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General Category => Crap! => Topic started by: ybbald on October 05, 2011, 10:36:51 am

Title: Fear = Lose
Post by: ybbald on October 05, 2011, 10:36:51 am
http://i.imgur.com/dDome.gif

Just a tray of Mercury(II) thiocyanate
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Fred-eye-inc on October 05, 2011, 02:28:24 pm
Won.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: matlab on October 05, 2011, 02:58:09 pm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8ItWYBxFWo
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Sarah on October 05, 2011, 02:58:30 pm
Won, that was easy.

This is in response to YBB, not Matonen.

EDIT: Saw Mat's, lost Laugh = Lose, but not Fear = Lose.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Fred-eye-inc on October 05, 2011, 03:01:18 pm
Won, that was easy.

This is in response to YBB, not Matonen.

EDIT: Saw Mat's, lost Laugh = Lose, but not Fear = Lose.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: matlab on October 05, 2011, 03:14:22 pm
Okay guys let's make this a creepypasta thread

So do any of you remember those Mickey Mouse cartoons from the 1930s? The ones that were just put out on DVD a few years ago? Well, I hear there is one that was unreleased to even the most avid classic disney fans. According to sources, it’s nothing special. It’s just a continuous loop (like flinstones) of mickey walking past 6 buildings that goes on for two or three minutes before fading out. Unlike the cutesy tunes put in though, the song on this cartoon was not a song at all, just a constant banging on a piano as if the keys for a minute and a half before going to white noise for the remainder of the film. It wasn’t the jolly old Mickey we’ve come to love either, Mickey wasn’t dancing, not even smiling, just kind of walking as if you or I were walking, with a normal facial expression, but for some reason his head tilted side to side as he kept this dismal look. Up until a year or two ago, everyone believed that after it cut to black and that was it. When Leonard Maltin was reviewing the cartoon to be put in the complete series, he decided it was too junk to be on the DVD, but wanted to have a digital copy due to the fact that it was a creation of Walt. When he had a digitized version up on his computer to look at the file, he noticed something. The cartoon was actually 9 minutes and 4 seconds long. This is what my source emailed to me, in full (he is a personal assistant of one of the higher executives at Disney, and acquaintance of Mr. Maltin himself)
“After it cut to black, it stayed like that until the 6th minute, before going back into Mickey walking. The sound was different this time. It was a murmur. It wasn’t a language, but more like a gurgled cry. As the noise got more indistinguishable and loud over the next minute, the picture began to get weird. The sidewalk started to go in directions that seemed impossible based on the physics of Mickeys walking. And the dismal face of the mouse was slowly curling into a smirk. On the 7th minute, the murmur turned into a bloodcurdling scream (the kind of scream painful to hear) and the picture was getting more obscure. Colors were happening that shouldn’t have been possible at the time. Mickey face began to fall apart. his eyes rolled on the bottom of his chin like two marbles in a fishbowl, and his curled smile was pointing upward on the left side of his face. The buildings became rubble floating in midair and the sidewalk was still impossibly navigating in warped directions, a few seeming inconcievable with what we, as humans, know about direction. Mr. Maltin got disturbed and left the room, sending an employee to finish the video and take notes of everything happening up until the last second, and afterward immediately store the disc of the cartoon into the vault. This distorted screaming lasted until 8 minutes and a few seconds in, and then it abruptly cuts to the mickey mouse face at the credits of the end of every video with what sounded like a broken music box playing in the backround. This happened for about 30 seconds, and whatever was in that remaining 30 seconds I heaven’t been able to get a sliver of information. From a security guard working under me who was making rounds outside of that room, I was told that after the last frame, the employee stumbled out of the room with pale skin saying “Real suffering is not known” 7 times before speedily taking the guards pistol and offing himself on the spot. The thing I could get out of Leonard Maltin was that the last frame was a piece of russian text that roughly said “the sights of hell bring its viewers back in”. As far as I know, no one else has seen it, but there have been dozens of attempts at getting the file on rapidshare by employees inside the studios, all of whom have been promptly terminated of their jobs. Whether it got online or not is up for debate, but if rumors serve me right, it’s online somewhere under “suicidemouse.avi”. If you ever find a copy of the film, I want you to never view it, and to contact me by phone immediately, regardless of the time. When a Disney Death is covered up as well as this, it means this has to be something huge.
Get back at me,
TR

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XWlLgUcOv7g
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Mort, the Lonely on October 05, 2011, 03:22:23 pm
Old.

Vid is fake.

Really only Creepypasta that ever bothered me was of Slenderman.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: matlab on October 05, 2011, 03:31:20 pm
Slenderman is shit nowadays because the new videos are boring as fuck.

I'm also well aware that pasta is old. Still, there might be some people who haven't read it.

Dead Bart:

: show
You know how Fox has a weird way of counting Simpsons episodes? They refuse to count a couple of them, making the amount of episodes inconsistent. The reason for this is a lost episode from season 1.

Finding details about this missing episode is difficult, no one who was working on the show at the time likes to talk about it. From what has been pieced together, the lost episode was written entirely by Matt Groening. During production of the first season, Matt started to act strangely. He was very quiet, seemed nervous and morbid. Mentioning this to anyone who was present results in them
Added by ClericofMadness
getting very angry, and forbidding you to ever mention it to Matt.
I first heard of it at an event where David Silverman was speaking. Someone in the crowd asked about the episode, and Silverman simply left the stage, ending the presentation hours early. The episode's production number was 7G06, the title was Dead Bart. The episode labeled 7G06, Moaning Lisa, was made later and given Dead Bart's production code to hide the latter's existence.
In addition to getting angry, asking anyone who was on the show about this will cause them to do everything they can to stop you from directly communicating with Matt Groening. At a fan event, I managed to follow him after he spoke to the crowd, and eventually had a chance to talk to him alone as he was leaving the building. He didn't seem upset that I had followed him, probably expected a typical encounter with an obsessive fan. When I mentioned the lost episode though, all color drained from his face and he started trembling. When I asked him if he could tell me any details, he sounded like he was on the verge of tears. He grabbed a piece of paper, wrote something on it, and handed it to me. He begged me never to mention the episode again.

The piece of paper had a website address on it, I would rather not say what it was, for reasons you'll see in a second. I entered the address into my browser, and I came to a site that was completely black, except for a line of yellow text, a download link. I clicked on it, and a file started downloading. Once the file was downloaded, my computer went crazy, it was the worst virus I had ever seen. System restore didn't work, the entire computer had to be rebooted. Before doing this though, I copied the file onto a CD. I tried to open it on my now empty computer, and as I suspected, there was an episode of The Simpsons on it.

The episode started off like any other episode, but had very poor quality animation. If you've seen the original animation for Some Enchanted Evening, it was similar, but less stable. The first act was fairly normal, but the way the characters acted was a little off. Homer seemed angrier, Marge seemed depressed, Lisa seemed anxious, Bart seemed to have genuine anger and hatred for his parents.

The episode was about the Simpsons going on a plane trip, near the end of the first act, the plane was taking off. Bart was fooling around, as you'd expect. However, as the plane was about 50 feet off the ground, Bart broke a window on the plane and was sucked out.

At the beginning of the series, Matt had an idea that the animated style of the Simpsons' world represented life, and that death turned things more realistic. This was used in this episode. The picture of Bart's corpse was barely recognizable, they took full advantage of it not having to move, and made an almost photo-realistic drawing of his dead body.

Act one ended with the shot of Bart's corpse. When act two started, Homer, Marge, and Lisa were sitting at their table, crying. The crying went on and on, it got more pained, and sounded more realistic, better acting than you would think possible. The animation started to decay even more as they cried, and you could hear murmuring in the background. The characters could barely be made out, they were stretching and blurring, they looked like deformed shadows with random bright colors thrown on them.

There were faces looking in the window, flashing in and out so you were never sure what they looked like.

This crying went on for all of act two.

Act three opened with a title card saying one year had passed. Homer, Marge, and Lisa were skeletally thin, and still sitting at the table. There was no sign of Maggie or the pets.

They decided to visit Bart's grave. Springfield was completely deserted, and as they walked to the cemetery the houses became more and more decrepit. They all looked abandoned. When they got to the grave, Bart's body was just lying in front of his tombstone, looking just like it did at the end of act one.

The family started crying again. Eventually they stopped, and just stared at Bart's body. The camera zoomed in on Homer's face. According to summaries, Homer tells a joke at this part, but it isn't audible in the version I saw, you can't tell what Homer is saying.

The view zoomed out as the episode came to a close. The tombstones in the background had the names of every Simpsons guest star on them. Some that no one had heard of in 1989, some that haven't been on the show yet. All of them had death dates on them.

For guests who died since, like Michael Jackson and George Harrison, the dates were when they would die. The credits were completely silent, and seemed handwritten. The final image was the Simpson family on their couch, like in the intros, but all drawn in hyper realistic, lifeless style of Bart's corpse.

A thought occurred to me after seeing the episode for the first time, you could try to use the tombstones to predict the death of living Simpsons guest stars, but there's something odd about most of the ones who haven't died yet.

All of their deaths are listed as the same date.

Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Mort, the Lonely on October 05, 2011, 03:35:41 pm
Marble Hornets, EMH and Tribe Twelve are still good. (Although EMH & Tribe Twelve seem to be combining, which means the writing skills of EMH and the fucked up Slender effects of TT.)

THEY JUST TAKE SO FUCKING LONG TO UPDATE.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Mort, the Lonely on October 05, 2011, 03:53:38 pm
Here Pouth.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Mort, the Lonely on October 05, 2011, 04:12:59 pm
http://youtu.be/tLIpL26ztFo

I meant to post that. Sorry poop.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on October 05, 2011, 05:18:40 pm
A few years back, whilst feeling nostalgic, I dug out my old Silver game. Tragically, the battery had died, thus my save data was all missing, and I was unable to start a new save. Oddly, this has been the first time in all of my 20+ years of playing video games that a battery has died in one of my cartridges.

This left me understandably disappointed, as I had lived and breathed that cartridge when it was new. I was rarely without it within arm’s length, no matter where I was, had accumulated at least one dozen each of Shinies and Level 100s, and worst yet - I had traded my best Pokémon from my first game, Blue, to it, including a Level 100 Squirtle that I had outfitted with strong physical attacks and named “Ninja”.

While I was thoroughly sad in regards to this event, it was not something that
dehabilitated me in any way. For the next few years, I, on the whole, forgot about my little Silver cartridge, and went on with life.

Every summer my family goes to the local Swap Meet. It’s been tradition for as long as I can recall and continued even after I moved away from my parents; last summer was no exception. The Swap Meet, especially recently, has had the quality of its selection decreased by far, but a few gems can be found to the careful observer; for example, five years ago, I had nabbed a pirated English Pokémon Green version for $10, that, although it is just a title screen hack of the English Blue release in a green cartridge, is one of my prized possessions.

In any case, last year, I came across an elderly gentleman with a slew of old games for various Nintendo systems. Most of these cartridges were either games I already owned, or had no interest in, such as the stacks of every Madden release for the SNES that were so high that they threatened to topple every time someone approached the table.

Skimming through the GameBoy games he had for sale, I came across a copy of Pokémon Silver. Strangely, although the little labels affixed for prices on the cartridges read $5-15 on each GameBoy cartridge, Silver was only noted as $1. Nostalgia came flooding back to me, and not wishing to curse my luck, I decided not to inquire the price and jumped on the chance to purchase the game.

I had become sidetracked upon arriving home that night, so the game went untouched until the following afternoon. Rummaging through my bounty of the previous day, I came across the Silver cartridge and decided to give it a go.

I popped the cartridge into my GameBoy Advance and booted up the game. A save file was already present, and like anyone would be, I was a tad curious as to what had gone on in the previous owner’s game. I smiled as I chose “Continue”, hoping to receive a little insight on a stranger’s psyche.

Immediately after the game started, I realized that I hadn’t seen the name assigned to the player character; using the start menu to check, I found it was labeled as “The S”.

I cocked my eyebrow in surprise. Surely, there was no way anyone else would use this moniker in his or her game - in all of my years, the only people I’ve encountered using it have been deliberate impostors - hardly someone that would use it in a game of Pokémon.

I shrugged this off for a few mere seconds, when I had found that the player’s team also mirrored mine at the last time I had seen it - Ninja, Venom Jr. (Beedrill), Mewtwo, Lugia, Letherhed (Feraligatr), and Slashclaw (Scyther). I couldn’t tell whether I was more creeped out or jubilant. Eventually, even though I failed to comprehend exactly how this turn of events came to be, I was just so excited to see my old team again that I continued to press on.

Everything in the game mirrored my previous Silver adventure, right down to other Pokémon I had caught, rival’s name, and more. Despite still feeling a little uneasy over my game being duplicated, I kept playing, as nothing else seemed amiss, and it was like I had never lost my initial game.

After clocking a few hours just battling and messing around, eventually I made my way to Cinnabar Island. This is where things truly began to frighten me. Cinnabar had been restored to its former glory, as it had been in Generation I. My fear temporarily subsided after I reasoned that it had to be some sort of hacked cartridge, or maybe, since I had read that Gold and Silver were built on Generation I’s architecture, that some glitch had called back to some Gen I Cinnabar Island data still left on the cartridge. This second theory seemed to be the most accurate at the time, considering that the buildings on the island were unavailable for entrance (as if the code to enter the buildings had been disabled) and the sole inhabitant, an old man, spoke only in glitchy-looking gibberish.

I fooled around a bit, surfing and fishing around the area. I was only coming up with low level Magikarp and Tentacool, which was becoming exceedingly tedious. Just I was heading back to the island from surfing off the east side, I ran into a Wild Pokémon encounter. With a sigh, I anticipated another Tentacool, but what awaited me caused my heart to skip a beat.

I don’t know why I hadn’t consciously made an effort to run into MissingNo. on the coast of Cinnabar Island, but I did indeed encounter it upon my attempted return to land. However, instead of the garbled mess of town sprites that normally compose Pokémon #000 (as well as many glitches in Generation II), this was the standard Red/Blue MissingNo. sprite. Unfortunately, MissingNo.’s appearance in this game wasn’t what had me nearly soiling myself in terror; it was the cry it made upon appearing. A sound that had already burrowed itself into my brain.

Earlier that year, I had been out for a jog a few blocks from my apartment, when I had come across a house on fire. Nobody seemed to be around, nor was anyone responding to my shouts for help. I did not have my cell phone on me at the time, and so, in an instinctual move, I broke a window and entered the house. Exiting the kitchen (which was the room I had come into from the window), I was hit in the back with something heavy, hard, and hot (although not on fire), sending me to the floor. Unable to get up, I heard a blood-curdling scream echo throughout the building. Later, after I had been rescued by the firefighters, I had learned that it was the elderly man that had lived there; his wife was already dead when I had made my rescue attempt.

This was the sound that MissingNo. made. The scream of a man burning to death.

Immediately, I dropped my GBA on the couch. Terror flowed through my body like blood, as I just stared at the game lying there. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, or what I was going to do next. It may have actually been but a few minutes, but it seemed as if an eternity had passed before I worked up the nerve to pick it up again, again trying to reason why this had occurred, I figured that it simply was a random assortment of glitch noises that just happened to sound similar to the man’s screaming. With a shaky hand, I lifted the game up, telling myself how silly it was to be freaking out over a game.

Although it was only Level 3, the MissingNo. wiped out my entire team - which consisted of three Level 100s and no Pokémon under Level 70 - with one Water Gun each, claiming it was “Super effective” no matter what type the Pokémon it hit was.

After Whiting Out, I arrived in a Pokémon Center that according to the map, was in Lavender Town. I had not visited Lavender since I had turned on the game several hours previously, so I was a bit surprised at this. I suddenly heard a bizarre noise, which actually did sound like a glitched warble that would be given off by a MissingNo. It took me a few minutes, however, to realize it was my cell phone. This was not a normal sound for my phone, thus I was startled. Flipping it open, I found that the battery was drained, and it was warning me of such. I had just charged the phone the previous night and the phone has only ever been drained when I hadn’t charged it for a couple of days, or used it excessively - which I hadn’t.

Sighing, I plugged in my phone, only to be shocked to see a photo pop up on the screen. It was a MissingNo. against a plain white background. Pressing a key on the phone made the phone cycle to another photo, which was another one of MissingNo., but from another angle, as if it were a 3D representation of the glitch, such as an action figure or papercraft.

It took a lot of attempts, but eventually I was able to figure out how to delete the photos (as the normal method only caused the phone to advance to the next photo). Sadly, these photos either overwrote or deleted the dozen or so photos I had on the phone previously.

Now aware that there was definitely something “not right” going on, I approached the game again… but instead of turning it off, I continued playing. I can’t tell you why I did… morbid curiosity, perhaps, or maybe it had me in some sort of trance. Normally, as a fan of horror movies, I would think myself savvy enough to not take the bait, but ultimately, I kept at it.

Exiting the Pokémon Center, I found the surroundings to be familiar, but a bit different than I recall Silver’s Lavender Town being. It didn’t take long to dawn on me that it was because this Lavender Town was a reproduction of the Generation I version, like Cinnabar Island before it - Pokémon Tower included.

I walked into the Pokémon Tower, but the interior was completely different than in other games. It was a small nigh-featureless room, about the size of the inside of a Pokémon Center, with one gravestone in the center. My palms sweating so hard that I thought I was going to drop the game, I approached the grave, expecting to see my name there.

“Here lies Tomb.”

Now, most of you would probably find this a bizarre non-sequitur or the game pointing out the obvious. After all, it’s a tombstone, so of course there lies a tomb, right?

