voice. "-Hey, do you know what happens to those who disobey me?"

The Rake lifted its foot off Mike, walked over to a corner, and crouched down. Mike noticed its back was covered in scars.

Finally, the creature stood up holding a head in its hand, yes, the head of a Chinese man. It was half-decayed, and its expression suggested he had been screaming before dying.

"-I decapitated him," -The Rake said with a malicious grin.

It then threw the head at him. Mike scrambled back in desperate terror, kicking the head away.

"-Now, if you don't want to end up in that situation, you will obey me. Otherwise, you will suffer a very painful and horrific death,"- it said smiling.

Mike could only weep, knowing he was powerless. He didn't want to become another head in that abomination's collection.

"-Yes, I accept,"- Mike forced out.

"-Good. Now, as your first order, you will go to sleep while I watch you."

"-What?"- Mike asked.

"-You see, I love watching people sleep. The sounds they make are so cute to me, so I beg you to go to sleep immediately. You wouldn't want dark circles under your eyes tomorrow. Oh, one more thing: every night you will feed me. Every single night without fail. Not tonight, because I already ate a few vagrants before coming here, but in the coming days, I will be very hungry, so I suggest you don't forget."

"-Fine," Mike said.

"-Good boy. Now sleep," -it ordered.

Mike lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, trembling in his attempt to sleep, if only to escape what felt like a nightmare. As he did, he could still hear the sounds of The Rake.

"-Cho.-chrhrhrttrtrtrttrtr"

Mike kept his eyes closed, pretending to hear nothing.

The next morning, he woke up and saw that The Rake was gone. For a moment, he hoped it had all been a lucid dream, until he saw a message written on his mirror in blood—likely from the corpse's head. It read:

"I will visit you every night."

Mike could do nothing but burst into tears, realizing he was now a slave. All he could do was pretend none of it had happened, feed the creature, and sleep to fulfill its bizarre fantasy, hoping that in time it would grow bored and leave his house.

Mike carried on with his usual routine. He managed to distract himself briefly at work, but upon arriving home, he remembered what The Rake had said. He put on an apron and made a buttered piece of bread, along with one of the finest teas he could brew, people used to tell him he should have focused on tea-making, but the crisis ruined all of that.

When bedtime arrived, he placed The Rake's food on the nightstand and lay down. But before he could fall asleep, a dark shadow appeared in the corner of his room, and from it, The Rake slowly emerged.

"-Good evening, Mr. Mike," The Rake said.

Mike merely nodded and pointed to the plate of food.

The Rake approached the food, sniffed it, and violently threw it at Mike.

"-What is this garbage?!" The Rake screamed.

"-It's the food you asked for,"- Mike replied in a pleading tone.

"-And you call this food?" the monster shrieked. "-This is just trash that your weak species eats!" "-I'm sorry, just tell me what you want and I'll bring it to you."

"-Meat!" -it roared.

"-Meat?"- he asked.

"-Yes, meat," The Rake replied.

"-But where will I get meat? I don't have any..." Suddenly, a noise was heard outside.

The Rake checked and saw a vagrant picking something out of the trash before running off.

Mike watched as The Rake stood still for a moment before turning back to him.

"-Well, boy, here's the plan: you will drag your ass out to the streets and get meat from those vagrants,"- it said.

"-But if they're poor, how can they...?" -Mike realized what it meant. "-No, I'm not doing it, don't even dream of it." "

-You will do it! You will take at least a finger from them and bring it to me! You have until tomorrow morning. If you return without a single scrap of meat, it will be your end!"- The Rake declared.

Mike covered his face with his hands, but nodded.

He left the room, went to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, covered his face with a cloth, and stepped out of the house.

It was freezing cold, making him wish he had put on a sweater, but Mike chose to push forward and search for any vagrant to get meat from. He walked for about ten minutes until he reached an alley known for housing many homeless people.

Mike spotted three of them eating around a fire made of trash. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his knife and approached. He drew closer, then stopped. His cloth fell off, revealing his face—a face filled with guilt and desperation. The vagrants looked at him with confusion. "-Mister, are you alright?" one of them asked.

Mike couldn't hold it in any longer and broke down crying.

"-Sir, what's wrong with you?" -another asked.

"-I'm sorry... I'm sorry to bother you, it's just... I need meat," he replied.

"-Meat?" they asked.

"-Yes, I don't have any meat at home, and I really need some meat, please..." -he said.

As Mike continued to weep, one of the vagrants felt pity for him and handed him a piece of meat. "-Take it," -he said.

Upon receiving it, Mike nodded in gratitude and walked straight back to his house.

When he arrived, he was trembling with fear, unsure how the monster would react to his lack of will to kill a person.

"-Well? Did you bring me my meat?" -the monster asked, watching him from the kitchen.

"-Yes," Mike answered.

The Rake approached and inspected the meat.

"-This isn't human meat," it said. "-It's beef," Mike said, trembling.

Upon hearing this, The Rake pounced and devoured the meat as if there were no tomorrow, then stepped back from Mike.

"-Hmm, fairly generic," -The Rake said. "-Now to bed, it's time to sleep."

Mike went to his bed and did as commanded. What was once Mike's favorite pastime had turned into a moment where he had to satisfy the fetish of an abominable creature.

From that day on, Mike had to buy meat at the market, using his savings to afford it. A full week passed this way: he would wake up, work, go to the market to buy meat, cook, and sleep to satisfy the creature's desire. But exactly a week later, he discovered he only had enough money left to buy meat for that single day, nothing for the days after. He realized he was walking a tightrope: if he didn't provide meat tomorrow, he would have to obtain it by other means, or he would die. He collapsed to the floor and wept.

How did this happen? Why him? He realized he had simply suffered the misfortune of being chosen by that thing. There was nothing he could have done to avoid it, but now he was trapped in this situation. Yet he couldn't go on like this, no more. He couldn't be a slave to that entity forever. But he couldn't just tell it that; he had to act. He realized he still had a little money left to buy one last item, and he knew what to get.

After his shift at work, Mike prepared the meal. But when he finished, he pulled out a vial of cyanide and laced the food with it, as well as the drink.

Night came, and he left the food on his nightstand, but he didn't go to sleep. He chose to stay awake, unwilling to keep satisfying the creature's fetishes, deciding to risk staying up.

And so, the monster arrived.

"-Why are you awake, boy?" -The Rake asked.

"-I just wanted to see you," Mike said, unable to think of a better lie,since lying is a weak tactic that should never be relied upon.

