#Yellow Lycra

[skinskisurf]

[athleticscorpion]

38. Isaac Hunter, 23

[thedeadathlete]

Giulia Leonardi

[skinskisurf]

[wickedlegs]

They call me mellow yellow.

[ki-kink]

Somehow it didn't feel on point. But dang, the sign read "men's toilet" on the door. If they goofed up and left out the urinals when constructing the new stadium, that's totally not on them...

[athletictaipan]

[thedeadathlete]

[everything-magic-sparkles]

The State with the Black Stain

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A horror-mystery fic

~Warnings~

Mentions of violence, scopophobia, uncanny valley, true crime, sexual content

—————————————

Your alarm goes off at 6:30am. You really don’t want to go to work, though it’s all you have to look forward to for the day. That is, if you want to keep food on the table. Your job, a 9-5 at a VHS store in Milwaukee Wisconsin. You had been working there for a couple of years now. It didn’t pay much, but that doesn’t matter when you live alone.

It wasn’t that difficult of a job, either; Restock the shelves, work the register, know the genres of movies, and where to find them. Check in on time and clock out appropriately. There wasn’t much to hate about it, but you did hate how late you’d get out sometimes. You didn’t live too far away, but you didn’t live in the nicest part of your neighborhood, so being out late at night made you nervous.

A lot of times you wouldn’t be doing any work at all, so you’d read the newspaper. What else were you supposed to do? After a while of reading, you started to notice that the headlines all had the same focus: disappearances.

Was there any explanation for all of the disappearances? No. All that law enforcement knew was that 17 had gone missing so far without any indication of where they could’ve gone. You wondered how that could happen in such a small town. But, it can happen anywhere, right?

It was slightly disturbing to hear about all those disappearances and made your nightly trips back home even worse than they were before. Eventually, though, your mind wandered elsewhere and was able to forget about it.

That was, until a particular customer gave rise to the notion all over again. In the worst way possible.

“will that be all, sir? Just this film right here?”

“Yeah that’s it. I have a coupon for it Lemme get it.”

The man dug through his pockets as he looked for the coupon, “Oh, by the way, have you heard about the disappearances lately?”

Oh boy. Here we go.

“Y-yes I have. Why?”

“Well you remember that guy that died all those years ago? I can’t remember his name. All I know is that…” he leaned in closer to you, “People think he’s still alive. You know, the Milwaukee Monster.”

The name sounded familiar to you.

“Oh yeah- uh… W-wasn’t he a cannibal, too?”

“Mhm.” The man said, “He killed a bunch of black men around here… They took down the apartment building, but I don’t trust it. Mm-Mm. Not for a second. This state has a bad mark on it…”

You shut your eyes tightly remembering what happened 30 years ago. His face was still plastered in your memory. “Have a good day, sir…”

That memory was enough to set your paranoia into full swing. That man was one of the worst serial killers in American History. Sure, he was dead, but that didn’t mean that Milwaukee was over the tragedy.

Instead of trying to forget about everything, you decided to do some digging to jog your memory. You remembered having an old box full of old newspapers and magazines in your house. Eventually you found what you were looking for; an old newspaper with the headline: Cannibal-killer: Jeffrey Dahmer confessed to 17 murders.

The name made your stomach churn. Amidst your nausea, however, you made the shocking connection that the number of disappearances lately had directly matched up with the number of the monster’s victims;

17.

Just as you made the horrible realization that something wasn’t right, your radio began to play on its own.

‘Babe, I love you so.’

The radio sang as you stormed over to shut it off,

‘I want you to know, that I am gonna miss your love, the minute you walk out that door.’

“This isn’t fucking funny…”

‘So please don’t go-‘

You shut the radio off. The song name showed on the display, ‘Please don’t go, by: KC & The Sunshine Band.’

“Goddammit. How am I supposed to get any sleep now?” You thought, heading to bed. Surprisingly, you were able to fall asleep. Not without conflict from your mind, of course.

No one could’ve been playing tricks on you. You lived alone. And why would they? You were a young man that worked at a VHS store who wasted half their money on buying cigarettes. That’s about as generic as you can get. Hiding in plain sight.

Your last customer of the night walked up to the register.

“Just this, please.”

The man handed you a copy of the movie ‘The Exorcist III.’ You cocked a brow at the title as you scanned it, knowing how gruesome it was.

“That’ll be ten…”

Something caught your eye.

“T-ten ninety nine…”

Your eyes were glued to what appeared to be a man’s face, staring at you from behind one of the shelves. A white face.

“Is something wrong?” The customer asked.

“N-no I just… it’s nothing.”

When you were done scanning the movie’s barcode, you slipped it into a bag and handed it to the man, to which he left.

Something told you that you needed to get the hell out of that store. So, you did. You went straight home and didn’t look back.

‘What the hell even was that?’ You thought, ‘Maybe that bastard’s ghost is running around here still. I know what I saw wasn’t a fucking person.’

You lock your doors and windows out of paranoia and try to head to bed. That is, until your radio plays again. The same damn song as the night before.

Now you really know something is fucking with you. You get up to go shut the radio off,

“Alright, where are you, shithead? Get the fuck out of my house! You’re not welcome here!”

The radio plays again and you continue to shut it off every time it turns back on. At this point you were completely defeated and terrified, but you didn’t want to leave. Inside there was better than out on the street. You slid down the wall of your living room and covered your face, about to cry.

Between your fingers and your tear-blurred vision, you see him. The white face you saw earlier, standing in the doorway, his eyes peering down at you.

“Fuck!” You yell and cover your face, shutting your eyes quickly.

As you do so, you hear footsteps getting closer to you.

‘I’m so dead I’m so dead I’m so dead’ your thoughts ran amuck. After a while there wasn’t any response. So you uncovered your eyes.

Big mistake.

There he was, standing right in front of you. Jeffrey Dahmer. His ghost, rather. You wondered how he could look so real, despite being dead.

“Wh-what the fuck do you want?” You squeaked out.

The man grinned, a sharp-toothed smile stretching across his face, “You.”

To be continued…

[ares857]

internet finds

[fksexymen]

[ninoochat]

stupid fucking song

[ki-kink]

They found it strange that they had to hand in their doping sample together in front of the doping committee sitting behind the screens. Without a cup as usual. But judging by the smell, the groups before them didn't care either. So they got their dicks out.

[ares857]

internet finds

[ur-mag]

David Dahmer dons Lycra and tinted yellow lenses just like his serial killer brother Jeffrey as he takes a bike ride | In Trend Today

David Dahmer dons Lycra and tinted yellow lenses just like his serial killer brother Jeffrey as he takes a bike ride Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS