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 Thoughts, Sanguine and Sick: The Second Anthology, Time to start again...
alliterator
 Posted: Jun 16 2013, 09:26 PM
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The Jerkface Man
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QUOTE
Awww, but what about the poor Bleeding Tree?

The Bleeding Tree is also sort of intrinsically connected to the Slender Man and wasn't created by us (it was created by Slenderblogger zero).


Faces, Strange and Secret: An Anthology of Stories from da Fears Mythos: on sale from Amazon, Kindle, and Smashwords

My Finished Stories.

My Ongoing Stories:
Channel Fear (informational, educational, cynical)
The Supernatural Anaesthetist (seeing where science takes us)
Once There Was (the king is the kingdom)
An Old Man's Winter Night (at the winter of the world)
Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed (working for the man)
The Secret History of the World (unstuck in time)
Notes from the Underground (a place to stay)
Phantasmagorical (a bedtime story)
Paranoia: A Manifesto (wrecking the wall)
The Day The Music Died (running from sound and sorrow)
Abraham's Men (knights, ghosts, and shadows)
Pest Control (pulling the wings off of flies)
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DarkShadows
 Posted: Jun 16 2013, 10:21 PM
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2spooky Since 1991. OuO


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Have this Slenderman thing I wrote it if that's okay... *nervously peeks out from under table*

QUOTE
It all started one Winter's night, in 1995. It was dark out that night, and bitterly cold. The wind howled ravenously as it sent flakes of blade-like ice flying towards the ground; the cold bit strong into me with chilling teeth. Twisted branches reached desperately towards the black sky, as if begging for salvation from the blinding snowstorm.

As if seeking solace from the dark thing they'd been forced to hide for countless centuries upon centuries.

"Anna!" I cry, pulling my thin coat tightly around my frame and shivering with cold. The wan beam of my flashlight did nothing to pierce the inkiness of the surrounding dark forest. All was a black and white blur to me, assaulting me with frost that stuck to my eyelashes and stung my skin where it was left bared. "Anna! Come home!"

Oh, Anna, my dear child Anna. A face like a cherub, a smile like the sun. She's only seven. This cold... this snowstorm, if she gets lost...

Oh God no. Not my only daughter. Please... please be alright; please, Lord, let her be alright!

"Anna, where are you?!"

No sound but the wind, and under that, silence. Pure silence. Not even the sound of snow crunching beneath my feet could be heard under that incredible quiet.

That silence in and of itself was chilling, far more so than the wind could ever be. For It had had that same aura of pure, deathly silence around It when It... when It had...

Remember what happened… You must remember…

~~~~~~


He woke to the sound of her screaming, of her fearful cries for help. He had run to her bedroom, flashlight in hand, ready to vanquish whatever it was that so frightened his child. So quickly he had flung the door open, imagining already that he'd find her awoken from a nightmare, crying and needing solace in his protective arms. Needing a knight to destroy whatever dragon lurked in her dreams.

He did not find her in her bed.

The... thing, if It could be called a man, clung to his daughter with arms like jealous branches, arms far longer and thinner than he could ever imagine. It stood far greater than twice his height, easily outclassing his 6'3" frame despite being only half his width. And yet Anna made no sound, no cry for help, in fact looking strangely peaceful... as if she were exactly where she wanted to be, held close against the thing's skeletal, business-suit-clad frame as if in her father's own arms.

His breath seemed stolen from his lungs for a moment as the tall, intimidating creature slowly turned Its head towards him…

And revealed nothing.

He froze in the presence of Its eyeless gaze, trembling like a child before a strict parent. The blank canvas face of the creature did not move so much as an inch, locked unshakably onto him as if staring into his very being, spreading a numbing ice through his veins. Something... something black and vinelike reached for him from somewhere in the creature's back; now there were four, sixteen, twenty of them, all slithering towards him in hypnotic slow motion, all about to pull him close to the darkness surrounding It, all bringing an awful chill unlike anything God could ever create...

Their curious, slick tendril tips brushed against the skin of his face, and he recalled no more.

He remembered only waking up in his daughter's bedroom. The window was open. And Anna was gone.


~~~~~~


"Anna... Bring back my daughter! Give her back... Please… Just give her back to me…"

My grief and fear pulls me down, down to kneel in the icy drifts at my feet. Something salty and warm slides down my scarfed face, quickly turning cold. My daughter... where is my daughter? Oh God, what if that thing... what if It...?