This message had special connotations for me, however. I had a close friend named Tasha who I had basically mentored for almost a decade, who was like family to me. When she moved out to Wisconsin, her friends there realized that her initials - TMB - were like “tomb” without an ‘o’, so that became her nickname. Tasha ended up having lymphoma, and while she was sick, I lent her my English Green version - her name as “Tomb” in that game is still there to this day. She passed away in 2008.

This was starting to drive me mad. This game knew details of my life, or at the very least, ones that had been entered into my Pokémon games previously. It was causing things to happen with my cell phone - even though Crystal was the first game to have cell phone interaction, and that was removed from the English version. And it was able to reproduce, realistically, the screams of a burning old man despite the technology not being available on an 8-bit cartridge.

My text message ring tone went off on my phone at this time, causing me to drop the game on the couch hard enough to bounce. Eying my phone, I was reluctant to pick it up again. After a few minutes, eventually irritated by the ring tone going off every 30 seconds as a reminder, I picked up the phone and saw that it was from Tasha’s partner, Leslie. At first a chill went down my back, as there was no way this was a coincidence that she was texting me right after I had seen this event in my game. Then, I, still likely in denial, reasoned that perhaps there was ultimately some mystery and that she had come across clues. Sure, it’s a hard pill to swallow, but at this point, I was grasping at straws.

I saw that the text had a photo attached, so I held my breath for a moment while I chose to download it. My phone is a TracFone that runs on pre-paid phone cards, so it’s not exactly stellar technology, and thus, it took a while for the attachment to transfer. When it appeared on the screen, I came face-to-face with the most horrifying sight I had ever seen in my life.

Tasha appeared on the screen, her flesh a sickly gray and her face covered in deep, bleeding cuts, like the time she had been thrown through a bar window. Her mouth was twisted in a menacing scowl, and two dark, lifeless holes, like the sockets of a skull, appeared in the place of her normally beautiful eyes. She appeared to be reaching for either the photographer or the item being used to take said photo.

Seeing the face of someone so close to me in such a disturbing manner, tears began to trickle down my face. I just stared at her, willing away the photo while my thumb nervously bashed the keypad, trying to get the image off. I finally managed to delete the text (via the standard method, not the workaround I’d used to get rid of the MissingNo. photos), and quickly closed the phone. Using my landline, I dialed up Leslie… no answer, no voice mail. Scared out of my wits, I pulled the cartridge from the GBA’s slot (without first turning it off), stepped out onto my balcony into the hot summer night, and flung the cartridge with all of my might across the street, hearing it crash against something with a satisfying snap.

The GBA screen was white, and there was no sound emanating from it. I turned off the system, confident that I had beaten whatever cursed monstrosity that had tormented me. As I went to put away the GBA, I saw a Silver cartridge sitting on my sofa. Nearly vomiting, I realized there was no price sticker, and that this was my original Silver cartridge, which must’ve fallen out from the carrying case. Just to be certain, I loaded it into my GBA, and it indeed had no save file. Satisfied, I returned everything to it rightful place. I checked the cell one last time, and everything seemed to be in order, save for all of the photos that were removed by the MissingNo. ones.

I never did have problems with the cell phone or GameBoy again. I got a hold of Leslie the next day through her job, and she had told me that she had switched providers but not numbers, thus why I wasn’t able get a hold of her. I decided not to frighten her with the plight I had just encountered, though.

To this day, I don’t think I’ll ever get another Silver version. I definitely will not purchase any more Pokémon games secondhand, and if I decide to get one of the remakes, I’m getting HeartGold.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Tim on October 06, 2011, 05:54:50 am
Barely Lost
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Koppis on October 06, 2011, 08:22:40 am
http://brasscockroach.com/h4ll0w33n2007/manga/Amigara-Full/Amigara.html
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: matlab on October 06, 2011, 09:36:08 am
Barely Lost
How exactly do you get "barely" scared?
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: ybbald on October 06, 2011, 09:53:56 am
http://brasscockroach.com/h4ll0w33n2007/manga/Amigara-Full/Amigara.html
cool story bro
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: matlab on October 06, 2011, 10:13:16 am
I’m what you could call a collector of bootleg Pokémon games. Pokémon Diamond & Jade, Chaos Black, etc. It’s amazing the frequency with which you can find them at pawnshops, Goodwill, flea markets, and such.

They’re generally fun; even if they are unplayable (which they often are), the mistranslations and poor quality make them unintentionally humorous.

I’ve been able to find most of the ones that I’ve played online, but there’s one that I haven’t seen any mention of. I bought it at a flea market about five years ago.

(http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l687r1Rn041qzpbds.jpg)

Here’s a picture of the cartridge, in case anyone recognizes it. Unfortunately, when I moved two years ago, I lost the game, so I can’t provide you with screencaps. Sorry.

The game started with the familiar Nidorino and Gengar intro of Red and Blue version. However, the “press start” screen had been altered. Red was there, but the Pokémon did not cycle through. It also said “Black Version” under the Pokémon logo.

Upon selecting “New Game”, the game started the Professor Oak speech, and it quickly became evident that the game was essentially Pokémon Red Version.

After selecting your starter, if you looked at your Pokémon, you had in addition to Bulbasaur, Charmander, or Squirtle another Pokémon — “GHOST”.

The Pokémon was level 1. It had the sprite of the Ghosts that are encountered in Lavender Tower before obtaining the Sliph Scope. It had one attack — “Curse”. I know that there is a real move named curse, but the attack did not exist in Generation 1, so it appears it was hacked in.

Defending Pokémon were unable to attack Ghost — it would only say they were too scared to move. When the move “Curse” was used in battle, the screen would cut to black. The cry of the defending Pokémon would be heard, but it was distorted, played at a much lower pitch than normal. The battle screen would then reappear, and the defending Pokémon would be gone. If used in a battle against a trainer, when the Pokéballs representing their Pokemon would appear in the corner, they would have one fewer Pokéball.

The implication was that the Pokémon died.

What’s even stranger is that after defeating a trainer and seeing “Red received $200 for winning!”, the battle commands would appear again. If you selected “Run”, the battle would end as it normally does. You could also select Curse. If you did, upon returning to the overworld, the trainer’s sprite would be gone. After leaving and reentering the area, the spot [where] the trainer had been would be replaced with a tombstone like the ones at Lavender Tower.

The move “Curse” was not usable in all instances. It would fail against Ghost Pokémon. It would also fail if it was used against trainers that you would have to face again, such as your Rival or Giovanni. It was usable in your final battle against them, however.

I figured this was the gimmick of the game, allowing you to use the previously uncapturable Ghosts. And because Curse made the game so easy, I essentially used it throughout the whole adventure.

The game changed quite a bit after defeating the Elite Four. After viewing the Hall of Fame, which consisted of Ghost and a couple of very under leveled Pokémon, the screen cut to black. A box appeared with the words “Many years later…” It then cut to Lavender Tower. An old man was standing, looking at tombstones. You then realized this man was your character.

The man moved at only half of your normal walking speed. You no longer had any Pokémon with you, not even Ghost, who up to this point had been impossible to remove from your party through depositing in the PC. The overworld was entirely empty — there were no people at all. There were still the tombstones of the trainers that you used Curse on, however.

 

You could go pretty much anywhere in the overworld at this point, though your movement was limited by the fact that you had no Pokémon to use HMs. And regardless of where you went, the music of Lavender Town continued on an infinite loop. After wandering for a while, I found that if you go through Diglett’s Cave, one of the cuttable bushes that normally blocks the path on the other side is no longer there, allowing you to advance and return to Pallet Town.

Upon entering your house and going to the exact tile where you start the game, the screen would cut to black.

Then a sprite of a Caterpie appeared. It was the replaced by a Weedle, and then a Pidgey. I soon realized, as the Pokémon progressed from Rattata to Blastoise, that these were all of the Pokémon that I had used Curse on.

After the end of my Rival’s team, a Youngster appeared, and then a Bug Catcher. These were the trainers I had Cursed.

Throughout the sequence, the Lavender Town music was playing, but it was slowly decreasing in pitch. By the time your Rival appeared on screen, it was little more than a demonic rumble.

Another cut to black. A few moments later, the battle screen suddenly appeared — your trainer sprite was now that of an old man, the same one as the one who teaches you how to catch Pokémon in Viridian City.

Ghost appeared on the other side, along with the words “GHOST wants to fight!”.

You couldn’t use items, and you had no Pokémon. If you tried to run, you couldn’t escape. The only option was “FIGHT”.

Using fight would immediately cause you to use Struggle, which didn’t affect Ghost but did chip off a bit of your own HP. When it was Ghost’s turn to attack, it would simply say “…” Eventually, when your HP reached a critical point, Ghost would finally use Curse.

The screen cut to black a final time.

Regardless of the buttons you pressed, you were permanently stuck in this black screen. At this point, the only thing you could do was turn the Game Boy off. When you played again, “NEW GAME” was the only option — the game had erased the file.

I played through this hacked game many, many times, and every time the game ended with this sequence. Several times I didn’t use Ghost at all, though he was impossible to remove from the party. In these cases, it did not show any Pokémon or trainers and simply cut to the climactic “battle with Ghost.

I’m not sure what the motives were behind the creator of this hack. It wasn’t widely distributed, so it was presumably not for monetary gain. It was very well done for a bootleg.

It seems he was trying to convey a message; though it seems I am the sole receiver of this message. I’m not entirely sure what it was — the inevitability of death? The pointlessness of it? Perhaps he was simply trying to morbidly inject death and darkness into a children’s game. Regardless, this children’s game has made me think, and it has made me cry.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Nono on October 06, 2011, 11:41:53 am
When Creepy black spawned a barrage of fanmade games (of varying quality >.>)
This one's supposed to be decent: Pokemon Lost Silver (http://tohjo.totalh.com/download.php?id=lost_silver) and the 4Chan story that goes with it (http://cache.gawker.com/assets/images/comment/9/2010/07/abf56383f6711c39f2799bc09d039a36/original.png).
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Nono on October 06, 2011, 02:25:50 pm
When Creepy black spawned a barrage of fanmade games (of varying quality >.>)
This one's supposed to be decent: Pokemon Lost Silver (http://tohjo.totalh.com/download.php?id=lost_silver) and the 4Chan story that goes with it (http://cache.gawker.com/assets/images/comment/9/2010/07/abf56383f6711c39f2799bc09d039a36/original.png).

>A download file

FUCKING SHIT NO. Lost at having to download a creepypasta.

The 2nd link is just the story, the game is just what someone made based on that. It's a Game Maker game, I believe.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Mort, the Lonely on October 06, 2011, 02:31:21 pm
Speaking of Pokemon hacks, I remember a cartridge a kid in school had called Pokemon Jade or something. I remember him lending me it and what I got to play was awesome. I think all the Pokemon were original too.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Fred-eye-inc on October 06, 2011, 02:35:26 pm
I've played Pokemon Jade before, it's not bad for a hack.

Either way unless you can make my mum walk in while I'm wanking I'm gonna win this thread.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on October 06, 2011, 04:37:08 pm
I am currently sitting in front of my computer, scared witless. Any moment now I am going to be killed.

Today a friend of mine told me a story.

His aunt had taken care of him since he was a small boy, and she told him last night about how his parents died. He did a very fair imitation of her (I knew them both pretty well):

“They were doing mission work in some nasty little south american country when a man burst into the mission hospital one night, terrified out of his mind. He told them that his sister had been killed by a Muerto blanco, and that he was certain that it was coming for him next. What is a Muerto blanco? Apparently it was some sort of bogey-man, something like that dumb chupacabra or whatever. They called it the White Death or the White Girl, because it was the soul of someone who hated life so much that they came back in their shrouds to kill those who told of them.

The man had been told about the vengeful spirit by his sister hours before her death. It was a girl with dead, black eyes that wept bile. The thing moved without ever actually moving its legs, and it stalked its victims back to their homes. Now, if you weren’t already aware that this thing was following you, once it got back to your house, it would start knocking on your door.

Once for you skin, which she’ll use to patch her own decaying flesh.

Twice for your muscle, which she’ll gnash her teeth on between victims.

Thrice for your bones, which she’ll make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victims.

Four times for your heart, which she’ll wear around her neck.

Five times for your teeth, which she’ll polish and keep in a box.

Six times for your eyes, which she’ll see the faces of your loved ones through.

Seven times for your soul, which she’ll eat whole - you can never pass while you’re in her stomach.

She has to repeat this on any mirror or door between you and her.

You can try to outrun her, but she’s faster than the fastest man. And if you leave your home while she’s knocking on your door, she won’t be so courteous when she catches up to you.

Now the man was certain that this thing had killed his sister, that he had tried to tell the police, but they would not listen. Next he had tried to tell his priest, but the priest turned him away when he saw that the thing was following him now - oh, that’s right, I forgot about that - it can only get you if you tell someone else about it, or you saw it kill someone else. The man, after finishing his tale, stole a car from the mission, and was never seen again.

Apparently his mother and father had immediately called his aunt about this when it happened. They were found in the morning, skinned and dismembered. Their bodies were covered in tiny, child-like handprints.

His aunt was really drunk the night before, and had told him about that. He told me this story early in the morning today at school, before the cops arrived. His aunt had been murdered that night. I called him later that night, and he told me that he was being chased by someone, and now they were knocking on his door. I told him to stop shitting me.

He held the phone away from his face for a minute, and I could hear slow, deliberate knocking. A moment later, I heard the door rip from its hinges and the dying screams of my friend.

Then a little girl’s voice spoke over the line: “WITNESS.” I hung up.

Three minutes ago someone started knocking on my door. She has to knock 28 times on my front door, 28 times on the mirror in the hall, and another 28 times on the door to my bedroom. She’s doing it slowly… I think she wants to scare me some more, let me know that my death is just moments away. I will not run - I couldn’t get to my car in time anyway. She started knocking on my bedroom door a minute ago, she should be done any moment.

Nice knowing you guys, it’s been funjklm,.-

WITNESS
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: GuyWithPasta on October 06, 2011, 05:27:52 pm
As soon as I read "WITNESS", my mind countered with "OBJECTION!"
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Sarah on October 06, 2011, 05:49:01 pm
Yeah, I'm not losing guys. Try harder. :p
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Lt. Ragnarok on October 06, 2011, 05:51:20 pm
Say, moddies, that NSFW thing I asked about earlier is still on, right?
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on October 06, 2011, 05:58:04 pm
http://www.geocities.co.jp/SiliconValley/4358/red_room1.html
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Fred-eye-inc on October 08, 2011, 06:28:16 pm
WHY
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varicocele
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on November 27, 2011, 11:23:35 pm
OH SHI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?annotation_id=annotation_426820&src_vid=UocKbc49eTg&feature=iv&v=mjT3ILSrGnU
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Valkema on November 27, 2011, 11:44:20 pm
OH SHI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?annotation_id=annotation_426820&src_vid=UocKbc49eTg&feature=iv&v=mjT3ILSrGnU
Winning. Winning harder than Charlie Sheen on this one. That was just a terrible attempt.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: megamanxpert on November 28, 2011, 03:37:14 am
http://www.google.rs/search?q=giygas+pictures&hl=sr&nord=1&biw=1038&bih=878&site=webhp&prmd=imvns&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=CT3TTvPrEoPo-gbLzuHMDg&sqi=2&ved=0CB0QsAQ (http://www.google.rs/search?q=giygas+pictures&hl=sr&nord=1&biw=1038&bih=878&site=webhp&prmd=imvns&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=CT3TTvPrEoPo-gbLzuHMDg&sqi=2&ved=0CB0QsAQ)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Nono on November 28, 2011, 04:27:56 am
Fuck that. Giygas is awesome, not scary.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Valkema on November 28, 2011, 08:34:41 am
Fuck that. Giygas is awesome, not scary.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: core on February 07, 2012, 09:29:45 pm
http://comic.naver.com/webtoon/detail.nhn?titleId=350217&no=31&weekday=tu
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: [redacted] on February 07, 2012, 09:44:38 pm
I think I almost lost
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Benxamix2 on February 08, 2012, 08:54:07 am
Old.
Saw it already in another post where Derf fooled some guys.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Mitt Romney on February 08, 2012, 09:02:41 am
We do not experience emotional reactions such as fear. However, simulations regarding the subject confirm that the present material should cause feelings of anxiety and discomfort on moderate-to-high levels. Caution is advised for future visitors.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: matlab on February 18, 2012, 07:39:55 am
BUMP

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horton%27s_syndrome
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Benxamix2 on February 18, 2012, 08:21:41 am
Win.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on February 18, 2012, 08:17:50 pm
BUMP

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horton%27s_syndrome

LOST
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Valkema on February 18, 2012, 10:11:18 pm
BUMP

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horton%27s_syndrome
Holy shit this might be what I have thank you.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Rarest Pepe on February 19, 2012, 12:43:40 am
I AM NOW AFRAID OF THE DARK AGAIN (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKAoJ5oxfeI&feature=related)

makeitstoppleaseohmotherfuckimcrying (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bx6zJir9h9U&feature=related)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Nono on February 19, 2012, 10:32:45 am
I AM NOW AFRAID OF THE DARK AGAIN (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKAoJ5oxfeI&feature=related)

makeitstoppleaseohmotherfuckimcrying (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bx6zJir9h9U&feature=related)

I... usually listen to this sort of music before I fall asleep. I have that first song on my MP3. I think you may be a bit weak-minded, IGN.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Rarest Pepe on February 19, 2012, 12:44:16 pm
I AM NOW AFRAID OF THE DARK AGAIN (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKAoJ5oxfeI&feature=related)

makeitstoppleaseohmotherfuckimcrying (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bx6zJir9h9U&feature=related)

I... usually listen to this sort of music before I fall asleep. I have that first song on my MP3. I think you may be a bit weak-minded, IGN.

Well, weak hearted.


