The Curse of The Drowned Ender

The usual stories about MineCraft will always go to Herobrine, about how he lives and he’s a lot more than code. But have you ever wondered about the Endermen, and whether there are any secrets about them? Everyone who has played MineCraft is well familiar with them by now, and while they can be hard to find in the overworld, many have visited their home in the End. Of course, they aren’t hostile unless you look at them or attack them. For this reason, quite a few people consider them friendly and like them. Personally, I’ve always found them creepy and killed them whenever i could. They are based off of Slender Man, after all. Well, being as strong as they are, regular players know that if you run into one right after you spawn, you run for water. For some reason, Notch decided to code them with a fear of water, and whoever thought anything bad could happen with water, right?

Well, water is the whole reason this mess started. I haven’t even attempted to start up my game since then. I was playing on my regular world, a server that my friends and I had started. We had plenty of houses built, a seemingly unlimited supply of diamond and gold, and the Ender Dragon was defeated. There really wasn’t much to do in the world anymore, so you had to get very creative. My friends and I, we were creative enough, and we understood the game very well. Aaron was our redstone guy. If you needed anything powered, he found a way to build it and make it better than any tutorial could ever tell you. Myself, I made a majority of the buildings, and even started working on a city. We had a few guys who would work on supplies, planting, and harvesting anything that was needed. Lastly, we had Graham. He did all the magical stuff. Potions, enchanting, and he had us build him a mob trap so he could get an outrageous amount of experience whenever he wanted to. Of course we had the randoms who would join, the occasional troll, and sometimes we would have someone new join our group as a regular.

 We had all fought the Ender Dragon before, and we could do it fairly quick. Aaron, I, and majority of the group would take out the crystals and fight the dragon. Graham, however, would stay underground working up potions for the battle and have the rest do deliveries. He wasn’t too fond of Endermen either. That’s why he made us bring water buckets to the End. He stayed in the middle of the water, where the Endermen couldn’t get him. That’s where I got my whole idea from.

One day when I was had nothing else to do, I decided to get on the server. It had been about two weeks since the Ender Dragon was beaten, and we hadn’t really gone to the End since then. We had a little trap that was set up with torches and sand that would send anyone who walked onto it into the End, but it was mostly just to make them panic. Well I had the great idea of using the End to farm Ender Pearls. I was planning on using Graham’s idea with the buckets in order to do it, but on a massive scale. I had every intention on flooding the End. With the help of an inventory editor and the /fly command, I started. Of course this was the only time I was using such things, as I made sure our whole server was legit. 

However, I was the only person on, and I figured everyone would have a good laugh out of the fact that I flooded the home of the Endermen. As I started going, a good portion of the floating island they called home was filling up quickly. You would hear them panic and teleport away every time they would get splashed, and the occasional scream from when they decided to go swimming for too long. It’s amusing how much determination to live a simple computer AI can give a being. As the rest of the island started to fill up, they became very crafty on their spawns. Many were going under the island on little ledges, but as soon as I saw them, they would be swept away from the water and fall into the Void. I kept going until there was a little square in the center, and the obsidian platform I spawned in on. They were pushing each other for what little, precious space they had left, and one would fall off the platform or into the water every few seconds. I made a few more trips around the island, filling up any spots I missed and finishing off any stragglers that found a comfy spot to sit in. One had even found a spot buried in the ground, in a four tall tunnel, until I flooded him out. This all took till about 1 o’clock in the morning, and I was happy I was able to finish by the night’s end. After I was sure I had filled every dry spot up, I filled up the square in the center. Many of the Endermen just swam until you heard the death scream and they fell, while a few of them managed to teleport to the platform. I decided to have a little fun, at first flooding the edges and watching them push each other into the water and off of the level. This left only four. This just compelled me to get it over with and flood the center, which I did, causing three of the four to fall off the platform. The one remaining Enderman stayed jumping in the center, and slowly his health was being chipped away. Finally, he fell to the floor and screamed. But it wasn’t the normal death scream I had grown accustomed to during my trip. It was glitching. Slowed down. Then it would start over, skip, and drag out even more. Eventually the rest of the game took suit, and I was unable to move. The sound repeated itself, as did his body falling to the floor, that is, until, “MineCraft has run out of memory.” MineCraft then crashes, as does Java.

As many people do when something like that happens, I started up both the server and MineCraft again. I figured it was just a glitch due to the massive amount of water running and the loot that was on the ground from the Endermen dying. I put in my IP address in the multiplayer and click connect. “Error: World not found”. Shit, I thought, as I knew that the crash had corrupted the files. Luckily I backed up the world right before we fought the dragon. I grabbed my external, copied over the files, and loaded it right up. Even though I couldn’t fix all that was lost, I figured I’d go back and fight the dragon again before bed. Thanks to Graham, I had armor and weapons with any enchantment possible, as well as potions that would last me years of battle. I get over to the portal, jump down the hole, and the End loads right up.

 However, something is wrong. As I look for the Ender Dragon, I see nothing in the air. The crystals are on the tower, but no dragon to feed off of them. I notice next that the Endermen are gone as well. I get on the island, walk around a bit, until eventually I’m hit. I look up and see that the crystals are chaining to what I would presume to be the dragon. He was invisible. So the world just didn’t load properly. I save, exit both programs, restart my computer, and get right back into it. The dragon is there, but the Endermen are still absent. Easier fight, as I don’t have to worry about looking in the wrong direction and having to ward off a pissed off Enderman. 20 minutes later, I shoot the last arrow into the dragon and he floats in the air, and the egg drops onto the fountain. I run over there so I can get out of the End, but another strange occurrence. The End portal that usually fills the fountain is now just the same texture as water. A bucket wouldn’t pick it up like normal water though. This just led me to think my .jar file was corrupted, and I hop in. Eventually it functions just as the normal End portal would, except I hear the death scream to the Enderman again. Not just once, but over, and over, and over. The portal finally works, but it isn’t what I expected. Black. Then, “MineCraft has run out of memory.”

I reinstall all the files, including the world for another time, and the game starts up without a hitch. I get back to the portal and hop in. This time, it is not the End that awaits me. Instead, it seems like an endless room. I can still see, but it’s just a faint glow around me. I walk forward, thinking it could be the End and something like a potion of blindness is stopping me from seeing it. The faint globe of light is all I can see, and the only source of light in my room as well. The platform doesn’t end in a few blocks though, and the obsidian continues, shattering my hopes of being in the End. The obsidian floor keeps going in all directions, so I follow a straight line. I walk, and the sound start. My footsteps first, but then the sound of blocks being placed. As I go forward the faint sound of Enderman begins, and increases. First, just the normal grunts. Then, they sound as if they are agitated. The sounds become much more frequent. It gets louder as if there is a whole hoard chasing me but they refuse to catch me. I start to see the purple pixels as if they are teleporting themselves and me. Then it stops. A few seconds and steps later, one comes flying at the screen, and the death scream goes at full volume.

 This makes me literally jump and let go of the keyboard and mouse. Silence. It doesn’t start up again until I move the mouse. One more sound, a light grunt, as if they are letting me know they are in the darkness, just out of my sight. I go forward again, clicking my mouse, hoping to hit one of them, or a wall, or anything. The pattern starts over, the sounds, the pixels, and the scare. I didn’t stop moving though, and neither did they. It continues. Escape, alt+f4, they don’t have any function. Unplugging the computer is out of the question, as I refuse to risk my equipment. I keep going, hoping it ends. After about three minutes of the cycle, it does. I’m teleported one last time, unable to move. The Enderman on the screen stares straight into my eyes. Water surrounds my character, and after the 20 seconds, he begins to drown. “You are dead.” In the background, the Enderman still looks with his stoic appearance, not even flinching as much as an inch. Five seconds later, the computer powers down without warning, and I’m left in the dark.