No. No, please no. She can't be dead. Lord above, no, don't let her be dead!

I bring my trembling hands to my face in prayer, begging for help as my frame heaves with sorrowful dread.

Our Lord Who Art In Heaven, save my daughter. Please. Bring her back to me safe and sound. And if she can't be found... then bring her attacker to me, and smite It before my eyes. Please, Lord... Please...

I feel someone approach, a heavy presence pinning me to the ground where I kneel, as if the very gravity of the earth has increased tenfold. It's so heavy I can't move, even if I had wanted to.

And then the nausea sets in.

It comes in crippling, painful migraine headaches, the feeling of something starving my lungs for air and never leaving despite how hard I cough, the need to vomit and being unable to... I feel weak, so weak... and so incredibly cold, colder than the surrounding wind, colder than the chills slowly trickling down my vertebrae.

I look up and see nothing, but I clearly still feel someone approaching. Is it... could it be...?

"... Anna?"

I pull myself to my knees and turn, but the frame I see before me is not Anna.

The man, if I can even call It man, towers over me, staring sightlessly down, the blackness of Its suit standing in such stark contrast to the raging snowstorm that howls around It. The nausea and headaches are so bad I can hardly stand; I'm only able to stare back in disbelief. Even if I'd had the strength to run, somehow I knew I wouldn't have made it back home anyway. It came for her first.

And now… now, it's come for me.

But at least it would mean I'd have my dear, sweet Anna back.

"... You... You… thing. You awful, ungodly thing... You took her. You took my Anna! I want her back, where is my Anna!?"

The being gives me no response, instead tilting Its blank-canvas head as if intrigued.

"Answer me!" I scream, fear slowly turning into rage. "What have you done with my daughter? Give her back… please… I just want to hold her in my arms again…"

Pure and crushing silence follows. The creature reaches for me slowly, first with one long and slender arm, then with many, many more, all branching outwards at odd angles from Its back, all aiming for me. They pull at me and cling with incredible strength, unyielding in their grasp and far colder than the surrounding blizzard.

But I do not struggle. I do not need to. I suddenly can see no reason to attempt escape, not from this being that wishes no harm to me. He will take me to my daughter. I know this. He will.

The last thing I feel is something wrench painfully into my gut, spilling internal warmth into the surrounding snowdrifts, and the last thing I remember is the whiteness of the storm slowly, slowly fading to black.


You're not out of the woods yet... and you never truly will be.

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alliterator
 Posted: Jun 16 2013, 10:41 PM
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The Jerkface Man
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Have this Slenderman thing I wrote it if that's okay... *nervously peeks out from under table*

*nervously passes note under table*
QUOTE
We're not actually using Slendy or the Rake either. Both were not created by us and they have murky copyrightedness (is that right?), so we decided not to use them.

Sorry!


Faces, Strange and Secret: An Anthology of Stories from da Fears Mythos: on sale from Amazon, Kindle, and Smashwords

My Finished Stories.

My Ongoing Stories:
Channel Fear (informational, educational, cynical)
The Supernatural Anaesthetist (seeing where science takes us)
Once There Was (the king is the kingdom)
An Old Man's Winter Night (at the winter of the world)
Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed (working for the man)
The Secret History of the World (unstuck in time)
Notes from the Underground (a place to stay)
Phantasmagorical (a bedtime story)
Paranoia: A Manifesto (wrecking the wall)
The Day The Music Died (running from sound and sorrow)
Abraham's Men (knights, ghosts, and shadows)
Pest Control (pulling the wings off of flies)
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Staccato
 Posted: Jun 17 2013, 06:41 AM
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Fighter


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QUOTE (alliterator @ Jun 16 2013, 10:26 PM)

The Bleeding Tree is also sort of intrinsically connected to the Slender Man and wasn't created by us (it was created by Slenderblogger zero).

Well, makes sense! I didn't remember it had been created by someone else. :lol:


My Deviantart account

Fear Mythos stories:

Four Roses-verse
- Convention of the 24: completed [25/25]
- Journey Through a Burning Brain: in progress [13/16]
- Rising Runner Missed by Endless Sender
- The Big Sleep in Search of Hades
- ???

Other Fear stories
- Movements of a Visionary: completed
- You Can't Fall From Grace Without at Least Spraining an Ankle: completed
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Omega
 Posted: Jun 17 2013, 02:15 PM
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Hero of JUSTICE!


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Member No.: 21
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guys i wrote a thing

QUOTE (Human Error)

There is something fascinating in human fallacy. We go through our lives following the assumption that things will work as they should. All the gears of society will turn smoothly, and our days will pass by in uneventful order. But at times, those carefully oiled gears break down. The driver falls asleep at the wheel. The bridge isn’t maintained according to code. A cigarette is left too close to the curtains. And suddenly the world doesn’t follow the order it should. We hear about these events all the time; after all the news loves a disaster. But those disasters are always things that happen to other people. Statistical anomalies. The sort of thing which would never happen in our orderly lives. And thanks to that lie, we let ourselves continue our lives without change.

Studying the events caused by these human breakdowns had become something of a grim hobby for Andrew. It had started with what at first seemed like a passing curiosity, just trying to understand the reason behind the collapse of a garment factory in Bangladesh which had left over 1,000 dead. The surprising frailty of the system which so many lives had depended on caught Andrew’s curiosity, and he began to look into similar incidents. In most instances, he found the cause to be some minor case of human error or negligence which had transformed into a larger disaster.

But there was another pattern, one which Andrew had not expected. As he looked through the images of the aftermath to various disasters, he noticed a man who kept appearing. He always stood at the edges of the scene, or amongst the crowd of onlookers, looking down at a pocket watch. His clothes changed depending on when or where the event was, but they were always gray, with a hat that obscured his face. The first few times, Andrew passed it off as coincidence, but as the pattern continued, he began to question if something larger was going on. Attempts to find information on the man proved fruitless; no matter where he looked, Andrew couldn’t find any documentation on him. But he was unmistakably in the pictures, watching.

After weeks of looking for any clues to the man’s identity without any success, Andrew’s hope that he would uncover the truth began to dwindle. But then, as he drove home from work, he passed a traffic accident. Even before the wreck itself came into view, Andrew could tell it was a major one. Traffic had slowed to what was practically a crawl, and he’d already seen two ambulances drive by. When he reached the accident itself, his prediction was confirmed. Six cars had been involved, and most were so mangled it seemed impossible for their occupants to have survived. And at the speed he was moving, Andrew was given plenty of time to look at the scene.

He told himself he shouldn’t gawk. But he couldn’t fight his curiosity. And as he watched the accident pass by, something caught his attention. Standing behind the emergency workers, seemingly unnoticed by everyone else, was the man in grey, looking at his pocket watch. At the time, Andrew was too surprised to do anything about it. It wasn’t until he reached home that he fully realized what he’d seen. This was the confirmation he’d needed for the man’s existence.

For the next three days, Andrew obsessively followed the local news, waiting for something which might cause the man to appear again. On the third day, as he flipped between stations, a story about a neighborhood fire in progress came on. Without giving any thoughts to a plan, Andrew ran out the door and into his car.

When he arrived, a crowd was already watching the blaze. Normally, Andrew might have joined them. But this time, he was looking for something else. His eyes went over the crowd until… there! It was only a glimpse, but he knew he saw the man in grey. Andrew started to push through the crowd, and caught another glimpse of the man, now walking away from the fire. Even though the man seemed to be walking slowly, Andrew had a hard time catching up with him. Just when it seemed he was gaining ground, the man would turn a corner, and when Andrew followed around the corner the man would already be almost down the next block.

It took half an hour of chasing before Andrew finally caught up. The man had finally stopped walking, and was standing in the middle of an empty street. Now that he’d caught up with him, Andrew wasn’t sure what to do next. Talk to him? Just keep looking at him?

“Um, excuse me….” Andrew said to the man.

The man didn’t answer. He only pulled out his pocket watch, and checked the time.


The news reported the gas main bursting as an accident caused by the poor quality of the materials used to build it, along with a lack of proper maintenance on the city’s infrastructure. It was lucky that there was only one victim of the event: a man named Andrew McCall, who died of his injuries in a hospital two hours after the blast.


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alliterator
 Posted: Jun 17 2013, 03:12 PM
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The Jerkface Man
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Ooh, nice.


Faces, Strange and Secret: An Anthology of Stories from da Fears Mythos: on sale from Amazon, Kindle, and Smashwords

My Finished Stories.

My Ongoing Stories:
Channel Fear (informational, educational, cynical)
The Supernatural Anaesthetist (seeing where science takes us)
Once There Was (the king is the kingdom)
An Old Man's Winter Night (at the winter of the world)
Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed (working for the man)
The Secret History of the World (unstuck in time)
Notes from the Underground (a place to stay)
Phantasmagorical (a bedtime story)
Paranoia: A Manifesto (wrecking the wall)
The Day The Music Died (running from sound and sorrow)
Abraham's Men (knights, ghosts, and shadows)
Pest Control (pulling the wings off of flies)
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tgecko
 Posted: Jun 18 2013, 03:48 AM
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Damned


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I'd like to submit this for comments/criticism as a Redcap piece.

QUOTE
In the dark underbelly of humanity, a demon sits.  The skin of a pale, fish-white belly is stretched thin from its relentless appetite.

It feeds on our sickness, our hunger, our hate.  It feeds until the stomach splits open and pallid children wiggle out in a flood of red.

The children spread.  They feed.  They sate themselves on a diet of pain and misery.  Like animals, they eat far past what their flesh can stand.  Until they, too, split and release a flood of pale, squirming children.

They die and multiply from over-consuming our senseless violence.  Not one knows the pain of an empty belly.


And the Blind Man bit, "Lilacs." I can take it off the Figment page if it passes muster.

QUOTE
Her favorite smell is lilacs.  If you asked her why, she just shrugs.  "It makes me happy."  She doesn't quite know how to express the complex thought process that starts at purple blooms and ends at a feeling of contentment.

She's never really thought about it, but if she had she would probably have realized why.  Lilacs bloom in May, the same time that the school year ends.  When the flowers released their heady scent, she would be preparing for finals.  Summer vacation was just around the corner.  Lilacs meant that soon it would be time to sleep in, spend all day at the pool, hang out with friends.

When she grew up she carried that scent of freedom with her.  Come the spring, when the lilacs were blooming, she could stop, take a deep breath, and put the stresses of adult life away for a moment.

Now she has a six year old daughter, and a son on the way.  The community puts on puppet shows at the park and the little girl loves to watch them.  The mother rests on a nearby bench, smiling at the smell of lilacs.

A breeze brushes past.  She shivers, and for a moment there is an overwhelming feeling of loss.  Then the heat hits, and she suddenly realizes how tired and frustrated she is.  She snaps at her daughter when the little girl lingers to play with her friends.  Says things with a sharper edge than she normally does.

They pass by a lilac bush.  There are no memories for the flowery scent to trigger.


(Complete) Penny Dropped: An ex-con who's just trying to get back on her feet. Hi, Doc. (35 posts)
(Complete) The Games We Play: Debbie, Frog, and Clara (54 posts)
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alliterator
 Posted: Jun 18 2013, 03:58 AM
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The Jerkface Man
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Excellent, excellent.


Faces, Strange and Secret: An Anthology of Stories from da Fears Mythos: on sale from Amazon, Kindle, and Smashwords

My Finished Stories.

My Ongoing Stories:
Channel Fear (informational, educational, cynical)
The Supernatural Anaesthetist (seeing where science takes us)
Once There Was (the king is the kingdom)
An Old Man's Winter Night (at the winter of the world)
Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed (working for the man)
The Secret History of the World (unstuck in time)
Notes from the Underground (a place to stay)
Phantasmagorical (a bedtime story)
Paranoia: A Manifesto (wrecking the wall)
The Day The Music Died (running from sound and sorrow)
Abraham's Men (knights, ghosts, and shadows)
Pest Control (pulling the wings off of flies)
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ZacksQuest
 Posted: Jun 19 2013, 04:20 AM
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The Dark Lord of Neophobism


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Okay so I had this idea for the Unnamed Child and I may or may not have ripped aspects from Woman in the Wind and The Shrouded One for her but it's the first time I've ever been inspired for this Fear and for some reason this Anthology has given me so many ideas so...

QUOTE
Kill With Kindness


She was meant to be our precious little girl. When I learned I was sterile due to my years as an alcoholic, my wife Karen was so dejected that it nearly drove a wedge in between us. We fought and we spat names at each other and each of us blamed the other.

Then SCRATCH came along. I'm sorry, every time I try to write her name the paper... it changes, It tears itself it keeps me from writing her name.

Anyways, SCRATCH. We found her at St. Beatrice Orphanage. All the other children adored her, and so did the staff- in fact, they loved her so much that they locked her in her bedroom to keep her away. But another child showed me her. He was only eight, maybe nine, and only half my size,and he was so thin and gangly that his bones were clearly visible. It was obvious these kids hadn't eaten- hadn't eaten in months. They were starving themselves, giving all their food and drink to SCRATCH; all that was keeping them alive was SCRATCH.

SCRATCH is like a drug. Cocaine. Methamphetamines. Heroin. They all hold no candles to her. It is ... something about her. When you look away from her you can't remember a single detail about her features and it leaves you feeling such a state of withdrawal and internal suffering that you just want to see her face again, and when you do look at her... you have already been addicted to her mere presence. Her smile, her eyes. It's like she's engulfed in a brilliant light and you can't help but worship her.


When we tried signing the adoption papers-
the nuns...
the caretakers...
the children...
they all attacked us with clubs and glass and their bare fists. We endured the blows because her beauty was already in us and there was nothing in our minds except adopting that beautiful, godlike child. We signed the papers (the child's name was scratched out) and we left with her.

The next day, all 128 workers and children died from either suicide or heart failure.

We loved her, both because we cared for her like parents and because we were attached to her and could never be released. Whatever she asked, we did for her.

We bought everything she asked. We didn't even question why, just her mere gaze sent us scrambling around for her, taking second jobs and even stealing so we could get what she wanted. We went bankrupt and IRS agents came to take everything away, but then SCRATCH showed herself to them. They stopped, they looked at each other, and then they simply left. They're still around the town somewhere. She always had them close by, at her beck and call.

We did everything she asked us to as well. We even killed for her. We never asked why, we never argued, we never even felt remorse when we were stabbing into his throat with ice picks. Karen and I were happy together, and both of us loved SCRATCH.

Then six months went by. We bought her a cat. We named him Mr. Scratches, on her request of course, and he followed her around. He followed her to school, and the cat came with her, and of course nobody at her school dared question her because they were all busily mesmerized.

Then someday, she kicked it away from her, called it a "stupid cat" in that beautifully melodic voice of hers. The cat was found dead, minutes later, its mouth and eyes dripping with dried scarlet blood.

And then three months later. The girl, SCRATCH, pitted my wife and I against each other. She told us that she could only love one of us. I don't know what happened, we just... we began arguing again. We threw things. "She could never love you," "you are not worthy of her," "I will kill you before she chooses you." And then we fought. She scratched at me and ripped out one of my eyes while SCRATCH clapped gleefully in the background. And then she giggles. The sound of her giggle drove me to manic frenzy. I found a steak knife. And I stabbed Karen. Again and again, I stabbed her. I spit on her face as the knife kept digging into her flesh.

In retrospect, it was a moment of stupidity, arrogant and manic frenzy. And it was the most horrible form of irony I could ever think of- we were split farther apart than ever and now she's dead and...oh God...

So then SCRATCH came to me. She said I was the worthiest. Then she

So. She was supposed to be our precious little girl. Well, I guess now she's just my precious little girl, and I kill anyone who so much as goes near her. What's my name you ask?

It's SCRATCH. Nice to meet you.



In-Production Blogs

Back to the Avenue (Hiatus)
A Personal Inferno (Hiatus)
Salt Upon the Wounds (Hiatus)
Sound Mind (Collaboration w/ Acelegin) (Ongoing)
Hello Darkness, My Old Friend
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alliterator
 Posted: Jun 19 2013, 05:23 AM
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The Jerkface Man
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Ooh, that was creepy.

I have a few changes I'd make to it though:
QUOTE

Kill With Kindness

She was meant to be our precious little girl. When I learned I was sterile due to my years as an alcoholic, my wife Karen was so dejected that it nearly drove a wedge in between us. We fought and we spat names at each other and each of us blamed the other.

Then (IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg) came along. I'm sorry, every time I try to write her name the paper...it changes. It tears itself, it keeps me from writing her name.

Anyways, (IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg). We found her at St. Beatrice Orphanage. All the other children adored her, and so did the staff -- in fact, they loved her so much that they locked her in her bedroom to keep her away. But another child showed me her. He was only eight, maybe nine, and only half my size,and he was so thin and gangly that his bones were clearly visible. It was obvious these kids hadn't eaten -- hadn't eaten in months. They were starving themselves, giving all their food and drink to (IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg); all that was keeping them alive was (IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg).

(IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg) is like a drug. Cocaine. Methamphetamines. Heroin. They all hold no candles to her. There is...something about her. When you look away from her you can't remember a single detail about her features and it leaves you feeling such a state of withdrawal and internal suffering that you just want to see her face again, and when you do look at her...you have already been addicted to her mere presence. Her smile, her eyes. It's like she's engulfed in a brilliant light and you can't help but worship her.


When we tried signing the adoption papers, the nuns...the caretakers...the children...they all attacked us with clubs and glass and their bare fists. We endured their blows because her beauty was already in us and there was nothing in our minds except adopting that beautiful, godlike child. We signed the papers (the child's name was scratched out) and we left with her.

The next day, all the workers and children died from either suicide or heart failure.

We loved her, both because we cared for her like parents and because we were attached to her and could never be released. Whatever she asked, we did for her.

We bought everything she asked. We didn't even question why, just her mere gaze sent us scrambling around for her, taking second jobs and even stealing so we could get what she wanted. We went bankrupt and people from the bank came to take everything away, but then (IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg) showed herself to them. They stopped, they looked at each other, and then they simply left. They're still around the town somewhere. She always has them close by, at her beck and call.

We did everything she asked us to as well. We even killed for her. We never asked why, we never argued, we never even felt remorse when we were stabbing throats with ice picks. Karen and I were happy together, and both of us loved (IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg).

Months went by. We bought her a cat. We named him Mr. Scratches, on her request of course, and he followed her around. He followed her to school, and the cat came with her, and of course nobody at her school dared question her because they were all busily mesmerized.

Then someday, she kicked it away from her, called it a "stupid cat" in that beautifully melodic voice of hers. The cat was found dead, minutes later, its mouth and eyes dripping with dried scarlet blood.

Later, she pitted my wife and I against each other. She told us that she could only love one of us. I don't know what happened, we just...we began arguing again. We threw things. "She could never love you," "You are not worthy of her," "I will kill you before she chooses you." And then we fought. She scratched at me and ripped out one of my eyes while (IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg) clapped gleefully in the background. And then she giggled. The sound of her giggle drove me to manic frenzy. I found a steak knife and I stabbed Karen. Again and again. I spit on her face as the knife kept digging into her flesh.

In retrospect, it was a moment of stupidity, arrogant and manic frenzy. And it was the most horrible form of irony I could ever think of- we were split farther apart than ever and now she's dead and...oh God...

Then (IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg) came to me. She said I was the worthiest.

She was supposed to be our precious little girl. Well, she's just my precious little girl now, and I kill anyone who so much as goes near her.

What's my name you ask?

It's (IMG:https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2GD65k_r0Kg/UcE-VrSaDbI/AAAAAAAABNI/zOICzvt4HQ4/w91-h31-no/scratch.jpg). Nice to meet you.


Faces, Strange and Secret: An Anthology of Stories from da Fears Mythos: on sale from Amazon, Kindle, and Smashwords

My Finished Stories.

My Ongoing Stories:
Channel Fear (informational, educational, cynical)
The Supernatural Anaesthetist (seeing where science takes us)
Once There Was (the king is the kingdom)
An Old Man's Winter Night (at the winter of the world)
Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed (working for the man)
The Secret History of the World (unstuck in time)
Notes from the Underground (a place to stay)
Phantasmagorical (a bedtime story)
Paranoia: A Manifesto (wrecking the wall)
The Day The Music Died (running from sound and sorrow)
Abraham's Men (knights, ghosts, and shadows)
Pest Control (pulling the wings off of flies)
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ZacksQuest
 Posted: Jun 19 2013, 05:32 AM
Quote


The Dark Lord of Neophobism


Group: Conspirator (III)
Posts: 2223
Member No.: 133
Joined: 19-May 12









QUOTE (alliterator @ Jun 19 2013, 12:23 AM)
Ooh, that was creepy.

