What up Buttpuppets!
The Gazinator here with some Mr. Spooktastic campfire stories fo' all da lil' chillins. On a dark and still night in a old and haunted farm house. In the middle of a Children of the Corn style corn field. Jack Gazwowski sat at his computer typing into the night..... bored out of his fucking gord!!!! Ok so I totally thought this was like going to be awsome. right. but like everyone here is like a total buzzkill. K. I'm gonna beak down for yall. #1 They all act like this shit is real. I mean come on people. haven't you ever seen the original haunted hill. This is a fear experiment dudes. Stop peeing your panties man the house is rigged. Which is awsome btw. #2 No one here parties dudes. And they frickin go to bed at like 9 o'clock. I'm like ghost hunting with the frickin Osmonds. First There's the hot little bitchy girl who can only comunicate by rolling her eyes. She invited me up and smell her room. Don't ask me dudes I've never undersood women. Next there's this Slick as shit badass dude who's like a CSI or somthing. He's all metro and shit and has fucked up nightmares. Aside from the nightmares the dude is all Johnny Depp smooth But Johnny Would have totally toked out with me. People who don't smoke out are just asking for life to be hard. One hit of the Whacky Tobacky and Johnny Slick would sleep like a fucking baby but what do I know he probably gets laid like all the fucking time. Next there's this EMT guy who is there to make sure we don't die and shit. Me I think he's just here to freak us out more. Ahh man wouldn't it be awsome i he was the fricken professor doing the study on us all frickin Jigsaw style. like in the end he all gets up and is like this was all a scam but noone can ever find out! and like locks us in a basement and like makes us like cut off our fucking feet and shit. Dude... I need to watch that guy. Ohh fuck I just typed that and he could read this and fucking take me out. Where's the fucking backspace button on this thing. Man Am I stoned. ... Then there is this hot Gothy girl as if that wasn't a horror movie cliche' that dudes like me wackit to all the frickin time. Wait! What if this shit's being put on fucking Youtube and shit. All fucking Big Brother style. I was just joking up there about the whole weed smoking thing. Those are just cigarettes that i'm smoking on camera. Fuck I'm hungry. I'm gonna go get more of that chicken.............
Ok I'm back. Where was i ...ok Goth Chick. I would totally hit on that but I don't hit on Goth girls since Nixon Suicide kicked me in the beans at a Toadies concert 2 years ago. Besides I think she's totally fucking Johnny Slick. Then the shinning hope of this Horror story Doc Joe. Doc Joe is like this badass ghost hunter dude and homeboy knows how to party. Dude parties and hunts ghosts. how fucking awsome is that. Dude I wonder if he believes in our underwater ally Nessie. I'll ask tommorrow. Dude what if he's a ghost. What if their all ghosts. Dude I'm Freaking myself out. I'm Gunna go make some pancakes.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Perfume and Gold
Lauren wakes to the overpowering smell of perfume for the third night in a row. The sickeningly sweet floral scent is so pungent she has to open the window to keep it from choking her. Her lungs burn as the fresh air wafts into the room, releasing her from the flowery prison once again. She inhales deeply, looking across the backyard at the moonlit fireplace below her.
It is old and broken, the red bricks starting to crumble with age. Ivy had wrapped its way around the frame, holding all of the desiccated pieces together. She goes to her suitcase to get her camera. If anything, she can get some really interesting photographs of the site.
Still feeling the burning sensation in her throat, she decides to head down to the kitchen to get something to drink. No doubt someone will be up meandering the common quarters. She walks down the hallway, padding softly on the hardwood floor. Joseph’s door is closed. No doubt he has turned in early to curl up with the stolen books he now has in his possession. She wonders if Dr. Martin is aware of his habitual thievery.
The light in the living room is on again and she pops her head in to see who may be up at such a late hour. No one is there. She glances at the clock. 12:38 am. This is the third night that someone has left the light on in this room. Maybe Joseph is afraid of the dark? She shakes her head at the private joke, crossing the room to turn off the lamp that sits next to the large sofa.
Darkness fills the house again. Feeling her way along the floor to the hallway once more, she heads into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water. As she gulps down the cool liquid, she can feel the ache in her throat subsiding. She decides it will probably be a good idea, not only for her health, to switch rooms. But that can wait until morning.
She wonders where the smell could be coming from. Maybe someone had spilled a bottle of perfume down the vent? It would make sense that every time the air conditioning kicked on or even the heater that the smell would overpower the room. She will have to do some investigating in the daylight.
