#and because I sleep on the bottom bunk of a metal bunk bed i flung my foot up and smacked it on the bars

[flowermist7432]

jacksepticeye being mentioned on here like "Holy shoot dang he's back on Tumblr!" reminds me how I need to watch a video of his sometime,, Because he is like Jerma to me- that is to say everyone knows and watches him and ive seen clips, and think he's funny and charismatic-! But I have yet to actively sit down and watch a video.

But I Have once laid down to listen to sleep meditations only to be startled awake by him screaming in my ear. :]c

[rheyninwrites]

Hitchhiker Part 2

Jacob and Rook were finishing their beers, getting ready to head to the cabin Rook hoped she’d be able to find. Whitehorse had hit the road about two seconds after dropping the key and map in her hands, ready to get home as soon as he’d made sure that the second trainer wasn’t going to cost the county extra. He was an asshole, but the kind of guy who was an asshole because that’s what he had to be in this kind of town in order to get respect. You could look in his eyes, or see the way a smile twitched under his bushy mustache, and know it was all an act in a heartbeat. Jacob felt like he could understand that, at least a little bit. He’d spent more than half of his life putting on a face that never really felt like him, for one reason or another.

As he got into the truck, he wondered to himself why on earth he was trusting this woman. There was a time when he’d have instantly mistrusted anyone who offered him kindness, assuming it was some kind of trick to get him to lower his defenses. He still struggled with that most of the time, biting back cruel words that came to the tip of his tongue unbidden if anyone so much as held the door for him. But since he’d gotten back in touch with Joseph, he felt more like he had to try. He felt he owed it to him.

In the years since he’d last saw him, Joseph had become a preacher, taking over one of the two still functioning parishes in Hope County. He’d had his own struggles, falling into drugs and depression for many years after losing his wife and child, before ending up in rehab and falling in love with a girl twenty years younger than him but, in his words, “infinitely wiser”. It was her who had lead him into the church, so devoted that she’d officially changed her name from Rachel to Faith. She helped him get clean, got him healthy and on medication for the schizophrenia that had unknowingly plagued him for most of his life, and he’d contacted Jacob, crying. It was the first time Jacob had heard from him in years, and he was begging him for understanding, to forgive him for distancing himself after Jacob had been through so much to protect him. He was only a bit younger than Jacob was, so he had some memories of the time they’d spent together in foster care, unlike John. When his brother begged to see him, how could he deny him? His brothers had always been both his weakness and his strength.

A long ride down dark and winding roads, and Rook’s old truck pulled up in front of a cabin that looked barely big enough to turn around in, much less for two people to live together in for the next month. The exchanged tentative glances as they approached, and as she opened the door, Rook let out a low whistle and shook her head. When she stepped aside to let Jacob in, he could see why.

There was a single twin bed, pushed up into the corner right beside the bathroom door. It may once have been a set of metal bunk beds, but the top half of it had been mangled a long time ago. The bottom half didn’t look too stable, either. Still, when Rook checked the mattress, it seemed alright, no holes or mysterious stains. It was foam, too, so there was no worry about broken springs. Unfortunately, it was also the only place to sleep. The only other furniture was a single broken dining chair. Rook quickly checked the stove and fridge, finding them in working condition, and then made sure all plumbing was appropriately functional.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been put up in worse.”

She walked back outside, returning with a large duffel bag and a garbage bag she flung on the floor in front of Jacob. While he looked on, she pulled the mattress off of the bed frame and scooted it against the wall beside the door. It only occurred to Jacob after she was done that he probably should have helped her, and then she was busy rummaging through the garbage bag, so there wasn’t exactly anything he could help with. Instead he stood there, nervously opening and closing his fists and feeling useless - not a feeling he was used to. Eventually, she pulled out a set of sheets and handed them to him, asking him to put them on the bed. Grateful for something to do, he went to work immediately, while Rook used the blankets that were left in the bag to make a pallet near the mattress. When they were done, Rook turned to him.

“Do you want the mattress or the pallet tonight? I was thinking we’d switch out. That saves the argument about who gets which.”

“I was thinking that you could just take the mattress, since-“

“I swear, if you say ‘since you’re the girl’ I will completely rescind my offer.”

“I was actually going to say ‘because you’re being so nice to me’. I feel indebted to you, and I don’t like that feeling.”