The next day, I send my friend the files for the world. They play the game without any flaws, gone to the End and even got a few pearls. I refuse to. I don’t even have the files on my computer anymore. Did a complete wipe of the hard drive. MineCraft became more than a game that night. It’s a lot more than a simple AI controlling a few entities. Definitely more than a glitch. These games and entities that form on our fears, they do that and much more. It’s a lot more than just simple coding now. The Endermen, they do hold a grudge. They have a fear, and it is not something to taunt them with. They are aware, and they will make sure you become well aware of them and their presence.

Never Again

I was sixteen when she came. I’d been living with my abusive mother for sixteen long, painful years. It was around midnight, and my mother was already asleep, so when the three soft raps at the front door came it was me who answered. An odd looking little girl stood there, with cheeks pale and colorless, black hair, red dress torn a little at the hem, feet bare and turning slightly blue from the cold of winter, and black eyes. Fathomless, deep black eyes. I quickly let her in, thinking of how horridly underdressed she was. It wasn’t until later I’d wonder why she’d not been shivering, or even question as to why she was here in the first place. I got her into the living room, wrapping her little form in a thick afgan my grandmother knitted. She held it, though it didn’t seem to affect her, and I smiled.

“What’s your name, sweety?”

A long silence passed, in which she stared at me. I was beginning to be discomforted by her black gaze when she parted her lips and spoke in a soft voice.

“Lucy Morgan.”

I nodded, smiling again.

“You can stay here tonight, Lucy.” I said, motioning to the couch. She curled up in a little ball, black eyes still on me, and I exited the room. That night I slept soundly, not worrying about my mother beating me or the strange little girl on my couch.

When morning came and I trudged into the kitchen, I was greeted with a coffee mug to the shoulder. I gave a feeble shout of pain, staring at my mother.

“What the hell did you do? Why is there dirt on the couch?!” she shouted, confusing me greatly. Upon investigating, I found that Lacy had vanished, the only proof she’d been there being some dirt that must have fallen off her dress or feet. I took responsibility, earning myself a strong hit to my cheek, then left for school. While there I heard something that sent chills through my spine.

“Lucy Morgan was found dead last night.”

I passed the day waiting for anymore news on the subject, but found none. Upon arriving home, the news was broadcasting a live report on her though.

“Lucy Morgan, six years of age, was reported dead at seven last night. Her body was located in the backyard, buried there in her red dress. So far there has been no sign of her mother, Marrisa Morgan, who is suspected to be the killer. Marrisa has reportedly abused Lucy multiple times, and may be responsible for her death.”

Suddenly, a picture of Lucy appeared on the screen. She appeared very close to how she had when I met her, black hair, red dress, pale face. Only, her cheeks had color… and... her eyes were crystal blue. To most this would seem unimportant, but to me it was. She’d died before arriving at my house, if what the news castor said was true. Died hours before. I tried to play it off, going about my buisness. I went to bed early so as not to have to see my mother. It was around midnight when I awoke to cool fingers stroking the bruise on my cheek. I sighed, leaning into the small hand.

“Never again.” Lucy whispered, before her hand vanished. Ten minutes later I heard my mother screaming. I rushed into her bedroom, nearly fainting at what I saw.

My mom was thrashing wildly on her bed, a small creature having buried its face into her chest. I could hear the sound of flesh tearing, and my mother’s screaming increased in volume. I wished I hadn’t gotten up. But I had. So, when Lucy pull back from the gaping hole in my mother’s chest cavity, I had a plain view of her razor sharp teeth, glinting in the light. Glinting with my mother’s blood. She smiled innocently at me for a moment, before swiftly tearing out my mother’s jugular. Thats when I faint. When I came to, I was in my bed. I walked to my mom’s room, morbid curiousity getting the best of me. Upon opening the door, I found the room empty. The bed made neatly, as if my mom had left for work early. The only oddities were the dirty childs footprints, and the open window, showing that Lucy had in fact came to visit me.

 I never saw my mother again, and I never missed her either. I eventually got married, and we had a beautiful daugter. I named her Lucy. Recently, I noticed the neighbors daughter has all sorts of scrapes and bruises on her arms. I’ve started watching their home. But the other day I saw something odd: a little girl running barefoot through their back yard up to their backdoor. It was around midnight, so I couldn’t be for sure, but I thought she met my eyes with her black ones. And I could swear she mouthed two words at me.

Never Again.

Polybius

Polybius is a fictional arcade game that was supposedly part of a secret government experiment and caused players to hallucinate, have nightmares or become suicidal.

Origins

The earliest known reference article about Polybius was first added to game repository Coinop.org on August 3rd, 1998. The original submission provided little information regarding the history of the game, aside from the description of an abstract puzzle/space shooter game named after a Greek historian that was only released in one or two arcades outside of Portland. The article also noted that the machine was regularly visited by men in black coats who would come to collect “records,” citing the account of one of the arcades’ alleged owners who suspected they were part of a paramilitary technology group. In addition, the entry included a photograph of the title screen bearing the text “© 1981 Sinneslöschen" (loosely translated as “sensory-extinguishing” in German) as well as mysterious reports of children suffering from amnesia, sleeping disorders or inexplicable trauma after playing the game. The best answer if it’s fake (IF), is that it was based off an obscure, and rare German arcade cabinet called “Poly-Play” which was a collection of eight games including a puzzler and space shooter.

Disconnected

Ever since I was a young child, that automated recording that plays when you try to call someone, but can’t, has frightened me to the core. You know, the one that goes, “We’re sorry, but the number you have reached has been disconnected.” And it’s always preceded by that sound, those three tones, which just amplifies my paranoia. Any time I hear that message, I can feel my skin go pale, every hair on my body stand up, all while I’m paralyzed in fear. I don’t know why I react like that to a simply informative automated message. It just sets something off in my brain. But when it’s at night, nothing compares to that level, that degree of pure, unbridled horror. Surrounded in the black of night, accompanied only by that robotic, emotionless voice. There was nothing worse.
Or so I thought…

I’m a shy, withdrawn guy. I stay inside most of the day, usually by myself. I don’t tend to socialize. Not in public, that is. But behind that computer screen, I’m as social as can be. For quite sometime now, I’ve been thinking of changing that.
Me and my friend, Alan, had known each other since the third grade. We were basically inseperable. But there was a major difference between the two of us. Whereas I’m shy and withdrawn, he’s popular and outgoing. Always being invited to parties and scoring with the hottest girls. He’s always invited me to these parties, and I’ve always come up with some lame excuse not to go. But not tonight. Tonight is a Friday, and I know he’ll ask me to go, as per usual.

I waited, and waited, until finally, my cell phone rang. It was Alan, as expected. I went to hit the ‘Answer’ button, but hesitated. “Do I really want to do this?” I asked myself. I thought for a moment, and came to the conclusion that I did.
“Hey, Alan, what’s up?” I asked.
“What do you think is up, man? It’s party night! Are you in, for once?” he replied, rather enthusiastically.
I took a deep breath.
“You know what? Yeah, I’m in. Where at?”
“Holy shit, really? Alright, man! The party’s at 2736 Linwood, you know where that’s at?”
I vaguely remembered that street. I knew only that it was near my old elementary school.
“Sure, man, I’ll see you there.” I hung up the phone.

I threw on my hoody, and put on some worn-out Converses. Since I didn’t have a car, I’d be walking quite far. I grabbed my phone, put it in my pocket, and left for the party.
It was around nine ‘o clock when I left. Now, it’s ten thirty seven. No matter how much I tried to believe I wasn’t lost, it was to no avail. I knew I had to call Alan for a ride. I pulled out my phone, went to my contacts list, and called him. I put the phone to my ear as I paced up and down the sidewalk of a street I’d never been. But he didn’t answer. Instead, I was greeted with this:

“We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.”

