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Contest CONTEST!!!! Creep the hell out of me for some BP

****bumho

Avatar: 212478 2013-08-01 23:03:28 -0400
27

Level 69 Troll

“Human Yeast Infection”

Yeah, you heard me. I wish something would creep me out. Wasn’t phased by those ****ty ring movies, scary movies, the grudge… There’s not a god damn thing in Creepy Pasta that can creep me out, even the slightest. So I’m turning to you guys, maybe someone on here can be motivated by some BP. So here’s the deal, you guys gotta post something that creeps me out. I don’t want to see something from creepypasta, I just told you that place is boring. I also don’t want to see anything I’ve read on 4chan’s /X/. I would prefer that you come up with a creepy story on your own, or some picture on the internet that you think could scare the hell out of me. I’ll give you til the end of 2009. On new year’s day, I will review this forum. Creepiest post gets 20 BP, second creepiest post gets 15 BP (so it’s not a complete wash for those who weren’t the creepiest). If I think there’s a very tight decision, I’ll buy some more, and throw down even more BP. So who knows, I could have 5 winners. Let’s see what you’ve got, boys and girls. I hope this contest produces some really creepy ****. Log in to see images! Good luck!

:EDIT: are the mods going to be ****ed/is my contest not going to be considered a contest if I change the deadline? Want to move it up to the next few days. Someone advise me, please.

:EDIT: I think I’m calling this one on Christmas. Noone else is submitting, so I’ll just speed up the process a little bit.

:EDIT: Alright, it’s time to call the winners. For those of you who don’t feel like looking at the last post, I have reviewed the posts on the thread, and am awarding first place prize of 20 BP to Xylon, and the second place prize of 15 BP to Shii! Congrats, guys. Don’t spend it all in one place. Oh, wait…

:EDIT: Xylon was banned, I can’t send him BP yet. But I can still make good with Shii. Going to have to watch for Xylon’s ban to lift. If there is a mod who would like to hold my BP in Escrow (heh) until he gets unbanned, so I don’t inadvertantly Toxx myself, that would be nice, as well.

bitchassho edited this message on 12/25/2009 10:40AM

****bumho

Avatar: 212478 2013-08-01 23:03:28 -0400
27

Level 69 Troll

“Human Yeast Infection”

PS: Wtf is toxx, and how do I get this thread to be recognized as a contest?

Nicco

MODERATOR
Avatar: 24745 2011-07-31 00:34:23 -0400
51

[Harem and Sushi Bar]

Level 69 Troll

Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco Nicco

****bumho Posted:

Yeah, you heard me. I wish something would creep me out. Wasn’t phased by those ****ty ring movies, scary movies, the grudge… There’s not a god damn thing in Creepy Pasta that can creep me out, even the slightest. So I’m turning to you guys, maybe someone on here can be motivated by some BP. So here’s the deal, you guys gotta post something that creeps me out. I don’t want to see something from creepypasta, I just told you that place is boring. I also don’t want to see anything I’ve read on 4chan’s /X/. I would prefer that you come up with a creepy story on your own, or some picture on the internet that you think could scare the hell out of me. I’ll give you til the end of 2009. On new year’s day, I will review this forum. Creepiest post gets 20 BP, second creepiest post gets 15 BP (so it’s not a complete wash for those who weren’t the creepiest). If I think there’s a very tight decision, I’ll buy some more, and throw down even more BP. So who knows, I could have 5 winners. Let’s see what you’ve got, boys and girls. I hope this contest produces some really creepy ****. Log in to see images!

Here is your toxx.

****bumho

Avatar: 212478 2013-08-01 23:03:28 -0400
27

Level 69 Troll

“Human Yeast Infection”

Nicco Posted:

Here is your toxx.

Honestly, I’m probably going to distribute my extra BP anyway, even if whatever is posted doesn’t creep me out. But I’d rather they try. (Might need someone to tubmail me a reminder on January 1, though).

Adapt

Avatar: 58104 2015-06-13 23:16:37 -0400
16

[Grey Goose Mafiosi]

Level 48 Camwhore

Celerysteve is better than me in everyway imaginable

xylon will win when you realize he is being serious.

Shii

Avatar: 23167 2010-01-24 16:31:18 -0500
27

[Phantasmagoric Spl-
endor
]

Level 35 Emo Kid

I haven't seen a bad idea that I didn't like.

A story I wrote circa 2005, not sure if it’s the kind of creepy you’re looking for, but whatever.

