DIAREX1506 How old is the youngest person in hell? Of all the people burning in the iron cages in hell, one of those people must be the youngest of all. How old are they? 18? 17? 16? cut cut cut 15? cut cut 14? 13? 11? Did my brother disappear because he did something bad? Was he taken to hell by angels?
THE WATCHER Is somebody watching all the things you do on the internet? Does somebody see all the bad places you sneak into sniffing and spying when you think nobody will know? And does anything follow you back from those bad places? Follow you back into your bedroom sniffing and suckling Does anything lonely look into your window at night?
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DIAREX8938 ikMy brother was a Lord of the Rings fan, but he wouldn't let me read his copies of the books when I was little. He said they were "too advanced for me." So they sat there on his bookshelf in his room, very tempting for a nosey little brother. I used to sneak them out and read them when he wasn't around. He was right: I was too young. It was like reading something from another world. I couldn't read them straight through so I read little pieces here and there. They were like hints, flashes. Even though I didn't understand the passages I read, there was a magic in the language, and they gave me a wonderful, dreamlike feeling. Each time I snuck them back into his room, I left a tiny piece of string in between the pages to keep my place. After my brother disappeared, I didn't go into his room for a long time. Then finally, one day, I did. The books were on the shelf. I found my secret little piece of string, and I opened the book to that page. There was a passage waiting for me. The words of the Witch-king of Angmar: "A cold voice answered: 'Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.'" I know now it was an INFECTED TEXT. A passageway to the UNDERGROUND HOUSE.
DIAREX0165 ||I remember seeing security camera footage from the Columbine school shooting on the news back in 1999. Black and white footage of the two gunmen walking the empty halls of the highschool. Two boys in their little costumes with their little toys. They are walking around, peering around corners, going from one empty room to another, aimless. By that time, everybody had already fled. Only dead bodies remained. There was nothing left to do, noone left to shoot. A late spring day, and nothing left to do but die. You can look on YouTube and find them there, inside that video, still walking those halls. They roam from one empty room to another, hoping to find something that isn't there. Room after room and nothing but overturned chairs, scattered papers. The blank desks. The sunlight forever sealed behind the windows. Drained of all living color. They will walk those halls forever. They will never get out of that school. They are in hell.
REPOR1555 was a failed write an INFECTED TEXT which would, according to his beliefs, bring the reader into the underground house, the fantasy house where his brother had been taken two decades prior.
INTER911118 Q2 You didn't try to run away? SU I couldn't. Q2 Why not? SU His magic. Q2 Whose magic? SU The watcher. Q2 The watcher is the one who kidnapped you?
My brother was the normal one. He was the one people liked. All the other kids, even grown ups, they all liked him, thought he was a real nice kid. I was the kind of kid who hid behind his mother’s leg when strangers approached. I didn’t really have my own friends. My friends were my brother's friends. And once he was gone, I didn’t have any friends at all. My brother and I created our own little playworld when we played together, but he knew how to negotiate the real world too. For me, our playworld was everything. When it was gone, all I had was my own playworld, the lonely world that I created for myself. A kind of hell. The bullying started in fifth grade, after he disappeared, and it got worse every year after that. I was the perfect target. I was a socially stunted kid who felt uncomfortable around other kids and lashed out at them because of it. I threw tantrums, I cried in front of the whole class many times. I cringe when I think about it. Nobody felt any sympathy for me, not even the teachers, and to be honest, I didn't really deserve sympathy. I was obnoxious. And it's not as if I was especially sympathetic to others. I was a self-absorbed kid. I think if I had grown up nowadays I would have been diagnosed as autistic or something. I don't know. It's hard to know if you're being too judgemental about yourself or if you're being too self-pitying. Sometimes, in those days, I saw his old friends at school. They were a couple grades ahead of me, but I saw them in the halls and the cafeteria. I remembered their faces from when they used to come by the house and play video games. At schoool, they never said hi to me or seemed to notice me at all. By then, years had passed since my brother disappeared. Through the all the years of bullying, I often wondered how it would have been if my brother had been around. Maybe it all would have been different if he had been there with me growing up. Maybe he could have protected me, or taught me to be more normal. Maybe he could have prevented me from becoming what I have become. Then again, maybe I idealize him too much. Maybe nothing could have prevented me from becoming this. Still, I can’t help but wonder how it all might have been. Sometimes I scroll through the calls on my phone and imagine his name is there among them. I imagine tapping the name and hearing the phone ring and then there is a voice, a man's voice, a voice so familiar but one I have never heard before. "Hello?"