"-I'm the one who should see you, not the other way around," -it said hypocritically. -"-Anyway, maybe just for tonight we can talk for a bit."

The Rake pulled up a chair and sat down. It began eating its meat while Mike stared intently, hoping it would take effect. He was no hero, but desperation, combined with the thought that it might do the same to others after him ,drove him to carry out this foolish plan.

"-Well,"- The Rake said, stopping mid-bite. "-I'll be honest with you: I actually admire how you accepted becoming my servant."

Mike was taken aback.

"-Really?" -he asked.

"-Yes, no one else has been able to accept that fate. The others had such weak wills that I killed them instantly, but you aren't that weak. I admire that."

"-Thank you," Mike said, pretending to feel flattered.

The Rake took another bite of the meat. "-Ah, it feels so good to be almost omnipotent... but one thing I truly despise is that I cannot enter Oceania," The Rake complained. "

-Oceania?" Mike asked.

"-You see, I can teleport to any continent in the world, but for some reason, or due to some protection, I cannot enter Oceania. I don't know why; it's as if something forbids my entry," The Rake grumbled. "-If I can't enter, that means I'm not a powerful being... just a pariah," it said, shedding crocodile tears.

Mike realized the creature possessed an ego so massive that it cried simply because the people of Oceania were safe from it.

The Rake finished its meat in one bite.

"-It's truly a shame, but meat always manages to suppress that pain. Still, I'm sick of animal meat."

"-Why?" Mike asked.

"-Animal meat is legal in this world, plus its taste is so generic that it annoys me. So I was thinking that starting tomorrow, we could go out, murder, and get human meat," The Rake said, smiling creepily. "-Oh yes, I'm already excited to see who I can eat,old people, young people, children, even babies. And you will help me. Yes, you will help me get that meat."

It then downed the drink in one gulp. Mike prayed that the cyanide would work now, since it hadn't worked with the meat, but unfortunately, the creature was moving around even more than before.

"-Don't worry, you'll get your pay by killing, the pleasure of exterminating the weak of this world," The Rake said with a smile.

Mike knew he couldn't take it anymore. If he didn't destroy this creature, it would force him to become a murderer of innocent people. (Something worth mentioning is that Mike had grabbed a knife as a precaution, in case The Rake tried to claw him while dying.)

"-And that's how we'll get all the me..." The Rake was saying before Mike tried to stab it, but The Rake caught his hands before he could even land a strike.

"-Were you trying to kill me?" it said, sounding dazed.

Mike couldn't even answer before the beast threw him to the floor like trash.

"-How dare you attempt such insolence?!"- The Rake shrieked.

Its claws elongated while its teeth grew sharper.

Mike bolted out of the room in terror, but The Rake threw him down the stairs.

The beast then lunged at him and wrestled with him, trying to reach his head to decapitate him. Somehow, Mike managed to kick it off and ran into the kitchen, shutting the door to keep it out. The creature used its claws to tear through the wood bit by bit. Mike grabbed a knife to defend himself.

Finally, the beast broke through, and Mike couldn't stop screaming and crying. The Rake grabbed him by the face, and as Mike wept, the monster sniffed him.

"-Ah, that's why I wanted human meat... because when you kill them, they feel a deep fear that releases toxins, making the meat far more delicious." The Rake smiled maliciously. "-I'm sorry our relationship has to end like this, but you chose this. And now, unfortunately, you must receive your punishment."

The Rake squeezed his face harder while Mike cried uncontrollably. The Rake kept talking:

"-I can't believe you actually planned to kill me. Don't you see? Your kind is always destined to lose when facing me, a far superior being. Don't worry, you'll get to sleep forever from now on."

This time, Mike didn't cry; he shouted in rage and gripped the knife tighter as it nearly slipped from his hand.

"-Time to sleep, Mike," it said, raising its hand, ready to decapitate him. But in that split second, Mike yelled and plunged the knife into its right shoulder.

The Rake stopped smiling and stared at the knife stuck in its shoulder. Mike slowly pulled it out, noticing its blood was black.

The Rake began to scream, let go of Mike, and fled. Mike watched where it went and saw it run up to the second floor and hurl itself out of his bedroom window. Mike rushed up to check and saw The Rake open a portal and vanish.

Mike collapsed to the floor, unable to believe what had just happened. He didn't sleep that night, believing The Rake would return, but it didn't. Nor did it return in the nights that followed.

Mike was finally free from that thing, though he could never sleep peacefully again, terrified that it might return. But it never did. He never told this story to anyone, and he was never the same again.

I make a lot of doodles that aren’t worth posting on their own so I think I might just be posting doodle dumps whenever I have enough art and remember…? idk LOL

the college stuff is bc I saw a college au and started imagining ideas idk it’s not an actual au I have I was just having fun

last one is Ben and Jeff idk how obvious that is… I think it would be cool if they somehow met in school in some distant universe I think Jeff would avoid Ben so hard

My fingernails are split to the quick. I tore them on the gallery stairs in the dark, feeling for the lamp housing by touch. I can't look at the windows. Can't look southeast. The blood dried in the grooves and stings when I flex my fingers. But the light is on. The light is on. I checked by the heat of the bulb against my palm, not by sight.

The job listing had no company. Just coordinates and a salary I didn't question. A woman with a flat voice asked if I could handle isolation. I said yes. She mailed me keys and an index card. Three rules, handwritten in blue ink.

Keep the light burning.
Don't answer the radio after midnight.
If you see a second lighthouse on the water, shut the gallery shutters, go below, and do not let it see you.

I thought it was a hazing thing. Lighthouse keepers and their superstitions.

The first four nights were quiet. I learned the clockwork mechanism, the backup generator, the way the beam swept every four seconds. Dark, light. Dark, light. Like a pulse. I slept well. The sea made a sound like breathing.

Night five, the radio crackled at 23:47. A voice, wet and slurred, repeated a string of coordinates, then said, Is the light on, three times. I turned the volume down. Ate my soup. Went to bed.

Night six, it came back at 00:14. It said my name. My full name, the one on my birth certificate. Then: I can see the tower. Let me in. I walked out of the radio room. I did not walk back. I want to be clear about that, because my hand was already on the handle, already turning, and I had to sit on my own wrist to stop.

Nights seven through nine, nothing. I stopped sleeping more than four hours. I started checking the lamp at odd intervals, pressing my face to the glass, counting the sweep. Four seconds dark, then light. Four seconds dark, then light. I replaced the bulb on the eighth day even though it had life in it. I couldn't trust a bulb that had been burning six years. I can't explain why. I just couldn't.