“Then work your ass off to repay me.” Rook ran her fingers through her hair again, “Listen, I’m gonna jump in the shower. Feel free to rummage through my bag to see if there’s a book you like, or a snack you want.” She took a set of clothes to the bathroom, then locked the door behind her. She was being nice to him, but she wasn’t about to let herself be stupid.

Jacob quickly changed into a different t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, ready to be out of his still damp clothing. He laid his jacket over the broken chair to dry, and hung his pants and shirt on the remains of the bed frame. By the time he’d finished, he heard the bathroom door open, and instinctively looked over.

Jacob’s stomach flopped. Maybe it was just because it had been so long since he’d been interested in someone, or maybe it was just her, but he didn’t think he’d seen anything prettier in his whole life. It wasn’t even like she was wearing anything revealing, just an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts, her wet hair hanging half over her eyes. He found himself watching her as she crossed the room, eyes fixed on her legs, and mentally chastised himself for it. He wasn’t here to date, he was here to see his brothers. As if on cue, Rook asked him if he was planning on seeing them tomorrow.

“It’s Sunday. One of my brothers is a preacher, so he won’t be free in the morning. I can probably meet him after, though.”

“Ok. Just let me know when and where to take you..”

Jacob shook his head. “I don’t want to bother you any more than I already have.”

“It’s not a bother, really. Besides, how are you gonna get there if I don’t take you?”

He had to admit, she had a point,.

The next morning, they were sitting in a church parking lot together in Rook’s truck, watching people stream out of the double doors and get into their cars. As the crowd thinned, a couple appeared in the doorway, holding hands and waving to the last remaining churchgoers. Jacob’s heart lurched.

“Nervous?” Rook asked. When Jacob didn’t answer, she reached over and put her hand on top of his where it sat on his knee. “It’s gonna be fine. I’m sure of it.”

It was just then that Joseph must have caught sight of his brother, because he cam running over, a smile spread wide across his face. Jacob barely had time to get out of the truck before he was wrapped in a warm embrace. Rook thought he looked a little uncomfortable, but to his credit, he tried his best, putting his arms around his brother and patting his back. When Joseph ended the hug, he reached up and put his hands on his brother’s face, tears streaming freely. A young, blonde woman who must have been Faith approached, rubbing a hand on each of their arms. Joseph started asking Jacob a million questions before stopping suddenly.

“Why don’t we all get lunch? Faith always makes an extra big meal on Sunday, so there’s plenty leftover to make plates for people in the county who need it. That way we can all catch up.” Joseph nodded to where Rook sat. “Your girlfriend is welcome as well, of course.”

Rook and Jacob both stumbled over themselves to correct the misunderstanding, eventually getting the whole story out. Joseph insisted even more zealously that she join them then, with Faith joining in, but Rook declined as politely as she could, feeling that the reunion would probably be better if it were private. She waved them goodbye and headed back to the cabin, watching with a smile as a bewildered Jacob was lead away.

Jacob came in the cabin later that night, knocking politely before he entered. Rook was laying on the pallet, legs resting against the wall while she read a book. When he entered and she heard the sound of a car pulling away, she shifted to a sitting position, looking at him curiously.

“You don’t want to stay with your brother now?”

Jacob shook his head. “They’re nice, and I’m glad Joseph’s found something that makes him happy, but I’m not really into religion.”

Rook nodded. She felt the same.

“Besides,” Jacob said, “Ive got work tomorrow. Right?”

Rook smiled. “Of course.”

[kendrixtermina]

Actual Nightmares I have had of you

The human subconscious is profoundly weird

I.

Call me Kronos‘ Daughter; Daughter-of-Saturn.  

I’m never asked you to be my friend; You needn’t even like me. All I ever wanted is that you leave me be. Live and let live. That’s all it ever expected, that’s what my heart still screams from its depths down to its very bottom. But you wouldn’t, neither you nor the schoolyard bullies who came like sharks to pick and suck at the bloody marks you left on me.

I come home from that and it takes me a while to realize the thickness in the air. Slowly but steadily it dawns on me when no one responds and coldness meets me from all fronts.

My mother and siblings make sure to communicate their wrath through my slow understanding, and I scramble to piece together what I did wrong.

I was never good at understanding what displeased people; Wretchedly I ask for an explanation., but the answer is always:

“You know what you did” like my uncertainty is just a guise that only adds to the insult.