DRWADE1923 t the uttermost: blackened bodies wavering inside the fire. Sounds -- flame and screaming. And another sound but slower -- the creaking of the iron cages. Like an old sailing ship. Slow and lazy. Beneath all the screaming and desperate rattling, a slow, unhurried sound. But I say the worst hell is not the hell of flame with its insensible ravening. It is the ||Hell of Dark Hallways||. You wander down the hallways forever trying to get back home. They twist and turn, the same dreary carpet, the same silent walls, leading on and on into a swallowing darkness but you can never go home again, never see mom and dad aga
THE WATCHER Why are you here on this page? To satisfy some desire? Once again, you find yourself searching and scouring the far corners of the internet for simulation, scrolling and scrolling, ever downward, ever downward, your thumb flicking at the calloused clitoris of your attention span, hoping to wring a few meager droplets of dopamine that they might wet the dessicated husk of your ruined mind, a mind worn smooth by endless repetitive stimulation, by the increasing doses of anger and desire you pump into it in ever vainer attempts to feel something. And the further down you go, the more bizarre it must become, the deeper you sink into evil. What lies on the bottom-most layer?
DIAREX2143[[CONTACT0. THE MAN WITH DANCING FINGERS]] few weeks before it happened. I was 8 years old, just turned 8 a couple months before. Back then, for some reason, I had begun sneaking out of my bed at night. I would lie in bed and wait for my brother and my parents to fall asleep and then I would go downstairs and just... Just be there. In the dark. I liked it. There was something different about the house with all the lights off. It was exciting for an 8 year old. Alone in the dark, I felt like I was in the adult world, that late-night world that kids weren’t allowed to be in. Like I was going outside of that safe little zone that my parents had made for me. Each night, I would lie in bed and listen to my parents watching TV after my bedtime, watching R-rated movies and late-night shows or whatever, and I would dream of that dark, glamorous world that I had seen on TV — nightclubs and bars and alleyways. Then, after everybody fell asleep, I would get up and go downstairs and pretend to be in that world. I know it sounds strange. But I loved the feeling of the house after everyone was asleep. The light from the streetlights coming in through the windows. The shadows. The kitchen with all the little lights from the appliances. It was like a dreamstate. But also, there was a scariness to it. It felt a little bit dangerous. And then one night, maybe a month before it happened, I was in the dining room. That was my favorite room in the house late at night. It had a big china cabinet, nice fancy chairs. When I was in there, I dreamed of going to parties and wearing a tuxedo and drinking martinis. I thought that being an adult was going to be so exciting. There was a streetlight right in front of the dining room window, shining its light in. I was standing at the window, looking out at the streetlight that stood over the empty street, looking at all the darkened cars along the curb, the shapes of the trees above. When I picture it now, there was a kind of mist in the air, hanging in the light, a dream-mist. I had that feeling that I always got when I snuck out of bed, that guilty feeling of doing something bad but also a fun feeling, a delicious feeling. And that night when I was looking out the window, the feeling came on so strong. I knew I was doing something bad. I knew I should be in bed, where I would be safe. And for some reason, on that night, the feeling wasn’t fun like it normally was. I felt scared. Just before it happened, I felt so scared, and I knew something bad was going to happen. And it did. A man appeared in the window. Right in front of me, on the other side of glass. He just stepped into the frame, like he had been hiding against the side of the house, waiting for me for me to come up to the window, waiting as I came closer and closer. When I saw him, I froze. I couldn't move at all. I was looking at him, and he was looking right at me, like he had known I would be there, like he had been watching me through the wall with magic eyes. He had the most awful face I had ever seen. It was all dried up, and he had silvercoin eyes. And he was right there up against the window. Just staring, staring right at me. And the worst part: he had his hands up, long white hands, almost touching the window, and his fingers were dancing. They were