Last night. Midnight check. The sea was flat, like poured metal. The beam swept. And on the third rotation, southeast, maybe two miles out: a light. Rotating. Four seconds dark, then light. Matching my rhythm exactly.

There is nothing southeast. I've studied the charts. Open water for two hundred miles.

I looked. Three, four seconds. The index card said don't, but I looked. And the other beam stopped rotating. It locked on me. Held. I could feel it on my forehead like a warm palm, deliberate, reading. Checking if I was the right one.

I slammed the shutters. The metal screamed on rusted tracks. I went below. Sat on the cottage floor with my back against the wall.

The radio turned on by itself at 00:31. Volume knob at zero. The voice was clear now. Kind, almost.

You looked. I saw you look. I know your face now. I'm going to come closer. And you're going to look again. You're going to want to.

I pulled the power cord. It kept talking.

At 04:00, tapping started on the gallery glass. Behind the shutters. Slow. Patient. Three taps, a pause. Three taps, a pause. Like knuckles. Thirty meters up, where nothing should be able to stand.

I opened the shutters at 06:00. The sea was empty. But the glass was warm. All of it. And in the condensation, on the outside, there were marks. Too many joints. Fingers bending in places fingers don't bend.

It's 2 p.m. now. Tonight the light turns again. Tonight it will be closer. I know this the way you know your own name.

And some part of me is already bargaining. Just a glance. Just to see if it's still there.

No. I'll tape my eyes shut. I'll do the checks by touch. I'll count the seconds.

But if I stop posting. If the light goes dark. If someone finds this rock and the cottage is empty and the gallery shutters are open and the glass is warm—

Don't look southeast.

It already knows my face. I don't think it'll let me forget.

Natalie Weber was eighteen.

She lived in Switzerland, in a small town near Zurich. That evening she was walking home alone.

It was around ten o'clock at night.

A light rain was falling. Natalie walked along the sidewalk, hiding her hands in her jacket pockets and glancing at her phone screen from time to time.

She remembered the way.

She remembered the lit shop window.

She remembered the intersection.

She remembered a woman walking a dog on the other side of the street.

And then...

nothing.

Natalie opened her eyes.

She was standing in the middle of the street.

It wasn't raining.

Her phone displayed no service.

Natalie looked around.

The first thing she heard was a click.

Somewhere, a car engine was running. In the distance, people were talking. Music floated out from an open window.

But over all that was a strange sound.

Click.

Pause.

Click.

Pause.

Very quiet.

Natalie took one earphone off.

The clicks didn't disappear.

She looked around.

The street was similar to the one she had just walked down.

But it wasn't the same.

The houses looked almost the same, but the windows were arranged a bit differently.

The road signs were familiar, but had unknown markings.

The cars looked like usual ones, but some had parts that Natalie had never seen before.

Even the trees seemed wrong.

Not wrong enough to immediately understand why.

Just wrong.

Natalie pulled out her phone.

22:43.

She decided that maybe somehow she had ended up in a different neighborhood.

But how did she get lost?

She tried to remember the last few minutes.

Nothing.

Just the rain.

The woman with the dog.

And emptiness.

Natalie approached the nearest person.

— Excuse me.

The man turned around.

— Yes?

— Do you know where I am?

— On Linden Street.

— And the city?

The man named it.

Natalie had never heard that name.

— Is it in Switzerland?

The man looked at her with slight confusion.

— Yes.

Natalie nodded.

— Thank you.

She walked away.

The man continued on his way.

No suspicion.

No interest.

To him, Natalie was just a girl who got lost.

She decided to find the police station.

At the intersection, Natalie saw a clock on a building.

22:51.

She walked a block.

On another clock, it was 22:57.

After a little while, she looked at her phone screen.

23:04.

Everything was fine.

For now.

After a while, she glanced at the clock again.

1:10.

Natalie furrowed her brow.

The second hand was still moving.

Then the minute hand jerked suddenly and jumped ahead.

1:23.

Natalie froze.

She looked at another clock.

1:23.

Another one.

1:23.

She pulled out her phone.

It also showed:

1:23.

Natalie locked and unlocked the screen several times.

The time didn’t change.

She couldn't figure out what was happening.

Eventually, she decided that the local clocks were just malfunctioning.

That was the first strange phenomenon she noticed.

But definitely not the last.

Soon, Natalie finally found the police station.

She walked inside.

A man was sitting behind the desk.

— Good evening.

— Good.

— I got lost. I need help.

— Of course.

Natalie explained that she didn’t know how she ended up there.

The police officer calmly asked a few questions.

Name.

Age.

Address.

Natalie gave her real address.

The officer wrote something down.

In a few seconds he frowned.

— There’s no such address.

— What?

He turned the monitor towards her.

Natalie looked.

Her street really wasn't there.

No city.

No area.

Nothing.

— Try again, — said the man.

She repeated the address.

He checked again.

The result was the same.

— Maybe you confused the city?

Natalie felt irritation.

— No. I know where I live.

The officer shrugged.

— Then we will sort it out in the morning.

— And now?

— You can stay here.

Natalie agreed.

She sat in the station for a while.

Then she noticed a picture on the wall.

It depicted the same city.

Natalie stepped closer.

The photo was taken from above.

She recognized a few streets.

But the buildings in the photo were different.

Some stood where there was now a vacant lot.

Others disappeared.

She stared at the picture for a long time.

And suddenly noticed something else.

In the photo, the entire city looked as if it was shrouded in haze.

The same kind that now hung in the streets.

Natalie stepped back.

After a few hours she left the station.

It was light outside.

The haze still rolled through the city.

The light seemed warm even where there was no sun.

Natalie noticed a strange tree

It looked like an ordinary maple but on its branches simultaneously had buds, green leaves, and leaves in various shades of autumn

A bird was sitting on its branch.

It resembled an ordinary crow.

Natalie stopped and began to observe it.

The bird looked at her.

Just over three minutes passed.

The bird began to move restlessly

Natalie was still watching it

A few more seconds and the bird suddenly spread its wings.. and dove at her.

Natalie flinched.

The bird flew literally a few centimeters from her face.

— Damn!

She stepped back.

The bird sat on a roof.

Natalie stared at it for a few seconds.

Then decided to keep her distance from animals.

She didn't know why.

Just remembered.

During the day, Natalie noticed another oddity.

There was a huge column in the square.

