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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.…

Voice

Lilleth stared up at the ceiling while bundled in her covers. Dimly lit with various band posters taped to the wall, it’s the room of a typical punk girl. She nodded her head to the beat, and softly sang along to the heavy metal playing on her speakers. She heard her mom calling over the music.“What!” Lilleth snapped, annoyed because she knew she would have to get up.

“Lilleth! Come down here! I need some help in the kitchen!” she yelled from downstairs. Rolling her eyes, Lilleth got out of bed, and turned her music off.

The hallway was dark. She turned on the florescent lights. Pictures hung crookedly on the walls, or on the floor. Without looking she closed the door behind her, which had black scratches on it, and she sluggishly went downstairs. Looking into the kitchen, she saw her mom wasn’t there. “Mom?” she grumbled loudly while leaning on the countertop. Silence.

“Lilleth?” the sudden voice of her mom from upstairs broke the silence. Lilleth thought it was odd that her mom had managed to get upstairs so fast without passing her.

“Yea?” She replied, shrugging off the oddity.

“Lilleth did you hear that?” Her mom asked, her voice laden with worry.…

Grad Night in the Haunted Mansion

On June 4th, 1983, my high school was one of many that took us to Disneyland for Grad Night. If you’ve ever been to Disneyland on Grad Night, you know how much fun – and how crazy – it can be. The park stays open extra late, the skippers who drive the Jungle Cruise boats let loose and tell dirty jokes, and there’s plenty of opportunities for people to sneak booze and weed in. Getting a bunch of amped high schoolers in Disneyland is one thing, but with a nightlife and party atmosphere behind it, things can get pretty nuts.

My two friends and I, Anaheim locals, were particularly excited. We all loved Disneyland, and while we didn’t get to visit often, living practically in the park’s backyard gave us more opportunities than most. In addition, we hadn’t been since the new Fantasyland opened earlier that year, going from a sort of Medieval fairground into a storybook village, so I was kind of looking forward to that. Unlike a lot of people who were there, we intended to keep things clean and have a grand old time of it, hit as many rides as possible, and just revel.

But the big plan for the night was kind of ambitious and maybe a little reckless – to this day, I can’t remember who suggested it first, only that we all thought it was a great idea.…

Canned Food

I ran straight to the super market when I heard about the nuclear strike. The government said that a deadly disease was spreading were I lived, and that the were going to eliminate anyone who had it. When I got to the store, I saw that almost all of the canned foods were gone, infact, almost everything was gone. I grabbed all of the cans I could carry, ran outside to my car, and realized it was not enough to keep me alive in my bomb shelter.

Wondering what I would do, the nuclear strike being imminent, I saw a woman and two small children loading a van with food cans. They had enough to survive years, I thought. I ran too the woman and asked if I could have some of the cans. “I’m sorry, I have more people to feed at my house, I can’t spare any.” She told me.

Walking back to my car disapointed, I stepped on something, I looked down to see I steped on a screw driver. That’s when I got the idea. I bent down and picked it up, and looked toward the woman, still loading the van with the canned foods. I needed that food.…

All The Papers Lied Tonight

God, I hope I’m just going crazy.

You ever had one of those “how in the hell did I get here” moments? I mean those flashes of clarity where you really see your life. You look in the mirror and you’re so far removed from the person you dreamed of being when you were a kid that you’re stunned speechless.

Mine happened about a year ago, a week or two before Thanksgiving, when I woke up in the hospital. I was incredibly disoriented; everything seemed unreal and distant, not really happening to me… like I was dreaming, or an avatar in a video game.

Maybe it was because I already felt so disconnected… maybe it was the terrifying reminder of my own mortality… but it felt like I was seeing myself with a stranger’s eyes. Waves of shame and self-hatred rolled over me in that hospital bed, and I vowed to change my life.

I’d made similar resolutions before and failed miserably, but this time was different.

This time, the change was nearly effortless: old habits evaporated, old temptations lost all allure. Peer pressure stopped being an issue, because I just wasn’t interested in hanging out with my usual group; when I tried going out with them sober, they bored me to tears.…

Swap

My legs and torso are bound by a series of buckled leather straps. The mask lets me breathe but I’m unable to call for help. My arms are secured at the elbow and wrist. The only thing my hands can reach is the combination lock dangling at my waist. I click it shut. We are go for launch.