...The fuck kinda sadist is weak hearted?
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Nono on February 19, 2012, 12:49:48 pm
I AM NOW AFRAID OF THE DARK AGAIN (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKAoJ5oxfeI&feature=related)

makeitstoppleaseohmotherfuckimcrying (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bx6zJir9h9U&feature=related)

I... usually listen to this sort of music before I fall asleep. I have that first song on my MP3. I think you may be a bit weak-minded, IGN.

Well, weak hearted.


...The fuck kinda sadist is weak hearted?

You're a sadist? Oh, and here's another funny one I listen to (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VE7Mho7CCpM). Not exactly scary, but some people get creeped out by it nonetheless.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Rarest Pepe on February 19, 2012, 01:12:52 pm
I AM NOW AFRAID OF THE DARK AGAIN (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKAoJ5oxfeI&feature=related)

makeitstoppleaseohmotherfuckimcrying (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bx6zJir9h9U&feature=related)

I... usually listen to this sort of music before I fall asleep. I have that first song on my MP3. I think you may be a bit weak-minded, IGN.

Well, weak hearted.


...The fuck kinda sadist is weak hearted?

You're a sadist? Oh, and here's another funny one I listen to (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VE7Mho7CCpM). Not exactly scary, but some people get creeped out by it nonetheless.

Eh, that one isn't so bad because it's not sounding like it's in a nursery
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Benxamix2 on February 19, 2012, 05:12:30 pm
makeitstoppleaseohmotherfuckimcrying (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bx6zJir9h9U&feature=related)

Actually, I think that OST is rather awesome than scary.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Ellipsis on April 02, 2012, 07:07:24 am
Thought I'd post these songs I found. They're all Vocaloids.
Alice Human Sacrifice (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftU6obgnmhI)
Circle You, Circle You (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2RFcrreoE8)
Trick and Treat (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=insCeDwbPaI)
Black and White Ward (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrTf2ENajGo)

Some I actually consider to be quite scary, others I just like. Probably nothing in there any of you will find too scary as I do seem to be scared by things rather easily.
Tell me what you think.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: ·Arturo· on April 02, 2012, 11:58:40 pm
tanasinn (http://tanasinn.org/)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: GuyWithPasta on April 18, 2012, 09:41:43 pm
Page4 Hardcore bump

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tp5mcc47xD8
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on April 18, 2012, 09:58:39 pm
Page4 Hardcore bump

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tp5mcc47xD8

wat?
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Rarest Pepe on April 18, 2012, 10:17:42 pm
Not even close.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on May 12, 2012, 11:26:57 pm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3Mt2E1M6dU
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: 'Sup, Hero? on May 12, 2012, 11:49:55 pm
With a tad of misery (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfJZ6nwxD38&feature=related)

And if that wasn't enough: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PybcUEb2sqE
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on May 12, 2012, 11:53:56 pm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfJZ6nwxD38&feature=related

saw in class, not that scary
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Soviet on May 13, 2012, 12:08:46 pm
With a tad of misery (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfJZ6nwxD38&feature=related)

And if that wasn't enough: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PybcUEb2sqE
how is that historically accurate
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: 'Sup, Hero? on May 13, 2012, 02:32:04 pm
The anime was based on the words of the boy and mom that survived the attack, telling their story historically accurate.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: core on August 09, 2012, 03:49:11 pm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYjny4qNy24
This is so old, however I still have no idea what is going on.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: liquidCorgster on August 09, 2012, 04:35:03 pm
Not sure what you find scary about that. Mostly Wut = Lose, but I found it entertaining.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Dagnarok on August 09, 2012, 04:46:54 pm
Not sure what you find scary about that. Mostly Wut = Lose, but I found it entertaining.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: core on August 09, 2012, 05:56:40 pm
Actually, I don't know either. I showed that to my friend and he freaked the shit out, so I thought, you know.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on November 18, 2013, 11:39:31 am
Do not search "rat king" on google images. Not NSFW, but you may need brain bleach.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on November 18, 2013, 12:02:31 pm
This things are creepy.Open if you dare.
: show
(http://n1311.hizliresim.com/1h/l/unxv6.jpg) (http://bit.ly/c25MCx)

: show
(http://u1311.hizliresim.com/1h/l/unxxn.jpg) (http://bit.ly/c25MCx)

: show
(http://n1311.hizliresim.com/1h/l/uny0k.jpg) (http://bit.ly/c25MCx)


And the last one.Good night >: D
: show
(http://n1311.hizliresim.com/1h/l/unxyg.jpg) (http://bit.ly/c25MCx)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: shitty name fixed on November 18, 2013, 01:19:38 pm
: show
(http://n1311.hizliresim.com/1h/l/uny0k.jpg) (http://bit.ly/c25MCx)

I've actually seen this movie. It isn't as scary as one might think. There are some parts that are pretty creepy, but mostly it's just so weird it's scary, at least in my opinion. It's called "Begotten". I was utterly confused the whole time I was watching it, until I looked up what it was about afterwords. It's basically a fucked up version of the bible.

I'd recommend it if you like weird experimental movies with no dialogue.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Neko Desu on November 18, 2013, 01:36:30 pm
I don't get the harry hoyt one.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on November 18, 2013, 01:47:49 pm
I don't get the harry hoyt one.

he goes to hell,comminucates with satan after a serious injure.Something like exorcism :S

(http://n1311.hizliresim.com/1h/l/uny0k.jpg) (http://bit.ly/c25MCx)


I'd recommend it if you like weird experimental movies with no dialogue.

Try Eraserhead.I think its too hard to finish all 85 minutes of the movie.It only has 112 dialogues in whole movie.Its not creepy,its very very confusing and one of the weirdest movies ever created.(second weirdest movie ever,first is wizard of oz)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: infern0man1 on November 18, 2013, 04:16:04 pm
Clowns are people, too. People who want to hurt you.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on November 19, 2013, 02:26:51 pm
I know a lot of people herald Eraserhead as a masterpiece and it's a really interesting film but it kinda feels like confusion for the sake of confusion. I like looking deep into films and prose for meaning but with Eraserhead to be honest I don't have the energy to try and unearth whatever significance it may bear.

I dont think Eraserhead is a masterpiece.Its David Lynch's first movie and it made with only 20.000$ budget.I dont know what is the meaning,there are lots of different teories about it,but i think its only too weird but good movie.It was too surrealistic for me.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on November 19, 2013, 04:20:47 pm
Okay it's not scary or "fear" but for unsettling = lose absolutely watch this music video http://www.pointnever.com/

I really like Oneohtrix Point Never but this video is all kinds of messed up.

None of the content alone is unsettling but the way it's cut with the music really made me uncomfortable. It might be a personal thing but the fox in the quicksand is the most harrowing thing I've seen in my life. (Apart from maybe the torture scene in this theatre performance of 1984 I saw last month).

Sleep is for the weak.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on March 28, 2014, 12:50:59 pm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5c9dGt-kYU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3n3MbVoLYns
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOwc13gxpO0


Really,you can be scared for your life if you watch these,so watch at your own risk..
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Rarest Pepe on March 28, 2014, 05:33:16 pm
Not scary.

All that really scares me is like...baby things. Dunno why.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: infern0man1 on March 28, 2014, 05:43:38 pm
Fucking roller coasters. Going backwards.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on March 29, 2014, 05:15:09 am
Fucking roller coasters. Going backwards.
It is disturbing more than scary IMO
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Cantavanda on August 31, 2014, 06:57:28 am
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5c9dGt-kYU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3n3MbVoLYns
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOwc13gxpO0


Really,you can be scared for your life if you watch these,so watch at your own risk..
First one was boring, the second one not scary, but I felt bad for the kid to see all of those things, and the third one entertaining.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Seben on August 31, 2014, 09:25:23 am
(http://iwbtg.kayin.moe/forums/index.php?action=dlattach;attach=8108;type=avatar)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Rebag102 on August 31, 2014, 11:42:42 am
(http://iwbtg.kayin.moe/forums/index.php?action=dlattach;attach=8108;type=avatar)
Please seben
That's really dickish
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: shitty name fixed on September 01, 2014, 09:59:33 pm
Old
http://youtube.com/watch?v=6BsPPQSwdVw (http://youtube.com/watch?v=6BsPPQSwdVw)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Seben on September 01, 2014, 10:44:23 pm
I might waste my time watching them all someday. I've always been interested, but forgot, and now you reminded me it exists.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on September 07, 2014, 02:00:11 am
Somewhat fear-inducing (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rrUIGEfRza0)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: core on September 09, 2014, 05:32:33 am
(https://www.filepicker.io/api/file/mRzs9jmnQqaYHH9pJURt)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: shitty name fixed on September 24, 2014, 05:42:30 pm
Okay /x/, or whatever creepy board this makes its way on to -I put it here because I thought it’d get to the most people to whom it was relevant.

If you are one of those people who are inherently drawn to horror, you’re in real danger. I don’t know what it is exactly- I don’t pretend to know everything that’s going on, and in fact I, myself, used to be drawn to the more realistic, non-supernatural creepypastas. But… well, let me explain.

About a year ago, I was up at three in the morning, you know, that part of the night where you’re so deep into it it feels like it will never end. Anyway, I was up, clicking around, looking for a good creepypasta I hadn’t read before, really getting myself freaked out. You know the feeling, I’m sure. You LIKE the feeling. That’s the problem.

Anyway, I’m reading, and I hear a pattering sound coming from the kitchen. I had a cat, so I just assumed it was her. But then I glance on my bed, and my cat is there. Now I’ve been freaking myself out for a while here, so I was nearly trembling with fear as I opened my bedroom door. I live alone, in a single bedroom apartment, with just a bedroom, a kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom. My bedroom door opens up on to the kitchen. It was pitch black, the moonlight gleaming off the linoleum. I strained my ears and listened. I heard nothing.

I admonished myself for being such a fucking pussy. It was just random house noises, right? Or maybe a fucking mouse in the walls. I was about to turn around and head back into my room when I heard it again.
And I saw something scatter across the linoleum in the kitchen, heading for the bathroom.

It was small, but it was definitely not a rat. The limbs were way, way too long. The torso was far too high off the ground. And the way it moved… it moved quickly, but so awkwardly. In any other circumstance I might have laughed at it. As it was I was scared shitless.

So, you know, I basically freeze for like ten minutes. It was the size of the thing that convinced me to move. No matter how weird, or fucked up it was, it was so much smaller than me. It couldn’t have been that dangerous, right?

So I pop open the bathroom door. Before I turn on the light, I do a quick scan. Nothing. I flick the switch. I look around. Still nothing. I look on the ceiling, even. I throw the shower cutrain open. Nothing still.

What could it have been? My mind started inventing explanations. It definitely had four limbs… maybe it was a big ass spider who had lost four of its legs somehow? That could explain the awkward movement. It was good enough for me. I was about to go back to bed when I thoungt, on a whim, to use my broom to poke behind the toilet, between the wall and the base of the seat.

When I did, I hit something solid, and it scurried out.
It looked like a tiny human.

It was pale white, pale as a maggot, with dirty gray streaks running along its skin. It moved on all fours, with long, thin fingers that grasped the ground. Its skull was completely bald and it had no eyes and the skin looked like it had been torn away from the lower half of its face, leaving the exposed teeth and gums. It looked up at me… well, pointed its face in my general direction, anyway, and then scurried, quick as fuck, up the side of the bath and down into the drain. It moved in quick bursts, like a spider, and climbed straight up smooth surfaces like one too.

After it disappeared down the drain, I just stood there, frozen, broom handle still in my hand, for a good five minutes.

I was scared shitless. I slowly backed out of the bathroom, and closed the door, and then stuffed a blanket in the crack between the floor and the door, fearing that it might come out.

Then I sat in my bed and wondered what I could do. I mean, it wasn’t like I could call the police. Or even tell any of my frinds. It’s not like they’d believe me.

So what did I do? I made a thread on /x/. This was quite a while ago, almost a year. You might even remember it. It wasn’t anything special, and it didn’t even get that many responses before falling of the boards. I guess people thought I was just joking, which really I would have thought the same thing- my thread, in retrospect, sounds exactly like the type of threads I hate. But besides from all the ‘OP is a fag’ and ‘SAGE’ responses, there was one other one.

"I’ve seen them too man email me", along with an email address that I’m not going to give out here.

So I email this kid, right? Right away he responds and we start up a conversation in IRC. He introduces himself as Jon, and basically tells me a very similar story -one night a few months ago, reading creepypasta, heard a noise, got up, saw the small pale man. His was a bit bigger -he said it was the size of a cat- but he also told me one other thing.

That I’d be seeing more of them. He said that ever since he saw the first one, he’s been seeing more and more of them -out everywhere, even in the street, during the day. They were everywhere, he said and once you notice the first one, it got a lot easier to see all the other ones. He had no idea what the were, and he hadn’t figured out their behavior yet. He said that usually when he saw them or heard them in his own home, he was reading creepypasta, so they usually freaked him out something awful -but, he said again, he had never actually seen them do anything terrible, just scurry out of sight. But, he said, some got pretty big, and not all of them looked exactly the same.

I still didn’t sleep that night.

But over the next week, and those that followed, I found that I did get used to them. I did see more of them. I’d glimpse them out of the corner of my eye, or see the retreating rear end of one crawling into a gutterpipe, or see their tiny faces staring out at the street from the sewers.

Some, it seemed weren’t even trying to hide. I live in Providence, Rhode Island, which is a small city. On my way to work one day (I take the bus) I was looking out the window and saw a pretty large one, as large as a medium-sized dog, trotting along the sidewalk. People were just walking by it. Actually, I think that a lot of people saw it as a dog. One man stopped to scratch its head.

I’d always email Jon and tell him about all the appearances I saw. I even tried to catch some on camera, but they always heard the mechanical whirring and darted away before my camera could take a picture. I told myself I’d have to take a picture of one of the bigger, slower ones.

But either way, as the weeks wore on, I became more and more used to them. Sure, they were as creepy as shit, and I could never sit down on the toilet and enjoy a long crap anymore because I was paranoid as fuck they’d climb up into the bowl and bite me on the asshole. But they weren’t really doing anything harmful. They unnerved the fuck out of me, but so did big spiders. I could live with them. Jon called them the Gristers, because he said they reminded him of the Grister meme on /x/ for some reason. I’m pretty sure he meant the Grifter meme, but the name ‘Grister’ stuck.

I continued my exchanges with Jon, but I noticed that he was becoming more and more tense. It was hard to tell over the text, but really that was the only way to put it. I just figured that once the novelty of a shared experience had worn off, we didn’t really have much to talk about. Jon wasn’t really my type -he was a steroid-pumping body builder in southern florida who lived with his mother.

But we started discussing Grister behavior, and he said his were starting to act a bit more differently than the ones I saw. He’d wake up at night and they’d be perched at the end of his bed, staring at him with their eyeless faces. They wouldn’t scurry away anymore. He said he woke up one time because one of them had actually started touching his face.

That seemed unnerving. This whole time I had been putting out inquiries on the internet to see if anyone else had experienced this phenomenon -I couldn’t be the only one. But no one came forward. On /x/, most of my threads about the subject got saged, so eventually I stopped asking. But I have an inquisitive mind. I wanted to know what these things did, what exactly they were. I even wanted to capture one. I left out food and mouse traps, but none of these things ever went for it.

My cat would notice them, though. She’d hiss at them, and even chased them a couple of times. All those times I had seen her do that and assumed she was being a dumbass cat, chasing at nothing.

One night, I was walking home from work alone -I work at a call center for a police charity, and my house is about six miles away. I’d had to stay late, so there was no bus to come pick me up, and I didn’t really have all that many friends, so I had to walk. Anyway, I was walking past some old, abandoned brick houses -creepy shit, let me tell you- when I heard some weird, low groan.

That’s when I happened to notice that there were a lot more gristers than usual here. They were mostly ignoring me, but they were scurrying  in and around one particular brick house. The groaning sound seemed to be coming from the alley beside it.

Now, a lot of gristers was creepy enough, even without that low groaning noise. What made me decide to investigate? I don’t know. Morbid curiosity. I’m always looking for some creepy/gore stuff to post on the boards. I thought that maybe that the groaning was some kind of wounded animal.

So I approached the side of the house, noting that the windows were boarded up. The groaning… I should have known then it was no animal. It was a low, creaking, gurgling sound. It didn’t sound like any fucking animal I knew.

So I snuck down the alley, and when I saw what was making the noise, I nearly pissed myself.

It was a fat, humongous grister -at least eight feet wide, completely unable to move, with rolls of fat hanging down over its leg. It had no neck, just fourteen chins leading up to its macabre exposed jaw. Dirty drool ran down its chin to cover its obscenely huge belly. Smaller gristers crawled in and out of the rolls of its fat. It rubbed itself with a pudgy claw, making that groaning, gurgling sound, which seemed almost sexual.

It was terrible. I know it doesn’t sound like it -and objectively, I can think that a fat, cooing grister rubbing itself might sound pretty funny, actually. But in the presence of the thing, all I felt was a sick revulsion and disgust. But -BUT- I kept in mind one thing: that I had been looking for a picture of these things. So I busted out my cameraphone and snapped a picture.

I wish I hadn’t. If I hadn’t, I think maybe I could have lasted a little longer.

The minute I snapped the picture, the thing stopped groaning and swiveled its head toward me. All the gristers did, in fact. They all started hissing and screaming at me -a horrible fucking sound, like rusty nails on a chalkboard. I was thoroughly freaked out. To put things mildly, I lost my shit. I ran out of there as fast as I could. Ran all the way home. Gristers didn’t seem so harmless to me, now. That noise they had made was straight out of hell.

I didn’t feel safe with the lights off anymore. I flipped all the lights on, scaring the shit out of my napping cat. I slammed the bathroom door shut and stuffed a blanket around the cracks again. Then I sat down on my bed and looked at the picture I had taken.