The moment I heard that, I stopped dead in my tracks. My eyes widened in fear. “No way…” I thought to myself. How could he be disconnected? We spoke just over an hour ago! I tried calling him again. Maybe it was just some weird glitch on my phone, I thought.

“We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.”

I tighted the grip on my phone until my knuckles turned white. What the fuck is going on!? I decided I’d call 911. There’s no way they’d be disconnected, right?

“We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.”

I froze in horror. I knew something was very wrong. At this point, I threw my phone on the ground as hard as I could, and stomped on it relentlessly. Something had to be wrong with the phone itself, I was sure of it. After the phone had been smashed to an unrecognizable mass of glass and plastic, I noticed a payphone down the street, visible only due to a dim, flickering street lamp that obviously hadn’t seen maintenance in years. I fished a quarter out of my pocket, and ran down to it, driven by fear and paranoia. I frantically jammed the quarter in, and dialed 911 once again.

“We’re sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected.”

I dropped the phone, leaving it dangling by it’s metallic cord. There was something different, this time. That message, that emotionally detached voice. It didn’t come from the phone.

It was right behind me.

The Holders 6: The Holder of Darkness

Sparky

When I was young, like many ‘90s children, I had an obsession with Pokémon. It first started with my obsession with the video game. I didn’t even have it yet, I just saw the few, lucky kids playing it on the school yard and I was instantly hooked. I watched the show every Saturday morning and I got the Pokémon cards. I even read the light novels.
A few months later, it was my seventh birthday and my entire family was huddled around the dining room table. After the excessive amount of cake and ice cream, I was handed a present from my aunt. It wasn’t very big, but it sure was a dense-feeling box. I eagerly unwrapped the box to find a purple, Gameboy Color and a copy of Pokémon Red. I felt like I was going to explode from the excitement. I swiftly opened up the packaging and slid the crisp, new cartridge in to the back of the Gameboy. That classic Gameboy ding echoed in my ears and the iconic start up screen was playing.
As I watched, my mother politefully nagged at me, “Honey, you have one last present from me”. I reluctantly averted my gaze from the screen to see her expectantly holding up an oddly-shaped item. I opened it with one hand and slowly revealed the yellow cloth underneath. It was a Pikachu doll. Once again, my eyes lit up as I finally had someone to share my video game with. I had no siblings or friends to share these experiences with. My parents had absolutely no interest in such things, so Pikachu would become my best friend. Instantly I knew I would name him Sparky, after a Pikachu from the show. I slept with him and played Pokémon Red with him. I would watch the show with him and when I went to school I would hide him in my backpack.
This went on for many years as I slowly accumulated more and more Pokémon merchandise. More games, more books, more cards, everything except dolls. Nothing could replace Sparky. But like a lot of my items, I lost him. I lost Sparky! I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find him. I lost my Gameboy for almost a year, only to find it underneath the couch cushion once, so losing things wasn’t new to me. For weeks I was heartbroken, but I moved on.
Then I came home one day to find a rough, dirty Pikachu doll on the kitchen island. I asked my dad where it came from and he said he found it at work. He worked at a scrapyard and he saw this Pikachu in the back of a car that was about to be crushed. I picked up the Pikachu with a slight grimace, trying not to touch the soiled spots all over it. I looked at the tag on his foot to see the name, Sparky, scribbled with red ink. I found the red ink bizarre, but I assumed it was to make it stand out from the black-lettered label. It was a well-known nickname for Pikachu, so I wasn’t all too surprised. Its tail was torn and the seams started to show the potential of tearing soon, but otherwise it was in average condition I suppose for a 13-year-old doll.
“What a grotesque little Pikachu you are”, I muttered slightly aloud. As I gazed into its soul-less eyes I began to feel trapped. I continued peering further and further into the abyss, for no apparent reason. They were the only unsoiled part of this Pikachu. They were jet-black, yet they release no reflection. It was such a bizarre feeling. It must be some weird coating they put on them.
“Hey, so you did take a likin’ to the little guy”, my father said abruptly, startling me immensely. Gasping, I dropped the Pikachu harshly to the floor. I hastily picked them up and set Sparky back onto the island.
“Yeah, it reminds me of the one I used to have. I still have to wash it a bit, but after that I hope it should look almost as good as ol’ Sparky. Do you have any idea where he went?”
“Haven’t a clue, that was your mother’s department and she probably remembers less now than she did then. We searched the entire house, remember? Must be at your old school or sumthin’”.
The dull bitterness of the loss returned to me slightly, but only fleetingly as I returned my eyes to the new Sparky. I ambled off to ask my mother what would be the best way to clean this thing. I found her knitting in her bedroom when she returns a slightly odd look at Sparky and I.
“Hey, what would be the best way to clean this thing?”“Probably just detergent and water, but I don’t know why you would bother cleaning that ratty, old thing.”Her curtness bothered me, but I learned not to bother pressing her for information when she’s purposefully ambiguous. I just walk away to the laundry room- thinking along the way about Pokémon-related things.After a few minutes of vigorously scrubbing every inch of Sparky, I finally cleaned him up. Only a faint spot remained on the underside of its tail. I set him atop the washing machine and headed to my friend’s house, which I was late for because of Sparky. Luckily, my friend only lived a few houses down from mine.
Although my friend was a bit off put by my latency, we still had fun playing random N64 games. We spent most of the time playing Pokémon Stadium, to which we would randomly defeat one another in battles and mini games. This went on for hours until I decided to return home. I had school the next day, so it was prudent to swiftly head to bed after getting home.
I suddenly remembered the comforting feelings of sleeping with my old Pikachu doll, so I went to obtain Sparky from the Laundry room, but to no avail. It wasn’t anywhere inside that room. I thoroughly searched for it and gave up to go to sleep, only to find that Sparky was already on my bed.
“I wish mom wouldn’t touch my stuff,” I thought to myself as I drifted slowly in sleep. With the soft fabric of Sparky resting gently within my arms and the faint smell of soap floating softly upon the cold, night air.
I abruptly sprung up from my slumber when I awoke that morning. I quizzically look around my room as I tried to decipher why I was so startled. I couldn’t remember any dreams or startling stimuli. As I repeatedly scan the room I notice Sparky sitting up-right across the room under my desk.
“What are the odds of that,” I mutter aloud, “that he’d land like that when I tossed him when I awoke. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what happened.”
Anyways, it was time for me to be getting ready for school, so I hurriedly tossed on my clothes, slightly wrinkled from lying on the floor, and headed to the washroom. Morning ablutions and breakfast proceeded next with the only break in my routine being that I returned to my room to secretly stash Pikachu in my backpack. School felt so much more nostalgic with this Pikachu in my backpack. While everyone else had abandoned their Gameboys and Pokémon I had cherished them all along.
As I approached my locker I realized that I was going to have to awkwardly pull Pikachu out of my backpack so that I could access my binders and textbooks. While I loved Pokémon I was not comfortable about other people knowing about it. Whenever anything even remotely related to the subject I would fain disinterest or having no memory of it. A little piece of me would always feel disgusted by hiding it. I opened my locker door to shield half of the hallway from the sight of my Pikachu, but the hallway leading to the entrance was still open and crowded as ever. I tried tipping my backpack towards into my locker and sliding Sparky out, but had no success. I decided to just give up the façade and be as swift about it as possible. I reached in, firmly grabbing hold of Sparky’s plush head, and yanked him out into the locker. I peered to my left to double-check that no one saw when I noticed two husky fellows in baggy pants and bulky sweaters shuffled towards me.
‘Hey, what was that doll you just had there?” they ask intimidatingly. As they drew nearer their shadows and greasy stench cast over me.
“Was that a Pikachu?” the shorter one asks, now leaning up against the locker adjacent to mine.
I quickly and nervously rebutted, “N-no, it was just an art project for well, art obviously.” I stared at them nervously gauging their reactions. Trying to predict the odds of them believing me were. They still seemed interested. One of them pushed me to the right, slamming my locker door open and the other pawing into my locker. As I scrambled back to my feet as I felt a sense of slight horror as a flash of yellow proceeded from my locker. Their eyes nearly exploded as they both saw it too.
“I knew it! It was a fucking Pikachu. What a fag,” the taller one exclaimed.
