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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.…

Seven Seconds

4:38:03 PM

He placed the cold steel barrel to his temple, feeling it press against bone. The scarred right wrist was steady, the shoulder relaxed, as he’d been trained. Standing in front of the mirror, his dry brown eyes burned with concentration. The muscles of his right hand contracted. The trigger began to move. His cracked lips curled to one side. The same sly, crooked half smile so many girls and women found appealing.

A muffled thump startled him from his sleep. Rubbing his eyes, the boy slipped from his bed and wandered into his parent’s bedroom. His father lay on the floor clutching at his chest. Sweat beaded his strained forehead. The man looked up at his young son.

“Get your mother,” he moaned through contorted gasps for breath. “Hurry…”

The boy stood there in his cotton pajamas smiling affectionately at his father. At last he turned and started down the hallway. Pausing on the carpeted stairs, he returned to his room and flicked the light switch.

“Daddy gets mad when I leave the lights on,” he reminded himself.

He made his way through the living and dining rooms of the modern split level home. In the kitchen the boy stopped to look in the refrigerator but changed his mind.…

Post Wood

I’ve brought myself back to where it happened, so I can relive the events that occurred five years ago, I shall try and recall them as accurately as possible.

I can feel the same summer breeze on my face; the shade from the tree hides me from the near blinding sunlight. I sit down on the ground and lean myself against the tree on my left, the marks are still there; the tree has seemingly exaggerated them. I run my fingers over the marks, as I do; an all too familiar chill strokes my spine, making me shudder. The floor is brisk with brown, dead leaves from the autumn just passed. I pull out a box of cigarettes from my pocket, place one between my lips and spark up. I stare at the little town of Ware buried in the valleys, just visible through the treeline.

The memory of that night came back clearer then day in that moment.
I stubbed my cigarette out on the root of the tree, careful as not to set any dry leaves alight. I stand up and walk through the overgrowth to the old camping spot. Nature has not been kind to the camping gear that was left behind.…

Midnight Dancer

Have you ever had one of those feelings that something was wrong? I don’t mean during the day either, but at night. I mean that sudden unprovoked feeling of dread that commands you to wake. Funny, it’s almost like nocturnal evil gives something off that your sleeping brain picks up on. I had one of those recently. It forced me up at 3 a.m. Normally when you have that feeling you’d lay still feigning sleep, or if you’re feeling adventurous you’d take a quick check around the house. After you failed to discover anything you’d inevitably crawl back to sleep. I should have done that this time.

I should have stayed asleep.

That night I sat straight up. For the longest time I sat there staring into the dark of my house before I even realized that I was awake. Then came the fear, that slow strangling feeling that constricts your chest and worms its way down your throat. I was alone in my home wide eyed and afraid with no explanation. I couldn’t hear the tell-tale signs of a break in downstairs, or the phantom sounds of a leaking pipe. I had no reason to be freaked out, but I was.…

Fun Town

Ever since she was a little girl, 14-year-old Nicole had a fascination of exploring unfamiliar places. For this expedition, she wanted to explore a patch of forest she recently discovered near her house. She brought along a flashlight in case there were any dark places worthy of investigation.

The forest was about two blocks down her street. A small dirt path winded through it, and there was still plenty of daylight to see everything. Nicole was giddy with anticipation of what lay ahead.

As she walked along the main path, separate trails split off into different directions.

“Well, I’ll be back another time,” Nicole said to herself. “Eventually, I’ll explore every one of these paths to see where they lead to.”

After wandering aimlessly for a while, she found herself in a dark, shady grove. Nothing more than a few trees surrounded her.

Nicole noticed something hidden among a tangled mass of branches. She whipped out her flashlight and shined it on the object. What she saw surprised her.

A sign with the words “FUN TOWN” written in bright red letters pointed towards a small passage among the trees.

Without a moment to lose, she ran down the path in a hurry to see what wonders were in store at Fun Town.…

They Are Watching You

In a small town like Woodsburrow, a mall opening up is a big thing. The whole town generally gets in on the whole ordeal and rumors of all kinds begin to spread about the building both good and bad and the new owner is usually the main target of these rumors more often than none. This time was no exception especially when the owner was a tall crooked kind of man with greying skin that hung loosely from a boney frame. The most striking feature however, were the man’s yellow eyes that seemed to gleam in greedy luster whenever anyone made a purchase. Many of the neighborhood boys took to calling him a monster man, and Jerry Tanner was one such kid.