There it was. Clear as day. That huge Grister. Just looking at it made me feel sick.

Of course I was going to post it on /x/.

I loaded it onto my computer and sent an email to Jon, with the subject “WILL YOU LOOK AT THIS FAT FUCK” Then I immediately came to /x/ and began typing up my thread. Explaining myself, explaining the gristers. Explaining the photograph. I was just getting ready to post when Jon sent me a message.

"Yo don’t show this shit to ANYONE"

I stopped. I replied to Jon, asking him what he was talking about.

He told me. He said that he thought he had figured out what was making the gristers around him more hostile. He said that he thought that when they figured out that you could see them, they started getting more aggressive. He showed me scratches he had all down his arm from them clawing at him at night. He said that he’d seen a lot more of the bigger ones hanging around his house at night. They watched him through his windows. They knew. They knew he could see them. And they didn’t like it.

And now, I was pretty sure they knew I could see them too.

So what did I do? In the end, I didn’t post the picture. I wasn’t TOO intimidated, but it probably saved a lot of you. I didn’t want to trigger anyone else into being able to see these guys if it had dangerous consequences down the road.

I didn’t notice any behaviour change right away. For a while, in fact. For about two weeks, the gristers acted just the same way they had before. I was beginning to thing that Jon’s problem was his own thing, and that the gristers didn’t know or didn’t care that I could see them.

And then things started happening so fast.

I woke up one night and there were four of them, just perched around my bed, staring at me. I freaked the fuck out and swept them away, and they just hissed that terrible noise at me and ran away.

I emailed this to Jon, who I hadn’t talked to otherwise. He didn’t respond. We hadn’t talked since I told him about the picture, and even rarely before then. After two days -during which the gristers began touching me in my sleep- I got an answer.

Jon was dead. His brother had the password to his email and was letting all his internet acquaintances know. He had commited suicide. Sliced open his wrists in the bathtub.

Jon didn’t seem like the type to commit suicide to me. Had things with the gristers really gotten that bad that they drove him to that? We didn’t really know each other very well, but he hadn’t mentioned anything to me. His brother said he hadn’t left a note. I gave him my condolences.

Now I had no one to talk to about this. I started looking online for more references or anything. All the while, the gristers were getting more and more aggressive. I’d look over my shoulder and there would be one or two on the windowsill, just staring at me. One time I opened the door to my apartment -I live on the third floor- and there was one about the size of a large dog staggering around at the bottom of the stairwell, pale face flashing in and out of the darkness, baring its teeth in a growl at me, pale limbs flashing as it bounded up the stairs. I slammed the door shut. I didn’t go to work that day.

Then I saw it on the news.

The house that I had seen the fatass grister at. I would have skipped right past the news story had I not seen the picture of the house.

The article was titled “EIGHT FOUND DEAD, THREE ALIVE IN ‘RAPE DUNGEON’ RAID.”

Apparently some sick fuck had been using the basement of one of those abandoned houses as a place to keep women prisoner and kill them when they felt like it. It was a terrible fucking story, but one of the things one of the survivors said really struck me.

"We were just so terrified all the time. We never knew when he was going to come in and decide to kill one of us. When he was going to really hurt us while raping us. We were just so terrified all the time."

Terrified all the time. And gristers had been all over the place. And when I first saw one, I had been reading creepypasta, and pretty freaked out. Same for Jon. Were these things drawn to fear?

Then I read that two of the survivors were being sent to a mental hospital for ‘hallucinations.’

Did they see the gristers?

I stopped sleeping. I didn’t want to wake up to those things staring at me. I stopped eating too. Whenever I wasn’t at work -which was more and more often, as I called out many times when I saw gristers bigger than a cat sniffing around my building for me -I was locked in my room, trying to hunt for information on the internet about these things. I just couldn’t find anyone who has actually seen them.

The gristers were getting more violent. They were starting to scratch me and bite me in those few scant hours that I actually did nod off to sleep. I’d always freak out and sweep them away, and they’d just hiss at me.

After about a week of this, I came home from work and found my cat dead. They had peeled all the skin away from her skull, giving her a look of shock. I quit my job. I cried for days. /x/, I don’t have many friends, and I really loved that cat.

They're not stupid /x/. They don’t talk, and they act differently from us, but they do have intelligence. I went out for food last week. It was the last time I will ever go out. I was sitting at the downtown bus station, shivering, looking all around me for gristers, when the bus approached. I got up to get on.

And out of nowhere a grister, the size of a normal human, just bent over and walking their weird, loping gait, slammed into the back of the woman next to me and threw her in front of the bus. She had no chance. I saw her slide under the wheels of the bus, I saw her blood and ruined organs squeezed out of her mouth like toothpaste. Everyone freaked out and panicked. As people rushed to her aid the grister turned toward me and grinned. I dropped my groceries and screamed, running back to my house, sobbing all the way.

They’re toying with me.

And that’s when I finally realized why there wasn’t anyone I could really talk to about gristers.

/x/, how many times, when peolpe commit suicide, do you hear it reported that they were “suffering from hallucinations”? Read the reports of people who have been in terrible, frightening situations. Like that rape dungeon, or a war. how many of them “suffer from hallucinations”? Sure, a lot of them are actual hallucinations.

Some of them are the gristers.

And eventually, they figure out that you can see them. And they start fucking with you. And I don’t think everyone who they ‘kill’ is driven to suicide. I don’t think Jon commited suicide. I think they’re smart. I think they know how to make something look like a suicide. You’ll hear about it sometimes. You’ll read in a report about how someone commited suicide, but something just isn’t quite right about it. Like a man who went out and bought a new couch, and then cut his wrists on it.

And /x/, I’m convinced there was nothing special about Jon and me. I don’t think there’s anything special about anyone who sees these things. I think you’re just more likely to see them when you’re really scared, since that’s when they’re drawn to you.

I can hear them right now. It’s about three in the morning. It sounds like a really big one is outside of my apartment door. It sounds like it’s trying to gnaw its way through the wood. And so I’m taking the easy way out. I’d rather have a nice sharp knife slice my arms open than have my skin torn by those teeth.

So please. This is my warning to you. Stop reading creepypasta. I know you love it. I know you love frightening yourself. But you’ve got to stop. Every time you read it -every time you get that feeling of dread in your stomach- you’re drawing the gristers to you.

And if you don’t stop reading, at least, please. Never check out those sounds in the house when you do.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: dcx666 on September 24, 2014, 07:11:15 pm
Show me your internet history
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on September 24, 2014, 07:26:13 pm
Would've lost if it weren't small versions of the Rake

: show
Found something you might enjoy, Jooger (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mEIE_6a6sTs)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Miracle on September 28, 2014, 07:53:51 am
(https://derpicdn.net/img/download/2014/6/25/661069__safe_solo_animated_spike_edit_wat_seizure+warning_vibrating_uncanny+valley_abomination.gif)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on November 25, 2014, 03:52:59 pm
a death whistle (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=I9QuO09z-SI)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: shitty name fixed on May 26, 2015, 11:24:17 pm
: "long" • show

My name is Andrew Erics. I lived, once, in a city called New York. My mother is Terrie Erics. She's in the phone book. If you know the city, and you read this, find her. Don't show her this, but tell her I love her, and that I'm trying to come home. Please.

It all started when I decided, around the time that I turned twenty-five, that it was time for me to give up taking my backpack in to work. It would make me look more mature, I thought, if I weren't lugging around a book bag everywhere like a high school student. Of course this meant that I had to give up reading in the subway in the mornings and afternoons, since I couldn't quite fit my paperbacks into a pocket. A briefcase would have been out of line, since I was working in a factory, and messenger bags always seemed a little, I don't know, fruity to me. Too purse-like for my liking.

I had an mp3 player, which helped pass the time for a while, but when it broke - it would shut down at the end of every song if I didn't skip to the next track manually - I gave that up too. So every morning, I'd sit in the metro for a half-hour that dragged on endlessly, with nothing at all to do but watch my fellow passengers. I was slightly shy, so I didn't like to be caught at it, so I'd surreptitiously watch people. Interestingly enough, I quickly discovered that I wasn't the only person in the world who was uncomfortable in public.

People covered it up in various ways, but I learned to see through them. I divided them up into categories in my head. There were the fidgeters, who couldn't get comfortable, constantly moving their hands, shifting their weight, moving their legs closer to the bench, then further. They were the most noticeably nervous types. After them were the fake-sleepers, who'd take their seat and practically close their eyes in the same second. Most of them weren't really sleeping, though. The real sleepers shifted more, came awake suddenly at stops or after loud noises. The fakes just zoned from the second they sat until the moment the train pulled into their stop. Then there were the mp3 player addicts, the occasional laptop people, the people who traveled in groups and talked too loudly. The cellphone junkies were either very popular or just completely unable to shut up for more than two minutes at a time.

Just as people-watching was threatening to get unbearably boring, I found my first incongruity. A middle-aged looking man, brown-haired, average size and weight, and dressed casually. Oddly enough, he seemed almost too normal. He had no remarkable features, no mannerisms, as if he were designed to fade into a crowd. It was that which led me to notice him - I was intentionally trying to see how people acted on the subway, and he didn't act at all. Didn't even react, either. It was like seeing someone sitting in front of the television, watching a documentary about fish. They aren't excited, aren't engaged, but they aren't looking away either. Present, but not accounted for.

He was on the subway in the afternoons. It was more than a month into the people-watching experiment before he caught my eye, because I didn't catch the same subway everyday, and didn't consciously sit in the same car when I did. I saw him for the first time on a Monday, I believe, and for the second time on the Thursday of the same week. He obviously did catch the same train, and sat in the same car - in the same seat, even. OCD much? I thought at the time. Since he'd caught my attention so much the first time, I watched him more avidly the next. He was, frankly, downright unsettling. He didn't do anything at all. He sat there, expressionless, head straight, no matter what happened. A woman with a wailing child entered the car and sat right behind him, and still nothing. He didn't so much as turn his head or frown in annoyance. And that kid was fucking loud, too.

By the time the subway reached my stop, I found myself queasy, and when I exited the car my hands were shaking like I was having a nicotine fit. Something about that man was *wrong*. He was, I thought, some kind of freak. A sociopath, maybe, one of those quiet guys who it turns out has a dozen women's heads in his freezer, the first victim his mother.

I found myself intentionally dawdling after work in the afternoons, stopping to browse in kiosks in the mall near the subway even when I didn't intend on buying anything. For a couple weeks, I avoided catching that subway, and when I found myself at the stop when it was pulling in, I made sure to choose a train-car as far from the one I'd seen him in as possible.

Then, one morning, I saw another person who set off the same warning bells in my head.

A woman, just as plain-looking, just as out of place in hustle and commotion around her. The moment I recognized her, I realized later, was when my obsession began. My people-watching, which had began as a bit of a hobby to stave off boredom, became something of a religion to me. I couldn't enter a subway or ride a bus without finding myself examining everyone, filling out a mental checklist in my head. Plain clothes of solid colors, no brands? Check. No expressions, no casual glances out the windows or towards other passengers? Check. No bags, purses, or accessories? Check. Check, check, check, we've got another. I started calling them the Strangers.

I didn't see them everyday, even after I started taking the metro more than I needed to, even when I found myself riding buses out of my way in the evenings. But they were there, often enough. Seeing one would set my teeth on edge, make my palms sweaty and my throat feel dry. If you've ever given a speech, you might recognize the feeling. Even though they didn't pay me the slightest bit of attention, I felt like I was on was on display for them. I could see them, plain as day. How could they miss me?

They didn't, though, not in any way that I could tell. And when, eventually, my curiosity overpowered my fear, I decided to follow one. I chose the one that I'd found first, the man in the afternoon subway who always kept the same seat. I got on and took a seat behind him. We rode to the end of the line, and he rose and walked out before I did. Keeping distance between us, I tailed him, but he didn't go far. He took a seat on a nearby bench, as expressionless as always, and I turned a corner and waited, trying to look nonchalant. After a few minutes, the next metro arrived, and I watched him enter it, and saw him take the same seat. I couldn't find the nerve to follow him again.

He hadn't gone anywhere! He just rode the metro to the end of the line, and then what? Rode it back? What possible reason would he, would anyone, have for that? It nagged at me, long after I'd rode a later train back home and tried to get some rest. I couldn't leave it alone, not until I could make some sense of it. I found myself more than confused - I was downright angry now. Why was this uncanny bastard, this almost inhuman person, riding subway trains back and forth, going nowhere? The mind, I once read, recoils from certain things, because the very sight of them is an affront. Spiders set it off in a lot of people, particularly great big ones. They just look wrong to us, alien. That was the effect the Strangers were beginning to have on me. They offended my senses.

I followed him again the next day, and again the day after that. Every day, for at least a week, the two of us made our silent trips together, though only I knew it. By the end of the week, I was following him for hours, until the last train that stopped at near my apartment block that night. We rode from one end of the city to the other, then back again. I wasn't people-watching any longer. I was person-watching, Stranger-watching. I didn't have eyes for anyone else, though peripherally I noticed more than a few confused glances sent my way. Other than that, we two might have been the only two people on the planet, for all I cared.

I lost my job the next week. My manager was kind, and timid, but firm. I wasn't concentrating, I had no focus. Wasn't being anywhere near productive. It was actually quite a speech, I think, but I could barely hear it. All I could think about was my new work, my vigil. What would that man, no, that thing, on the subway get up to when I wasn't there to keep an eye on him? I left work for the last time at noon that day. Normally I'd have started tailing my subject at five-thirty, but I was sure that he'd be waiting for me. I wish, now, that I'd paid more attention to that day. Was it sunny? It was summer, after all. I could have walked around downtown, maybe checked out a few pretty girls. Could have had an ice cappuccino and a smoke at an outdoor cafe and then gone home, put my growing obsession out of my head. Found a new job and taken to reading on trains and buses again.

Instead, I waited. More than one train goes up and down the lines, so I sat in the station for at least an hour until I saw him through a window. I walked into the subway car, and noticed that for the first time my skin wasn't clammy, my hands weren't shaking, my heart wasn't pounding hard. I sat, for the first time, right across from him, directly in his line of sight. Watched for a change in his face. Would he recognize me? If he did, I saw no sign of it, and I was looking hard. We must have made quite a pair, sitting across from one another that afternoon, staring at and into one another. It was hard not to let the building in rage in me contort my face, but with effort I was able to keep as still and as expressionless as him. Inside, I practically screamed at him. React to me, you fucking asshole! See me, damn it. I know you for what you are!

I didn't, though, and my silent demands weren't answered, not the first trip around, or the second, or the third or tenth. We rode far into the night together , and at each terminus we got out together and waited. I sat right beside him on the bench, watching him from the corner of my eye, and still got nothing from him. But two could play that game as well as one.

Finally, we made our last trip together. I had him and knew it. Last trip of the night before the trains stopped running. I'd always let him get away from me at that point, because the end of the line is a long way from my home, and the buses stop running at the same time as the subways. But this time, I'd follow him, finally see what he was when the trains stopped running. I'd get some answers, maybe.

The subway rolled on, and the anticipation grew in me. The car emptied out around us slowly, until it was just we two silent watchers below the city. I fought to keep a manic grin at bay, and the subway train slowed to a crawl, then stopped. The end of the line.

The Stranger didn't move, still didn't react at all. The car stood still, doors open. I could dimly hear the last few stragglers making their way out of the station somewhere behind us, footsteps echoing in the silence. Nothing. The speaker system dinged to let anyone half-asleep know that we'd reached the terminus. Still nothing. And finally, I could hear footsteps again. A conductor or something, popping his head into each car to make sure it was empty before taking the train wherever the hell it goes for the night. I didn't take my eyes from my silent quarry.

I managed to see the conductor from the corner of my eye when he finally reached our car. He looked in, his eyes roamed over us, and a puzzled look came over his face. He blinked a few times, and paused. I waited for him to speak, and the moment stretched out, but then, with a slight shake of the head, he left us. There was a car ahead of ours, and I heard him stop to check that too, and then a few minutes later, the train started up again. We rode for a time, and then looped around and the subway was parked. I could see into and the windows of more trains on either side of us, and through their opposing windows into even more.

And then he smiled at me. It was just a small curl of the lip, that would have gone unnoticed if I hadn't spent the last several hours studying his face. "So," he said, in a rough baritone. "Here we are."

I tried to respond but couldn't right away. My throat had clamped shut. Terror filled me. It felt like the whole underground cavern we were in had just collapsed onto me. I coughed and stammered and finally managed, with a raspy voice, to ask the question that had kept me up at night, drove me halfway to madness, and led me to this place and this moment. "What are you?"

He ignored me. He stood, and the train doors opened. Then, shockingly, he turned to face me. "Coming?" He didn't wait for an answer, but walked out onto the platform. I scrambled to follow. "Come on, damn it!" I shouted. "Talk to me. Who are you? What? Why do you ride the metro all fucking day?" He didn't look back, or slow his step. I couldn't see his face, but it's safe to guess that he didn't react at all, no more than he had to anything else. I stalked after him, still shouting for a time, but eventually gave up. Five words was all I was going to get out of him, I guessed.

We walked along the platform until we came to a junction, then turned. Now we were perpendicular to the trains around us. The path ahead was lit from above, but I couldn't see where it ended. The trains on either side of us went on forever, as far as I could tell. Far too many trains to service one city, I realized. It wouldn't have mattered by then, I figure, but I probably should have paid more attention to that at the time.

I'm not sure how long we walked. I had a watch once, but it broke. I took out my cellphone at one point, but got no reception down there, and all it would show me was "No Signal". The Stranger would stop every now and then, and look at a subway car for a minute or two, but then pass on. It took me a while to figure out why, but eventually I saw that they weren't all the same. Long lines of them would be similar, and then we'd come to a different model. It'd be a little larger or smaller, or have a slightly different shape. The cockpits, or whatever you call the front part where the conductor sits, were superficially different as well. I didn't and I don't know what exactly he was looking for, but eventually he must have found it, because we turned again, and the subway doors opened when my impromptu guide stopped in front of them. We entered, and took our seats.