“Let’s see what the fag does when we throw Pikachu into the garbage, where he belongs,” the shorter one responded as they both motioned towards the beige garbage bin hanging from the nearby wall. I rushed towards it, in too late of fashion, as Pikachu is shoved carelessly into its vile opening. They walked away laughing, muttering degrading, generic remarks towards Sparky and I. I sourly removed the lid of the garbage bin and pluck Pikachu out of it. The faint smell of refuse disappeared as I hastily returned it to my locker.
“Fucking greasers! I hate them all, I hate everyone at this school…” my voice trailed off as I realized the daunting proceeding thoughts.
Luckily, I was close to invisible at the school, so no one else in the hallway seemed to notice my Pikachu or the rest of the incident. I sniffed Pikachu one last time before retrieving my school supplies and locking the door- hiding Sparky from this cruel world. The rest of the day was uneventful, like most school days. I’d be the first to arrive at my classes because I had no one to talk to during the short, five minute breaks between classes. I’d sit at the back of every class, paying attention and diligently trying to complete as much work as possible because I absolutely abhorred the idea of homework. During the breaks I did grant myself the luxury of seeing Sparky, cuddled up with my gym shoes at the bottom of my locker. You’ve never felt nostalgia like that before, I can assure you.
After a monotonous day of school, I eagerly return home with Pikachu secretly waiting in my bag. I pulled him out as soon as the bus chugged down the street to a distance far enough that the passengers would no longer be able to distinguish Sparky as I walked down my long, barren driveway. “I bet you couldn’t wait to get out of there, could you? I hope you’re better from earlier. Don’t worry, Sparky, people like that always get what they deserve. Be it from justice or vengeance”. I tried to reassure myself more so than Sparky.
I set my things sloppily on the front bench and approached my room. Those 45 minutes that I could enjoy alone before my siblings arrived home from their school were my most cherished moments of my day. I had an insatiable desire to play Pokémon Yellow. I even had Pokémon Stadium hooked up to my TV, so I could play it on a bigger screen with acceleration for grinding. A year after I had acquired Red, I had acquired Yellow when it was released. It remains my favourite Pokémon game to this day. How could it not, with Pikachu being the starter? I then enjoyed some Pokémon Yellow with Pikachu at my side. Playing for what turned out to be hours. The only reason I stopped was because my mother called me to dinner in her shrill voice that can pierce even the deafest of ears.
The rest of the night followed the same path, where I played more Yellow until I grew tired enough to sleep. Once again I was accompanied to bed with Sparky. This time I set him at the foot of my bed though because of the faint smell of garbage. The next morning I woke up much more calmly, but still had no recollection of any dreams. It was odd because I could always remember my dreams no matter how faint or insignificant they were. I glanced to my feet to see it empty there, where Sparky should have been. Instead, I saw him under my desk again up-right.
“What a coincidence you should happen to fall outta my bed and land up-right two nights in a row, Sparky,” I once again mumbled out loud to an inanimate object. I slithered out of bed and retrieved Sparky into my grasp. I almost recoiled when I felt a damp spot on Sparky’s right leg. It was another stain very similar to the ones it had before. “Whoa! How did I miss a garbage stain from yesterday? I’m sorry little buddy, I’ll try to clean it up after school today.”
Learning from my mistakes I decided to leave Sparky at home, perched on top of my desk. I arrived at school to see the shorter bully from the day prior shuffling about alone. I heard a group of students clamour amongst the din of the school in front of the entrance. I tuned it out until I heard the word Pokémon mentioned and I stopped momentarily to listen. I hear them all spewing ignorant remarks.
“… Yeah, Pokémon was just another one of those shitty fads all those losers had back in elementary school,” one, by the name of Chris Fallon, said.
Another interrupted, “Totally, if you’re gunna play video games you should be playin’ games like COD and Battlefield or sumthin’”.
“All this ignorance! I can’t take this. I fucking hate everyone at this school. I wish people like Chris Fallon would all die,” I wanted to shout, but thought instead.
I stewed over the stupidity that was teenagers’ opinions for most of the day. I waited for school to end so that I wouldn’t have to spend another moment within earshot of such words being spoken again for at least that day. I arrived home and rush to my room to retreat to the realm of video games. I picked up Sparky from off of my desk chair and set him beside me.
Looking over at him, I noticed another spot on his left paw. I hadn’t realized he had gotten so stained from inside that garbage bin. I also forgot to clean him when I got home, so I erected myself and cleaned sparky in the laundry room again. Using the same techniques as before, I removed all the spots until they vanished.
Then, back to Pokémon Yellow. I had already beaten half the game doing a solo run with my Pikachu in the game, which was aptly nicknamed Sparky of course. Once I beat Brock with Pikachu, which took a profuse amount of time, the game became fairly easy, like most solo runs. While playing I started talking to Sparky beside me. I decided to try telling him about my day, since I had no one else to say it to. I proceeded to tell him about Chris Fallon and my teachers and my hatred of the other students of the school. I spoke about more and more inane things as the time passed on. Until my mother burst in the door with a stack of my clothing, teetering violently within her trembling arms.
She begun to speak, “Here’s your clothes honey. You really should try go outside, the weather’s so lovely and you’re just wasting away in here.” She seems to be glaring at Sparky when saying that, but it could have just been her avoidance of eye contact. “Anyways, would you like to clean your Pikachu there? I noticed it was getting dirty this morning”.
“How did she know he was dirty this morning?” I thought; my eyes still fixated on the glaring TV screen, “Was that why he fell onto the chair today? “. I then replied, “No, I already cleaned him. You know I don’t like people touching my things.”
With that she frowned and somberly exited out the door. “I wish she’d close the damn door,” I said mumbled to myself. She left the door open, which forced me to get up and close it. I stumble towards it and nudged it closed with my foot. Turning around I see Sparky sitting there with another stain on his stomach.
“Aaaaaaah guh uh!” My mother shrieks from down the hall.
I swiftly spun around and threw the door open. I nearly skated upon the smooth hardwood floor as I headed down the hall to the stairway. As I pass the stairway to my left, I saw my mother lying upon the bottom of the stairs with a contorted body like a crumpled piece of paper. I carefully traversed the steps down to her side, but her neck was bent strangely and I couldn’t hear any sounds from her. I quickly realized that I wouldn’t be able to save her. My father had now entered the room briefly to which we exchanged panicked glances. He realized he had to call an ambulance as I tried my best to care for my mother. I gently cradled her without moving her, for I remembered that you should not move people with spinal cord injuries.
My vision blurred from the tears and I could feel her heat dissipate until the ambulance came. I was shoved aside as they solemnly strapped her to a gurney and taxied her off to the hospital. They declared her dead at the scene. The rest of the night was blurred together amongst the tears and emotions. My father and I were asked some questions about the event, but it was apparent that there was no foul play.
I returned to school days later. I couldn’t do anything for days; curled up on my bed with Sparky. He kept getting spots on him, but perhaps this time they were my tears which stained him. I arrived at school as anonymously as ever, no one wiser to my mother’s death. I felt SLIGHTLY relaxed by that. I don’t think I could have survived the awkward conversations that would have transpired if they spent too much on me.
I walked into the school to see a group of people huddled, wearing mournful faces and black. I shuffled through the crowd to see the glow of candlelight and picture frames on a table. It was a shrine in the foyer. The pictures were of students. The only one I recognized was of Chris Fallon. Confused, I ask a bystander about it, “H-hey, what happened?”
He quickly mumbled the words, “Chris Fallon and a group of his friends died two days ago.” His transparent, stoic face told me that I shouldn’t ask him anything more about it.
“So that’s why no one noticed about my mother’s death. Or perhaps nobody cared about it!” I clenched my teeth in anger. “How could those vapid teenagers mean more to people than my caring mother?” I felt jealous rage like no other that day. Correct or not, I wanted those children to suffer. “These fucking teenagers. . .” Rage consumed my thoughts that I couldn’t think clearly. I stewed in my hidden rage that day. I walked like a rigid statue and glared, but everyone was too consumed by their ‘tragic loss’ to notice once again. Perhaps I was egotistical, perhaps I should have been said about the children’s deaths as well, but that’s all in the past now.
When I returned my father was still unapproachable. He was crushed more than I was, so instead I just confided in Sparky once again. “So the kids at school don’t care about my mother. . .” My voice trailed off once again. I didn’t know what words I was going to speak next. Or perhaps I knew the words that I was going to speak, but was too afraid to say them. I felt like Sparky understood very clearly what I wanted. I had grown to despise everyone in the world.
All I needed was Sparky to be happy. . .
The next morning I depleted the entire bottle of laundry soap to clean the stains off of Sparky.