Now I close my eyes, and I focus. Calm… focus. I remember shaking his hand. That’s key—it doesn’t work without some past physical contact, I’ve never figured out why. She introduced us at the office Christmas party she dragged me to. He seemed like a nice enough guy. I remember joking that the two of them would make a good-looking couple. Just as funny now as it was then.

Focus! Remember the handshake… remember the face… focus on the face… find the face… there. I have it. Now turn it around. A familiar wave rushes through me, and when I open my eyes I am no longer bound to my safety board. I am sitting.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks, her hand on his forearm. “You looked like you were about to pass out!”

Candlelight. Dinner table. Steak, baked potato, broccoli, red wine.…

University of Horrors

My Summer break had finally arrived, and was filled with many joys. One of the great thrills it held was a very energetic and lovable kitten, who I enjoyed playing with immensely. Unfortunately, the kitten wasn’t mine, and instead he belonged to my roommate, or ex-roommate I should say. He was the one who had offered me a place to stay after the College dorms had kicked all the students out at Spring Semester’s end. His name was Hobbes and he was 9 months old, although I wouldn’t have known at first glance that this monstrous cat was only a mere 8 months in age when I first moved in. He had white fur all over with auburn patches that swirled around, and black, innocent babbles for eyes with a curious and dazzled expression on his face. It felt just like there was a small child in the apartment, and when I’d pet him or he’d follow me around, his gaze and body movements resembled a young child’s playfulness and shy uncertainty of the world. He hung to my coat tails to be guided, supported, fed, and cared for.

His rightful owner, Andrew, now lived with his girlfriend but Hobbes remained behind.…

Home Sweet Home

I don’t want it. It needs to get out of my house. I thought it was gone. I had never been so wrong.

It started as a life-changing decision for us. Moving away from our hometown, forgetting friends and starting a new life. The house we moved to was far from where we lived. It was about a three day drive. We moved from New York to Wisconsin. I was the most against it, I had a social life, I was actually pretty popular, I made friends with everyone. My parents were usually isolated in their house. They were the nicest parents anyone could ask for… Sorry I’m getting off topic. They didn’t have many friends and most of our family was in Wisconsin. The ride was fun, I listened to music and text my girlfriend Leah. She was perfect. We had in common almost all of our interests. When we did get to the house… I was stunned. It was a beautiful Victorian style house, two stories, already furnished. At first I was a bit skeptical on how my parents got the money for such an extravagant structure as this.

We spent most of the day unpacking. I took an hour to unpack and then explored.…

Could This Be My Fate?

I woke up sweating. This was the third time this week that I had this strange recurring dream. It feels so real, like I can hear the voices clearly, feel the contact with my skin. Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s real or not.

I try to forget it every night. However, it keeps coming back to me. It starts off with me going to bed. I hear a quiet humming that wakes me up out of a dead sleep. Every time, it seems to lure me in, I get out of bed to follow the sound. I grab my robe, and put on my slippers. I follow it through my house and the closer I get to the front door, the colder it gets. I tie up my robe and cross my arms; I can see my breath now. I slowly open the door and I can barely see outside. It’s so foggy.

The humming gets louder, and then quiet again. I leave my house and close the door. I get a weird feeling, like somebody is watching me. I stop and look around me, but I can’t see anything. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.…

I Saw It Coming

This isn’t a confession. You can’t prove a damn thing, so don’t even try. I’ll deny it to my grave. I’m on my third drink for the evening anyways. You can’t trust the word of a drunken man.

That’s when I start to feel anything these days, the third drink. Sometimes it takes four, but usually three will do. It’s the same cycle every night for weeks now, I drink, then I start to feel, then the fear comes over me, then I drink some more until I pass out.

Wake up, slog through the day. Keep my head down, keep my chin up, don’t draw anyone’s attention. Go home, repeat.

One night a few weeks back there was a man at my door. I answered it, wondering what in the devil he was doing there at that time of night. I live at the end of my street, and there’s no one around for quite a ways, and even the evangelicals that comb the neighborhood rarely make it all the way out to my house.

“Help me,” he gasped, his blood-flecked lips quivering in the rain. His forearm was badly broken, bits of bone sticking out through the skin. He was pale and drenched, the rain and blood dripping steadily from his haggard frame, pooling on my porch beneath him.…

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