What was it? What did I do?

I can’t lose the last and only people that have the least bit concern for me.

Then after a while, it crystallized:

You have once again told lies about me;

You did it often enough for it to haunt me into my dreams; Somehow, that scarred me more than the beatings ever did. Somehow, at some point, I must have displeased the fickle volcano god and now it’s my turn to be flung down the crater, but that’s beside the point:  

I have no love to call my own.

I have no love – at any point, you could go behind my back and take it away as you please.

No one will ever believe me. You will go behind my back, and I can do nothing other than helpless, clueless fumbling like a bee caught in jelly and trying to fly through it, dead stop at the glass of the window.

You once claimed I had rudely dared to snub you as you drove by in your very generic red little car in the most common color there is. For months I felt my hairs standing on ends all the twelve bazillion times I saw a little red care, careful, careful! It might be you, and you might get displeased.

II.

We are walking down a wide street in the old part of some European city; We were simply wont to check out the historic streets whenever we went someone new.

But through we stand on ordinary cobblestone, the buildings left and right are comprised of stark black sharp alien shapes, warped curves of dark spikes pointing everywhere, crawling their way up like whimsical paper cutouts or shock-frosted currents, in place of ordinary rows and houses.

You keep my hand clamped up tight; No use protesting that I’m already eighteen.

The sharp shapes branch forward of the walls like metal flames or dark trees; Afterwards I’d wonder if this is the physical shape that might be taken by fear and hatred if they could harden into solids like ice rock and metal.

I remember this plan to mark a dumping site for nuclear waste to that residents of the far fure would understand that it’s dangerous and not get the impression that here’s something exciting to dig upon – one of the ideas they considered was filling a field with wide spikes poking out of the floor, like the places you’re not supposed to stand on in a video game:

‘This is no place of honor.

Nothing valuable lies here’

Nothing valuable is buried in my soul in the oppressive shadow of your presence. Apart from the spike houses this has been a very boring dream. I’ve had much more exciting ones far away from our kitchens or living rooms, and if I’m in them at all I can never recall filling this strong shame.

We reach a sort of view platform, we look down through a black front of glass, square reflective windows, out over the boulevard of thorns.  You’re sour and grumpy, you’re shouting at everyone, and everyone throws death glares at me. This happens often enough for the instances to blend into a generic good of pain and shame.

Mother scolds me scornfully at some point.

III.

It’s like I can feel you coming long before you do. It’s like you drop the temperature when you come into a room.

You were there, laughing at me in my sleep, I tried to calm myself down and shrug it off because I was meaning to enjoy the day, and there you are: The next day, my mother saw it fit to invite you to my birthday celebration. I’m not sure if I explicitly made it clear that you were not to be invited, I thought it was obvious, I didn’t want to be the one to dredge it out and taint a joyful occasion with pain and regret.

I wanted to go to a fucking cafe with my bloody family, can’t I have that?

You don’t even have to do anything for a scene to be caused; I do you the honor myself, you’ve pavlov trained me pretty well, monkey see, monkey fear. Like clockwork.

It’s like being locked in a cage with a saber-tooth tiger.

I can only stand it because I downed a glass of wine first thing before the entree.

And I curse myself all the way back: I should have known! I should have known! Why didn’t I say anything?

IV.

This dream was actually interesting, right where you showed up.

I’m driving a car, but because I don’t know what that’s like it’s more like a go-cart or a tricycle, or a bumper car from the fun-fair. There’s a lot of sudden acceleration and I’m needing my feet to keep myself steady in the seat.

You come in through some memory of driving out into the country up a mountain, and of a building that’s like an abbey or a castle where you used to work. Or maybe it’s just a hospital and I’m tripping over your existence because you worked in a different one, or it’s that visit to a mountaintop restaurant that was splendid apart from the fact that you were there.

There’s a hospital on the mountaintop, or that sort of complicated building, but when I look past the precipices, held only by a strange gravity that seems to be coming from the cliff face, I see not the valley but a folded landscape, with houses and church towers but also house-like structures in crystalline fractal squares.

I could pat my subconscious on the back for this one, were it not that after I drove home, coming back, somehow, to my second apartment and the bed of my ex-boyfriend, and as soon as I lie down, you burst open the door and start screaming and complaining about all that I did wrong.