The Most Beautiful Creature

The most beautiful creature I’d ever seen never seemed to close the curtains of her room next door. We’d only moved in a week before, but it was hard not to notice a girl like her. I don’t think she’d ever seen me, but that just made her that much more alluring.
She was young and thin, skin as fair as winter’s first fall, and she had beautiful crimson hair. I would see her dance almost every night, her hair setting fire to the air with each dip and twirl. I was instantly captivated, catching every moment from behind just the two panes of glass. Some nights she danced, others she just sat at her desk, sometimes talking on her cell phone long into the night. It wasn’t until the end of that first month when I saw her murder that first lucky kid.
It was some girl from school, a ditzy spaz whose enthusiastic introduction to the “cool” drugs around campus had her bounce between all the wrong groups. A perfect victim. She always did things so perfectly.
It was the first night I’d seen her turn the light out so early. I might not have known what she had done if the crescent of her knife hadn’t caught the moonlight. It was a silver tracer, carving through the dark that soon began to glisten a brilliant, scarlet red. There were no screams, there was no sound. It must have only been a few seconds, but it felt like‘d been watching for hours. Exquisite.
When she finally turned the light back on, the ditz was obviously gone from sight. But her face, her beautiful face, was lovingly coated in a layer of fresh blood. She had the cutest grin on her face, her eyes seductive and wild. She had crossed the deepest line, she had made the darkest sin. God, how gorgeous. Her crimson hair falling so gracefully across her face, like a fallen angel.
The next three came and went just the same: a drunken football player, a reclusive theater kid, an experimenting Goth girl – all of them playing their parts in this wonderful show she put on for me all throughout the next year. She invited theminto her room, like an old friend about to catch up on the latest gossip. Then you’d see it, the moment I always waited for, her hand reaching just out of sight as a smirk crept across her lips. She’d always turn the lights out for the kill, but the look on her gorgeous visage when she turned them back on…I could almost feel the ecstasy she must have felt.
One day, I finally got up the courage to go meet her or, maybe join her in the fun. If I was really lucky, maybe I could be the one to inspire that terribly seductive smirk. I bought some really nice clothes, an expensive perfume too. I even to tryied bleaching my hair blonde, hoping I could get it to shine as vibrantly as hers. But that morning came the worst news of all.
My parents told me we were moving away. They had become afraid for me, as many parents had over the loss of a few teenagers. I tried to object, but what would I say? If I told them about the girl beyond my window, she’d be the one that would go. Then, I’d never see her again. So I obliged, hoping I would see her again some day. They sent me away immediately to stay with a family friend. It was hard, I got so anxious not being in my room again, maybe see her dance for me one last time.
My father’s job meant we moved a lot, but they hated moving me out of my room. It was just hard. I would get really anxious without having my mirror on the wall. When I got out of the ward, my doctor recommended I keep it up, like a window, to keep me from relapsing and lashing out at my family. I thought it was weird at first, but soon I would forget it was even there; I’d just get so distracted. Ever since I got out, we’ve always seemed to move in next door the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen, and this one was a blonde. A real angel.

Read more at h

Upstairs

When I was a child I lived in a rented two-floor house. Both my parents worked so I was often alone when I came home from school.
One early evening when I came home the house was still dark.
I called out, “Mum?” and heard a voice say “Yeeeeees?” from upstairs.
I called my mum again, and again got the same “Yeeeeees?” reply.
I felt she was calling back at me and climbed up the stairs.
When I reached the first floor I called her once more and the voice “Yeeeeees?” came from the furthest room.
I felt both uneasy, but a strong urge to see my mother, and started to walk towards the room.
But just that moment I heard the front door downstairs open and my mother come in, carrying a lot of shopping bags.
“Sweetie, are you home?” my mother called in a cheery voice.
Hearing her voice made me feel instantly better and I turned back to go downstairs at once…but not before I had a quick glance towards the room.
While I watched from the top of the stairs, the door to the room slowly opened a crack.For a brief moment, I saw something strange in there.A pale face, staring at me.

 

Running

Dear Hannah,

I’ve been doing a lot of running lately.

It’s an excellent way to stay in shape. Obviously. But that’s not really why I do it. Mostly I just like the fresh air and the freedom, y’know, it gives me time to think.

An hour or so with only my Mp3 player and the pavement for company can really put those office blues and relationship issues in perspective. Like it all seems a whole world away.

Not that its an avoidance tactic either, I really feel that this time to myself, just thinking, helps me deal with my problems in a more level headed and effective way when the time comes.

I heartily recommend it.

Just. . . be careful. . . I guess. I don’t quite know how to say this. . .

A couple of weeks ago you and I had this huge argument, its funny, I forget what that argument was even about now. Like I said, the running. . . It takes your mind off things. . .

So I was stressed, y’know, needed to get outta the house, pound the pavement a little, take my mind off things. I decided upon one of my favourite routes, in a city like this you’ve pretty much gotta resign yourself to the urban scenery, but there’s a nice little park not too far from where I live, you know the one, I’m sure we’ve been there once or twice.

Ordinarily I’d avoid the park after sundown, just common sense really, but I needed a little greenery to improve my mood. I decided that I’d do a circuit around the outside of the park, close enough to be scenic without being too reckless.

It was about 10:15, so while the streets weren’t exactly deserted you could go quite some time without passing another pedestrian or even seeing a car on the road. I was glad for that though, usually my mind can only wander freely if I’m completely in a world of my own and solitude always helps.

I was glad at first anyway. . . As I saw the dark outlines of the trees that lined the park come in to view I became dimly aware a of weird, creeping sense of unease. I was unable to drown out this irrational feeling with music, even, because it was around this point my Ipod began to malfunction. As I got nearer to the park the reassuring sounds of the White Stripe’s Seven Nation Army (a classic motivation song, if a little overplayed) were steadily overtaken by a weird sort of static, unlike anything I’d heard before, it almost sounded like a quiet but persistent cacophony of voices speaking or laughing but mingled together so as to create a single unintelligible sound.

I made a note that I had one more thing to deal with tomorrow. Creepy as the sound had been a broken Ipod made me all the more determined to calm my frustrations with a nice long run. Still, I was starting to wish that there had been a few more people around or that it was a little lighter out. It would have been better, even, if the moon weren’t hidden behind a dark, foreboding cloak of cloud.