Warning: It’s kind of long.

The Return of Zaros

“Yerunth Dominus Heteion Zynthum…” The coarse, burning words of a deceased tongue, a language of the purest, most perfect hatred and malice, poured from the putrefying, scabrous lips of the Gate Priest. The speech that would have seared a mortal’s mouth raw merely from its utterance continued to spew forth like the pus from a lanced boil.

“Retryx Xylontinaeitum De Helkitlytre Jul…” A new sound rang out, startlingly hale and healthy over the diseased, vile chant, which still perpetually underscored the new noises.

“Agghhh!! Let me GO! Ple-ple-pleeeaseee!” the new voice cried, before dissolving once again into pathetically helpless, panicked sobs. The second of the four putrescent Gate Priests dragged the astoundingly beautiful woman into the center of the chamber, her vibrantly blonde locks stained a malignant blood red from the guttering torches on the wall. She appeared all for the world as a brilliantly blooming bluebell in the midst of a stagnant mire, an outstandingly pure peonie in the center of a disgusting bog.

She had long since been stripped of her clothing, as well as her dignity and very nearly her sanity. The speech of the first Gate Priest was boring into her mind as a weevil bores into a nut. Within a matter of a few dozen seconds, crimson blood began dripping from her ears, turned ever more scarlet by the dim, flickering light from the sconces and braziers.

“Fedrikhens Wevevrum! Ki Le Zaros A Lyentudrediut…” The wicked sin of language rose in pitch at the arrival of the Blessed One, the very last rite in the decades-long preparation for the ritual of rebirth and renewal that the Gate Priests had been spending the majority of their un-lives doing. The magnificently carved and bejeweled altar in the center of the circular room was long-since permanently blackened with the remnants of the earlier rites’ victims.

Though covered with brilliantly blue sapphires, verdant green emeralds, and diamonds of crystal clarity, every single gem adorning the altar looked as the ruby.

Struggling both with all her might and completely in futility, the unclothed maiden was forced onto the altar by the third of the Gate Priests, her purely translucent, pale white body cruelly chained to the stained, corrupted altar of sin. The fourth Gate Priest slowly drew a tattered and torn cloth off of yet another, smaller, altar, this one, however, even more filthy and stained than the larger.

The struggling maiden gasped as she quickly glanced at the table through her struggles. The altar, however, wasn’t the frightening part. The seven objects under the cloth were the cause of fright.

The first object was a simple, unadorned wooden mallet, scarred and cracked from obvious use. The second, third, fourth and fifth objects were all the same, and all clearly used. They were a series of six-inch long stakes, cruelly barbed and made of rusted iron.

The sixth and seventh objects were knives.

The first knife was small, almost a paring knife, without any adornment apart from the stains she fervently hoped were rust. The second knife, however, was different.

Even in the dark red light, it shone with a malevolent illumination, a glow seemingly without source. It veritably pulsed with loathing and malice. A gleam of red from seemingly no source ran up the half-foot long blade, carved with mysterious runes and symbols with no meaning she could decipher.

“Treyinde Kulken Zaros Rexenmator! Julre…” The chant gradually lost its solemnity, becoming more akin to the fevered rantings of a madman, the lunacy of possession. The harsh grating sound of the Gate Priest’s un-dead voice was like the noise of a dry bone being crushed to dust.

As two of the gate Priests began fastening shackles ‘round her wrists and ankles, the woman gasped, eyes widening in pain. Her sanguine lifeblood began a small rivulet down her arms and legs, brought forth by the four,half- inch long spikes fastened to the inside of each shackle, designed to prevent struggle. The rivulet coursed down until it met with the small trickle from her now-deafened ears, the evil speech long since having broken her ear drums.

As her resistance began to be quelled by the pain, the two Gate priests that had shackled her suddenly grabbed her shoulders and forced her down hard, suprisingly powerful rotting sinew locking her to the wood-and-stone altar. The Gate Priest who wasn’t chanting grabbed the small knife, the wooden mallet and the stakes, setting them beside the immobile girl.

Though she couldn’t hear, her vocal cords were still very functional, and she began yelling, a cry for help and a plea for survival coming from the most primal of instincts— the need for self-preservation.

The only Priest not holding her down grabbed the smaller knife with a seemingly practiced motion, one rotting digit stretched down the blunt of the blade for control. Beginning at her navel, he began cutting into the silky smooth, perfectly flawless skin, seemingly entranced by the small yet rapidly widening gap left behind the blade in its travel up her stomach.

