#madness

Feedback "This, too, shall pass." — Persian Proverb . . I woke up lying on the cold floor, my cheek pressed against splinters. No wind. No storm. No voices. Just quiet. Dry, suffocating quiet. Dust drifted in the shafts of pale light like falling ash. My mouth tasted like old rust. I stood slowly, my footfalls creaked loud in the emptiness, and wandered into the bedroom. There, resting on the bed, was my notebook.

I am on a body building forum and I have been body building for quite some time now. I am not a professional but I like to do it as a hobby and it had greatly improved my life. I belong to many forums and websites all dedicated to working out and body building and we all give each other advice, its awesome as you get to hang about with people who have the same interest with your own.

The term “synthetic drug” refers to a new type of drug on the market that has been created to skirt existing laws on illicit drugs. Thousands of psychoactive compounds are regulated by the law of the Federal Controlled Substances Act. However, in creating synthetic drugs, manufacturers alter the chemical structure of an illegal drug, modifying it to create an “analog” or derivative of that drug, to, essentially, make it quote unquote legal.

I wrote this creepypasta when I wasn't in the best mental state, take this as a warning

Stacy was a diligent office worker-meticulous and thorough. It was a typical, sunny summer day, just like any other. She sat at her desk, buried under a pile of documents to sign and a long list of emails to send. Nothing indicated that her peace was about to be shattered. Her colleague, Michelle, walked into the office, announcing that there was an issue with the ventilation system and that the computers were running louder than usual, though no one knew why.

In case you’ve been following along with the events at the gas station on my blog, I apologize that my website was taken down so abruptly. For some reason, the city council found my public record of local events to be “troubling”--to the point that they hired a fancy Orwellian legal team to bury me in cease and desists. I tried fighting back, but as of last week, it looks like my entire site has been retroactively erased from existence. Presumably, these are the same guys who’ve been scrubbing…

It is a new and so far prosperous day when we are called to the King's chamber and so we come with high spirits. Under the old king's watchful gaze we listened to his words with both eyes and ears as wide as the kingdom gates in which the people of the land came forth for their daily business. "Do not leave the kingdom walls after nightfall." Said his Majesty, eyes widened with terror "For if you are to go forth then I cannot keep you from the wild things in which will find you"

I quickly walked through the cabin, making sure everything was nice and tidy, just right. I’ve gotten pretty good at getting the whole cabin clean in less than a day. After a quick alignment of the magazines on the coffee table, the place was perfect. Penny would have been proud.

“Pluggy the Plug-in,” that is the name I keep remembering for some reason, even after those posts of the lost show titled Sammy the Cat. I wonder who that character is; I might as well talk to the creator of the show about it. Yes, it has been a long time since Richard Turner was arrested. Even after my two posts, I never heard anything about him being released.

I lost my wife a few years ago. Most people hear that and picture someone older–fifties or sixties. I’m twenty-one. Rose and I were born in Insurrection County, West Virginia. Rose was a southern belle, even though she always said that West Virginia wasn’t the real South. Rose’s hair was strawberry blonde, and she had deep green eyes and freckles that would pop when her face was sunburnt.

Why is this happening to me? I'm not a bad person! I've never hurt anyone; hell, I've never even cheated on a math test! So, why is it here? Why did it choose me? I'm in the hall closet on the second floor, while that "thing" wanders around my home, searching for me! It's the only place I can hide, the only place I feel safe! I don't plan on staying here long, just long enough for it to pass me by. Then, I'll make a run for the front door downstairs!

Year 157, Near the end of the fall season. I'm not sure what day it is. I am a regular guy who lives in the peaceful village of "Unut." And today, I am helping the village elder by chopping some logs for him. "But he's not going to pay me shit." I said as I swung my axe. I'm only helping him because he's like a father to me. I was a little child when my family abandoned me. Yet he took me in and raised me to this age. "And I am going to do his chores for the rest of his lifetime."

The police radio buzzed with static. “We got a double homicide reported at city lake. Any units in the area go check it out.”

In a mysterious forest, among ancient trees and a clearing long forgotten by man, stood an abandoned shack surrounded by old, neglected graves. The place was shrouded in infamy; disturbing things happened there. Witnesses claimed that something sinister lurked in the darkness. Local residents spoke of terrifying screams echoing from the shack—cries that resembled a chimera or some other horrific beast.

“Skreeeeeee!” My brakes squealed as they slid along the slick road. The rain had turned the roads into a slip n’ slide from hell. My high beams illuminated the bridge’s wall and before I even realized what had happened, my car crashed through and over the guardrail.

I can't remember how it started. All I know is that I have to turn them on. All of them. The lights. Something is in the darkness. I get a glimpse sometimes. When it gets close. When the lights flicker. I can hear it breathing too. Whatever it is, it's not a nightmarish collection of body parts barely clinging to life. It sounds fit, strong. It sounds like a hunter, biding its time.

11:30 am. Dreary. Heartburn. Brain ache. Tired eyes giving way to a dull throbbing, but never drifting closed. We sat in silence around our monitors and typed, when suddenly, the office room silence was pierced by Lola’s break alarm. It blared its flat, electronic tone on repeat a few times until she stood up from her chair.

The noises had started around two in the morning, and while the house tended to make noises during such frightful snowstorms as this current one, these noises didn't sound normal for a shifting house. I lay awake in bed, not daring to move. The sounds were not scaring me, let me get that straight. I am not scared by much. No, the sounds were confusing me, that was all. I wasn't sure what to make of them. They seemed to be getting closer, so I silently got out of bed and picked up a knife I keep…

Melinda hated driving at night. She did her best to avoid it. Short trips to the store if she just realized she ran out of tampons or had nothing for dinner after getting home; that sort of thing happened now and then. But she did her best not to go out after dark unless someone was coming to pick her up. So, naturally, she found herself on the longest drive of her life tonight, with no moon, few stars, swirling clouds above her, and acres of forest on either side.

Grandpa was 97 years old when he passed away. He lived far from where his three children had settled. Grandma died when I was a small child, and he ended up remarrying another woman a few years later who demanded that he move out west so that she could be nearer to her sons. She was a piece of work, was Grandma Hester. We all wondered how Grandpa could stand her. It turns out that perhaps he could not.