But I pushed on, what’s the worst that could happen, right?

Well I’ll tell you.

As I began my circuit around the outside of the parks 3 foot metal fence, the large, central field came into view through a break in the tree line. In the day the field would be occupied predominantly by people playing sports, football, Frisbee, running like myself or whatever. Obviously, that was not the case at night, but neither was the field empty.

A muffled cry drew my attention to the figure, no. . . two figures near the center of the field. One is holding the other as though in an embrace, in fact seemed at first that they were kissing, or possibly that the larger one was. . . Nuzzling the smaller’s neck. . . Seemed an odd time and place for romance but I kept on running, it was no business of mine. On the field the larger figure suddenly jerked its head up away from the. . . Kiss? I was becoming less sure. It released the second figure who seemed to be falling to the ground. . . But the view was obscured by trees as I ran.

At this time I felt no need to stop and watch, the scene had increased my sense of unease but, I was still able to convince myself it was just a couple weirdos macking in the park. As the tree’s thinned out however my illusions were swiftly shattered.

The second figure was indeed lying on the ground now and the second was crouched over it. This stopped me in my tracks, though it was difficult to see in the dark and I still wasn’t totally convinced that I wasn’t accidentally peeping on someone’s weird outdoor sexcapade.

But then that moon that I had been wishing for earlier came out.

Suddenly the scene, bathed in the stark white light of the almost full moon, was given a disturbing clarity. While the distance still made details a little difficult to make out, I could see clearly enough that the victim’s (That much was now obvious) body and limbs were jerking about violently as the hulking form crouched over it, ripping, tearing. . .

Feeding!

The moonlight must have illuminated me too because the . . . Thing in the field stopped suddenly and looked directly at me! I wasted only a second of standing there, panic struck, but that second will haunt me as long as I live, the two eyes, which I couldn’t possibly have seen from where I was even if they were glowing, (which seems impossible) burned into me. I could feel it looking at me.

No it wasn’t just that.

I could feel it smiling at me.

With huge, jagged, uneven teeth crammed haphazardly into a maw still bloody and red from its latest meal, it smiled. I knew that much. I didn’t see it, I sure as fuck didn’t imagine it, I just knew.

Then I ran. The road I had been on ran parallel to the park and there were few turnings along its length so I knew I had a long way to go before I’d actually be putting distance between myself and the Thing. I chanced a couple of glances at the field as I raced down the middle of the deserted road, moving faster than I’d ever thought possible, even as an experienced runner. There was the victim, left sprawled carelessly on the grass. No sign of the thing.

I looked back to where I was headed and there the fucker was! Perched languidly, mockingly on a streetlight right in my way. How was it so fast!? This was my first good look at the thing, blood was still dripping from the wicked claws at the end of arms that hung, disproportionately long, past the light on which it squatted. The mouth, still grinning, was exactly how I’d seen it in my mind and yet, somehow even worse, it covered a large amount of the creatures face, more that seemed biologically possible. The eyes glowed with a faint, red intensity. Overall the thing put me in mind of some kind of giant, emaciated monkey or deformed, hairy man.

I was trapped, there was just no way to outrun this thing. I wasn’t even sure I could start running, up close the Thing’s gaze was hypnotic. My limbs felt heavy. My eyes began to burn. I just wanted it to be over. Slowly a loud rushing sound filled my ears.

Suddenly the Thing hopped nimbly from the light and into a nearby tree, disappearing from sight. It was gone but I felt heady, it was as though I had been marked in some unknowable way, my eyes still burned, the area around me seemed to grow lighter as though illuminated by a pale light, the rushing sound only grew louder.

Then it hit me.

The car I mean.

Don’t worry, no major damage, apparently the driver had seen me in time to slam on the breaks so just bruising mostly. When I awoke in a hospital bed the doctors told me I was a lucky man but I’ll admit I didn’t feel so lucky when I saw that flash of red eyes and yellowed teeth through my 3rd floor hospital window.

Anyway I wrote you this letter to explain why I wasn’t at the hospital when you came in to see me, and why you haven’t seen me at all since.

And, well. . .

I’ve been doing a lot of running lately.

The Holders 5: The Holder of Identity

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself into. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Identity" The one at the front desk will shake their head as if you asked a very obscure question. Ask them the same question twice more. They will roll their eyes and tell you to go down the hall to your left until you reach room 28. Wait five minutes before doing so, or such a room will not exist in the facility. Once you reach room 28, knock on the door three times with two second pauses between knocks. Failure to do so will result in the door opening and you being pulled into eternal darkness. 

If you knocked correctly, the door should open just a crack. You may enter the room after this. When you walk through the door you will be greeted by the sight of a frail woman. 

Resist all urges to talk to this woman. She is only an illusion to see if you are worthy enough to confront the Holder. Look into this woman's eyes. Upon doing this, she will slowly age and decay. Do not shift your gaze or you will begin to decay. Once the woman is no more, you may look round the room. Walls will materialize and you will find yourself in a plain room. The darkness you once found yourself in will pool to the middle of the room. Do not go anywhere near it. After a little while of waiting, the darkness will form into a humanoid shape. When this happens, say without hesitation, "How will they help me find myself?" The darkness's answer will drive you to the brink of insanity. Do not give in to it. Keep whatever sanity and rational thinking you have. Once the darkness is finished speaking, you will politely thank it. The darkness will then materialize into a Vial. 

The Vial is object 2 of 538. Do not let any harm befall it. It is the only Object that can bear the essence of the end. 

Pokemon Black

I stumbled on this unsettling story of an obscure Pokémon bootleg/art-hack that I thought might be neat to share on here. I think this originated from 4chan, so I’ve no idea if this hack actually exists. It probably doesn’t, but it’s still a great concept/tale!:

I’m what you could call a collector of bootleg Pokémon games. Pokémon Diamond & Jade, Chaos Black, etc. It’s amazing the frequency with which you can find them at pawnshops, Goodwill, flea markets, and such.

They’re generally fun; even if they are unplayable (which they often are), the mistranslations and poor quality make them unintentionally humorous.

I’ve been able to find most of the ones that I’ve played online, but there’s one that I haven’t seen any mention of. I bought it at a flea market about five years ago.

The game started with the familiar Nidorino and Gengar intro of Red and Blue version. However, the “press start” screen had been altered. Red was there, but the Pokémon did not cycle through. It also said “Black Version” under the Pokémon logo.

Upon selecting “New Game”, the game started the Professor Oak speech, and it quickly became evident that the game was essentially Pokémon Red Version.

After selecting your starter, if you looked at your Pokémon, you had in addition to Bulbasaur, Charmander, or Squirtle another Pokémon — “GHOST”.

The Pokémon was level 1. It had the sprite of the Ghosts that are encountered in Lavender Tower before obtaining the Sliph Scope. It had one attack — “Curse”. I know that there is a real move named curse, but the attack did not exist in Generation 1, so it appears it was hacked in.

Defending Pokémon were unable to attack Ghost — it would only say they were too scared to move. When the move “Curse” was used in battle, the screen would cut to black. The cry of the defending Pokémon would be heard, but it was distorted, played at a much lower pitch than normal. The battle screen would then reappear, and the defending Pokémon would be gone. If used in a battle against a trainer, when the Pokéballs representing their Pokemon would appear in the corner, they would have one fewer Pokéball.

The implication was that the Pokémon died.

What’s even stranger is that after defeating a trainer and seeing “Red received $200 for winning!”, the battle commands would appear again. If you selected “Run”, the battle would end as it normally does. You could also select Curse. If you did, upon returning to the overworld, the trainer’s sprite would be gone. After leaving and reentering the area, the spot [where] the trainer had been would be replaced with a tombstone like the ones at Lavender Tower.