Her cry for help quickly turned into a screeching, throat-rending wail of unimaginable pain, echoing upon itself off of the stone walls, stemming from the pain of being dissected while conscious. Her cry then grew softer, not from lack of pain, but from the rapidity with which she was tearing her vocal cords.

The rivulet of crimson from her wrists and legs soon became overwhelmed by the trail of scarlet the blade of the Priest left behind.

The Priest reached his destination at the apex of her collarbone, then made quick incisions sideways below the collarbone, and then across left and right from her navel. Using his gangrenous hands, he pulled the pale skin now stained with her own blood down to the altar, an audible ripping sound from the tearing of her connective tissue drowned out by her screams. Using the mallet, the Priest rapidly hammered the spikes into the now-open flaps of skin, anchoring them down to prevent them impeding his work.

Using the mallet, he made a swift stroke onto her exposed sternum, cracking it deftly down the middle. Though mindless and inhuman, the Priest knew the final rite would not be complete unless this was done swiftly.

The rebirth of their Lord called for a LIVING heart.

“MUERTEMIUM MORTE EN ZAROS PACE DE BALLEREREN!!” The chanting grew to the point it was a scream, the hoarse cry of a condemned soul.

The crack of her breastbone marked a sudden ceasing of her screams. Her mouth was still open, her bloodshot eyes rolled back into her head but open as well, no sound issuing from her ruined throat. Merely a hoarse whisper, a mockery of a scream from torn vocal cords. Grabbing the heavily ornamented, evilly enchanted blade, the Priest made four quick incisions in the shape of a square slightly to the right of her cracked-open sternum. Reaching down deftly, the Priest pulled free the living cadaver’s still-beating heart, sanguine life streaming in crimson rivers from the torn arteries.

Nearly running, the Priest placed the heart from the now-forgotten body upon yet another altar, which then burst into virulent, black-soot belching flames.

“ZAROS EDE MORTE!”

The flames vanished. The heart was gone. The chanting abruptly halted. None of the priests noticed the glazed eyes of the once-pure vessel.

A small tremor shook the room. The priests quickly fell to the ground, kneeling. The altar with the corpse of the maiden began to shake, followed by the rest of the room. Dust from the ancient stones began to fall, and one of the coal braziers fell, scattering showers ofsparks. Suddenly, everything stopped, and a cold silence fell upon the room and the still-kneeling priests.

The body twitched, and one arm jerked.

The room began to quake violently, much harder than before, and a keening inhuman wail began issuing from the ruined mouth of the once-angel. The body began to convulse, violently, spikes driven deep through her flesh and into the wooden altar thrown out. One spike was driven through the hood of a priest’s robes, and the kneel turned into a slump.

The body began frothing at the mouth, red foam dripping down from the still-wailing corpse. The cadaver then lifted into the air, and her mouth began opening. Wider. And wider. And still wider. The crack of her now-broken jaws was lost in the harsh cry still issuing from the grotesque figure. Her gaping maw turned into the wet pinkness of her larnyx, followed down to her esophagus, and continued, farther down and farther, until the whole body was inside-out, bloody entrails hanging like some form of macabre confetti.

As suddenly as the body turned inside-out, the room snapped. The world ceased to exist and then was re-made just as instantaneously, except no girl could be seen. No corpse. No blood.

The room was clean once more, except it was not.

A figure floated, hovering malevolence. Raven-black hair darker than the jet of a tomb flowed serpent-like down past the crimson-spiked shoulders of a god. As the priests cowered in the first fear they’d felt in their not-lives, the hovering figure gently touched down onto the unstained, bejeweled altar. From the tip of his black steel and spiked leather boots to the emblem of hatred and sin emblazoned in stained blood upon his purple and red ankle-long overcoat, nothing but purest evil emanated from his body.

As his palely-skinned eyelids opened and his vermilion eyes shone, a single phrase burned from his mouth, twisting into a cruel sneer.

“I…have…returned.”

****bumho

Avatar: 212478 2013-08-01 23:03:28 -0400
27

Level 69 Troll

“Human Yeast Infection”

Shii Posted:

A story I wrote circa 2005, not sure if it’s the kind of creepy you’re looking for, but whatever.

Warning: It’s kind of long.