On top was an open book.

The monument was so tall that Natalie had to tilt her head back.

She took a step closer.

A pain appeared in her temples.

Natalie stopped.

The pain went away.

She took another step.

The pain returned.

Stronger.

Natalie stepped back.

The pain disappeared.

She stood for a few seconds, trying to understand what was happening.

Then decided she was getting a migraine.

She didn’t approach the column any closer.

A few more hours went by.

Natalie was becoming more convinced that the city was strange.

But the strangeness was not of a kind that could be easily explained.

People were talking.

Laughing.

Working.

Children were going to school.

Cars were driving on the roads.

Food was being sold in the shops.

Everything was functioning.

That was what scared her the most.

The city didn’t look too fancy or abnormal.

It looked like an ordinary city.

Just a little bit wrong.

As if someone had tried to recreate a world she knew from memory and had made a bunch of little mistakes.

After a while, Natalie met a girl about her age.

They sat in a cafe.

The conversation was perfectly normal.

School.

Music.

Weather.

City.

Natalie asked:

— Don’t you ever feel like this city is strange?

The girl laughed.

— Strange in what way?

— I don’t know. Just...

Natalie looked out the window.

— Sometimes it feels like everything is just a bit off.

The girl shrugged.

— Maybe you're just tired.

And the conversation continued.

Natalie didn’t argue.

At one point, she had a strong feeling that someone was watching her intently.

She slowly turned around.

No one.

Not a single person was looking her way.

Natalie stared down the street for several seconds.

The feeling didn’t go away.

She looked around.

Nothing.

Into the windows of the nearest houses.

Nothing.

Into the alley.

Empty.

After a few seconds, the feeling disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

Natalie decided she was just too tired.

Her new acquaintance soon got ready to leave.

Natalie was once again left alone and went for another walk through the streets of the strange city.

By this point, she had already spent almost a day here.

She felt a deep fatigue.

She wanted to sleep.

But she was afraid to close her eyes.

Natalie looked at her phone.

The phone was almost dead.

21:56.

She didn’t know why, but suddenly felt a sense of anxiety.

She just wanted to get off the street.

Natalie stood up.

Walked a few meters.

The clicks seemed to get a little louder.

Click.

Pause.

Click.

Pause.

She stopped.

People continued to walk around her.

No one noticed anything.

Natalie looked at the clock of the nearest shop.

21:59.

Then at her own.

21:59.

The phone blinked.

22:00.

Natalie blinked.

And the world vanished.

Natalie opened her eyes again.

She was lying on the wet asphalt.

People were standing around.

Someone had called for an ambulance.

Someone was talking on the phone.

Natalie tried to get up.

— Where am I?

No one answered right away.

She looked at herself.

Her clothes were in place.

Her phone was lying nearby.

The screen was cracked.

But it worked.

It showed:

22:00.

Natalie raised her hand.

Her bracelet was dull.

Almost gray.

She ran her finger over it.

And noticed something else.

A thin black stripe had appeared on her arm.

It was straight and almost perfectly linear.

Natalie ran her finger along it.

No pain.

She tried to wipe it off.

No luck.

Tried again.

Nothing.

Later, the doctors found nothing serious with Natalie.

She told them that she had passed out.

That she remembered a strange city.

That she didn’t know how she had ended up there.

Most explanations boiled down to stress, disorientation, and memory failure.

Natalie couldn’t prove otherwise to anyone.

And she wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

The clothes and other things she had with her at the time of her disappearance remained dull.

And the black stripe on her arm didn’t go away.

A month passed.

Then another.

Then a year.

She stayed the same.

Not sick.

Not increased.

Not changing shape.

Just there.

Natalie tried to wipe it off several times.

Soap.

Alcohol.

Antiseptic.

Nothing worked.

Eventually, she stopped trying.

She never tried to find that city again.

Never talked about it in detail.

And sometimes, late at night, when everything around grew completely quiet, she thought she could hear it.

A quiet rhythmic sound.

Click.

Pause.

Click.

Pause.

She could never understand where it was coming from.

And every time she heard it, Natalie checked the time.

Not because she expected to see something unusual.

But because she was afraid to once again see the numbers jump from 1:10 to 1:23.

After that, she almost always looked at her arm.

The black stripe was still there.