The move “Curse” was not usable in all instances. It would fail against Ghost Pokémon. It would also fail if it was used against trainers that you would have to face again, such as your Rival or Giovanni. It was usable in your final battle against them, however.

I figured this was the gimmick of the game, allowing you to use the previously uncapturable Ghosts. And because Curse made the game so easy, I essentially used it throughout the whole adventure.

The game changed quite a bit after defeating the Elite Four. After viewing the Hall of Fame, which consisted of Ghost and a couple of very under leveled Pokémon, the screen cut to black. A box appeared with the words “Many years later…” It then cut to Lavender Tower. An old man was standing, looking at tombstones. You then realized this man was your character.

The man moved at only half of your normal walking speed. You no longer had any Pokémon with you, not even Ghost, who up to this point had been impossible to remove from your party through depositing in the PC. The overworld was entirely empty — there were no people at all. There were still the tombstones of the trainers that you used Curse on, however.

You could go pretty much anywhere in the overworld at this point, though your movement was limited by the fact that you had no Pokémon to use HMs. And regardless of where you went, the music of Lavender Town continued on an infinite loop. After wandering for a while, I found that if you go through Diglett’s Cave, one of the cuttable bushes that normally blocks the path on the other side is no longer there, allowing you to advance and return to Pallet Town.

Upon entering your house and going to the exact tile where you start the game, the screen would cut to black.

Then a sprite of a Caterpie appeared. It was the replaced by a Weedle, and then a Pidgey. I soon realized, as the Pokémon progressed from Rattata to Blastoise, that these were all of the Pokémon that I had used Curse on.

After the end of my Rival’s team, a Youngster appeared, and then a Bug Catcher. These were the trainers I had Cursed.

Throughout the sequence, the Lavender Town music was playing, but it was slowly decreasing in pitch. By the time your Rival appeared on screen, it was little more than a demonic rumble.

Another cut to black. A few moments later, the battle screen suddenly appeared — your trainer sprite was now that of an old man, the same one as the one who teaches you how to catch Pokémon in Viridian City.

Ghost appeared on the other side, along with the words “GHOST wants to fight!”.

You couldn’t use items, and you had no Pokémon. If you tried to run, you couldn’t escape. The only option was “FIGHT”.

Using fight would immediately cause you to use Struggle, which didn’t affect Ghost but did chip off a bit of your own HP. When it was Ghost’s turn to attack, it would simply say “…” Eventually, when your HP reached a critical point, Ghost would finally use Curse.

The screen cut to black a final time.

Regardless of the buttons you pressed, you were permanently stuck in this black screen. At this point, the only thing you could do was turn the Game Boy off. When you played again, “NEW GAME” was the only option — the game had erased the file.

I played through this hacked game many, many times, and every time the game ended with this sequence. Several times I didn’t use Ghost at all, though he was impossible to remove from the party. In these cases, it did not show any Pokémon or trainers and simply cut to the climactic “battle with Ghost.

I’m not sure what the motives were behind the creator of this hack. It wasn’t widely distributed, so it was presumably not for monetary gain. It was very well done for a bootleg.

It seems he was trying to convey a message; though it seems I am the sole receiver of this message. I’m not entirely sure what it was — the inevitability of death? The pointlessness of it? Perhaps he was simply trying to morbidly inject death and darkness into a children’s game. Regardless, this children’s game has made me think, and it has made me cry.

The Doll

I gave her the doll on her birthday.
She loved it at first, told me it was so beautiful. That it’s hair was so soft and the dress was so pretty. She wouldn’t let it out of her sight for days. During the day she set it on the table, so she could see it while cleaning the house. During the night it sat next to the bed, looking at us sleep with big blue unmoving eyes.
But my wife’s love for the doll soon changed. Soon I noticed something was bothering here. I asked of course, but she wouldn’t tell me at first, said she was just being silly. But day after day she closed herself more and more for me. Until I couldn’t take it anymore. I pressed her, told her she would tell me what was going on right now or I would drag her to a doctor.

She finally broke and crying words came spilling out.
She then told me it was the doll. It scared her. She told me she had the feeling it was constantly watching her. Sometimes it even seemed like it moved.
This worried me and I went to take a look at the doll.
It sat motionless on the little table in the bedroom. The big blue eyes unchanged. I couldn’t help but sigh from relief a bit. Of course she’s not moving, she couldn’t have been.
I went to turn away, but then saw a tiny movement from the corner of my eye.
I turned back to the doll, picking it up from the table. I held my face close to the doll’s, staring into the eyes.
Something was moving.
I tried to concentrate, tried to look closer.
Yes, there it definately was, movement. But not from the eye itself, it was behind the eye.
Before I could register this the eye burst and out of it spilled at least ten wriggling maggots.
I dropped the doll in shock, backing away instinctively.

My wife yelled from the other room, asking me what was going on. I yelled back at her not to worry. I picked up the doll again, using a tissue to wipe away the maggots. Inside I saw more, pressing against the skin and the plastic outer layer.

So soon already. I had hoped she would have lasted longer.
I will have to get a new one for her, maybe keep it alive at first. That way it’ll last longer for sure.
While I throw away the old doll, I think about how my wife always says she loves the thick blonde curls of little Katie down the block.
Doesn’t she also have blue eyes?

The Holders 4: The Holder of Sleep

In any city of any country, go to a hospital at night and ask the head nurse to see "The Holder of Sleep." She will ignore you and say she has work to do. Ask twice more without stammering and she will sigh as if weary.

She will ask you if you are sure, if you answer no you will wake up the next day fully rested and free of any chains. If you answer yes she will guide you to an empty room and tell you to sleep.

When you awaken you will be on a stone table at the beginning of a hallway. As you walk down the hall you will begin to feel drowsy, you must resist sleep here for you will slumber eternally. If you make it to the end of this hallway you will find a door. Open this to find The Holder of Sleep.

You will see a wizened old man sleeping peacefully. Tread lightly for he does not like to be disturbed. Do not look under his bed, for there lies death and it will pull you under to be tormented forever.

Walk quietly up to his bed and whisper in his ear "Why do they never rest?" until he wakes up and tells you the story of how they chained their slumber onto him, then he will invite you to sit with him. Do so, else he will chain their slumber unto you and you will never truly be awake again.

After sitting with him he will pull a small crystal with inner light from his nightgown. He will then push it deep into your chest. If you can ignore the pain he will fall back into his slumber.

If you cry out you shall replace him in his tortured slumber. Return to the stone table and sleep again. You will find yourself outside of the hospital after waking up.

The crystal is object 27 of 538. You no longer need sleep, pray your nightmares do not follow you out. 

The Bad Dream

“Daddy, I had a bad dream.” You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness—it’s 3:23.

“Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?”

“No, Daddy.”

The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter’s pale form in the darkness of your room.

“Why not sweetie?”

“Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy’s skin sat up.” For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can’t take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.

The Book

Once, there was a boy who loved to read. He read everything he could get his hands on, and loved going to his favorite book store. One day, the boy realized he had read everything the store had to offer. He confronted the owner, and asked him if he had anything the boy had never checked out. The owner said why, yes, I do, and pulled out a book called “Death”. He gladly sold it to the boy at a discounted price of 50$.

However, he warned the boy, never to read the front page. Well, the boy returned to his house and read the book, and he was content. However, he always wondered, what could be on that front page, it was always in the back of his mind. One day, the temptation was too much for the boy, and he flipped to the very front of the book, and dropped the book in HORROR.

There, in bold print, was MSRP 7.99$

The Holders 3: The Holder of Destruction

In any city or town, within any country, you will begin your, for lack of a better term, quest, for this object in the nearest mental institution or half-way house you can get yourself in to. 