The Return of Zaros

Yes, that’s exactly the kind of stuff I’m looking for. I hope there are other submissions at least this good. Log in to see images!

Chronic-Boy

Avatar: 128365 2009-10-31 08:19:01 -0400
1

[WeChallNot]

Level 33 Troll

“Permafail”

just think, xylons bum.

ps. here is a joke.

What makes blind people blind? Xylons bum

If that didn’t freak you out, nothing will and i give up on you.

t_error

Avatar: 150670 2009-11-18 19:12:57 -0500

[The Airship]

Level 28 Emo Kid

So sexy she sweats Chanel no. 5

Reserveeeed!

t_error edited this message on 12/17/2009 4:04PM

Shii

Avatar: 23167 2010-01-24 16:31:18 -0500
27

[Phantasmagoric Spl-
endor
]

Level 35 Emo Kid

I haven't seen a bad idea that I didn't like.

****bumho Posted:

Yes, that’s exactly the kind of stuff I’m looking for. I hope there are other submissions at least this good. Log in to see images!

I’m a horror author of many years; if you want me to post some more I can.

****bumho

Avatar: 212478 2013-08-01 23:03:28 -0400
27

Level 69 Troll

“Human Yeast Infection”

Shii Posted:

I’m a horror author of many years; if you want me to post some more I can.

Please do. I think I would have to give you all 35 points if you had the first and second best. Give me your best shot.

Shii

Avatar: 23167 2010-01-24 16:31:18 -0500
27

[Phantasmagoric Spl-
endor
]

Level 35 Emo Kid

I haven't seen a bad idea that I didn't like.

****bumho Posted:

Please do. I think I would have to give you all 35 points if you had the first and second best. Give me your best shot.

Next one is even longer; I might just like…I dunno. Host it somewhere and link to it.

iostiogic

Avatar: 217288 2010-01-07 16:23:48 -0500
15

Level 33 Emo Kid

“Zorba the Bleak”

you can never stop playing the game.

Xylon

Avatar: 76994 2010-01-16 02:54:34 -0500
6

[Kappa Kappa Kappa]

Level 35 Hacker

Posting personal information is fun. Everyone should try it at least once.

Adapt Posted:

xylon will win when you realize he is being serious.

Chronic-Boy Posted:

just think, xylons bum.

ps. here is a joke.

What makes blind people blind? Xylons bum

If that didn’t freak you out, nothing will and i give up on you.


These people are not trolling. They are giving you a friendly warning. I don’t sleep. No seriously, I don’t sleep I stay awake for days bouncing between internet forums, various bars and coffee shops. You might run into me one day at the waffle house. I will be the guy that strikes up a conversation and seems like someone who you have known for years. I will ask about your parents, by name. I will ask about your girlfriend, and snicker a little bit. By the time you realize you have never met me before it will be too late and I will have another pile of loose flesh crumpled up into a ball under my trailer.

I move constantly. I am smart enough to know not to be to descriptive and male reproductive organy enough to know that no one on this site would take me seriously. Which is good. It makes it a lot easier for me to track down users and remove them from their pitiful existence. Speaking of, I am making a list and checking it twice. Your name is on it and you haven’t been nice. I suppose I have a word for what happens next, but it would be best to leave you in suspense.

I am a deviant sexual predator who hides behind the mask of a goofy and self-absorbed internet user. Sometimes I even come across as a genuinely decent human being. This is of course a total and complete sham and used to get close to potential victims.

What can I say? You want to be scared. There is really nothing I can say here, though I do invite you to join me sometime for some Tea. I can sit and you can hang from my St. Andrews Cross. I will occasionally touch the scalding hot liquid to your lips in between treatments of table salt to your tongue. It will be fun. I will install a ring gag in your mouth and use a speculum to spread your bum to an appropriate dilation. From there it is merely standard procedure. I my give you a tongue bath or I may use you as a means of taking out my frustration. At some point I may dress like a catholic schoolgirl and dance to Lady Gaga as you are forced to watch.

Trust me on this. Killing you is merciful at this point, no one should be forced to live with the trauma I will inflict upon you. So please return to your internet browsing and ignore me. It is more fun for me when you act surprised and struggle the whole time.

I’ll be seeing you.

BUNNI_RAPE

Avatar: 175138 Sat Aug 22 19:47:00 -0400 2009
18

[So Fresh and So Cl-
ean
]

Level 69 Troll

“Human Yeast Infection”

Xylon Posted:

At some point I may dress like a catholic schoolgirl and dance to Lady Gaga as you are forced to watch.