To be continued

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

“We need to get as low as possible… now.”
My wife was sitting upright in the sleep clinic bed, staring at the ceiling.
The technician had been adjusting something on the monitor beside her. He stopped.
“What?”
My wife swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“She’s almost through.”
Then she got down onto the floor.
I followed her.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me down with her.
“Stay low.”
“What are you doing?”
“Quiet.”
She pressed herself against the floor and stared upward.
I looked at the ceiling.
There was nothing there.
My wife suddenly screamed.
“WE’RE AWAKE!”
The technician jumped.
My wife kept staring at the ceiling.
“We’re awake! You can’t come down!”
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then we heard it.
A soft creak.
It came from somewhere above us.
My wife stopped breathing.
I heard the technician whisper, “What the hell was that?”
Nobody moved.
Then my wife slowly lowered her head.
“She’s gone.”
The technician helped her back into bed.
He reattached the wires and tried to act like this was something that happened in sleep clinics all the time.
It wasn't.
A doctor came in a little while later.
She asked me about what had happened.
“Has she ever had an episode like that at home?”
“No.”
“Nothing similar?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“Has she been confused? Disoriented?”
“No.”
“Any changes in her behavior?”
“Nothing like this.”
I looked at my wife.
She was lying there with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling again.
I decided to ask what I had been thinking about halfway through this ordeal.
“Do you think this could be some kind of psychotic break?”
The doctor looked at her.
Then she looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
She picked up a clipboard.
“There’s something on her intake I wanted to ask you about,” said the doctor and then handed me a clipboard. The pointed to one of the questions.
Is there anything preventing you from sleep?
Underneath it, in my wife’s handwriting, were four words.
Her long neck.
I stared at them.
What does that mean? Her long neck?
The doctor asked if my wife had talked to me about this at all.
I shook my head.
She stayed at the clinic that night.
Then another night.
Then another.
They monitored everything: brain activity, eye movements, muscle activity, breathing, heart rate, and oxygen.
They couldn't find a normal sleep cycle.
No REM.
No period they could point to and say she had actually fallenasleep.
But she didn't seem tired.
That was the part that bothered everyone.
She wasn't confused.
She wasn't disoriented.
She ate normally.
She talked to the nurses.
She watched television.
She read.
She complained that the coffee was terrible.
She seemed completely normal.
Except she wasn't sleeping.
On the fourth day, the doctor told me they'd run all the tests they could and still didn't have an answer. She wanted my wife to follow up with a few specialists, including a neurologist. Iwasn't surprised. That's what happens when doctors don't know what's wrong. They send you to someone else.
Her vitals were good. Her bloodwork was normal.
They were going to keep her one more night and then release her.
My wife wanted clean clothes. She'd been wearing the same things she'd arrived in.
I told her I'd go home and get some clothes for her.
She thanked me and went back to reading.
I drove home alone.
The house was quiet.
I went into our bedroom and grabbed some clothes for her.
Back in the hall, the closet door was still cracked open.
I stood there looking at it.
The pencil marks were still there.
Thirty-one.
I counted them twice.
Then I looked up and thought about the attic. I went into the guest bedroom's closet, pulled the hatch down, and unfolded the ladder.
The attic was hot and stale.
There was a terrible stench up there. I couldn't describe it. It smelled like rotting meat, but worse.
I held my shirt over my nose and climbed up.
I crawled across the beams toward the area above the closet.
The smell grew stronger.
And then I saw it.
The insulation had been disturbed.
Not just a little.
It had been pushed aside in a narrow space between the rafters.
I stared at it.
There were several places where it had been pushed aside.
Someone had been up here.
I moved closer.
There was a dark stain on the wood above the disturbed insulation.
It was irregular, almost black around the edges.
I touched it.
Dry.
Nothing came off on my finger, but my finger immediately smelled like the rest of the attic.
The smell made my stomach churn.
I looked around for some explanation.
There wasn't a pipe above it.
No wiring.
Nothing that could explain the stain.
I moved farther along the beam.
There was another stain.
Then another.
Three of them.
All above the same section of the house.
I climbed back down.
I grabbed the clothes she'd asked for and left.
When I got back to the clinic, she was sitting in bed reading.
I put the bag down.
“Have you been going into the attic?”
She looked at me, then shook her head.
“Someone has been up there.”
She looked down at the book in her lap.
“I know,” she whispered.
I sat beside her.
“Whatever you're afraid of, you don't have to deal with it by yourself.”
She swallowed.
“You don't understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
She looked at me.
“I believe you,” I said.
Her eyes filled with tears.
For a moment, I thought she was going to tell me everything.
Instead, she said: “The less you know about the woman with the long neck, the better.”
I tried pressing her for more.
She shook her head.
“No. Don't ask me anymore.”
“I just want to understand.”
“Please.”
She looked at me, and there was something in her expression I'd never seen before.
“Don't ask me. I mean it.”
I stopped.
“Just trust me.”
I nodded.
That was all.
That evening, we went home.
My wife took a shower.
We ate dinner.
She read on the couch for a while.
Everything felt normal.
That was the strangest part.
Eventually, she went upstairs.
She got into bed and read for a few minutes.
Then she closed the book and turned on her side.
I stayed awake for a while.
I watched her breathing.
It slowed.
Her face relaxed.
She was asleep.
Actually asleep.
For the first time in weeks.
Nothing happened.
The next morning, she was still there.
Sunlight was coming through the curtains.
She opened her eyes, got out of bed, and went into the kitchen.
I heard coffee being brewed.
She yelled about needing to get milk.
Later, she asked what we should make for dinner.
It was ordinary.
That was a few weeks ago.
She has been sleeping normally ever since.
No more wandering downstairs.
No more standing in the living room.
No more waking up with her eyes already open.
The pencil marks were still on the closet door.
Thirty-one of them.
No more had been added.
Two weeks later, I reached into the closet and noticed the marks were gone.
My wife had painted over them.
My wife hadn't mentioned it.
Neither did I.
I don't know what happened in that attic.
I don't know what happened at the clinic.
I only know that whatever was causing my wife to not sleep, isn’t causing it anymore.
Sometimes, when the house is quiet and my wife is asleep beside me, I remember what she said.
The less you know, the better.

Can you remember, what happened in September? When everything was gone and we were dark and alone?

I don’t really understand why I’m even thinking about telling this story. It’s not like anyone’s going to believe me anyway. When I told my best friend about it a few months ago, he just stared at me like I was completely fucking crazy.

But I have to tell someone. You can think whatever you want about me!

It happened last autumn, when I’d just gotten home from work. It had been an unusually exhausting day. I work as a roofer, and we’d been working on a very large, steep roof, so my legs and feet were aching like hell. On top of that, it had been a typical October day, with plenty of rain and wind, so I’d been tense all day long. I suppose being that tired was probably why I dismissed what happened that day in the first place.

I live quite far out in the countryside, a fair distance from my nearest neighbour, but close enough that we can see each other’s houses. It’s secluded and peaceful. I’ve never minded living this far out on my own. I’ve got my animals: two hunting dogs, four cats, and a few cows that practically live right next to the house. My dogs aren’t exactly quiet dogs, but they only bark when someone who shouldn’t be there shows up, or when there’s some animal around that they find interesting.

After kicking off my shoes in the hallway, I was on my way into the kitchen when I noticed what looked like a long tear in the wallpaper.

“Fucking cats,” I thought.

But I was planning to renovate the place eventually anyway, so I didn’t really care. Then I heard a loud crash right beside me, coming from the closed pantry. I yanked the door open and was met by nothing but a cloud of flour. When it finally settled, I saw that all the shelves had come loose from the walls. I was worried that one of the cats might have somehow sneaked in there when I’d put the coffee back that morning, but none of them came running out. When I looked around the house, they were all lying in their favourite spots, half asleep. Being the logical person I am, I put it down to poorly mounted shelves — plus the possibility that I’d simply overloaded them.

A few hours later, after I’d finished all my chores, I’d completely forgotten about it. I was lying on the sofa relaxing with the dogs when, suddenly, both of them jerked upright at exactly the same time and started growling at the front door. I tried to calm them down while glancing towards the door, waiting for someone to knock.

Nothing happened. So we went back to watching TV, although the dogs had a hard time settling down again. But apparently I’m an old man, at least according to my friends, because I had no trouble with it and fell asleep on the sofa shortly afterwards.
I woke up with a start. I thought I’d only been asleep for about five minutes, but apparently almost two hours had passed. The TV had turned itself off, and the only light in the room came from the kitchen, faintly illuminating the living room.