Make sure that upon entering, you wear a blank, calm face, and do not say a word until you approach the receptionist's desk. 
Once you are there, ask to see the Holder of Destruction. 
If the receptionist stares at you without making a sound, flee. Flee and don't stop until you collapse of exhaustion. If you wake up, not shrouded in complete darkness, you should be fine. However, if you DO awaken in darkness, you will hear the whispers of everyone you ever knew, calling you foul words, such as "Pathetic" and "Weak", eventually driving you directly into madness. 
If the receptionist gives you a look of confusion, quickly say: "Don't worry, I only wish to speak with him." 
If you say this in time, the receptionist will lead you up a flight of stairs, which you have strangely never seen before. 
Once you reach the top, there will be a single door at the end of a long hallway. 
Upon looking behind you, the door will close and lock. You will hear the receptionist yell: "I'm sorry, but you're on your own now!" and you will then hear him rush down the stairs. 
Upon walking down the hallway, you will hear a low-pitched humming sound. 
If this sound stops, stay completely still, and don't make a sound. 
If the humming does not continue, the lights will burst out, one by one. Upon the last light bursting, you will feel something grab your leg, pull you down, and feast on your flesh until you bleed to death. 
If the humming continues, keep walking, but this time, more quietly. 
Once you reach the door, knock, and whisper as quietly as possible: "I wish to speak with you, nothing else". 
As soon as you finish, prepare yourself, for he will yell at the top of his lungs: "COME IN NOW!" 
If you react to this, upon opening the door, he will remove your limbs slowly, and painfully. 
If you didn't react, he will kindly open the door, and allow you in. 
He will be of a very muscular and tall origin, about 6'7. 
Once you are inside, he will slam the door, and tell you to sit down. 
Do not sit down. If you do, he will tackle you to the ground, and feast upon your head until he breaks through your skull, and tears out your brain. 
Simply stand tall and yell: "No, YOU sit down!" 
If you yell loudly enough, he will shrug, and sit down. Otherwise, he will simply ignore you, and never let you out. 
Once he sits down, ask him: "What is true destruction?" 
He will bring you closer, and whisper to you in horrifying detail, answering your question. 
Once he is done, if your mind is not lost in madness, hit him. Hit him as hard as you can, as many times as you can. Do not worry, for he will not retaliate. 
Once he collapses to the floor, carefully remove the golden ring from his pocket. If you are not careful, he will awaken, and break your fingers, one by one, then your wrist, then your arm. 
Once you have this ring, put it on. 
As soon as you put it on, scream as loudly as possible, until you run out of air. Make sure you close your eyes while you do this. If you screamed loudly enough, you will be in front of the institution or half-way house you previously entered. 
This golden ring is object #13 of 538. 
This ring can cause mayhem, wherever you please. 
However, you must be sure to remember...they must never...come...together... 

The Holders 2: The Holder of Weatlh

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Wealth." The worker will raise one eyebrow, as if puzzled by your request. Ask a second time, and the worker will shrug and take you across the street, where an opulent mansion awaits. This mansion was not there when you started your quest, but it's best that you not preoccupy yourself with the mansion's origin. Its owner would rather not scare you away. 
Inside the front door will lie a grand staircase, spiraling up across the foyer. The walls will be covered with fine paintings, and a large marble statue will rest on a pedestal by the base of the stairs. The statue's eldritch features will evoke an image of a truly horrific beast, at once both alien and evil. Admire it all you want, but don't touch it, unless you wish to awaken this starved monster. 

Ascend the staircase. As long as you touch nothing, you will be in no danger. Don't panic. At the top of the stairs will be a small, unassuming wooden door. It will open for you, so long as you are not afraid. 

You should see a man with a pointed goatee and short, cropped, gelled hair standing behind a large desk of what will appear to be mahogany. His suit will appear to be made of both human flesh and Italian silk. He may speak, and at great length. He will talk about his amazingly beautiful house and the lovely statue of his concubine resting downstairs. Do not interrupt him, and do not answer any questions he may ask. When he is finished, steel yourself and confidently ask, "May I have my salary?" 

He will proceed to explain to you, in great detail, the value of life. He will talk of things worse than death, and he will tell you exactly what he expects you to do. The fabulous interior of the room will rot away, and the floor will turn from French weave to feces. His own appearance will become unimaginably cyclopean and horrendous. He will then fish out a small bank note from the inside of his human suit and hand it to you. 

That note is Object 8 of 538. Its Holder is counting on you to spend it. 

They Hurt Her

After lunch, her teacher announced that the school was holding a fire drill. When the alarm sounded, Carmen and the other students filed out of the classroom and assembled in the yard outside. As the teachers read out the roll call, the gang of five girls decided that this was a great opportunity to embarrass Carmen in front of the whole school during the fire drill. They moved over to where Carmen was standing, near a sewer drain, and began crowding the poor girl, getting in her face and nudging her towards the open manhole.
They pushed her and she tripped over and fell head-first down the manhole. When they saw her falling, the girls started giggling and when Carmen's name was called out, they shouted "She's down in the sewer!"
All of the other students began laughing. But when the teachers looked down the manhole and saw Carmen's body lying at the bottom in the muck and the poop, the laughter abruptly stopped. Her head was twisted around at an odd angle and her face was covered in blood. Worse still, she wasn't moving. There was nothing any of the teachers could do for her. Carmen was dead. When the police arrived and went down into the sewer, they determined that she had broken her neck. Her face had been torn off when she hit the ladder on the way down and her neck snapped when she landed on her head on the concrete at the bottom.
The police hauled Carmen's body out of the sewer and sent her to the mortuary. Everyone had to stay behind after school while the police questioned all of Carmen's classmates. The five girls lied to the police, saying they had witnessed Carmen falling down the sewer. The police believed the girls and Carmen Winstead's death was ruled an accident and the case was closed. Everyone thought that was the last they would hear of Carmen Winstead, but they were wrong.
Months later, Carmen's classmates began receiving strange e-mails and unusual messages on their MySpace accounts. The e-mails were titled "They Pushed Her" and claimed that Carmen hadn't really fallen down the sewer, she had been pushed. The e-mails also warned that the guilty people should own up and take responsibility for their crime. If they didn't there would be horrible consequences. Most people dismissed the e-mails as a hoax, but others were not so sure.
A few days later, one of the girls who pushed Carmen down the sewer was at home taking a shower, when she heard a strange cackling laugh. It seemed to be coming from the drain. The girl started to freak out and ran out of the bathroom. That night, the girl said goodnight to her mom and went to sleep. Five hours later, her mom was awoken in the middle of the night, by a loud noise that resounded throughout the house. She ran into her daughter's room, only to find it empty. There was no trace of the girl. The worried mother called the police and when they arrived, they conducted a search of the area. Eventually, they discovered the girl's grisly remains.
Her corpse was lying in the sewer, covered in muck and poop. Her neck was broken and her face missing. It had been completely torn off. One by one, all of the girls who pushed Carmen that day were found dead. They had all been killed in exactly the same way and were all found at exactly the same spot. In the sewer at the bottom of the same uncovered manhole where Carmen had met her doom. But the killing didn't stop there. More and more of Carmen's former classmates were found dead. It seemed that anyone who didn't believe that Carmen had been pushed, was eventually found down in the sewer with their necks broken and their faces torn off.
They say that Carmen's ghost is still on the rampage, hunting down anyone who doesn't believe her story. According to the legend, Carmen will get you, whether it's from a toilet, a shower, a sink or a drain. When you go to sleep, you'll wake up in the sewer, in complete darkness, paralyzed, unable to move, hearing cackling laughter all around you. Then, as you scream in horror, Carmen will come and tear your face off.