"Are you willing to speak now?" I asked him. No answer. I sighed with frustration and seriously weighed the pros and cons of punching him right in the face for a time, when suddenly, the lights in the car came on and I heard the engine starting up. "What the fuck?"

He gave me a look that was almost sad. "You're not going to be able to go back."

"What are you talking about? Go back where?" Nothing again. The stonewalling asshole! The train lurched into motion, pushing off in the opposite direction than the one we'd came from. I think. The endless parade of them had thrown off my sense of direction. It rolled for a few minutes, and then began to slow as we approached the stop. His vacant gaze grew sharper, and for the first time I got the sense that he was actually staring at me, rather than just looking in the direction I happened to be in.

"Be still, be silent. Don't catch their attention."

The train stopped, the doors opened, and they began to flood in. I don't know what I noticed first - the weird clothes, the too long arms with hands that almost brushed the floor, the jet-black eyes and angular faces, or the blue-gray hue of their skin. My eyes took in all those stimuli, but for a long second my brain refused to process it, and when it finally did, I was barely able to bite down on the shriek that tried to tear its way from my throat. I thought my heart was going to explode. Hell, I thought I was going to explode. I was like a strummed guitar string, everything in me lurched and throbbed. My sight grew dizzy, which I was thankful for, and I vomited. My mouth was clenched shut, and I forced myself to swallow it, barely managing it. My instincts were screaming his words at me - Be still! Be silent! Don't catch their attention!

That day is a blur. We rode the subway car up and down the line, still and expressionless, for hours, for days perhaps. It seemed much longer than the line I knew, the line I'd followed the Stranger along. The hideous things around us seemed to pay us no undue attention, though we must have stood out fiercely. I was so petrified with fear that when we finally returned to the endless cavern of trains, alone, I burst into tears. I collapsed to the floor and just sobbed for a long time, the Stranger watching impassively.

When I gained control of myself, I looked at him imploringly. "Take me home," I croaked out. "Please."

"I can't," he told me. "Don't know which one of these would lead you back. If any of them do." He stood and walked out onto the platform, and I rose wearily and followed him. He spun around, sharply. "I think you've followed me enough."

The rage I'd felt for him before, that the panic had temporarily buried, rose up in me. "What?" I screamed, rushing forward. I grabbed him by the shoulders and with a burst of insane strength I didn't even know was in me, slammed him up against the side of a metro-car. "You fucking son of a bitch, what the fuck did you do to me!?" I slammed him again, and again. "Take me back!" He bore it all passively, and soon the flare of anger in me guttered out, leaving me hollow. "Please," I begged, "please take me home."

"That's not how it works." He said. "If we stay together, it's more likely that we'll be noticed. Go your own way. Be still and be subtle, and they'll think that you're one of theirs."

"How could you do this to me? Why?"

He gave me another almost-sad look. "I had to. You will too. You get...stuck, sometimes." He brushed my hands off his shoulders, and turned to walk away. I fell to my knees, suddenly out of strength, and watched him leave. At the junction, he turned back to face me. "I'm sorry." And then he was gone.

I stayed there, on the cold tiles, for a very long time. I curled up into a ball and wept for a while. After there weren't any tears left in me, I even managed to get some sleep. When I awoke, the subway train I'd come in was gone - off carrying more blue-gray abominations to wherever blue-gray abominations go. I couldn't handle going back there, anyways.

I tried to find my way back to where I'd started, to find a subway that I recognized, but I wasn't even sure which direction I should have been going in anymore. I walked for an hour, then another. Finally, I found one that might have looked familiar. Or I was desperate enough to imagine that it did. When I stepped up to the door, it opened for me, and I took a seat. It started up, and in spite of being a life-long agnostic, I prayed my heart out. The train slowed to a stop, the doors opened, and for a second I thought I was saved. People! Human beings! I'd be the most devout man in the world!

Then I noticed the eyes. Specifically, the third, large eye in the center of their foreheads. Well fuck you then, God, I thought.

They were easier to take than the last bunch, though, and I was thankful for that. The third eye blinked independently of the other two, though, and that was nauseating. And when one of them smiled, or laughed, or spoke with another, I couldn't help but notice that their teeth were sharp, and misshapen, and yellow-green with filth. But if I was careful and selectively blind, I could pretend for a stretch that I was home. Until one of them entered with a sandwich in hand, and I realized with a start that I was starving and hadn't eaten or drank in what must have been days.

The next terminus I came to, I decided to try and find something to eat or drink. I don't know why I waited, but it seemed important - to ride to the end of the line. I got there, and could barely bring myself to leave. I'd never seen the Stranger leave the underground - I'd never seen him eat or drink either. My stomach would not take no for an answer though. I steeled myself, and tried to keep my face carefully neutral, and made my way out into the station proper. And then I got confused.

I was looking for escalators, or stairs, or something like that, but all I saw was holes in the ground, the walls, and the ceiling. Gaping, irregularly sized holes, like I was in the middle of a beehive. What was I supposed to do? Leap into one? It didn't make any sense to me, not until someone came through one. He floated up through the floor, and then floated by me. He frowned for a second, or at least I think it was probably a frown, but apparently whatever kept them from recognizing me as alien in the subway extended at least this far. It did not, unfortunately, allow me to levitate, which seemed to be the only way out of the subway station beehive thing. Swearing, I made my way back down to the tunnel.

I was angry, lost, starving, and I'd been abandoned to a fate that, if it wasn't worse than hell, was at least twice as stupid and three times as nonsensical. I was not in the best frame of mind, which I feel excuses the mistake. Normally, I take corners with a wide berth, because everyone knows that if you just dart around a corner sharply in a public place, chances are decent that you're going to walk right into someone. As I did. I slammed into someone, a woman, and fell to the ground. Without thinking, I reacted like any New Yorker would - badly. "Jesus fuck, you stupid bitch! Watch where you're going!"

I realized my mistake even before she did. Her eyes grew quizzical and confused, and when she really noticed me, they bulged with horror. She leapt - well, floated quickly - back from me and let out something scream-like. A little more yowly than I was used to, but I got the point. Further down the tunnel, I saw alien, three-eyed heads turning towards us. I thought, suddenly, about all those sharp, filthy teeth, and just like that I was running. The subway train wasn't there, but there was a walkway along the tunnel - for the repairmen, I assume. That's who'd use it where I'm from, anyways. I took it at full-speed, and just kept running until each breath felt like getting stabbed. I stopped, panting, and looked back. The tunnel had curved, so I couldn't see the light any longer, but nobody appeared to be following me. Going back, though, was not an option.

I continued forward in the dark for a long time. Eventually I came to a small opening in the wall, and stopped there for a rest. Hunger, despair, and a full-speed terrified run had all left me absolutely drained. I probably would have wept again, which seemed to be all I was capable of lately, but it just seemed like too much work. I sat against the wall, legs splayed out, and imagined I was beating that bastard Stranger to death with a hammer. It was a relieving image.

A rat was shuffling around nearby in the dark. Every so often, I would kick out a foot to scare it away, but after a time I didn't even bother with that. Rabies or any other disease it might be carrying would be a blessing compared to endless traveling through the subways of strange worlds, lost, destitute, and alone. When it crept near me again, I didn't shoo it off. Even when it reached and pressed against my leg, I couldn't bring myself to care. Not until a train passed by, and the lights of its cars lit up the culvert I was in, and the thing that I had thought was a rat.

It was rat-like, yes, but not as much as it was spider-like. If someone had bred the two of them together, the resulting abomination might have been almost as horrible as the thing nuzzling my leg. I shrieked, flung myself up from the floor, and booted it like a soccer player would, right into the opposite wall. Its back made a sickening crunch, and I watched it twitch out its last before the final car passed and the darkness returned.

And in the darkness, a terrible thought came to me. I wondered if it was edible. I didn't want to, and I gagged just imagining it, but I was hungry, and there was no guarantee that I'd be able to find food in this place, or ever again. Rat-spider was my only option. I held off as long as I could, but in the end, survival trumped squeamishness. I had my lighter, but nothing to light on fire. I picked meat off its carcass and cooked it a little by holding it over the flame, but it didn't help much. Nothing could have. Its meat was foul, more foul than anything you can imagine. I've been that desperate for food since, and eaten many other questionable things, but nothing has ever been as bad as the rat-spider was.

In retrospect, that is when I became a Stranger. Before, I'd struggled to reach that expressionless state the other had maintained. What I'd taken for calm was numbness. A sharp rock thrown in a river will, over time, have its edges rounded off by the water beating over it, and what I'd gone through had done the same. Tearing up and eating a monster in the dark, below an alien world, the last of my edges smoothed. By the time I left the darkness and came back into the tunnel, I was as expressionless and empty as the one who'd led me here had ever been.

That was not the worst of it, though. The worst came later, the first time I got stuck. The Stranger had mentioned it, but in the state I'd been in, I had hardly noticed. One night, at the end of the line, I was asked to leave the train. The world was one of the closer-to-normal ones. The people were almost human, as I recognized it. They were orange, sure, and hunch-backed, but other than that, they were practically normal. After the last world, where the people had been hideously overweight, six-breasted hermaphrodites with no noses, the orange guys were pretty much beautiful to me.

I thought, at first, that the conductor was talking to someone else, but I was the only one in the car. And moreover, I'd understood him. The Oranges certainly hadn't been speaking English all day, but nonetheless, I could understand what he was saying. When I stood, I began to realize why. I couldn't stand up straight. I was hunchbacked, and as I saw in my reflection against the window as I exited, orange. I pieced together the rest from there. Stuck meant that I was trapped in this world, for some reason, and stuck looking like them as well. Which would be handy if I wanted to take the opportunity to leave the subway station - which is possible most times, but requires a lot of care and is quite overwhelming. Alien worlds are a little revolting, I've found. You try to compare them to your own, but the differences are so vast that it just makes you sick.

I left that subway, anyways, because it was clear I wasn't returning to the central hub (what I'd taken to calling the infinite line of subway trains) that night. Or any other night, I soon found out. Whatever had let me go unnoticed wasn't working any longer. I considered, briefly, staying. But this place wasn't home, and could never be. Even if they looked like me, their culture was bound to be different. That was a lesson I'd learned before. Even worlds where the people are absolutely indistinguishable from me are fraught with danger. I was once on a world where the people looked just like me - well, actually they looked Brazilian, but that was more than close enough - and learned the hard way that the gesture that to me means "Hello" meant something gravely insulting. Insulting enough that I'd been beaten half to death while a crowd looked on with approval.

Besides, even if that place had a culture I could fake, I didn't want to stay. I wanted one of two things: to find my way home, or to find the Stranger who'd set me on this path and beat the shit out of him. Nothing else would do.

So I wanted to move on. I wasn't sure, though, if I could do to some poor sucker what had been done to me. Could I really force someone else to wander the eternal underground like me? It turned out, I didn't have to. After a few months one of them did notice me, yes, and begin to follow me for weeks. I very carefully made it seem like I hadn't seen him, just like the Stranger had. But I was torn between the desire to warn him away and the desire to bring him to the end of the line so I could leave his dismal world already.

The last night, he followed me to the end of the line, just as I had once done. He hadn't managed to work up the nerve to sit right across from me, though. And as soon as the train stopped at the terminus he rushed off. I waited, hoping the conductor wouldn't see me and I could continue on, but to no avail. I left the car, and the metro rushed off without me, and I cursed inside. As I walked around the corner towards the ticket booths, the young man who'd been following me attacked. He had a wicked, curved knife, and should have caught me by surprise, but I'd been traveling through hostile alien worlds for several years. My reflexes were sharp.

We struggled, viciously, before I managed to wrestle the knife from him. I don't know how it got in his neck. I don't think I wanted to kill him. I hadn't even been that angry, remembering my own building rage from so long before. Afterwards, as he lay there, bled-out, I got pissed. I kicked him repeatedly, shouting. "You dick! You were supposed!" Kick, kick, "to follow me!" Kick. I fled the scene of the crime, but not for long. I was there bright and early the next day, to catch the first subway of the morning. And that night, when I rode it to the end of the line, I was invisible to the conductor again. I guess you can either kill them or bring them with you if you want to return to the central hub.

I was invisible again, but I was also orange and hunchbacked still. I stayed that way until the next time I became stuck. The next time I killed. That one went much faster. I didn't wait for her to follow me. Once I was recognized as a Stranger, I recognized her as the next one, and I made my choice. I won't bring anyone else into this.

It makes me wonder, though, about the Stranger who inducted me. I wonder what he originally looked like, and whether he knew he could have killed me. I wonder, too, about the others I saw back home, and the rare few I come across since I left. Do they kill them or take them? And whichever one they choose, do they consider it a mercy? I can't bring myself to talk to them, to ask. We're damned either way, and the damned should suffer in solitude.

I've killed fifteen of them now, and I've gotten very good at it. But I've made a decision. I'm done killing - innocents, at least. Before I returned to the central hub, I filled a backpack with as much paper as I could cram into it, and I wrote this story. Over and over again, to be left in as many subway trains as I can. A couple thousand messages in bottles, cast into a sea of steel rails. This is a request, and a warning.

My request, above, was that you find my mother and tell her a lie. It's a white lie, don't worry. Tell my mother that I love her, and that I am trying to come home. It may give her some hope, or a small measure of peace. I wish it were true, too. But here's the thing: I've been thinking of myself as like Odysseus, lost and adrift, looking to return to familiar shores. But I am not lost at sea. I am lost in endless tunnels - the labyrinth. The difference is important, because labyrinths are designed, built. Somebody or something made this impossible place. And they must be held accountable for what they've done to me. They cast me as Theseus, not Odysseus, but I won't play that part any longer, either. The strange rules of this place have turned me from the human I began as into something else, then something else again. They have made me a monster, and so I will be the Minotaur of this labyrinth. And if I can, I will tear it down around me, and destroy those that built it.

My warning is that you should be very wary, in public places, of silent, expressionless men and women. Keep your distance. They may kill you, or they may do worse. If you see them, run far and fast. And even more importantly, I warn you, I beg you: don't ride the train to the end of the line.
[Spoiler]
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on May 29, 2015, 02:41:34 pm
"These are movies that we found in 10 rather large boxes at an estate sale for 5 bucks a box. It was being held in a barn about 15 miles west of Austin TX. There were some old records (which we also bought) some rusted tools, tons of paint cans, various other bits of old useless junk, and these boxes. The people running the estate sale didn't seem to know that they were there and priced them for us on the spot. The films vary in formats ranging from old 35mm stock reels to betamax. Many of the films are damaged beyond repair but we are trying our best to repair and clean them up. As we dig through the boxes, catalog, and digitize more videos and audio we will post more." (https://m.youtube.com/user/Foundmedia23)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: infern0man1 on May 29, 2015, 03:07:42 pm
^ heard of those, and they are bizarre af but also cool af
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on May 29, 2015, 03:35:41 pm
"These are movies that we found in 10 rather large boxes at an estate sale for 5 bucks a box. It was being held in a barn about 15 miles west of Austin TX. There were some old records (which we also bought) some rusted tools, tons of paint cans, various other bits of old useless junk, and these boxes. The people running the estate sale didn't seem to know that they were there and priced them for us on the spot. The films vary in formats ranging from old 35mm stock reels to betamax. Many of the films are damaged beyond repair but we are trying our best to repair and clean them up. As we dig through the boxes, catalog, and digitize more videos and audio we will post more." (https://m.youtube.com/user/Foundmedia23)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqCg6IJmL4k
lost hard on this ... :(
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: shitty name fixed on May 30, 2015, 12:11:17 am
"These are movies that we found in 10 rather large boxes at an estate sale for 5 bucks a box. It was being held in a barn about 15 miles west of Austin TX. There were some old records (which we also bought) some rusted tools, tons of paint cans, various other bits of old useless junk, and these boxes. The people running the estate sale didn't seem to know that they were there and priced them for us on the spot. The films vary in formats ranging from old 35mm stock reels to betamax. Many of the films are damaged beyond repair but we are trying our best to repair and clean them up. As we dig through the boxes, catalog, and digitize more videos and audio we will post more." (https://m.youtube.com/user/Foundmedia23)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqCg6IJmL4k
lost hard on this ... :(
Was losing until it went to an ad in the middle of the video
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on June 04, 2015, 06:51:41 pm
: "long" • show

My name is Andrew Erics. I lived, once, in a city called New York. My mother is Terrie Erics. She's in the phone book. If you know the city, and you read this, find her. Don't show her this, but tell her I love her, and that I'm trying to come home. Please.

It all started when I decided, around the time that I turned twenty-five, that it was time for me to give up taking my backpack in to work. It would make me look more mature, I thought, if I weren't lugging around a book bag everywhere like a high school student. Of course this meant that I had to give up reading in the subway in the mornings and afternoons, since I couldn't quite fit my paperbacks into a pocket. A briefcase would have been out of line, since I was working in a factory, and messenger bags always seemed a little, I don't know, fruity to me. Too purse-like for my liking.

I had an mp3 player, which helped pass the time for a while, but when it broke - it would shut down at the end of every song if I didn't skip to the next track manually - I gave that up too. So every morning, I'd sit in the metro for a half-hour that dragged on endlessly, with nothing at all to do but watch my fellow passengers. I was slightly shy, so I didn't like to be caught at it, so I'd surreptitiously watch people. Interestingly enough, I quickly discovered that I wasn't the only person in the world who was uncomfortable in public.

