#i had to fucking tape up three separate spots on my BED ITSELF because i got an adjustable bedframe that can't turn off

[nexus-nebulae]

can things please stop having blue LEDs on them. im tired of having to cover all of my electronics with black tape so i can actually fucking sleep

[bondsmagii]

What’s the scariest paranormal thing that happened to you (that you’re comfortable sharing)? You’re such a great story teller and in this awful month of August spooky vibes are the most bone-deep.

I have a few, but my usual go-to actually has an ask regarding it waiting in my inbox, so when it spits out of my queue you’ll see it anyway! two for the price of one. anyway, for this one I’ll go for another terrifying experience that I haven’t told as often and it still honest to god creeps me out.

in my third year of university, I lived in campus accommodation. the building was pretty creepy-looking as it was: it was quite literally modelled on the buildings of a nearby prison, and said buildings looked like Khrushchev-era Soviet housing. it was split into a bunch of flats, each housing five people in single rooms, a full bathroom, a half-bathroom, and a living room/kitchen area. my room was at the very end of the hall, and the living room door was on the other end, facing the front door. there were no windows in the central hallway, and shortly after I moved in there was a chair just randomly in the middle of the hallway that nobody could account for; it soon vanished just as inexplicably. (this was not too surprising and certainly not as creepy as the place I lived in my fourth year, where I opened my bedroom door after hearing a strange tapping on it, and saw a single red balloon floating down the hallway. I immediately shut the door.)

anyway. this is where we set our scene. at the time of this encounter I had been living there for maybe three months or so; it was the middle of winter and very dark and cold. our flat was on the fourth floor and filled with ill-fitting windows and therefore the wind simply ripped through it, and as a result we spent all of our time in our rooms with the windows duct-taped up. despite the nasty weather, I was and still remain a) a night owl and b) very restless, so I would frequently go out and walk around campus at night in the howling wind, because hey, if I’m going to get murdered by a supernatural entity, I might as well make sure the atmosphere is worthy. my campus was excellent for such things, and my usual walk took me along the foot of a mountain, along the top of a slope looking down onto a loch, and around a castle before heading home. 

up until recently, this walk had been uneventful. that had gradually begun to change, and frequently on my way back, I would feel as though I were being followed. it started as a minorly uncomfortable feeling which didn’t really bother me, because I’m quite used to the paranormal and it takes a lot to unnerve me, but soon it began to grow into something unnerving enough that I would sometimes skip out on my walk, and other times when I braved it I would end up running the rest of the way home. there was a security door at the bottom of the staircase leading to my flat, and usually once I got inside and slammed it shut, I would feel better. one night, this was not the case. the feeling of being watched had been the worst yet, and I had actually felt in danger as I had run home. I got through the security door and slammed it shut, but this time it wouldn’t lock. I tried for several seconds, but the lock just would not twist. I gave up and sprinted up several flights of stairs to my flat, and miraculously the front door still locked. I slammed it closed and locked it before backing up to the living room door; seconds later, something slammed itself against the front door and snarled. I could feel something out there. there were several seconds of nothing, and then the presence abruptly vanished.

alright. a little creepy. not the worst thing I’ve ever experienced but what the fuck, you know? I skip out on my walks for a while, and about a week or so later I’m in the kitchen making coffee at 3am, because that’s how I roll. as mentioned, the living room/kitchen door is opposite the front door. there is a wall separating the living room from the kitchen, but an open archway rather than a door. I cannot see the living room door from the kitchen, and said door has a small window in the top which looks out onto the front door. there is no direct line of sight from the hallway to the kitchen, yet as I make my coffee, I can feel something watching me. something is very much staring at me, and it is coming from the hallway right outside the living room door.

now, momma didn’t raise a coward but she did raise a fool. I decide to go and look. I go to the archway and put my head out. the living room door is about three feet from me. and in the window I can see a head. it is very much at first glance a fully-formed head, but it’s not attached to anything. it’s floating there, kind of rotating on the air slightly. the face is that of an old man and he doesn’t seem to have much hair. his mouth is open and moving slightly as though he’s trying to talk. as it rotates around, I see that the freakiest part of this already very freaky apparition is the fact that his neck and half of his face isn’t actually whole. instead it flakes away from him in tatters, kind of like torn fabric. it is, by far, the creepiest apparition I have seen. I’m not entirely sure what to do, because usually I would see something like this and assume it was a residual haunting and therefore not sentient, or it was sentient but not malicious. such a thing would ordinarily make me think that the spirit wanted help, but there was the small issue of the absolute malice coming off this guy. I mean, for a solid forty seconds or so I was rooted to the spot, unable to move because I was convinced if I did, the thing would come through the door and fuck me up. gradually the disembodied head faded away, and I grabbed my coffee and quickly went out into the hall. no sooner had I done so did something throw itself against the front door again, with serious force.