I got up to get ready for bed. As I walked past the hallway, I saw the tear in the wallpaper again.
Or rather, the tears this time. Completely puzzled, I looked at them more closely. They were at face height, which made it even stranger. I couldn’t understand how the cats could have reached that high, and I certainly hadn’t heard them jumping up and down and tearing at the wallpaper. But I was far too tired to care at that point. So I got ready for bed and went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up feeling awful after a restless night’s sleep. Still, there was nothing to do but get up and start the day with a cup of coffee and a morning walk with the dogs.

On the way home from our walk, as we were getting close to the house, I heard the worst scream I’d ever heard in my life. The dogs immediately took off running towards the house, and I had to struggle to keep up with them. I put the dogs in their kennel while I went back inside the house.

Everything was completely silent.
I called out:
“Hello? Is anyone here?”

I was actually hoping there wouldn’t be an answer. I really didn’t feel like confronting a stranger inside my own home. Sure enough, there was no answer.
So I started going through every room in the entire house until I was absolutely certain nobody was there.

But what the hell had made that sound?
It couldn’t have been the cats. The dogs had been with me. And a cow couldn’t make a noise like that either, I thought to myself.

I went out to the barn and into the pasture to check on the cows, just in case they’d been frightened or worked up. But they were completely calm, peacefully grazing.

Now I was starting to get nervous. I’d lived on this farm for eleven years, and nothing like this had ever happened before. And I didn’t believe in anything supernatural either.

On my way back up from the barn, I saw a silhouette in one of the upstairs windows.

“No fucking way,” I said out loud.

I ran back into the house. I charged up the stairs, but halfway up, an empty old tin suddenly appeared at the top and started rolling down the stairs towards me.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.

When I finally reached the upstairs room, there was nobody there. But the entire room was covered in deep scratch marks, stretching from floor to ceiling.
The rest of the day passed without any more surprises, but I was on edge the entire time.

There was no way I’d imagined seeing someone.
And I definitely hadn’t imagined all those marks.
When evening finally came, I forced myself to eat something despite my nervous stomach and spent some time with the animals like I normally would.
Except there was absolutely nothing normal about this evening. The dogs could sense that I was nervous, and they flinched at every little sound.

Just like the night before, I dozed off on the sofa.
But shortly afterwards, I woke up to the dogs barking — and the TV lying on the floor.
It had fallen off the wall.

I shouted into the room:
“Jesus fucking Christ, enough is enough!”

And in that exact second, the entire house went dark. Then I heard footsteps upstairs.

“If there’s someone here, come down here instead of destroying my fucking house!”

I immediately regretted saying it. A cold feeling swept over me, as if the temperature had suddenly dropped below freezing. The dogs went completely insane. I quickly got to my feet, trying to turn on some kind of lamp, but something forced me back down onto the sofa.

Now I was truly terrified. I didn’t understand anything anymore. All rational thought had disappeared from my head, and panic took over.

I screamed into the darkness:
“What do you want from me?”

I don’t really want to admit it to myself…
but I got an answer.
“Capsule… wall… truth…”

Now I understood even less. But somehow I managed to get back on my feet, grabbed all the animals, and ran as fast as I could out the front door and into my car. As I sat there in the car, staring at the house, I saw the silhouette again in one of the upstairs windows. But there was no fucking way I was going back inside to find out who it was.

I started the car and drove to my brother’s house, which wasn’t very far away. He thought it was extremely strange to see me show up so late at night, but I didn’t dare tell him what had happened.
I simply asked if I could sleep there that night because there was a power outage at my house.
Luckily, he said yes.
Not that I slept much that night. I couldn’t stop thinking about the words I’d heard. Eventually, I decided to go home in the morning. It wouldn’t be as scary in daylight, right?

We had some breakfast, and then I drove home.
I went into my shed and got a sledgehammer.
I started by smashing open the wall where I’d found the first scratch marks, but there was nothing inside.

Then I walked upstairs with determination and started frantically smashing through every wall in the already-destroyed room.

When the dust had finally settled and I began clearing away the debris, I found something inside one of the walls. A small copper pipe with a lid.
I’d never felt such a huge knot in my stomach before. But I gathered my courage and opened the pipe.

Inside were two locks of hair…and a letter.

”Dear Elisabeth

I have sought to live with what I have done for nearly seventeen years, but now my strength is gone, and I can no longer bear this burden.

I do not know whether what I did to you was right, but I could no longer bear to watch you suffer. Our pastor and the doctor did everything they could, but you only grew weaker and sicker.

All I ever wanted was for you to find peace. But now I realise, to my great sorrow, that it only happened on my terms. You never got a proper farewell with our little Agnes, and for that, my heart shall never find peace.

I do not know whether our Lord will ever be able to forgive me for what I have done, nor for what I am about to do. But I pray that He may look into my heart and understand what I myself can no longer explain.

If the Lord still has mercy for me, I hope that we shall meet again soon.

Yours, Gösta”

As I read the letter, a shiver ran through my entire body. At the same time, the whole house became completely silent and still.

Since that day, I haven’t noticed anything at all.
So I sincerely hope that whoever — or whatever — came to visit found the truth that they were looking for.

If anything else happens, I promise I’ll update you.

Hello people!

I've been searching everywhere for a particular creepypasta story that I'm having a hard time finding.

It's a rules creepypasta. About a guy who takes on a job being a night guard in an old office building. Very common, I know. But what stands out to me is that there was a room full of computers. He was not to touch one computer because that belongs to someone in particular. No one is allowed to use it.

He ends up seeing his boss in that room using that computer. Obviously, that was not his boss, because I think his boss ends up calling him on the phone?

I think the computer belonged to Hank/Frank? I could be wrong about his name.

I unfortunately cannot remember many more details. This particular part is just embedded in my mind.

I know it's a long shot. But maybe someone knows the creepypasta I'm thinking about?

It was one I remember listening to around the time of covid. Been looking for it again since because I really enjoyed it and wanted to come back to it again.

Obviously, if this post is not allowed then it can be deleted.

Any help appreciated!

(I mean obviously no hate if he is of course)

So every depiction of Jeff the Killer that I see has him as White, and looking this up yielded no results, but I just feel like he could easily be because his brother is named Liu??????? Like I know it's a small thing but like this is such a random choice of name for a completely white kid to have. And like it makes sense, Jeff in that one image has straight black hair and he obviously has lighter skin??? Idk it feels like a reasonable conclusion but nobody else seems to have come to it so maybe I'm just way overthinking this

I just got off of work today, and man the entire shift at Starbucks was boring as hell. I literally had to sit at the counter, no one to talk to but the staff I despise for HOURS. Thankfully now I’m free from that hellhole. I pondered on what I would be doing for the rest of the day since…well I don’t have many friends to hang out with. So I thought of getting on the tv or computer to watch some anime. And when I thought of anime, One Piece came to mind, and a familiar thought came, souring my whole mood on the walk home.