fluttering in the air, crawling like the legs of a dying cockroach. I was frozen and I could feel the fingers on my skin, like he had somehow reached through the window with his magic and he was touching me and I couldn’t stop him. I wanted so bad to scream, but I was frozen, and I had to watch him. He was making me. Then I could feel him coming through the window, and I could feel myself getting pulled out, and it was like the window was a dark hallway that led into outer space, to a cold place where everything was dead, and it was getting longer and longer. The hallway became an empty shaft, and I was falling down through it or being pulled up. I could hear my mom and dad talking to me, and I could see them in the corner of my eye. They were telling me that they didn't see anybody outside the window, that there was nobody there. They said that maybe I was sleepwalking. But all I could see was the hallway, and the man, the maniac, urging me deeper into the dark. It took hours for the image of the hallway to go away. Slowly, the world came back, and I was in bed, and it was the next day, an ordinary day. But things didn't go back to normal entirely. For weeks afterward, I kept seeing the hallway, sometimes when I was alone, and I could feel myself falling down into the shaft of darkness, and I could feel the man somewhere in the dark, calling me down. He was in way way down in hell, and he wanted me to come be with him in hell forever. Then, I began to see the him again, not as a vision, but in real life. Sometimes, when I would go out behind our backyard and play around in the woods, I saw him, standing among the trees, so far away that I couldn't really see is face or his hands, but I could feel his eyes, I could knew his fingers were dancing and fluttering in the air. A few weeks after the man first appeared, my bother disappeared.
Memory is just a story we tell ourselves.
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REPOR2118 omewhat similar the 2002 film The Ring in which there is a haunted videotape with disturbing content and if somebody watches the videotape, they are cursed to die within 7 days. However, no copy of the movie was found among his belongings or on the data storage devices, nor did the streaming services show any record that the film had been watched on one of this accounts. Nonetheless, given his ag
"Far, far below the deepest delvings of the Dwarves, the world is gnawed by nameless things."
1W002R93848A827189D3GE6he man Sitting on your sill Tap! Tap! Tap! You better keep still Underground! Underground! Buried underground Dig! Dig! Dig! But you won’t be found Down into the Deep Down The Deep Down! Down into the Deep Down The Deep Down! Down into the Deep Down The Deep Down! Down into the Deep Down The Deep Down! Down into the Deep Down The Deep Down! Down into the Deep Down The Deep Down! Down into the Deep Down The Deep Down! he Deep Dow ee
INTER9090999 SU I want to go home. I1 You can't [unintelligble] SU You're supposed to take me home. I1 If you want to go home, tell us where the child is. That's, that's-- SU You're the police. When the police find me, they'll take me home. So you're supposed to take me home. That's fair. I1 Listen. SU Why can't I call my mom and dad? I1 Can you look at me? Can you look me in the eye? SU [unintelligble] I1 Tell use where the child is. That's where-- what we need to know. That's what's important. Everything else can wait. Do you understand? The decisions you make right now are the most important decisions you will ever make in your whole entire life. Look at me. You need to make the right decisions. You don't want to be sitting in prison for years, for decades, wishing you made a different decision. You don't want to sitting on that table, the lethal injection table, wishing you made a different decision. Just make the right decision, and we will help you in any way we can. I2 If the kid is still alive, then that's kidnapping. So that-- you will do some prison time. I won't lie to you. But you'll walk out of that prison and get to live the rest of your life. But if he dies, everything will get a lot worse. If he's already dead, and you stonewall us like this, then you're looking at lethal injection. Ohio is a death penalty state. Don't think that it isn't. We put people to death. I1 After you die, now, after you die, what happens then? Do you believe in hell? SU I told you. I1 Told us what? SU I've been inside the house.
KEYWORD: LOVE COOKING and more filled with love, they ripen and burst open, and their screaming issues from the burbling fissures. Their screaming is singing.