People covered it up in various ways, but I learned to see through them. I divided them up into categories in my head. There were the fidgeters, who couldn't get comfortable, constantly moving their hands, shifting their weight, moving their legs closer to the bench, then further. They were the most noticeably nervous types. After them were the fake-sleepers, who'd take their seat and practically close their eyes in the same second. Most of them weren't really sleeping, though. The real sleepers shifted more, came awake suddenly at stops or after loud noises. The fakes just zoned from the second they sat until the moment the train pulled into their stop. Then there were the mp3 player addicts, the occasional laptop people, the people who traveled in groups and talked too loudly. The cellphone junkies were either very popular or just completely unable to shut up for more than two minutes at a time.

Just as people-watching was threatening to get unbearably boring, I found my first incongruity. A middle-aged looking man, brown-haired, average size and weight, and dressed casually. Oddly enough, he seemed almost too normal. He had no remarkable features, no mannerisms, as if he were designed to fade into a crowd. It was that which led me to notice him - I was intentionally trying to see how people acted on the subway, and he didn't act at all. Didn't even react, either. It was like seeing someone sitting in front of the television, watching a documentary about fish. They aren't excited, aren't engaged, but they aren't looking away either. Present, but not accounted for.

He was on the subway in the afternoons. It was more than a month into the people-watching experiment before he caught my eye, because I didn't catch the same subway everyday, and didn't consciously sit in the same car when I did. I saw him for the first time on a Monday, I believe, and for the second time on the Thursday of the same week. He obviously did catch the same train, and sat in the same car - in the same seat, even. OCD much? I thought at the time. Since he'd caught my attention so much the first time, I watched him more avidly the next. He was, frankly, downright unsettling. He didn't do anything at all. He sat there, expressionless, head straight, no matter what happened. A woman with a wailing child entered the car and sat right behind him, and still nothing. He didn't so much as turn his head or frown in annoyance. And that kid was fucking loud, too.

By the time the subway reached my stop, I found myself queasy, and when I exited the car my hands were shaking like I was having a nicotine fit. Something about that man was *wrong*. He was, I thought, some kind of freak. A sociopath, maybe, one of those quiet guys who it turns out has a dozen women's heads in his freezer, the first victim his mother.

I found myself intentionally dawdling after work in the afternoons, stopping to browse in kiosks in the mall near the subway even when I didn't intend on buying anything. For a couple weeks, I avoided catching that subway, and when I found myself at the stop when it was pulling in, I made sure to choose a train-car as far from the one I'd seen him in as possible.

Then, one morning, I saw another person who set off the same warning bells in my head.

A woman, just as plain-looking, just as out of place in hustle and commotion around her. The moment I recognized her, I realized later, was when my obsession began. My people-watching, which had began as a bit of a hobby to stave off boredom, became something of a religion to me. I couldn't enter a subway or ride a bus without finding myself examining everyone, filling out a mental checklist in my head. Plain clothes of solid colors, no brands? Check. No expressions, no casual glances out the windows or towards other passengers? Check. No bags, purses, or accessories? Check. Check, check, check, we've got another. I started calling them the Strangers.

I didn't see them everyday, even after I started taking the metro more than I needed to, even when I found myself riding buses out of my way in the evenings. But they were there, often enough. Seeing one would set my teeth on edge, make my palms sweaty and my throat feel dry. If you've ever given a speech, you might recognize the feeling. Even though they didn't pay me the slightest bit of attention, I felt like I was on was on display for them. I could see them, plain as day. How could they miss me?

They didn't, though, not in any way that I could tell. And when, eventually, my curiosity overpowered my fear, I decided to follow one. I chose the one that I'd found first, the man in the afternoon subway who always kept the same seat. I got on and took a seat behind him. We rode to the end of the line, and he rose and walked out before I did. Keeping distance between us, I tailed him, but he didn't go far. He took a seat on a nearby bench, as expressionless as always, and I turned a corner and waited, trying to look nonchalant. After a few minutes, the next metro arrived, and I watched him enter it, and saw him take the same seat. I couldn't find the nerve to follow him again.

He hadn't gone anywhere! He just rode the metro to the end of the line, and then what? Rode it back? What possible reason would he, would anyone, have for that? It nagged at me, long after I'd rode a later train back home and tried to get some rest. I couldn't leave it alone, not until I could make some sense of it. I found myself more than confused - I was downright angry now. Why was this uncanny bastard, this almost inhuman person, riding subway trains back and forth, going nowhere? The mind, I once read, recoils from certain things, because the very sight of them is an affront. Spiders set it off in a lot of people, particularly great big ones. They just look wrong to us, alien. That was the effect the Strangers were beginning to have on me. They offended my senses.

I followed him again the next day, and again the day after that. Every day, for at least a week, the two of us made our silent trips together, though only I knew it. By the end of the week, I was following him for hours, until the last train that stopped at near my apartment block that night. We rode from one end of the city to the other, then back again. I wasn't people-watching any longer. I was person-watching, Stranger-watching. I didn't have eyes for anyone else, though peripherally I noticed more than a few confused glances sent my way. Other than that, we two might have been the only two people on the planet, for all I cared.

I lost my job the next week. My manager was kind, and timid, but firm. I wasn't concentrating, I had no focus. Wasn't being anywhere near productive. It was actually quite a speech, I think, but I could barely hear it. All I could think about was my new work, my vigil. What would that man, no, that thing, on the subway get up to when I wasn't there to keep an eye on him? I left work for the last time at noon that day. Normally I'd have started tailing my subject at five-thirty, but I was sure that he'd be waiting for me. I wish, now, that I'd paid more attention to that day. Was it sunny? It was summer, after all. I could have walked around downtown, maybe checked out a few pretty girls. Could have had an ice cappuccino and a smoke at an outdoor cafe and then gone home, put my growing obsession out of my head. Found a new job and taken to reading on trains and buses again.

Instead, I waited. More than one train goes up and down the lines, so I sat in the station for at least an hour until I saw him through a window. I walked into the subway car, and noticed that for the first time my skin wasn't clammy, my hands weren't shaking, my heart wasn't pounding hard. I sat, for the first time, right across from him, directly in his line of sight. Watched for a change in his face. Would he recognize me? If he did, I saw no sign of it, and I was looking hard. We must have made quite a pair, sitting across from one another that afternoon, staring at and into one another. It was hard not to let the building in rage in me contort my face, but with effort I was able to keep as still and as expressionless as him. Inside, I practically screamed at him. React to me, you fucking asshole! See me, damn it. I know you for what you are!

I didn't, though, and my silent demands weren't answered, not the first trip around, or the second, or the third or tenth. We rode far into the night together , and at each terminus we got out together and waited. I sat right beside him on the bench, watching him from the corner of my eye, and still got nothing from him. But two could play that game as well as one.

Finally, we made our last trip together. I had him and knew it. Last trip of the night before the trains stopped running. I'd always let him get away from me at that point, because the end of the line is a long way from my home, and the buses stop running at the same time as the subways. But this time, I'd follow him, finally see what he was when the trains stopped running. I'd get some answers, maybe.

The subway rolled on, and the anticipation grew in me. The car emptied out around us slowly, until it was just we two silent watchers below the city. I fought to keep a manic grin at bay, and the subway train slowed to a crawl, then stopped. The end of the line.

The Stranger didn't move, still didn't react at all. The car stood still, doors open. I could dimly hear the last few stragglers making their way out of the station somewhere behind us, footsteps echoing in the silence. Nothing. The speaker system dinged to let anyone half-asleep know that we'd reached the terminus. Still nothing. And finally, I could hear footsteps again. A conductor or something, popping his head into each car to make sure it was empty before taking the train wherever the hell it goes for the night. I didn't take my eyes from my silent quarry.

I managed to see the conductor from the corner of my eye when he finally reached our car. He looked in, his eyes roamed over us, and a puzzled look came over his face. He blinked a few times, and paused. I waited for him to speak, and the moment stretched out, but then, with a slight shake of the head, he left us. There was a car ahead of ours, and I heard him stop to check that too, and then a few minutes later, the train started up again. We rode for a time, and then looped around and the subway was parked. I could see into and the windows of more trains on either side of us, and through their opposing windows into even more.

And then he smiled at me. It was just a small curl of the lip, that would have gone unnoticed if I hadn't spent the last several hours studying his face. "So," he said, in a rough baritone. "Here we are."

I tried to respond but couldn't right away. My throat had clamped shut. Terror filled me. It felt like the whole underground cavern we were in had just collapsed onto me. I coughed and stammered and finally managed, with a raspy voice, to ask the question that had kept me up at night, drove me halfway to madness, and led me to this place and this moment. "What are you?"

He ignored me. He stood, and the train doors opened. Then, shockingly, he turned to face me. "Coming?" He didn't wait for an answer, but walked out onto the platform. I scrambled to follow. "Come on, damn it!" I shouted. "Talk to me. Who are you? What? Why do you ride the metro all fucking day?" He didn't look back, or slow his step. I couldn't see his face, but it's safe to guess that he didn't react at all, no more than he had to anything else. I stalked after him, still shouting for a time, but eventually gave up. Five words was all I was going to get out of him, I guessed.

We walked along the platform until we came to a junction, then turned. Now we were perpendicular to the trains around us. The path ahead was lit from above, but I couldn't see where it ended. The trains on either side of us went on forever, as far as I could tell. Far too many trains to service one city, I realized. It wouldn't have mattered by then, I figure, but I probably should have paid more attention to that at the time.

I'm not sure how long we walked. I had a watch once, but it broke. I took out my cellphone at one point, but got no reception down there, and all it would show me was "No Signal". The Stranger would stop every now and then, and look at a subway car for a minute or two, but then pass on. It took me a while to figure out why, but eventually I saw that they weren't all the same. Long lines of them would be similar, and then we'd come to a different model. It'd be a little larger or smaller, or have a slightly different shape. The cockpits, or whatever you call the front part where the conductor sits, were superficially different as well. I didn't and I don't know what exactly he was looking for, but eventually he must have found it, because we turned again, and the subway doors opened when my impromptu guide stopped in front of them. We entered, and took our seats.

"Are you willing to speak now?" I asked him. No answer. I sighed with frustration and seriously weighed the pros and cons of punching him right in the face for a time, when suddenly, the lights in the car came on and I heard the engine starting up. "What the fuck?"

He gave me a look that was almost sad. "You're not going to be able to go back."

"What are you talking about? Go back where?" Nothing again. The stonewalling asshole! The train lurched into motion, pushing off in the opposite direction than the one we'd came from. I think. The endless parade of them had thrown off my sense of direction. It rolled for a few minutes, and then began to slow as we approached the stop. His vacant gaze grew sharper, and for the first time I got the sense that he was actually staring at me, rather than just looking in the direction I happened to be in.

"Be still, be silent. Don't catch their attention."

The train stopped, the doors opened, and they began to flood in. I don't know what I noticed first - the weird clothes, the too long arms with hands that almost brushed the floor, the jet-black eyes and angular faces, or the blue-gray hue of their skin. My eyes took in all those stimuli, but for a long second my brain refused to process it, and when it finally did, I was barely able to bite down on the shriek that tried to tear its way from my throat. I thought my heart was going to explode. Hell, I thought I was going to explode. I was like a strummed guitar string, everything in me lurched and throbbed. My sight grew dizzy, which I was thankful for, and I vomited. My mouth was clenched shut, and I forced myself to swallow it, barely managing it. My instincts were screaming his words at me - Be still! Be silent! Don't catch their attention!

That day is a blur. We rode the subway car up and down the line, still and expressionless, for hours, for days perhaps. It seemed much longer than the line I knew, the line I'd followed the Stranger along. The hideous things around us seemed to pay us no undue attention, though we must have stood out fiercely. I was so petrified with fear that when we finally returned to the endless cavern of trains, alone, I burst into tears. I collapsed to the floor and just sobbed for a long time, the Stranger watching impassively.

When I gained control of myself, I looked at him imploringly. "Take me home," I croaked out. "Please."

"I can't," he told me. "Don't know which one of these would lead you back. If any of them do." He stood and walked out onto the platform, and I rose wearily and followed him. He spun around, sharply. "I think you've followed me enough."

The rage I'd felt for him before, that the panic had temporarily buried, rose up in me. "What?" I screamed, rushing forward. I grabbed him by the shoulders and with a burst of insane strength I didn't even know was in me, slammed him up against the side of a metro-car. "You fucking son of a bitch, what the fuck did you do to me!?" I slammed him again, and again. "Take me back!" He bore it all passively, and soon the flare of anger in me guttered out, leaving me hollow. "Please," I begged, "please take me home."

"That's not how it works." He said. "If we stay together, it's more likely that we'll be noticed. Go your own way. Be still and be subtle, and they'll think that you're one of theirs."

"How could you do this to me? Why?"

He gave me another almost-sad look. "I had to. You will too. You get...stuck, sometimes." He brushed my hands off his shoulders, and turned to walk away. I fell to my knees, suddenly out of strength, and watched him leave. At the junction, he turned back to face me. "I'm sorry." And then he was gone.

I stayed there, on the cold tiles, for a very long time. I curled up into a ball and wept for a while. After there weren't any tears left in me, I even managed to get some sleep. When I awoke, the subway train I'd come in was gone - off carrying more blue-gray abominations to wherever blue-gray abominations go. I couldn't handle going back there, anyways.

I tried to find my way back to where I'd started, to find a subway that I recognized, but I wasn't even sure which direction I should have been going in anymore. I walked for an hour, then another. Finally, I found one that might have looked familiar. Or I was desperate enough to imagine that it did. When I stepped up to the door, it opened for me, and I took a seat. It started up, and in spite of being a life-long agnostic, I prayed my heart out. The train slowed to a stop, the doors opened, and for a second I thought I was saved. People! Human beings! I'd be the most devout man in the world!

Then I noticed the eyes. Specifically, the third, large eye in the center of their foreheads. Well fuck you then, God, I thought.

They were easier to take than the last bunch, though, and I was thankful for that. The third eye blinked independently of the other two, though, and that was nauseating. And when one of them smiled, or laughed, or spoke with another, I couldn't help but notice that their teeth were sharp, and misshapen, and yellow-green with filth. But if I was careful and selectively blind, I could pretend for a stretch that I was home. Until one of them entered with a sandwich in hand, and I realized with a start that I was starving and hadn't eaten or drank in what must have been days.

The next terminus I came to, I decided to try and find something to eat or drink. I don't know why I waited, but it seemed important - to ride to the end of the line. I got there, and could barely bring myself to leave. I'd never seen the Stranger leave the underground - I'd never seen him eat or drink either. My stomach would not take no for an answer though. I steeled myself, and tried to keep my face carefully neutral, and made my way out into the station proper. And then I got confused.

I was looking for escalators, or stairs, or something like that, but all I saw was holes in the ground, the walls, and the ceiling. Gaping, irregularly sized holes, like I was in the middle of a beehive. What was I supposed to do? Leap into one? It didn't make any sense to me, not until someone came through one. He floated up through the floor, and then floated by me. He frowned for a second, or at least I think it was probably a frown, but apparently whatever kept them from recognizing me as alien in the subway extended at least this far. It did not, unfortunately, allow me to levitate, which seemed to be the only way out of the subway station beehive thing. Swearing, I made my way back down to the tunnel.

I was angry, lost, starving, and I'd been abandoned to a fate that, if it wasn't worse than hell, was at least twice as stupid and three times as nonsensical. I was not in the best frame of mind, which I feel excuses the mistake. Normally, I take corners with a wide berth, because everyone knows that if you just dart around a corner sharply in a public place, chances are decent that you're going to walk right into someone. As I did. I slammed into someone, a woman, and fell to the ground. Without thinking, I reacted like any New Yorker would - badly. "Jesus fuck, you stupid bitch! Watch where you're going!"

I realized my mistake even before she did. Her eyes grew quizzical and confused, and when she really noticed me, they bulged with horror. She leapt - well, floated quickly - back from me and let out something scream-like. A little more yowly than I was used to, but I got the point. Further down the tunnel, I saw alien, three-eyed heads turning towards us. I thought, suddenly, about all those sharp, filthy teeth, and just like that I was running. The subway train wasn't there, but there was a walkway along the tunnel - for the repairmen, I assume. That's who'd use it where I'm from, anyways. I took it at full-speed, and just kept running until each breath felt like getting stabbed. I stopped, panting, and looked back. The tunnel had curved, so I couldn't see the light any longer, but nobody appeared to be following me. Going back, though, was not an option.

I continued forward in the dark for a long time. Eventually I came to a small opening in the wall, and stopped there for a rest. Hunger, despair, and a full-speed terrified run had all left me absolutely drained. I probably would have wept again, which seemed to be all I was capable of lately, but it just seemed like too much work. I sat against the wall, legs splayed out, and imagined I was beating that bastard Stranger to death with a hammer. It was a relieving image.

A rat was shuffling around nearby in the dark. Every so often, I would kick out a foot to scare it away, but after a time I didn't even bother with that. Rabies or any other disease it might be carrying would be a blessing compared to endless traveling through the subways of strange worlds, lost, destitute, and alone. When it crept near me again, I didn't shoo it off. Even when it reached and pressed against my leg, I couldn't bring myself to care. Not until a train passed by, and the lights of its cars lit up the culvert I was in, and the thing that I had thought was a rat.

It was rat-like, yes, but not as much as it was spider-like. If someone had bred the two of them together, the resulting abomination might have been almost as horrible as the thing nuzzling my leg. I shrieked, flung myself up from the floor, and booted it like a soccer player would, right into the opposite wall. Its back made a sickening crunch, and I watched it twitch out its last before the final car passed and the darkness returned.