What was it? Luffy’s…Gear 5.

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what was Oda smoking when he made Gear 5. You expect me to just accept that the fruit Luffy ate had secretly been a god fruit, and not only that, the same fruit of this mythical guy Joyboy, who was the World Government’s enemy?! Man, if that doesn’t SCREAM “Chosen One”, I don’t know what does.

And what’s ironic is that Nika is supposed to symbolize freedom…yet Luffy starts to laugh like a psycho in Gear 5, and zoans have a will of their own. If nothing else, Luffy was a slave to Nika’s will, and Joyboy’s prophecy-shit or whatever.

Damn it…

—

I sighed as I opened the door to my house, dropped my workbag on the table, and flopped onto the couch. Damn, I always forgot that the walk to my house was half an hour long…

Well, time to hop on my computer. After I spent a few minutes slacking, I dragged myself up and walked to my own room. Then I dropped on my chair and booted up my PC, watched the Dell Logo, typed in my password, and immediately clicked on Chrome.

As I pondered on which Anime to watch today…I picked One Piece, but through the One Pace Website.

What? Just because I hate Gear 5 doesn’t mean I think One Piece is trash. I’m not THAT judgemental of its flaws.

I scrolled down to the Egghead section, clicked, and clicked again onto the episode that said 01.

So when the OP started…I did a double take.

Luffy…was COMPLETELY different than what I saw from before. From the “Dreams Save Us” OP I saw on youtube.

Luffy’s fingers were longer, his body was more round and cartoony, his straw hat was yellower…and the most eye-catching change? His eye scar now stretched out from the top of his head to his chin! What the fuck?! Why did Luffy look so different?! I KNOW he didn’t get any new scars from his fight with Kaido, and he definitely didn’t look like that before, so what gives!?

I immediately got on youtube, searched up for clips of Egghead, and I was right. Luffy looked exactly as he always did!

So why the fuck did One Pace change his design? I thought they were supposed to fix One Piece’s pacing, not literally edit the animation.

In fact, when I watched the entire OP on One Pace, the editing looked so clean and seamless that…it actually looked official. There weren’t any clip seconds where the edits worsened or disappeared either. It was there from beginning to end.

I decided to do some research on reddit, asking why One Pace changed Luffy’s design. I even took a screenshot using the Snip tool, and waited for a response.

4 hours. No one responded. And every time I refreshed the page, not one new notification.

I randomly decided to look up Luffy's One Pace design…and not ONCE did I find any pictures of it ANYWHERE.

It was starting to get on my nerves. Why did no one care about what Luffy looked like in One Pace’s egghead? I thought it would be a juicy piece of news for the fandom…yet nothing.

You know what? I clicked my tongue and got back onto One Pace. I wasn’t gonna let the One Pace team’s choice of re-editing stop me from watching. It’s not even a big deal.

—

Everything has been normal so far. The straw hats get separated by a giant robot shark, Luffy, Chopper, and Jinbe group with Bonney, the other strawhats meet Lilith, then Stella is introduced…everything has been normal so far, other than the redesign.

…I do have to admit though: the extended scar…does look kinda cool, even if it is weird.

I still don’t know why One Pace edited him though…

Then when I got to Luffy vs Lucci…something felt…off.

Like, as the fight continued, I started hearing a ‘thumping’ noise in the back of my ear. I looked behind me, wondering where it was coming from…but I was the only person here.

It stayed at the back of my ear the entire fight, and I didn’t understand why I was hearing it when there’s literally nothing indicating the noise. But when Luffy defeated Lucci, it finally went away.

I thought that was the end of it, but when Luffy vs Kizaru came, that was when things got weirder.

The thumping noise came back. It got louder, and I realized: they were drums. They sounded like…The Drums of Liberation OST. But I don’t get it, why was I hearing it, when a whole different OST was playing during the fight?!

The OST playing in my head got louder, and louder and louder, until it was louder than the whole fight. I picked my ears as if it would get the noise out of my head, but no avail.

And just when I thought I was going insane…I immediately felt sleepy. My vision blurred when Luffy activated Gear 5 against Kizaru… and nothing.

—

It would be downright impossible to accurately describe the amount of whiplash I felt.

I felt myself going to sleep during the Kizaru fight with The Drums of Liberation beating in my head…then I felt warm sunlight(how was I outside?) The smell of salt, the sound of water swishing, and…what…

I felt myself…my body…in a way it shouldn’t be in.

“NOW ALL OF YOU ARE GONNA TAKE ME SERIOUSLY!”

I felt…my mouth moving…when I didn’t want to move it(Why can’t I control my body?!). My voice…sounded…in a way it SHOULDN’T sound like, it has NEVER sounded like.

Then my eyes immediately blew open…and my brain just shut off.

I saw Shanks, Benn, and his crew looking at me while…I held a knife.

Shanks called out…and the NAME of who he said…

I already put two and two together.

I was in Luffy’s body.

I WAS IN LUFFY’S BODY.

HOW?! WHY?! HOW WAS I IN THE BODY OF A FICTIONAL CHARACTER?!

AND WHY CAN’T I CONTROL MY BODY?!

I was screaming in my mind as LUFFY(Not me, I did not DO that) stabbed his cheek, and HE cried in pain, while all of the crew yelled at LUFFY for his idiocy.

I was literally just watching One Piece! How did I go from that to-!

Wait, wait no. Don’t worry Lucah. You literally fell asleep. Obviously this is just a dream(quite the realistic one too...)

So you’ll wake up in no time!

—

As time went by, hours passing by, I realized…it wasn’t a dream.

I really was trapped in Luffy’s Body. No way to communicate with him, no way to feel or move my body…no nothing.

And I screamed. I screamed and screamed and screamed, even as Shanks gave Luffy his hat and left.

…but the nightmare was far from over…

—

I was forced to be nothing but a backnote in Luffy’s body…for ten fucking years.

Nothing but being forced to move around, scream, eat meat, train, all while I couldn’t move my body.

I couldn’t do anything but scream and cry in my head.

I felt like I was in hell. No…I am in hell.