Winner.

Shii

Avatar: 23167 2010-01-24 16:31:18 -0500
27

[Phantasmagoric Spl-
endor
]

Level 35 Emo Kid

I haven't seen a bad idea that I didn't like.

Meh, decided against the really long one. Here’s another semi-more-recent one.

You’ve Got Mail

Friday, March 27: 2:03 p.m.

Thunder rolled mournfully as Ian Taylor stepped from the luxuriously leathered confines of the inky sedan, a 2003 Lincoln Continental. Green grbum made muddy from the scores of other attendees’ footsteps quickly adhered to his immaculate dark leather shoes, stylish slip-ons that nicely accented his neatly pressed shadowy silk pants, black leather belt, pitch-colored necktie, and black silk shirt. A light drizzle further darkened his already jet blazer overcoat to a color reflecting the near-midnight hue of the skies.

A light, chilly breeze swirled his dark brown hair, matted from the rain, and as he neared the site, his solemn brown gaze swept over the crowd of loved ones gathered.

His good friend Geoffrey Albreight walked over slowly, similarly attired, trying to appear empathetic to Ian’s sorrow. “It’s hard on everyone, Ian, but I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. We know how much you loved her, and I guess you just have to content yourself with the knowledge that she’s going to be eternally happy now,” Geoff finished, frowning sadly, as a single tear, indistinguishable from the rain, ran down Ian’s mournful grimace.

“I…I know, Geoff,” Ian managed, mere speech being difficult under the weight of his grief. “Just…let me think for…a while,” he finished. Geoff nodded and walked to his seat as the service began.

“Dearly beloved, we gather today in celebration. While we may mourn for the earthly pbuming of one of our most loved and cherished friends, we celebrate that she is at this very moment rejoicing in eternity…” the reverend stated, voice rising and falling in dramatic emphasis of his words of comfort.

After 20 minutes or so of the eulogy, Ian silently stood, bereaved mind not able to handle the emotion of the service. Everyone else’s tears weren’t helping, either. He walked back towards the vehicle he arrived in, dripping with the day’s precipitation. Closing the door silently, he started the car and began the long drive back to his home, trying to imagine what life would be like without her laugh, her beautiful eyes and smile to brighten his days.

Thursday, April 2: 4:46 a.m.

“Ian…”

Ian stirred slightly, moaning in his sleep. He turned over under his earthy bedsheets and was still again.

“Ian…”

The voice called his name again-softly, slowly. His eyes suddenly snapped open, white-rimmed eyes scanning around his darkened bedroom anxiously. His breathing quickened, and his pulse rang out in his ear like a drum sounding for an execution.

“Ian…help…”

He whipped his head around, nervously trying to discern the location from which the female voice was speaking. The last time had been louder, and it was so familiar a speech that it terrified him. He had listened to that same voice every day for a year now, greeting him in the morning as he woke up…wishing him a good sleep before he retired. He glanced down quickly to the engagement ring on his finger that he had decided to wear with him until his grave, the ring that had bound them together.

Except, the ring was gone.

“Help me, Ian…please…”

He physically jerked with every word her melodious whisper said, her eerily ethereal tone setting his hair on end. Her tone was becoming more urgent, and he leapt out of his bed in a panic, turning on every one of four lights within the room, hoping to dispel her heart-wrenching pleadings with golden illumination.

No lights came on.

He frantically flipped the switches, the rapid click-click seeming to echo across the silence of his room like it was a stone crypt. He ran to the door of his bedroom and flung it open, deciding to see if the other switches would work.

What he saw instead cast him into the realm of nightmares.

“Please, help me Ian…I’m so cold…” the corpse of his future bride intoned mournfully, her face dripping blood where the side of her head was smashed in. Fragments of glbum remained embedded throughout her once-beautiful body, and one of her legs hung at an odd angle from where it had been pinned between the door and the center console.

As Ian’s mouth worked silently in speechless, grieving horror, a large male reproductive organroach crawled from her shirt sleeve, falling to the floor with a slight crunch. His gaze fell to the insect, not seeing as more and more followed its brother. He looked up, to see his lover disappear into a stream of moonlight from an arched window. His legs crumpled and he fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, hot tears of bitter anguish cascading down his face.