In the shadows it’s my bedroom where I’m a naked adult woman but where the light touches there linger echos of my childhood bedroom with its metal bunk bed that my ex-boyfriend surely wouldn’t have fit it, my rugs, and certainly its door.

You come and scream and barge in because you’ve never respected a closed door in your life, in into my dwelling which ought to have been mine and a place that you can’t come inside.

You never came there safe in my dreams, not in all the four years I lived there,

and yet I sat there raging and naked and pleading with all that is right and wonder, how is it that you’re still allowed to come here now that I have my own life? How is it that you’re still allowed to haunt me well into my adulthood and all my sacred spaces?

How is it that you get to loose your spitting mouth and tell me all I’m doing wrong in my own damn house?

And I awake with a chill lodged in my spine.

I don’t actually have these dreams of you very often, you know, but when I do, you can bet that I’ll be useless for most of the morning, if not the entire day. There'll be a dark cloud hanging over my mood and all attempts at concentration come up frazzled. Sometimes I can will myself to do something out of sheer spite but its never as romantic as advertized and I have to remind myself, quite forcibly, that this doesn’t mean that nothing I did to get over your splendid childcare through my wonderful teenage years wasn’t entirely worthless or that I’m not stronger at all.

At some point it stopped feeling like that – it’s just annoying.

I don’t want to be mad, not even that, not anymore, I just want to be twenty-something.

Why do you get to eat my days still, while doing nothing? You’re probably working on some island in the north seas right now, some gray old man I’d hardly recognize.

My face in the mirror looks like the you I actually remember. I smear it full of makeup so it doesn’t.

V.

I’m laying somewhere, I don’t know, a bed, a couch; For some reason there’s christmas decorations on. Maybe it’s taken from a memory, some old half buried fragment of our one-time living room.

Then you come and there is screaming.

I don’t remember how because somehow, in some way, when you come there is always screaming. I think I was idly chatting with my siblings just before but that doesn’t matter because all that disintegrates, and you come, lumbering half-bald boxer-shorts-clad ogre that you are, and somehow, through some excuse, you mock my fearful measly little flesh as you hold me down, and deeper than your hands beat the spiked flails of your words.

I don’t have the courage to hold against you in earnest, marvelously concerned that you’ll break my little heart.

I slap your face and you overtake with with your violence,

I spit back taunts and you eviscerate me in humiliation.

I quote Melville in your face, and I can’t get it right, my stumbling words accomplish little more than to make you laugh.

I spit my last breath into hell’s heart and can’t seem to stab at anything despite the hate that only boils my veins.

I spread my legs in your face, in the hope that the smell will make you back off in shock, but it only confirms all you’ve ever thought of me, and I scream helpless beneath your blows:

“Just leave me alone! Just leave me alone!

You may beat me, mock me, debase me, as long as you leave me alone!”

I cry in desperation:

“Just leave me alone!”

Leave me alone.

Thanks to you, that’s all I ever asked of people. 

[nexinanoose]

666, Devil Apartment.