something about all the doors in our flat: they’re all heavy-duty fire doors (aside from, ironically, the one leading to the living room/kitchen). they are super heavy and slam closed on their own, and it’s impossible to knock on them loudly because it hurts a lot. if my housemates or I wanted to knock on one another’s door, the only way we could make a noise loud enough to get attention from inside the room and not break our knuckles was to kick our shoed feet against the bottom of the door (which made a rattling thud) or slap our open palm against it. the front door was made out of this same serious knuckle-destroying material, and whatever was out there was going absolutely ham. the bang was defeaning. the door was literally jumping in its frame. it happened three times -- bang, bang, BANG -- and then the door went still. somehow I managed not to spill my coffee. I stood there, staring at the door, and I once again I was aware that something was standing on the other side. I had had quite enough by that point, so I hauled ass to my room -- which was, as you recall, at the very end of the long, dark hallway (complete with one ominously flickering light shining out from the bathroom). I get to my room and shut and lock the door.

for a moment everything is fine, and then as I step towards my desk -- bang, bang, BANG. those same bangs, on my bedroom door. once again it’s shaking in its frame, and then stops. there’s silence. said silence stretches on for some time, and then I hear a door open. my housemate in the room directly across from me calls out into the hallway what we’re all thinking: “what the fuck was that?”

we all open our doors and confer. it turned out my housemates all heard it too, and understandably were too scared to check what it was. I don’t tell them about the disembodied head, but I do tell them about the weird presence outside the door -- a presence which two of my four housemates have also felt. we theorise for a bit and crack a few jokes to calm down, and then we all go back to bed or, in my case, fucking around online. the next morning (I’m still awake, of course) my housemate across the hall gets up and slaps on my door, and when I open it he points out several deep gouges in the door that were definitely not there when I came back from the kitchen that night. they’re deep, too, and once again, these doors were made strong enough that I’m sure their only purpose in life was to break bones. we could not for the life of us work out what had caused it.

the presence remained by the front door for several nights, until I put salt down across the threshold and also across the doorways of all the bedrooms in the house. the presence vanished from the front door then, but was still felt outside the security door -- which was never fixed, because whenever the lock was replaced it broke again pretty much immediately. I never got chased home again, nor did I see the old man in the hallway either... but that was because I stopped going out of my bedroom during the hour between 3 and 4am, and kept strictly to that rule for the rest of the time I lived there.

[yeshuah-yahveh-blog]

In Wrathful Waters - Chapter 4: Red Herring’s Pond.

The excitement that detective Daniel Hamworth felt after getting such an incredible confirmation from the coroner faded away into oblivion after two days without any real progress on any front since that encounter. Hamworth and detective Eastport dashed into unknown territory after the confirmation from the coroner that Eastport needed in order to give in, to what he considered, ‘Hamworth’s delusions’. Bryan Eastport felt more excited than he had ever been when he and detective Hamworth went on their fishing trip to catch the Red Herring, though that feeling, like most things, fell into ruin by the cruel hands of time. Detectives Eastport and Hamworth were both seated by their respective desks, waves of indifference slowly drowning them, as they try to find anything that could possibly lead them to this heinous serial killer.

“You know”

said Bryan with a metallic tone to his voice.

“I believe you, and so does Cappy, but fuck mate, because he is so damn cautious we are the only ones who are assigned to catch this asshole, and that isn’t helping much.”

Slowly, time elapsed that could see great empires rise and fall, Daniel raised his gaze from the empty paper he was staring into, trying to figure out what he might write about this case of theirs, to the glossed over eyes belonging to detective Eastport.

“Aye”

said Daniel absently. Ten seconds or so past before Daniel continued.

“But there is one thing we could try, though, but it will not be all that popular amongst anyone beside maybe the Red Herring himself, if we fuck up royally.”

“And that is?”

“Well”

said detective Hamworth slowly, as he scratched his right chin and inspected the ceiling for a moment before returning to Bryan.

“Red Herring seems to like murdering children, and, it seems to me, that we could indeed use a child, a specific child mind you, to mock Red Herring publicly with such ferocity that he could not refrain from murdering said child.”

Silence reigned for what seemed an eternity before Bryan said

“Sure, sure, continue”.

This response from Bryan Eastport shocked detective Hamworth for a moment or two, before he managed to gather himself, and continued:

“I am childless, and so are you, I hope! But, but, the Captain does indeed have a nine-year-old boy, as it happens, and if he would, in a way, challenge the Red Herring’s murderous authority and superiority, his fragile psyche must indeed suffer a fracture or two, and in order to heal said fracture he needs to murder this ‘foul mouthed’ child and reclaim his stature, or so I have surmised. Such a tactic might backfire at us with such velocity that nothing would remain of us if things do go wrong.”

Bryan Eastport dwelled in the rare corner of his mind that is known as ‘thought’ for such a long time that Daniel thought his partner indeed either suffered a stroke or was sitting at his desk, dead as a stone. Just as Daniel was about to utter a disapproval of his own insane idea, as to counter the awkward silence brought forth by Bryan, detective Eastport finally spoke, with as slow, calculating voice.

“Sure, why not? I hate that brat, and if he dies, the world would not be poorer, and Cappy is not exactly the best boss in the world, if all goes to shit I would welcome a new boss at a better job.”