I have a few changes I'd make to it though:


Like... thank you so much. That's what I was intending to do, in fact that's what the rough draft I wrote down on paper had but I didn't know, or at least didn't feel like I had enough energy left to do that.

My inspiration for this interpretation was both The Omen, and Mr. Scratch from Alan Wake, as well as, you know... RedRockingHood's "Shrouded One". I do like the Shrouded One though, I just wanted to utilize it for the Unnamed Child.


In-Production Blogs

Back to the Avenue (Hiatus)
A Personal Inferno (Hiatus)
Salt Upon the Wounds (Hiatus)
Sound Mind (Collaboration w/ Acelegin) (Ongoing)
Hello Darkness, My Old Friend
(Ongoing)
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ZacksQuest
 Posted: Jun 20 2013, 02:21 AM
Quote


The Dark Lord of Neophobism


Group: Conspirator (III)
Posts: 2223
Member No.: 133
Joined: 19-May 12









I know this is a kind of silly thing to bring up with only approx. 10-12 of 80-90 something stories, but it's still just something I'm putting up to organize everything.

The title of Anthology Volume 2. This has been brought up, whether we want the title to follow the "Noun, Adj. and Adj./PP Verb/Adv." formula for this and maybe even LATER volumes, or whether we should just let the title be abstract, an overall description for all stories, and whatever it wishes to be.

So here's the list of the names thought up so far by multiple people so alliterator can see/judge/hold polls and stuff more efficiently.

Thoughts, Sanguine and Sick
Souls, Lost and Alone
Catalogue To The Mind of Nightmares
Impossible and Hidden Doors
Doors, Hidden and Inhuman
Left Alone Without a Face
Book Read By a Red Glove
Office for Red Gloves
A Book of Names and the Lives Behind Them
Books Weaved by Bone Spiders
Vignettes from the Dark Corners of Mythology
Those Built For Paper Bones
Paper Masks and Wooden Bones
Paper Faces and Glass Souls
Encounters in Empty Corridors
Landscape with Masks
Where All is Darkness There are Things to See
Around the Corners, Behind the Doors
Tales, Unguarded and Hallowed

Voices, Weird and Whispered


In-Production Blogs

Back to the Avenue (Hiatus)
A Personal Inferno (Hiatus)
Salt Upon the Wounds (Hiatus)
Sound Mind (Collaboration w/ Acelegin) (Ongoing)
Hello Darkness, My Old Friend
(Ongoing)
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Daemonette
 Posted: Jun 20 2013, 04:13 AM
Quote


Most everyone's mad here.


Group: Members
Posts: 261
Member No.: 31
Joined: 31-October 11









We like "Catalogue to the Mind of Nightmares" and "Voices Weird and Whispered"


Madness isn't a state of mind.
The city devours the land, the people devour the city
Madness is a place.
Mists of dreams drip along the nascent echo and love no more
Let's go there.
All this has happened before, and will happen again
Shall we?
End of line
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Pandora
 Posted: Jun 20 2013, 11:22 AM
Quote


23rd Doctor


Group: Conspirator
Posts: 1152
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Joined: 5-June 12









Questions are pastas based on very new things(i.e The Saboteur, The Three Sisters...DEVOUR) allowed in this or ?


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alliterator
 Posted: Jun 20 2013, 02:04 PM
Quote


The Jerkface Man
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Group: Moderator
Posts: 7936
Member No.: 7
Joined: 17-May 11









QUOTE
Questions are pastas based on very new things(i.e The Saboteur, The Three Sisters...DEVOUR) allowed in this or ?

Right now, I'm only going for things that have been established enough to be on the Wiki.


Faces, Strange and Secret: An Anthology of Stories from da Fears Mythos: on sale from Amazon, Kindle, and Smashwords

My Finished Stories.

My Ongoing Stories:
Channel Fear (informational, educational, cynical)
The Supernatural Anaesthetist (seeing where science takes us)
Once There Was (the king is the kingdom)
An Old Man's Winter Night (at the winter of the world)
Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed (working for the man)
The Secret History of the World (unstuck in time)
Notes from the Underground (a place to stay)
Phantasmagorical (a bedtime story)
Paranoia: A Manifesto (wrecking the wall)
The Day The Music Died (running from sound and sorrow)
Abraham's Men (knights, ghosts, and shadows)
Pest Control (pulling the wings off of flies)
PM
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