Disclaimer: this is not a creepypasta, so if you're expecting devils and satanic mumbo-jumbo it's not in this post. I know you guys like to read and talk about spooky and paranormal stuff so I wanted to share a bit of my experiences from my youth. I'll warn you though, I'm not going to hide a whole lot, I'm going to give exact locations and real first names as well as background details, so it may get long. I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona. My oldest memory is from 1995. I remember the year because I always liked writing it in the upper right corner under my name on my homework pages. I went to Edison elementary school, and grew up in the Duppa Villa housing projects, which is now called Luke Krohn (east Villa street). As one can assume the name was changed because of the infamous gang violence in the area. I remember the apartment number we lived in was #666, how obvious right? The kids at school used to ask me what it was like living in "666, devils apartment", I'd tell them, "it's just home." This apartment was a crappy upstairs unit with 3 bedrooms and 1 bathroom. It even came with its very own ghost. Well being raised in a traditional Hispanic family there's always a room where the light switch is located on the far side of the room and "el cucuy" is waiting for when you shut off the lights...this was my mothers bedroom at the end of the hall. My older brother Julian and myself shared the room next to my mothers, and my older sister Tiffany, twin sister Stacey, and younger sister Desiree shared a room down the hall closer to the bathroom. Well as I mentioned before there was a ghost in the apartment, my memory is cloudy but I remember he was a really tall and really fat native American in a grey flannel jacket. There wasn't anything physically terrifying about him like what's typical in movies. My sisters and I always saw him out of the corner of our eyes, and he was always standing in the hallway staring off into space with a numb look in this eyes. However, every single night I could hear him sobbing in the hallway and tapping on my bedroom door which we always kept closed. My older brother, Julian who was 12 at this time shared a bunk bed with me. And since he was older, stronger, and cooler he decided he needed the top bunk and I should have the bottom, because 7 year olds never get the top bunk, he even promised me I could be player #1 for the next week we played Nintendo. Made sense at the time, but this is an important detail to this particular story. Ok, well one night I remember there was a lot of gun shots outside. I mean, probably 1.5 hours worth of gunshots echoing out every 30 seconds. So my mom had us all huddled in the living room, sitting on the ground in the middle of the room with all the lights off and told us to be extremely quiet. As it turns out the neighborhood gangsters were at war with a rival gang and the rival gang was shooting into windows of people who were home. Of course, we're 5 kids told to sit in the dark and be absolutely quiet so we were excited at the prospect of staying up late and felt like it was all a game of hide and seek. That was until we heard the gunshots get closer and heard the screaming. It was hard for us not to cry out but my mother held us all close and promised it was going to be ok. As the night went on the gunshots stopped and the police sirens finally came. My sisters and brother had all fallen asleep and I stayed up and talked with my mom, it wasn't long before she fell asleep too. Then I heared it, in the hallway, sobbing. Getting louder and louder. My curiosity made me get up and slowly walk to the hallway. I couldn't see much but a lumpy shadow laying on the floor and slowly fading in and out of sight. I went to reach for a light switch, but quickly remembered my mom told us not to turn on the lights. So I squinted as hard as I could and walked closer to the shadowy figure. As soon as I got just close enough to realize it was a man laying on the floor sobbing, I felt a cold chill rise up my back. This was a completely different ghost, it was a bloody naked man, with a knife in his ribs, the handle of the knife tapped against my bedroom door as he struggled to breathe. I turned my face because my mother always told me to never look at naked people, only to see the fat native American ghost standing with his back to me. I felt trapped so I shut my eyes as hard as I could and covered my ears with my hands. It didn't take long before I opened my eyes and saw both of the ghosts were gone. I ran to my mom and woke her up and told her what I saw, in all the excitement I woke up my brother and sisters. My sisters believed me but my brother began to punch me and call me a liar. My mom threatened him that he'd be sent to our room alone if he kept hitting me. Almost instantly I asked if I could go alone, because the ghost couldn't get in the room. My mom agreed and I walked slowly down the hall and closed the door behind me. I slipped into my bed and eventually fell asleep. Then I felt someone pushing my pillow up as if they we're directly under my bed and I began to wake up. I remember I had a black power ranger figure which I kept under my pillow to play with when my mother didn't check in on if I was sleeping. I reached under my pillow for the toy but it wasn't there. I looked around the room but the entire room was pitch black. The usual streams of light that flashed in through the blinds were gone, and everything was quiet. Too quiet. I sat up and got out of my bed, thinking to look for the door. But where the door knob should have been, there was nothing but the glossy texture of a painted brick wall. Then I heard breathing behind me, heavy and directly behind me. My hands went wild searching the wall in the pitch black, and then I found it, a door. I flung it open without thinking and ran through it. My face instantly was met with a lump of fabric and my ears rang with a metallic crash. I had somehow ended up in my closet. Then I heard the closet door slam behind me. My heart raced and I began to cry but search around the walls for the opening. It didn't take long to find, but once I did I opened it and was met with a very peculiar sight. Moonlight beamed in the blinds of the room, but I wasn't in my room. I was in my moms room, somehow I entered my closet passed through a brick wall and ended up in my moms room. To this day I have no idea what the heck happened or how it happened. But I knew I had to get out of her room before "el cucuy" found me. I dashed for the door and ran back into the living room where everyone else was. I never mentioned what happened out of fear of my brother bullying me again. And that's my first paranormal experience. Oh yeah, and I never found my black power ranger after that either. As it turned out my mother finally saw a ghost in the bathroom and we moved out shortly after that...downstairs, to apartment #667. There's a worse story about that place. I'll update soon. Thank you for reading.