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BEN Drowned

Post #1 (Sept. 7, 2010)

Okay, /x/, I need your help with this. This is not copypasta, this is a long read, but I feel like my safety or well-being could very well depend on this. This is video game related, specifically Majora’s Mask, and this is the creepiest shit that has ever happened to me in my entire life.

Having said that, I recently moved into my dorm room starting as a Sophomore in college and a friend of mine gave me his old Nintendo 64 to play. I was stoked, to say the least, I could finally play all of those old games of my youth that I hadn’t touched in at least a decade. His Nintendo 64 came with one yellow controller and a rather shoddy copy of Super Smash Brothers, and while beggars can’t be choosers, needless to say it didn’t take long until I became bored of beating up LVL 9 CPUs.

That weekend I decided to drive around a few neighborhoods about twenty minutes or so off campus, hitting up the local garage sales, hoping to score on some good deals from ignorant parents). I ended up picking up a copy of Pokemon Stadium, Goldeneye (fuck yeah), F-Zero, and two other controllers for two dollars.…

The Farnsworth Experiments

You may have heard of the Farnsworth experiments. My dad was one of the scientists involved. He rarely talked about it, and when he did he always said the rumors were overplayed. The team tried and failed, nothing more to it. He seemed to get annoyed at me asking him about it. When I kept it up, he eventually told me a brief account of what happened. It was the mid 80s and he was living in Albany, New York, pursuing his phD. This was a year or two after I was born. He began work on a government funded research project. The experiments were to be done under absolute secrecy. The goal was to test a 15 year old hypothesis that previous to this point seemed untestable. If it were true, then time travel was possible. They spent nearly a year working on the project, known only by it’s codename Farnsworth. They tried and tried, but found nothing. Then the project ended. There were no deaths or disappearances. There were no strange events around the region. The reason the government denied the project’s existence was purely embarrassment over funding something that in hindsight seemed so ridiculous. It felt good to know the truth.…

Everything Dies

One of the first memories I could recall was my father leaving the family. He didn’t speak a word to us, just walked toward the groves. I never saw him after that day. The part that disturbed me most was how everyone else took this. They all just stood there, watching on with knowing eyes. As if they knew that this day would come eventually.

My mother was described to be “wild”, a feral if you will. She had escaped some kind of confinement that my father was bound to, as he only had time to visit us when he could before he vanished from my life entirely. I never got to know him very well. Through her, I was taught about the dangers of those that walked the earth on two legs.

Anytime I asked why, she would only shudder and look away and remind me about my father. She told me the hard fact eventually after much pestering, that he died. I was confused, and asked why he did with tearful eyes, and how she knew this. She responded with something so surprisingly cryptic that it would puzzle me throughout my life.

“Everything dies, sweetie. It was what we were born to do.”

I was taught to cherish my life since then.…

The Note

The bell rang and I lifted myself from my seat and headed out of second period. My back was killing me from sitting in the hard, plastic chair for the past hour and a half; I was ready to get out of there.

“Mr. Forsythe, come over here, please.” My English teacher motioned me over to his desk with a disappointed look on his face. I hated when he called me that. I always thought it was so stupid. He looked down at his desk and I mimicked his motion. On his desk was the essay we had to turn in a few days ago. Across the top margin, scribbled in sloppy red ink were the words, not acceptable. “I’m very, disappointed in your work here, Mitchell. The assignment was to write a persuasive, argumentative, essay on something you have strong feelings over.” I got agitated rather quickly and snapped back at him.

“That’s exactly what I did!” I yelled.

“Writing about why marijuana should be legal is not the direction this paper is supposed to be going in! I want a new paper and a new topic on my desk by Monday morning!” I stood in disbelief and didn’t speak for a moment.…

Jacob’s Dirt

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when the sobbing echoed through the apartment complex. Everyone rushed outside to find Jacob, kneeling in front of the leafless birch tree, crying. They stared in awe, unsure of what to do. After all, no one knew anything about him. The tenants stood shocked and confused as Jacob’s fingers dug into the soil at the base of the tree – scooping handfuls of dirt into his pockets. He continued until his pockets were full, then the crying ceased, just like that. The silence was so unnerving that some backed into their doorways, as if taking precautionary measure for an impending calamity.

Dirt spilled from Jacob’s pockets with each step as he slowly made his way back to his apartment. His movements were meticulous and deliberate, he seemed to savor each step like a mouthful of delicious food. Step after step his neighbors watched with anticipation, not sure of what to expect, but sure something would happen – Nothing did.

This would be the last time anyone saw Jacob.

Jacob was a strange old man. He would leave his apartment once a day for exactly an hour and stand in the courtyard talking to the ground near that birch tree.…

Es Fließt Frei

The slight dripping sounds from the kitchen abruptly ended my post vacation buzz as soon as I opened the front door. Knots that I had hoped were lost somewhere on a Hawaiian beach returned to their home in the small of my back as I began the process of doing mental math. The last plumbing mishap relieved me of a month’s pay and half of my comic collection. Judging by the competing tones of multiple drips, I told myself this was going to be an expensive plumbing emergency.

Rounding the corner, my jaw went slack at the sight of thick red liquid dripping from my ceiling. During my absence, my ceiling had transformed from a bland, sterile beige to an oozing crimson tapestry. I rushed out the door to my upstairs neighbor’s apartment as I dialed 911. My silent prayer for their safety was interrupted by the dispatcher’s mechanical greeting. Before she could finish, I began rattling off the first words I thought of.

“My name is Edward Michaels and I lived at 3710 Santiago Lane. I just returned from vacation to find blood dripping from my ceiling. It’s coming from the Andersons’ apartment and …. Wait, their front door is ajar.”

Numb, I attempted to narrate the scene as I choked back a resurgence of airline chicken.…

I Am The Apocalypse

The cold was the first thing I felt.

Even before my eyes were open I felt a very deep chill in my core, a thousand spindles of ice sewn between my tissues. I blinked, my eyelids slowly bringing and stealing back the darkness, and with it the desire to keep them closed forever.

I was lying face down on the floor, the tiles speckled with browned blood. I moved my arms to push myself up, but my muscles were stiff, almost too stiff to bend without breaking. I feebly pushed myself up, forcing weight upon deadened legs. I began to wonder why I felt the way I did. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been laying there. There was the most peculiar feeling in my stomach, a sort of dissolution. Perhaps I had ingested something that knocked me out?

Wait. Where was I? I looked around the room I was in. It was a kitchen, mostly everything in order except for the few traces of a hurried exit. The back door was open, barely bolted to the top hinge. Cabinet doors were left open, and it seemed only the food readily edible was taken. A knife set was knocked over, with a few blades missing.…


I wasn’t sure how long I’d been suspended in the room. I couldn’t remember the last time light had elucidated these claustrophobic confines, nor exactly when I realized I was trapped within them. Vague outlines surrounded the silhouettes of objects filling the room, slightly blurred and perfectly still. These things themselves were not strange, but when I saw them, my mind whispered dissimulation: “This is a dream.” And as I listened to it, figures of shadow formed within the depths light didn’t dwell. They were staring at me with quite a malignant intent for being hallucinations.

I was cold in a peculiar way, not like the familiar, fresh Autumnal chill of things to come, but with an absent numbness. My physical being and my consciousness were inexplicably disconnected, possibly even entirely disembodied. I could not move a single piece of me I felt, remaining perpetually static within a room in which nothing moved. Panic rose, panic like waking up in sleep paralysis greeted by hollow whispers of languages unknown. The voices are otherworldly, of a surreal type that was so unreal it was tormenting. But they also murmered with an eldritch disdain.

And they know about the paralysis.

The ubiquitous darkness of the room pervaded all of my vision so deeply I would forget that darkness was something I could look at.…

Return to Return to Oz

“So goodbye yellow brick road
Where the dogs of society howl
You can’t plant me in your penthouse
I’m going back to my plough

Back to the howling old owl in the woods
Hunting the horny back toad
Oh I’ve finally decided my future lies
Beyond the yellow brick road”
– Elton John, “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”


In 1985, the Disney film ’Return to Oz’ was released in cinemas, and a few years later made its way onto home VHS.

I can’t remember how old I was at the time I seen it, perhaps five years old at most. I knew right away that there was something unusual about the film, something especially disturbing. I remember that the first time I seen it, I cried. I remember watching the film, glued in place in front of the television, not out of involvement but out of terror.

Truth be told, it is a bloody scary film. Now before you groan and go to read something else, don’t worry, this isn’t a story of a haunted video tape. The film itself played out perfectly normally, as much as possible. Dorothy didn’t turn to the camera and start screaming while blood poured from her eyes, or anything stupid like that.…


I guess I’m not really sure what to write down. These past few weeks feel…It’s just hard to put to words what’s going on. I can hear sirens in the distance. Not much time left now. The police’ll be here shortly. Only one more thing left to do, but first I want to leave some kind of a record. Some testament to what happened so when they look back on this insanity, maybe somebody will know I wasn’t crazy. At least, not completely. I’ll write down the facts as they happened, try and give you a read on my mental state.

My name is Chris. I’m 38, got a decent job as a contractor. Presently on my second marriage. Or, I was anyway. Feels so strange, putting everything in the past tense. My first wife left me for some college kid she met on vacation. It hit me pretty hard. Probably spent about three months at the bottom of a bottle…goddamn I was so fucking stupid. Thought that was the worst thing that could have happened to me. The banging is getting harder, and I’m getting off topic. I’ll start at the beginning of this twisted mess.

Every year I take my family up to the mountains at the onset of fall.…

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