And in the darkness, a terrible thought came to me. I wondered if it was edible. I didn't want to, and I gagged just imagining it, but I was hungry, and there was no guarantee that I'd be able to find food in this place, or ever again. Rat-spider was my only option. I held off as long as I could, but in the end, survival trumped squeamishness. I had my lighter, but nothing to light on fire. I picked meat off its carcass and cooked it a little by holding it over the flame, but it didn't help much. Nothing could have. Its meat was foul, more foul than anything you can imagine. I've been that desperate for food since, and eaten many other questionable things, but nothing has ever been as bad as the rat-spider was.

In retrospect, that is when I became a Stranger. Before, I'd struggled to reach that expressionless state the other had maintained. What I'd taken for calm was numbness. A sharp rock thrown in a river will, over time, have its edges rounded off by the water beating over it, and what I'd gone through had done the same. Tearing up and eating a monster in the dark, below an alien world, the last of my edges smoothed. By the time I left the darkness and came back into the tunnel, I was as expressionless and empty as the one who'd led me here had ever been.

That was not the worst of it, though. The worst came later, the first time I got stuck. The Stranger had mentioned it, but in the state I'd been in, I had hardly noticed. One night, at the end of the line, I was asked to leave the train. The world was one of the closer-to-normal ones. The people were almost human, as I recognized it. They were orange, sure, and hunch-backed, but other than that, they were practically normal. After the last world, where the people had been hideously overweight, six-breasted hermaphrodites with no noses, the orange guys were pretty much beautiful to me.

I thought, at first, that the conductor was talking to someone else, but I was the only one in the car. And moreover, I'd understood him. The Oranges certainly hadn't been speaking English all day, but nonetheless, I could understand what he was saying. When I stood, I began to realize why. I couldn't stand up straight. I was hunchbacked, and as I saw in my reflection against the window as I exited, orange. I pieced together the rest from there. Stuck meant that I was trapped in this world, for some reason, and stuck looking like them as well. Which would be handy if I wanted to take the opportunity to leave the subway station - which is possible most times, but requires a lot of care and is quite overwhelming. Alien worlds are a little revolting, I've found. You try to compare them to your own, but the differences are so vast that it just makes you sick.

I left that subway, anyways, because it was clear I wasn't returning to the central hub (what I'd taken to calling the infinite line of subway trains) that night. Or any other night, I soon found out. Whatever had let me go unnoticed wasn't working any longer. I considered, briefly, staying. But this place wasn't home, and could never be. Even if they looked like me, their culture was bound to be different. That was a lesson I'd learned before. Even worlds where the people are absolutely indistinguishable from me are fraught with danger. I was once on a world where the people looked just like me - well, actually they looked Brazilian, but that was more than close enough - and learned the hard way that the gesture that to me means "Hello" meant something gravely insulting. Insulting enough that I'd been beaten half to death while a crowd looked on with approval.

Besides, even if that place had a culture I could fake, I didn't want to stay. I wanted one of two things: to find my way home, or to find the Stranger who'd set me on this path and beat the shit out of him. Nothing else would do.

So I wanted to move on. I wasn't sure, though, if I could do to some poor sucker what had been done to me. Could I really force someone else to wander the eternal underground like me? It turned out, I didn't have to. After a few months one of them did notice me, yes, and begin to follow me for weeks. I very carefully made it seem like I hadn't seen him, just like the Stranger had. But I was torn between the desire to warn him away and the desire to bring him to the end of the line so I could leave his dismal world already.

The last night, he followed me to the end of the line, just as I had once done. He hadn't managed to work up the nerve to sit right across from me, though. And as soon as the train stopped at the terminus he rushed off. I waited, hoping the conductor wouldn't see me and I could continue on, but to no avail. I left the car, and the metro rushed off without me, and I cursed inside. As I walked around the corner towards the ticket booths, the young man who'd been following me attacked. He had a wicked, curved knife, and should have caught me by surprise, but I'd been traveling through hostile alien worlds for several years. My reflexes were sharp.

We struggled, viciously, before I managed to wrestle the knife from him. I don't know how it got in his neck. I don't think I wanted to kill him. I hadn't even been that angry, remembering my own building rage from so long before. Afterwards, as he lay there, bled-out, I got pissed. I kicked him repeatedly, shouting. "You dick! You were supposed!" Kick, kick, "to follow me!" Kick. I fled the scene of the crime, but not for long. I was there bright and early the next day, to catch the first subway of the morning. And that night, when I rode it to the end of the line, I was invisible to the conductor again. I guess you can either kill them or bring them with you if you want to return to the central hub.

I was invisible again, but I was also orange and hunchbacked still. I stayed that way until the next time I became stuck. The next time I killed. That one went much faster. I didn't wait for her to follow me. Once I was recognized as a Stranger, I recognized her as the next one, and I made my choice. I won't bring anyone else into this.

It makes me wonder, though, about the Stranger who inducted me. I wonder what he originally looked like, and whether he knew he could have killed me. I wonder, too, about the others I saw back home, and the rare few I come across since I left. Do they kill them or take them? And whichever one they choose, do they consider it a mercy? I can't bring myself to talk to them, to ask. We're damned either way, and the damned should suffer in solitude.

I've killed fifteen of them now, and I've gotten very good at it. But I've made a decision. I'm done killing - innocents, at least. Before I returned to the central hub, I filled a backpack with as much paper as I could cram into it, and I wrote this story. Over and over again, to be left in as many subway trains as I can. A couple thousand messages in bottles, cast into a sea of steel rails. This is a request, and a warning.

My request, above, was that you find my mother and tell her a lie. It's a white lie, don't worry. Tell my mother that I love her, and that I am trying to come home. It may give her some hope, or a small measure of peace. I wish it were true, too. But here's the thing: I've been thinking of myself as like Odysseus, lost and adrift, looking to return to familiar shores. But I am not lost at sea. I am lost in endless tunnels - the labyrinth. The difference is important, because labyrinths are designed, built. Somebody or something made this impossible place. And they must be held accountable for what they've done to me. They cast me as Theseus, not Odysseus, but I won't play that part any longer, either. The strange rules of this place have turned me from the human I began as into something else, then something else again. They have made me a monster, and so I will be the Minotaur of this labyrinth. And if I can, I will tear it down around me, and destroy those that built it.

My warning is that you should be very wary, in public places, of silent, expressionless men and women. Keep your distance. They may kill you, or they may do worse. If you see them, run far and fast. And even more importantly, I warn you, I beg you: don't ride the train to the end of the line.
[Spoiler]
Man, I was really enjoying this read until the alien bullshit happened. At least stuff happened before that seemed realistic :(
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: shitty name fixed on June 05, 2015, 12:09:46 am
: "long" • show

My name is Andrew Erics. I lived, once, in a city called New York. My mother is Terrie Erics. She's in the phone book. If you know the city, and you read this, find her. Don't show her this, but tell her I love her, and that I'm trying to come home. Please.

It all started when I decided, around the time that I turned twenty-five, that it was time for me to give up taking my backpack in to work. It would make me look more mature, I thought, if I weren't lugging around a book bag everywhere like a high school student. Of course this meant that I had to give up reading in the subway in the mornings and afternoons, since I couldn't quite fit my paperbacks into a pocket. A briefcase would have been out of line, since I was working in a factory, and messenger bags always seemed a little, I don't know, fruity to me. Too purse-like for my liking.

I had an mp3 player, which helped pass the time for a while, but when it broke - it would shut down at the end of every song if I didn't skip to the next track manually - I gave that up too. So every morning, I'd sit in the metro for a half-hour that dragged on endlessly, with nothing at all to do but watch my fellow passengers. I was slightly shy, so I didn't like to be caught at it, so I'd surreptitiously watch people. Interestingly enough, I quickly discovered that I wasn't the only person in the world who was uncomfortable in public.

People covered it up in various ways, but I learned to see through them. I divided them up into categories in my head. There were the fidgeters, who couldn't get comfortable, constantly moving their hands, shifting their weight, moving their legs closer to the bench, then further. They were the most noticeably nervous types. After them were the fake-sleepers, who'd take their seat and practically close their eyes in the same second. Most of them weren't really sleeping, though. The real sleepers shifted more, came awake suddenly at stops or after loud noises. The fakes just zoned from the second they sat until the moment the train pulled into their stop. Then there were the mp3 player addicts, the occasional laptop people, the people who traveled in groups and talked too loudly. The cellphone junkies were either very popular or just completely unable to shut up for more than two minutes at a time.

Just as people-watching was threatening to get unbearably boring, I found my first incongruity. A middle-aged looking man, brown-haired, average size and weight, and dressed casually. Oddly enough, he seemed almost too normal. He had no remarkable features, no mannerisms, as if he were designed to fade into a crowd. It was that which led me to notice him - I was intentionally trying to see how people acted on the subway, and he didn't act at all. Didn't even react, either. It was like seeing someone sitting in front of the television, watching a documentary about fish. They aren't excited, aren't engaged, but they aren't looking away either. Present, but not accounted for.

He was on the subway in the afternoons. It was more than a month into the people-watching experiment before he caught my eye, because I didn't catch the same subway everyday, and didn't consciously sit in the same car when I did. I saw him for the first time on a Monday, I believe, and for the second time on the Thursday of the same week. He obviously did catch the same train, and sat in the same car - in the same seat, even. OCD much? I thought at the time. Since he'd caught my attention so much the first time, I watched him more avidly the next. He was, frankly, downright unsettling. He didn't do anything at all. He sat there, expressionless, head straight, no matter what happened. A woman with a wailing child entered the car and sat right behind him, and still nothing. He didn't so much as turn his head or frown in annoyance. And that kid was fucking loud, too.

By the time the subway reached my stop, I found myself queasy, and when I exited the car my hands were shaking like I was having a nicotine fit. Something about that man was *wrong*. He was, I thought, some kind of freak. A sociopath, maybe, one of those quiet guys who it turns out has a dozen women's heads in his freezer, the first victim his mother.

I found myself intentionally dawdling after work in the afternoons, stopping to browse in kiosks in the mall near the subway even when I didn't intend on buying anything. For a couple weeks, I avoided catching that subway, and when I found myself at the stop when it was pulling in, I made sure to choose a train-car as far from the one I'd seen him in as possible.

Then, one morning, I saw another person who set off the same warning bells in my head.

A woman, just as plain-looking, just as out of place in hustle and commotion around her. The moment I recognized her, I realized later, was when my obsession began. My people-watching, which had began as a bit of a hobby to stave off boredom, became something of a religion to me. I couldn't enter a subway or ride a bus without finding myself examining everyone, filling out a mental checklist in my head. Plain clothes of solid colors, no brands? Check. No expressions, no casual glances out the windows or towards other passengers? Check. No bags, purses, or accessories? Check. Check, check, check, we've got another. I started calling them the Strangers.

I didn't see them everyday, even after I started taking the metro more than I needed to, even when I found myself riding buses out of my way in the evenings. But they were there, often enough. Seeing one would set my teeth on edge, make my palms sweaty and my throat feel dry. If you've ever given a speech, you might recognize the feeling. Even though they didn't pay me the slightest bit of attention, I felt like I was on was on display for them. I could see them, plain as day. How could they miss me?

They didn't, though, not in any way that I could tell. And when, eventually, my curiosity overpowered my fear, I decided to follow one. I chose the one that I'd found first, the man in the afternoon subway who always kept the same seat. I got on and took a seat behind him. We rode to the end of the line, and he rose and walked out before I did. Keeping distance between us, I tailed him, but he didn't go far. He took a seat on a nearby bench, as expressionless as always, and I turned a corner and waited, trying to look nonchalant. After a few minutes, the next metro arrived, and I watched him enter it, and saw him take the same seat. I couldn't find the nerve to follow him again.

He hadn't gone anywhere! He just rode the metro to the end of the line, and then what? Rode it back? What possible reason would he, would anyone, have for that? It nagged at me, long after I'd rode a later train back home and tried to get some rest. I couldn't leave it alone, not until I could make some sense of it. I found myself more than confused - I was downright angry now. Why was this uncanny bastard, this almost inhuman person, riding subway trains back and forth, going nowhere? The mind, I once read, recoils from certain things, because the very sight of them is an affront. Spiders set it off in a lot of people, particularly great big ones. They just look wrong to us, alien. That was the effect the Strangers were beginning to have on me. They offended my senses.

I followed him again the next day, and again the day after that. Every day, for at least a week, the two of us made our silent trips together, though only I knew it. By the end of the week, I was following him for hours, until the last train that stopped at near my apartment block that night. We rode from one end of the city to the other, then back again. I wasn't people-watching any longer. I was person-watching, Stranger-watching. I didn't have eyes for anyone else, though peripherally I noticed more than a few confused glances sent my way. Other than that, we two might have been the only two people on the planet, for all I cared.

I lost my job the next week. My manager was kind, and timid, but firm. I wasn't concentrating, I had no focus. Wasn't being anywhere near productive. It was actually quite a speech, I think, but I could barely hear it. All I could think about was my new work, my vigil. What would that man, no, that thing, on the subway get up to when I wasn't there to keep an eye on him? I left work for the last time at noon that day. Normally I'd have started tailing my subject at five-thirty, but I was sure that he'd be waiting for me. I wish, now, that I'd paid more attention to that day. Was it sunny? It was summer, after all. I could have walked around downtown, maybe checked out a few pretty girls. Could have had an ice cappuccino and a smoke at an outdoor cafe and then gone home, put my growing obsession out of my head. Found a new job and taken to reading on trains and buses again.

Instead, I waited. More than one train goes up and down the lines, so I sat in the station for at least an hour until I saw him through a window. I walked into the subway car, and noticed that for the first time my skin wasn't clammy, my hands weren't shaking, my heart wasn't pounding hard. I sat, for the first time, right across from him, directly in his line of sight. Watched for a change in his face. Would he recognize me? If he did, I saw no sign of it, and I was looking hard. We must have made quite a pair, sitting across from one another that afternoon, staring at and into one another. It was hard not to let the building in rage in me contort my face, but with effort I was able to keep as still and as expressionless as him. Inside, I practically screamed at him. React to me, you fucking asshole! See me, damn it. I know you for what you are!

I didn't, though, and my silent demands weren't answered, not the first trip around, or the second, or the third or tenth. We rode far into the night together , and at each terminus we got out together and waited. I sat right beside him on the bench, watching him from the corner of my eye, and still got nothing from him. But two could play that game as well as one.

Finally, we made our last trip together. I had him and knew it. Last trip of the night before the trains stopped running. I'd always let him get away from me at that point, because the end of the line is a long way from my home, and the buses stop running at the same time as the subways. But this time, I'd follow him, finally see what he was when the trains stopped running. I'd get some answers, maybe.

The subway rolled on, and the anticipation grew in me. The car emptied out around us slowly, until it was just we two silent watchers below the city. I fought to keep a manic grin at bay, and the subway train slowed to a crawl, then stopped. The end of the line.

The Stranger didn't move, still didn't react at all. The car stood still, doors open. I could dimly hear the last few stragglers making their way out of the station somewhere behind us, footsteps echoing in the silence. Nothing. The speaker system dinged to let anyone half-asleep know that we'd reached the terminus. Still nothing. And finally, I could hear footsteps again. A conductor or something, popping his head into each car to make sure it was empty before taking the train wherever the hell it goes for the night. I didn't take my eyes from my silent quarry.

I managed to see the conductor from the corner of my eye when he finally reached our car. He looked in, his eyes roamed over us, and a puzzled look came over his face. He blinked a few times, and paused. I waited for him to speak, and the moment stretched out, but then, with a slight shake of the head, he left us. There was a car ahead of ours, and I heard him stop to check that too, and then a few minutes later, the train started up again. We rode for a time, and then looped around and the subway was parked. I could see into and the windows of more trains on either side of us, and through their opposing windows into even more.

And then he smiled at me. It was just a small curl of the lip, that would have gone unnoticed if I hadn't spent the last several hours studying his face. "So," he said, in a rough baritone. "Here we are."

I tried to respond but couldn't right away. My throat had clamped shut. Terror filled me. It felt like the whole underground cavern we were in had just collapsed onto me. I coughed and stammered and finally managed, with a raspy voice, to ask the question that had kept me up at night, drove me halfway to madness, and led me to this place and this moment. "What are you?"

He ignored me. He stood, and the train doors opened. Then, shockingly, he turned to face me. "Coming?" He didn't wait for an answer, but walked out onto the platform. I scrambled to follow. "Come on, damn it!" I shouted. "Talk to me. Who are you? What? Why do you ride the metro all fucking day?" He didn't look back, or slow his step. I couldn't see his face, but it's safe to guess that he didn't react at all, no more than he had to anything else. I stalked after him, still shouting for a time, but eventually gave up. Five words was all I was going to get out of him, I guessed.

We walked along the platform until we came to a junction, then turned. Now we were perpendicular to the trains around us. The path ahead was lit from above, but I couldn't see where it ended. The trains on either side of us went on forever, as far as I could tell. Far too many trains to service one city, I realized. It wouldn't have mattered by then, I figure, but I probably should have paid more attention to that at the time.

I'm not sure how long we walked. I had a watch once, but it broke. I took out my cellphone at one point, but got no reception down there, and all it would show me was "No Signal". The Stranger would stop every now and then, and look at a subway car for a minute or two, but then pass on. It took me a while to figure out why, but eventually I saw that they weren't all the same. Long lines of them would be similar, and then we'd come to a different model. It'd be a little larger or smaller, or have a slightly different shape. The cockpits, or whatever you call the front part where the conductor sits, were superficially different as well. I didn't and I don't know what exactly he was looking for, but eventually he must have found it, because we turned again, and the subway doors opened when my impromptu guide stopped in front of them. We entered, and took our seats.

"Are you willing to speak now?" I asked him. No answer. I sighed with frustration and seriously weighed the pros and cons of punching him right in the face for a time, when suddenly, the lights in the car came on and I heard the engine starting up. "What the fuck?"