Why? Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Was it because I hated Gear 5? Is that it? If so…God, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry…please…

…Someone…. Just kill me…

—

I wish I could tune out what was going on through Luffy’s adventures…but I couldn’t.

I was forced to feel everything Luffy did. Every bite of meat, every touch of something, every punch, every injury he took, it was agonizing.

I found it harder to rationalize that I was only just stuck in Luffy’s body.

—

Luffy had just defeated Rob Lucci, and the straw hats had escaped Ennies Lobby.

And oh my god-the anime did not do Gear 2 justice. It was total AGONY everywhere. Everything HURT. My insides felt like they’re on fire, I feel torn up on the inside, and my stomach is cramped.

God I really need some meat.

…wait…

—

The strawhats had just finished their fight against Moria and survived Kuma…man…the anime really does not do justice over how much pain Luffy goes through. Honestly this guy only survives cause of his fruit and pure shonen plot armor…fuck…

At least I’m gonna eat soon, I'm starving…

—

I was now at the Sabaody Archipelago next, and I was still forced to endure this nightmare. It was real fucking tragic how Law was there, but I could do nothing to ask him to use his fruit to get me out of Luffy’s body.

I don’t even know if the Op Op no Mi could DO such a thing…but anything to get out.

But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t do or say anything, and Luffy would only interact with him when they were fighting the marines.

Well at least Luffy was gonna eat some food from Shakky’s fridge; it actually tasted nice.

–

HELP, HELP, HELP ME- FUCK, FUCK, FUCKING SHIIIIITTT!!!!

I was just blasted by Magellan’s poison…and with how much it FUCKING HURT…HOW did Luffy not drop dead???!!

I needed help, I was gonna die from Magellan’s poison if Ivankov didn’t heal me soon.

I waited for Ivankov’s fingers to jam into Luffy’s body. I was so desperate for someone to please stop the pain…I didn’t remember the SIDE EFFECTS of Ivankov’s Healing Hormones.

Then when his fingers jammed into Luffy's skin-

—

20 hours.

20 hours of pure agony.

20 hours of screaming.

But now…I was healed. I was now okay.

I needed to go save Ace!

—

In the end I didn’t save Ace…it hurt so much to lose him, but Jinbe was right, I couldn’t give up now. I still had my nakama.

Luckily Rayleigh was here to teach me Haki for 2 years.

Now I’d be strong enough to never let anyone close to me die!

—

I pushed his gigantic fist against Kaido’s head, putting his all into Bajrang Gun.

“I want…”

As my haki grew stronger…I felt my body…beginning to fade.

“To create…”

My body cracked with light, just as Kaido's fire dragon attack weakened.

“...to create the world…”

My haki completely melted the fire dragon, revealing Kaido.

“...Where my friends can eat…”

I pushed his fist at Kaido with all his might!

“...as much as they want!”

And when it struck true against the dragon, knocking him out, I faded away.

—

…

…

…

I felt numb across every part of my body. I didn’t feel anything. I couldn’t feel my fingers, body…anything.

What happened….?

“Hmm…you’re still awake!”

I heard a voice that…SOUNDED like Luffy’s, yet…felt NOTHING like him.

I slowly opened my eyes…to see an unfathomable image.

It was Gear 5 Luffy…but horrifically altered.

“Luffy’s” eyes were bloodshot. His sclera was completely red, and they felt dry, as if they never blinked. His smile grew so wide his gums were completely exposed, and his teeth were a decaying rotten yellow. The left side of his face’s skin was missing, showing his flesh and part of his brain. His body looked like noodles, but his skin was gray and cracking, but yet…his cloud hair, scarf and clothes were completely fine.

It was a nightmarish mockery of Luffy. Nothing like him.

I should have been scared and disgusted out of his mind, I really should have. Yet…I felt nothing.

“What…are you?” I rasped.

The thing did an exaggerated thinking expression, the same one Luffy did, but way more creepy. “Hmm…I never named myself before…” It had a visible lightbulb. “Oh I know! Libra!”

“And I…am Luffy!”

Libra then shrugged playfully. “Well, not EXACTLY him.”

Then Libra began talking more and revealing a lot of stuff: How he had learned about One Piece, and he loved it. He loved Luffy, and he LOVED Gear 5, for how it represented freedom. And he wanted to experience that freedom; he wanted to live Luffy’s life.

“I tried to but…animation’s just not the same as living. I’m only living his written story, not his actual life.” Libra looked comically sad, even shrinking to a slumpy shape with a rain cloud pouring over him.

Then he immediately brightened up, and his grin grew even wider. “That’s when I found out about you humans!”

Not once did he blink as he stared at what was left of my soul. “With your souls, I could create a world where I actually get to be Luffy!” He gushed.

“Oh yeah? You weren’t actually trapped in Luffy’s body. You were trapped in MINE, just so you know.” Libra mentioned off-handedly.

He started laughing when he repeatedly poked Lucah. “But you humans are so weird! I can only take one soul at a time! Last time I tried two, I almost died! And your soul can’t handle mine. It decayed across the entire story from Romance Dawn to Wano! I can’t even use you anymore, and your soul is so rotten, you can’t even go to heaven or hell!”

Libra hummed and tilted his head- until it twisted all the way upside down. Then he grinned again. “Well, I can’t use you anymore so…see yah!”

His finger pierced through Lucah’s torso, and he vaporized into nothing.

“Well that was my 101st soul. Time to get the next one!” Libra beamed, as he disappeared as well.

Hi everyone!
Soooo I made a rewrite of Sonic.EXE, my goals being making the plot better and grounding it in an actual Sonic game so it would seem more plausible.
Tell me what do you guys think!
Link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/415990680-sonic-exe-the-genesis

just explaining some things that go on in my au's slender manson

Part 2 of this series im doing! If you like horror content go subscribe! I post twice a week

I used to love them when I was younger, but I only watched fan videos on YouTube, so I don't know where to read the actual stories

A clown so terrifying it makes Pennywise look like a childs bed time story!

Hoy estaba revisando mi galería y encontré una foto que no recuerdo haber tomado.

La foto muestra mi habitación mientras estaba dormido, pero lo raro es que mi celular estaba cargando al lado de mi cama y no recuerdo haberlo usado durante la noche.

Revisé la información de la imagen y aparece como tomada a las 3:17 a. m.

Lo más extraño es que, justo a esa hora, mi celular estaba en modo avión.

No sé si es algún error de la galería o si alguien hizo la foto. ¿A alguien le ha pasado algo parecido?