A short pau wrestled itself into Bryan’s monologue, as a boring interlude, before he continued.

“But I have to be the one who chat with the little shit, because he hates your guts, you lucky fucker.”

“Whaa?”

Bryan laughed a dry laugh before he spoke once again.

“Aye, sadly for me he fucking hates your guts, Mr. Mailbox Grave, And I would rather not do any of this shit if it was up to me, but if we are going to catch this fucker, then I have to sacrifice my time to talk to that waste of life.”

Daniel Hamworth sat in his chair, his gaze locked onto Bryan’s, paralyzed in shock over his partner’s statement. How could Bryan, someone who was exactly what he described Captain Steel’s son to be, sitting there and taking upon himself to convince the child to, in all but name essentially, play Russian roulette (or Red Herring Roulette as it was come to be called). For the first time since his eyes laid their sight on Bryan, he began to feel something horrible, something paradoxical when the thought or Bryan Eastport was concerned; Daniel felt pride. When Bryan saw the wet eyes of Daniel, something happened, something that Bryan never have done before in his life; he blushed.

Before anything got any more awkward, Daniel hastily said:

“Good, ol’chap”

with such a disturbingly bad imitation of an English accent, that it brought a smile to Bryan’s lips.

“It’s nothing, dude”

Bryan said as he took his eyes off of Daniel as he was trying to hide his embarrassment and appreciation from his senior partner.  Bryan’s gaze briefly fell upon his own desk, and all ornaments thereon. The things his eyes saw was in stark contrast to what existed on Daniel’s desk; family photos, photos of his girlfriend, and a desk neatly organized. Daniel’s, on the other hand, was chaotically filled with notes, files and memos, spanning as close as to Daniel’s first case, to the current one. When Bryan felt brave enough to look into Daniel’s eyes once again, he did so, and said:

“Whatever, but if I chat to Cappy’s son, I fucking hope that you do the trap to catch this disgusting pig, right?”

“Yeah, that I can do”

“Nice! Let’s do it then!”

Before Daniel could react, Bryan was already out of his chair and was nearly running towards the exit of the station, feverously hitting his phone with his fingers in such a manner as one might do when one is writing a text message with a body full of adrenaline. Detective Hamworth let out a deep sigh before he rose and followed his partner in order to exit the station and to rig the trap for the Red Herring. “Finally” he thought as he walked through the main entrance,

“the game is, as Mr. Holmes would say, afoot!”

Bryan and Daniel did agree on the scene of their trap before they went their separate ways. This location was Tide Park, appropriately enough. The clock rang midnight before Bryan called Daniel to tell him his progress and to, for one final time, they went over their plan and sealed their righteous oath. The next day detective Hamworth could see the video that Captain Steel’s son, Adrian, put up on the internet on the behest of detective Eastport. Daniel went on to investigate, with the few clues he had, and time flew by. Daniel and Bryan decided to meet two hours before the trap was meant to be sprung, which was 11:pm, three hours after the video was uploaded online. Detective Hamworth sat on a uncomfortable, woody bench in the middle of Tide Park, eating a sandwich and waiting for his junior partner to arrive.

Time came and went, the sandwich was consumed, and half a packet of cigarettes was smoked, before Daniel, at 13:00 finally had enough. What the hell was Bryan doing? Why did he not attend their final meeting before the trap? Hamworth have had enough, and so he left Tide Park, entered his car and drove to his precinct, swearing almost the entire way there. Just as he was about to park his car at the precinct, he got a call that had him mumbling incoherent words, which no one really wants deciphered, as he declined the warmth embrace of his parking spot, turned around and drove out of the parking lot and toward another crime scene. There was something about the address that gave him chills, though he could not say exactly why. After he parked his car, went under the police tape with a nod to the guarding policeman, and through the entrance to an upper-class apartment complex, and up four set of stairs toward the second flood and the apartment holding the murder scene.

If one discounted the blood strewn across the walls and floor, and the general upheaval of the order that the supposed owner slaved day and night to uphold, the apartment was truly unique and quite boring and scary in a rich kind of way, which one suspected in an apartment such as this. A police officer guided me through the gigantic hallway, through the majestic living room, to the master bedroom. When detective Hamworth entered the master bedroom, the sight his eyes scanned took Daniel aback. Horror filled his mind, chill spread throughout his entire body, and finally sadness and shock drowned the rest of Daniel as he watched the grotesque scene in front of him. In the middle of the bed were two figures, one was a preteen boy, the other a young man, they were embracing each other, with their faces utterly sliced to pieces and their entrails pouring

Out of their butchered stomachs. Despite the destruction to the faces of the murder victims, Daniel could, to his utter horror, identify them. The final series of thought entering detective Hamworth’s mind before he passed out was the identities of the victims and a dreadful thought that he might be next. Daniel Hamworth fell to the floor, his consciousness no longer within reach, in front of the bed containing the brutally murdered bodies of Adrian Steel and Bryan Eastport.