He gave me a look that was almost sad. "You're not going to be able to go back."

"What are you talking about? Go back where?" Nothing again. The stonewalling asshole! The train lurched into motion, pushing off in the opposite direction than the one we'd came from. I think. The endless parade of them had thrown off my sense of direction. It rolled for a few minutes, and then began to slow as we approached the stop. His vacant gaze grew sharper, and for the first time I got the sense that he was actually staring at me, rather than just looking in the direction I happened to be in.

"Be still, be silent. Don't catch their attention."

The train stopped, the doors opened, and they began to flood in. I don't know what I noticed first - the weird clothes, the too long arms with hands that almost brushed the floor, the jet-black eyes and angular faces, or the blue-gray hue of their skin. My eyes took in all those stimuli, but for a long second my brain refused to process it, and when it finally did, I was barely able to bite down on the shriek that tried to tear its way from my throat. I thought my heart was going to explode. Hell, I thought I was going to explode. I was like a strummed guitar string, everything in me lurched and throbbed. My sight grew dizzy, which I was thankful for, and I vomited. My mouth was clenched shut, and I forced myself to swallow it, barely managing it. My instincts were screaming his words at me - Be still! Be silent! Don't catch their attention!

That day is a blur. We rode the subway car up and down the line, still and expressionless, for hours, for days perhaps. It seemed much longer than the line I knew, the line I'd followed the Stranger along. The hideous things around us seemed to pay us no undue attention, though we must have stood out fiercely. I was so petrified with fear that when we finally returned to the endless cavern of trains, alone, I burst into tears. I collapsed to the floor and just sobbed for a long time, the Stranger watching impassively.

When I gained control of myself, I looked at him imploringly. "Take me home," I croaked out. "Please."

"I can't," he told me. "Don't know which one of these would lead you back. If any of them do." He stood and walked out onto the platform, and I rose wearily and followed him. He spun around, sharply. "I think you've followed me enough."

The rage I'd felt for him before, that the panic had temporarily buried, rose up in me. "What?" I screamed, rushing forward. I grabbed him by the shoulders and with a burst of insane strength I didn't even know was in me, slammed him up against the side of a metro-car. "You fucking son of a bitch, what the fuck did you do to me!?" I slammed him again, and again. "Take me back!" He bore it all passively, and soon the flare of anger in me guttered out, leaving me hollow. "Please," I begged, "please take me home."

"That's not how it works." He said. "If we stay together, it's more likely that we'll be noticed. Go your own way. Be still and be subtle, and they'll think that you're one of theirs."

"How could you do this to me? Why?"

He gave me another almost-sad look. "I had to. You will too. You get...stuck, sometimes." He brushed my hands off his shoulders, and turned to walk away. I fell to my knees, suddenly out of strength, and watched him leave. At the junction, he turned back to face me. "I'm sorry." And then he was gone.

I stayed there, on the cold tiles, for a very long time. I curled up into a ball and wept for a while. After there weren't any tears left in me, I even managed to get some sleep. When I awoke, the subway train I'd come in was gone - off carrying more blue-gray abominations to wherever blue-gray abominations go. I couldn't handle going back there, anyways.

I tried to find my way back to where I'd started, to find a subway that I recognized, but I wasn't even sure which direction I should have been going in anymore. I walked for an hour, then another. Finally, I found one that might have looked familiar. Or I was desperate enough to imagine that it did. When I stepped up to the door, it opened for me, and I took a seat. It started up, and in spite of being a life-long agnostic, I prayed my heart out. The train slowed to a stop, the doors opened, and for a second I thought I was saved. People! Human beings! I'd be the most devout man in the world!

Then I noticed the eyes. Specifically, the third, large eye in the center of their foreheads. Well fuck you then, God, I thought.

They were easier to take than the last bunch, though, and I was thankful for that. The third eye blinked independently of the other two, though, and that was nauseating. And when one of them smiled, or laughed, or spoke with another, I couldn't help but notice that their teeth were sharp, and misshapen, and yellow-green with filth. But if I was careful and selectively blind, I could pretend for a stretch that I was home. Until one of them entered with a sandwich in hand, and I realized with a start that I was starving and hadn't eaten or drank in what must have been days.

The next terminus I came to, I decided to try and find something to eat or drink. I don't know why I waited, but it seemed important - to ride to the end of the line. I got there, and could barely bring myself to leave. I'd never seen the Stranger leave the underground - I'd never seen him eat or drink either. My stomach would not take no for an answer though. I steeled myself, and tried to keep my face carefully neutral, and made my way out into the station proper. And then I got confused.

I was looking for escalators, or stairs, or something like that, but all I saw was holes in the ground, the walls, and the ceiling. Gaping, irregularly sized holes, like I was in the middle of a beehive. What was I supposed to do? Leap into one? It didn't make any sense to me, not until someone came through one. He floated up through the floor, and then floated by me. He frowned for a second, or at least I think it was probably a frown, but apparently whatever kept them from recognizing me as alien in the subway extended at least this far. It did not, unfortunately, allow me to levitate, which seemed to be the only way out of the subway station beehive thing. Swearing, I made my way back down to the tunnel.

I was angry, lost, starving, and I'd been abandoned to a fate that, if it wasn't worse than hell, was at least twice as stupid and three times as nonsensical. I was not in the best frame of mind, which I feel excuses the mistake. Normally, I take corners with a wide berth, because everyone knows that if you just dart around a corner sharply in a public place, chances are decent that you're going to walk right into someone. As I did. I slammed into someone, a woman, and fell to the ground. Without thinking, I reacted like any New Yorker would - badly. "Jesus fuck, you stupid bitch! Watch where you're going!"

I realized my mistake even before she did. Her eyes grew quizzical and confused, and when she really noticed me, they bulged with horror. She leapt - well, floated quickly - back from me and let out something scream-like. A little more yowly than I was used to, but I got the point. Further down the tunnel, I saw alien, three-eyed heads turning towards us. I thought, suddenly, about all those sharp, filthy teeth, and just like that I was running. The subway train wasn't there, but there was a walkway along the tunnel - for the repairmen, I assume. That's who'd use it where I'm from, anyways. I took it at full-speed, and just kept running until each breath felt like getting stabbed. I stopped, panting, and looked back. The tunnel had curved, so I couldn't see the light any longer, but nobody appeared to be following me. Going back, though, was not an option.

I continued forward in the dark for a long time. Eventually I came to a small opening in the wall, and stopped there for a rest. Hunger, despair, and a full-speed terrified run had all left me absolutely drained. I probably would have wept again, which seemed to be all I was capable of lately, but it just seemed like too much work. I sat against the wall, legs splayed out, and imagined I was beating that bastard Stranger to death with a hammer. It was a relieving image.

A rat was shuffling around nearby in the dark. Every so often, I would kick out a foot to scare it away, but after a time I didn't even bother with that. Rabies or any other disease it might be carrying would be a blessing compared to endless traveling through the subways of strange worlds, lost, destitute, and alone. When it crept near me again, I didn't shoo it off. Even when it reached and pressed against my leg, I couldn't bring myself to care. Not until a train passed by, and the lights of its cars lit up the culvert I was in, and the thing that I had thought was a rat.

It was rat-like, yes, but not as much as it was spider-like. If someone had bred the two of them together, the resulting abomination might have been almost as horrible as the thing nuzzling my leg. I shrieked, flung myself up from the floor, and booted it like a soccer player would, right into the opposite wall. Its back made a sickening crunch, and I watched it twitch out its last before the final car passed and the darkness returned.

And in the darkness, a terrible thought came to me. I wondered if it was edible. I didn't want to, and I gagged just imagining it, but I was hungry, and there was no guarantee that I'd be able to find food in this place, or ever again. Rat-spider was my only option. I held off as long as I could, but in the end, survival trumped squeamishness. I had my lighter, but nothing to light on fire. I picked meat off its carcass and cooked it a little by holding it over the flame, but it didn't help much. Nothing could have. Its meat was foul, more foul than anything you can imagine. I've been that desperate for food since, and eaten many other questionable things, but nothing has ever been as bad as the rat-spider was.

In retrospect, that is when I became a Stranger. Before, I'd struggled to reach that expressionless state the other had maintained. What I'd taken for calm was numbness. A sharp rock thrown in a river will, over time, have its edges rounded off by the water beating over it, and what I'd gone through had done the same. Tearing up and eating a monster in the dark, below an alien world, the last of my edges smoothed. By the time I left the darkness and came back into the tunnel, I was as expressionless and empty as the one who'd led me here had ever been.

That was not the worst of it, though. The worst came later, the first time I got stuck. The Stranger had mentioned it, but in the state I'd been in, I had hardly noticed. One night, at the end of the line, I was asked to leave the train. The world was one of the closer-to-normal ones. The people were almost human, as I recognized it. They were orange, sure, and hunch-backed, but other than that, they were practically normal. After the last world, where the people had been hideously overweight, six-breasted hermaphrodites with no noses, the orange guys were pretty much beautiful to me.

I thought, at first, that the conductor was talking to someone else, but I was the only one in the car. And moreover, I'd understood him. The Oranges certainly hadn't been speaking English all day, but nonetheless, I could understand what he was saying. When I stood, I began to realize why. I couldn't stand up straight. I was hunchbacked, and as I saw in my reflection against the window as I exited, orange. I pieced together the rest from there. Stuck meant that I was trapped in this world, for some reason, and stuck looking like them as well. Which would be handy if I wanted to take the opportunity to leave the subway station - which is possible most times, but requires a lot of care and is quite overwhelming. Alien worlds are a little revolting, I've found. You try to compare them to your own, but the differences are so vast that it just makes you sick.

I left that subway, anyways, because it was clear I wasn't returning to the central hub (what I'd taken to calling the infinite line of subway trains) that night. Or any other night, I soon found out. Whatever had let me go unnoticed wasn't working any longer. I considered, briefly, staying. But this place wasn't home, and could never be. Even if they looked like me, their culture was bound to be different. That was a lesson I'd learned before. Even worlds where the people are absolutely indistinguishable from me are fraught with danger. I was once on a world where the people looked just like me - well, actually they looked Brazilian, but that was more than close enough - and learned the hard way that the gesture that to me means "Hello" meant something gravely insulting. Insulting enough that I'd been beaten half to death while a crowd looked on with approval.

Besides, even if that place had a culture I could fake, I didn't want to stay. I wanted one of two things: to find my way home, or to find the Stranger who'd set me on this path and beat the shit out of him. Nothing else would do.

So I wanted to move on. I wasn't sure, though, if I could do to some poor sucker what had been done to me. Could I really force someone else to wander the eternal underground like me? It turned out, I didn't have to. After a few months one of them did notice me, yes, and begin to follow me for weeks. I very carefully made it seem like I hadn't seen him, just like the Stranger had. But I was torn between the desire to warn him away and the desire to bring him to the end of the line so I could leave his dismal world already.

The last night, he followed me to the end of the line, just as I had once done. He hadn't managed to work up the nerve to sit right across from me, though. And as soon as the train stopped at the terminus he rushed off. I waited, hoping the conductor wouldn't see me and I could continue on, but to no avail. I left the car, and the metro rushed off without me, and I cursed inside. As I walked around the corner towards the ticket booths, the young man who'd been following me attacked. He had a wicked, curved knife, and should have caught me by surprise, but I'd been traveling through hostile alien worlds for several years. My reflexes were sharp.

We struggled, viciously, before I managed to wrestle the knife from him. I don't know how it got in his neck. I don't think I wanted to kill him. I hadn't even been that angry, remembering my own building rage from so long before. Afterwards, as he lay there, bled-out, I got pissed. I kicked him repeatedly, shouting. "You dick! You were supposed!" Kick, kick, "to follow me!" Kick. I fled the scene of the crime, but not for long. I was there bright and early the next day, to catch the first subway of the morning. And that night, when I rode it to the end of the line, I was invisible to the conductor again. I guess you can either kill them or bring them with you if you want to return to the central hub.

I was invisible again, but I was also orange and hunchbacked still. I stayed that way until the next time I became stuck. The next time I killed. That one went much faster. I didn't wait for her to follow me. Once I was recognized as a Stranger, I recognized her as the next one, and I made my choice. I won't bring anyone else into this.

It makes me wonder, though, about the Stranger who inducted me. I wonder what he originally looked like, and whether he knew he could have killed me. I wonder, too, about the others I saw back home, and the rare few I come across since I left. Do they kill them or take them? And whichever one they choose, do they consider it a mercy? I can't bring myself to talk to them, to ask. We're damned either way, and the damned should suffer in solitude.

I've killed fifteen of them now, and I've gotten very good at it. But I've made a decision. I'm done killing - innocents, at least. Before I returned to the central hub, I filled a backpack with as much paper as I could cram into it, and I wrote this story. Over and over again, to be left in as many subway trains as I can. A couple thousand messages in bottles, cast into a sea of steel rails. This is a request, and a warning.

My request, above, was that you find my mother and tell her a lie. It's a white lie, don't worry. Tell my mother that I love her, and that I am trying to come home. It may give her some hope, or a small measure of peace. I wish it were true, too. But here's the thing: I've been thinking of myself as like Odysseus, lost and adrift, looking to return to familiar shores. But I am not lost at sea. I am lost in endless tunnels - the labyrinth. The difference is important, because labyrinths are designed, built. Somebody or something made this impossible place. And they must be held accountable for what they've done to me. They cast me as Theseus, not Odysseus, but I won't play that part any longer, either. The strange rules of this place have turned me from the human I began as into something else, then something else again. They have made me a monster, and so I will be the Minotaur of this labyrinth. And if I can, I will tear it down around me, and destroy those that built it.

My warning is that you should be very wary, in public places, of silent, expressionless men and women. Keep your distance. They may kill you, or they may do worse. If you see them, run far and fast. And even more importantly, I warn you, I beg you: don't ride the train to the end of the line.
[Spoiler]
Man, I was really enjoying this read until the alien bullshit happened. At least stuff happened before that seemed realistic :(

Well I'm glad you enjoyed the majority of it :)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on June 06, 2015, 06:14:59 pm
Do you have more interesting creepypastas like The Strangers? I've browsed /x/ and creepypasta wiki for solid 30 minutes but I couldn't find anything unique enough to scare me yet.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on June 06, 2015, 08:24:22 pm
Do you have more interesting creepypastas like The Strangers? I've browsed /x/ and creepypasta wiki for solid 30 minutes but I couldn't find anything unique enough to scare me yet.

Part 1 (http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Lost_Episodes)
Part 2 (http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Sid%27s_Video)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: shitty name fixed on June 07, 2015, 12:57:24 am
Do you have more interesting creepypastas like The Strangers? I've browsed /x/ and creepypasta wiki for solid 30 minutes but I couldn't find anything unique enough to scare me yet.
I wouldn't be surprised if you've already heard of it, but this one gave me the spoops
http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Anomaly (http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Anomaly)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Rarest Pepe on June 08, 2015, 01:17:05 am
I dunno why, but I have a fear of children. Like, having to care for one.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: shitty name fixed on July 21, 2015, 01:42:53 am
(http://remycarreiro.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/Regina-Key.jpg)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Fatih on July 21, 2015, 02:50:42 am
Marble Hornets
the one ep where
: show
The black/white person thing was in the house, attacks main guy

I havent watched in a long while, i should keep goin
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on July 21, 2015, 04:55:08 pm
Marble Hornets
the one ep where
: show
The black/white person thing was in the house, attacks main guy

I havent watched in a long while, i should keep goin

It's over iirc. A lot was spoiled in the last few entries, but acting is still shit.

OT: (http://img3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20150606151411/creepypasta/es/images/2/2e/Hqdefault-1433603651.jpg)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on July 21, 2015, 05:07:45 pm
Wasn't that thing from a creepypasta with like the depressing Mario game?
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on July 21, 2015, 07:44:25 pm
MARIO? yeah
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on July 22, 2015, 06:09:28 pm
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dqZylTLYJVc
I guess no sleep tonight for me. How's everyone?
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on July 23, 2015, 06:08:48 pm
(http://i.imgur.com/jYnIfYq.png)

This image's original link, when zoomed, shows absolutely nothing in the html. Don't know if true, but it just happened to me. Had to screenshot it.
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: LOLGAMMER on July 23, 2015, 06:19:28 pm
^doesnt work on my phone tbh(what exactly happened though)
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EbiURPZVmXg a bit long but I can definitely say it's worth it. (Except for the first 3 creepypastas which are extremely predictable and overused)
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on July 23, 2015, 06:29:25 pm
^doesnt work on my phone tbh(what exactly happened though)

I went on /x/ for anything of relevance, and idiot me tried to open the image. The actual image (not this one, it's compressed on imgur) was not only using up to 99% of my CPU, but when I opened it on a new tab, nothing was there. This is really freaky shit.

The weirder part is my comp froze and black-screened after testing my hypothesis. Apparently the CPU had been overloaded (in regards to starting it back up several times).

Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: infern0man1 on July 23, 2015, 09:10:04 pm
what
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Fatih on July 26, 2015, 02:37:57 am
ORIGINAL DL PLS

what is it anyway

the pic
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on July 26, 2015, 03:39:31 am
Camera error
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: shitty name fixed on July 27, 2015, 01:17:03 am
(http://i.imgur.com/jYnIfYq.png)

This image's original link, when zoomed, shows absolutely nothing in the html. Don't know if true, but it just happened to me. Had to screenshot it.
At first I thought it was a person with his head back moaning and then I realized what I thought was a mouth was an eye and bricked a shit
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Fatih on July 27, 2015, 01:26:45 am
Looks like a dogs head. +1 Fear, but whats the source?
Title: Re: Fear = Lose
Post by: Katz on July 27, 2015, 01:40:21 am
Looks like a dogs head. +1 Fear, but whats the source?

4chan