“I still love you, my dear…” her mournful voice stated from behind him, and as he tried to jerk his head up to see her, he felt his face unable to move. His whole body was seemingly petrified, and he realized she was wrapping her supernaturally strong limbs around him, preventing his movement. He tried to cry out, to plead with her, to ask why she was hurting him, but he couldn’t move his mouth. He found his lungs suddenly burning, unable to breath.

A quick darkness fell over him, like a death shroud in a grave, and his long-time claustrophobia set in with a pbumion. Unable to move, unable to breathe, he found himself being stifled beneath the blanket of night.

He could no longer feel her arms around him, but he could hear an unearthly wail turn into a blood-chilling laugh. As he tried feebly to resist the immobilization that had overcome him, he felt a new darkness creeping in, the darkness of unconsciousness, and after three minutes of desperation and pure terror, he slipped away.

Thursday, April 2: 11:45 a.m.

Ian felt himself come too, still in the grip of some unseen force that inhibited his movement. However, to his intense relief, he felt that he could move again. His breathing was eased slightly too, and he thrashed with a will, finally realizing, as he freed his head, that he was stuck in his brown silk bedsheets and that sunlight was streaming into his windows.

‘It was just a nightmare…’ he thought with relief so strong he almost fell into tears again. That dream had terrified him more than probably anything else he’d ever felt in his life.

Crawling out of bed, he walked groggily to his light switch, noting the golden rays that resulted from flipping the switch with satisfaction. He looked at his hand with distaste, though. His ring really was gone, and that meant he’d taken it off somewhere and forgotten to put it back on. ‘I guess I’ll search around this afternoon,’ he thought as he promptly dressed in some brown khakis and a tee shirt. Repressing his nightmare, he went to get some food.

After eating, he went to his computer and sat down, the next part of his daily ritual being the daily mail check. As he signed in, he heard the familiar voice tell him that he had mail in his in-box, so he clicked over to see what new information and whatnot awaited him. The usual load of spam, as well as a few work-related messages were black and bold, ready to be read, and he set in with a purpose.

However, at the very end of the list, a single message stood out from the rest. It had no sender in the “From:” bar, which was incredibly odd, and no subject line either. Worried that it was a virus, he moved the cursor to the delete icon, but stopped, hovering over the bumon, thinking.

‘There’s no attachment, though…and that’s the only way viruses can be transmitted…right?’ Ian wondered to himself. Curiosity finally won, and he double-clicked the blank letter. The message box with the mail’s contents came up, but the enclosed message was not what Ian had been expecting to see.

“Help me.”

His eyes widened, but the icy bumault of panic narrowed his vision to a mere tunnel, the rest obscured by a white fog of terror. The two words, however, stayed visible in the center of his vision, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away. His nightmare came crashing back, the unrelenting horror of what he had seen during his sleep tearing at his mind like a hungry wolf.

Hastily, virtually falling over himself in his desire to see the message gone, he deleted the offending message, and then he hit the manual shut-down, automatically turning the computer off. He realized he was sobbing and hyperventilating at once, and decided at once he needed to forget a few things. Basically crawling to the liquor cabinet, Ian saw with no little relief an unopened fifth of Bacardi awaiting him. He opened the bottle, and after draining half within five minutes, pbumed out cold on the floor.

Friday, April 3: 2:31 a.m.

Nausea. Unrelenting nausea. These were the two primary feelings ravaging Ian’s still-semi-drunk body as he awoke, lying on his floor with the remaining half-fifth beside him. Physically crawling on his hands and knees to the bathroom, he emptied his stomach into the toilet, and tried to repeat the process several times more after throwing up most of the liquor.

Finally feeling somewhat better, he got up and went back to the computer, his inebriated state causing him to bumume the morning ritual of checking the mail again.

Upon being greeted by the friendly voice announcing the status of his mailbox, he double-clicked and opened it.

His box was full.

Too drunk to really panic, he looked at the titles of the first 20 of the 250 e-mails.

All were blank.

He opened the first in the queue.

“Help me.”

The second.

“Help me.”

The third, however, was slightly more verbose.

“Please come be with me.”

The alcohol was changing Ian’s reaction. Instead of being terrified, he was angry. Very angry. Ian was sick and tired of having his already extremely emotional state jerked around, and he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Striding defiantly into the garage, he grabbed a spade and the keys to his car. Jumping behind the wheel to his car, he jammed the key into the ignition and peeled out of the garage, his black Lincoln devouring the asphalt.