He knew something was up with that old geezer, and he was determined to figure out exactly what and prove it to the rest of the town. Armed with only his mother’s expensive Kodak he strolled lively through the large glass doors as if he were simply another patron longing for a simple look over the wares this new placed possessed. The boy seemed to pull it off well too, because not one person seemed too curious as to why he was there.…

Samson

My whole life is stuck in a routine others seem to benefit from, whereas I only suffer. Day after day, it’s the same thing;
Smile.
Don’t complain.
Don’t burden other people.
Be quiet.
Smile.
Repeat.
No one suspected a thing – My lie must have been pretty deceiving. But I could only hope that one day – hopefully one day soon – someone would figure it out, and save me. That day came close, so close that I could taste it, could feel it within my reach, but I messed up. I messed up, and forgot my routine.

Step 1 of the routine; Smile.
I didn’t want to be here, in this long hallway, waiting just outside the apartment door. Voices were muffled inside, making it difficult to make out the words that were spoken. But I knew the situation; My alcoholic of a father was talking to my sick mother. He had shown up somewhat sober so I hoped they would be able to talk normally. Possibly, for the last time. Outside, dark gray storm clouds were brewing, making the hallway dark and almost haunting. I leaned against the wall, looking straight ahead at the front door, waiting patiently. Mother was very sick, and she’s had some close calls before, ending up in hospitals with me by her bedside and Father passed out in the waiting room.…

Why Sarah Never Sleeps

There were too many doors in the upstairs hall. Sarah told her parents, but they couldn’t see it. They told her not to worry. They told her there was nothing there. But there was an extra door, at the end of the upstairs hall. An extra yellow door, and it didn’t belong.

It was the color of disease, jaundiced and infected, with spidery black veins across its face. One perfect silver knob gleamed in its center above a shadowy keyhole, and it didn’t look right. The doorknob shone with a mirror’s finish, and caught the light from any angle, begging for Sarah to look its way. Sarah did her best to ignore it, but the door knew her name, and it whispered it when she drew near.

“Saraaaahh . . . ” the door would rasp with a voice like dried leaves as tiny claws scraped against the other side. Tears would well in Sarah’s eyes as she’d hurry past, her arms laden with everything she’d need to get ready for the day.

“Saraaaahh . . .” it would call again before she’d shuffled out of range and closed the bathroom door, cutting off its paper-thin wails. When she’d creep from the bathroom to head downstairs, the door’s voice would follow her with a furious flurry of scraping claws and tormented howls.…

And Then There’s Martha…

I live in the middle of nowhere, far away from the rest of my friends. I have to wake up very early in the morning to catch my bus and I usually eat my breakfast as it’s bringing me to school. I don’t have any brothers or sisters; There’s just me, the Ziggy the cat, and my Dad.
And then there’s Martha, the chronically pissed-off woman who insists that I call her my Mother. But lately I don’t feel so inclined to do so. She’s hardly ever around because it seems like she works every day of the goddamn week, as soon as she comes home the first thing she does is find a reason to start yelling at me or cry about something. No rational human being hates their job THAT MUCH, and no one is forcing her to continue working there. There’s the paycheck, I guess, but no amount of pay seems worth sacrificing the respect of your family. Whenever she’s not home, it’s quiet and peaceful. Whenever she’s home, she’s a mess. When she’s not screaming at me over some menial task that I didn’t do, or didn’t do RIGHT, she’s crying about it. Any other person might feel bad about this, but it’s such a frequent thing that I’ve become almost completely desensitized to it.…

Vae Victis

The following are transcripted entries from the journal of a Soldier that didn’t survive the trip home from a deployment in Iraq. Content was provided via the victim’s relatives. This might be disturbing for some people to see.

Proceed with caution.

_____________________________________________________

– 17-MAY-2008 Fort Huachuca, Arizona –

Just as the marching cadence goes, “Same old shit again” indeed. And now here I am marching my own Soldiers off to one of several pre-deployment briefings being held today. Most of it’s just the usual mandatory stuff, most of it involves what to do in combat situations we might not actually get to see, thank God. Our unit is comprised of mostly Signal geeks and I.T guys, at least a third of them are fresh out of A.I.T themselves and they’re pretty easy to pick out of the crowd: They all have this terrified look on their face like they think they’re about to die as soon as they get off the plane, and I have to laugh because that’s exactly how I felt right before my first deployment to Iraq. I feel bad for most of them, T.R.A.D.O.C fills their heads with all kinds of bullshit about kicking down doors and pretty much duct-taping their buddies back together while they’re screaming for Mommy.…

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