Not entirely sure where he was headed, Ian just drove like a madman, speeding a great deal along the way. Before half an hour had pbumed, though, he saw himself in front of two very familiar wrought iron gates. The Cherry Hill Cemetery was closed for the night, and a black night it was indeed. The moon was new, and thick clouds obscured the starlight. A stiff breeze blew Ian’s tousseled hair, and he tightened the grip on his spade. Stepping out of the car, alcohol fueling his courage, he grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment, and, climbing nimbly over the fence, started making his way through the forest of stone.

Wandering around in a black rage, he finally stumbled on the tombstone he sought, the only one with somewhat freshly turned soil. Using his anger as energy he started tearing at the soil, and didn’t stop until he hit wood an hour later.

Pouring with sweat, and with anxiety at what he was going to do, he started using the spade now as a cleaver, hacking at the softened wood with a renewed vigor.

As he worked, it began to rain steadily, a warm rain that mingled with the cool breeze to keep him somewhat cool. Finally, he heard a loud snap, a pop of cracking wood that signaled that the casket lid had come loose. Throwing the spade aside, he pulled on the lid mightily, broken wood creaking loudly. As the lid shore off, the smell of decaying flesh hit his nostrils, but was tolerable from the rain.

His lover was sleeping peacefully, the decay only evident in the smell. He sat down abruptly on the lid, his anger suddenly taken out of him. His energy was completely gone, and he wondered what had possessed him to do this; to so violate the last sanctuary of the woman he loved. He gazed at her solemnly, somewhat disgusted to see a male reproductive organroach crawl out of her sleeve, but he didn’t really pay it any mind.

Something rumbled.

Ian looked up quickly, just barely in time to see the walls of the six foot hole he had dug tremble. Panic cut through him like a knife. He scrambled on the wet coffin lid, trying to get a handhold, but his efforts were in vain. With a hushed roar, the grave collapsed, crushing Ian on top of his lover’s body with hundreds of pounds of wet soil. Ian tried to move, but he couldn’t. He felt his lover’s limbs under his body, and the energy he had used to dig the grave was gone. Unable to move, unable to breathe, he found himself being stifled in the earthy embrace.

He suddenly quit thinking, trying to thrash, to breathe, to do anything. Claustrophobia was making him hyperventilate, with the result of the earth around him getting forced down his throat and into his nostrils. As he tried ever more feebly to resist the immobilization that had overcome him, he felt the grip of darkness start tightening on him. The last sound he heard before he was lost in the inky blackness of death was possibly the sound of the wet earth shifting around him, but it sounded very similar to a whisper, saying quietly, “Now you can be with me…forever…”

***

As the rescue crew dug up the body from the collapsed grave that they had discovered earlier that morning, they dismissed him as a mere grave robber. However, they were rather downhearted about his family. After all, what would they tell his fiance? He did have that gorgeous engagement ring on…

Mister Pugs

Avatar: 218412 2010-01-02 02:22:05 -0500
8

[Grey Goose Mafiosi]

Level 54 Emo Kid

I love everyone ITT

So one day I was reunited with my long lost son. We were so happy that we decided to have relations with each other. He was rough but it felt good.

The next day I went to the store to buy some tortilla chips. The cashier asked me why I looked so happy. I told him that I had just found my son that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Barbara Walters was behind me in line, and upon hearing this she laughed.

“My friend, you never had a son!”

I was shocked! “THEN WHO DID I ****?!”

Everyone in the store replied in unison: “STFU FGT!”

I was so sad that I left without my chips. I went home and ate all my ice cream while I fapped to Simon Cowell. Then, all of a sudden, Xylon busted through my front door.

“Hey buddy, want a fun time?”

Everything went better than expected.

****bumho

Avatar: 212478 2013-08-01 23:03:28 -0400
27

Level 69 Troll

“Human Yeast Infection”

Mister Pugs Posted:

So one day…

Yeah, I usually love things that are completely random. I’m the king of random. But as the guy in control of this contest, I gotta tell you…. that’s not creepy at all.

Mister Pugs

Avatar: 218412 2010-01-02 02:22:05 -0500
8

[Grey Goose Mafiosi]

Level 54 Emo Kid

I love everyone ITT

You sure? It’s giving me nightmares already and I’m not even asleep

Adapt

Avatar: 58104 2015-06-13 23:16:37 -0400
16

[Grey Goose Mafiosi]

Level 48 Camwhore

Celerysteve is better than me in everyway imaginable

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