When she gets back to her quarters, the smell had all but disappeared. She is too exhausted to do anything but climb under the covers. The chilly night air drifts across her face. It feels good, so she doesn’t mind the window being open. Lying back into the cool sheets, she closes her eyes and sighs deeply. She curls one hand under her chin and buries the other under the pillow.
It is then she feels something cold and hard under her palm. She pulls out the object. It is the ring that had been beside her laptop when she’d come into the room the night they had found the dress. She swears that she had put it on the dresser.
She places it on the nightstand by her head, pondering its whereabouts for a few more minutes before her exhaustion takes hold and she can’t keep her eyes open any longer.
It is old and broken, the red bricks starting to crumble with age. Ivy had wrapped its way around the frame, holding all of the desiccated pieces together. She goes to her suitcase to get her camera. If anything, she can get some really interesting photographs of the site.
Still feeling the burning sensation in her throat, she decides to head down to the kitchen to get something to drink. No doubt someone will be up meandering the common quarters. She walks down the hallway, padding softly on the hardwood floor. Joseph’s door is closed. No doubt he has turned in early to curl up with the stolen books he now has in his possession. She wonders if Dr. Martin is aware of his habitual thievery.
The light in the living room is on again and she pops her head in to see who may be up at such a late hour. No one is there. She glances at the clock. 12:38 am. This is the third night that someone has left the light on in this room. Maybe Joseph is afraid of the dark? She shakes her head at the private joke, crossing the room to turn off the lamp that sits next to the large sofa.
Darkness fills the house again. Feeling her way along the floor to the hallway once more, she heads into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water. As she gulps down the cool liquid, she can feel the ache in her throat subsiding. She decides it will probably be a good idea, not only for her health, to switch rooms. But that can wait until morning.
She wonders where the smell could be coming from. Maybe someone had spilled a bottle of perfume down the vent? It would make sense that every time the air conditioning kicked on or even the heater that the smell would overpower the room. She will have to do some investigating in the daylight.
When she gets back to her quarters, the smell had all but disappeared. She is too exhausted to do anything but climb under the covers. The chilly night air drifts across her face. It feels good, so she doesn’t mind the window being open. Lying back into the cool sheets, she closes her eyes and sighs deeply. She curls one hand under her chin and buries the other under the pillow.
It is then she feels something cold and hard under her palm. She pulls out the object. It is the ring that had been beside her laptop when she’d come into the room the night they had found the dress. She swears that she had put it on the dresser.
She places it on the nightstand by her head, pondering its whereabouts for a few more minutes before her exhaustion takes hold and she can’t keep her eyes open any longer.
King of Spades
Victor turns the weathered playing card over and over between his fingers. The lines and colors are scuffed and faded with age, the corners tattered, showing signs of having been shuffled countless times.
It's late and quiet. Everyone else has likely drifted off to sleep, leaving Victor awake and alone with whatever ghosts haunt this house.
The king doesn't look off to the side, but straight ahead.
Victor isn't sure what the kings mean, but he doesn't think it's good.
He's glad that things seem relatively normal in this house, though they did in the other house at first, too. At least Joseph has started behaving a little more civilly, though it seems more out of necessity than sincerity.
Marcus's replacement seems nice enough, though she seems to take people apart with her eyes. Victor imagines Lauren thinks she probably has a pretty good poker face, but she's not all that adept at hiding when she's analyzing someone. Given enough time and practice, and Victor is sure her eyes will sweep over someone with the practiced gaze of a criminal taking in all the details needed to make an assessment and move forward with the plan.
EV remains her indomitable self, though she seems to have gotten a little more reserved. Victor can see mixed signals fluttering across her pretty face when he's near, and he's pretty sure she's attracted to him but doesn't want to show it. In different circumstances, he might be attracted back, but the there are too many uncontrolled variables for it to be feasible.
This country house has just as many mysteries as the Victorian one did; it's just as full of locked trunks and books, jars and bottles, crates, cabinets, stairways and shadowed corners. The wedding dress intrigues him. Why was it chained into the armoire? Was someone afraid it would escape?
On a sudden impulse, Victor rises from his bed and crosses the room, opening his CSI bag and retrieving a slide. He walks down the hallway in his shirt and underwear, into the strange room with the armoire doors standing wide. The dress gleams white in the moonlight, and the unsightly stain running down the front is as black as ink.
It flakes off the fabric like old blood, onto Victor's slide, caught with expert precision. He covers the sample and carries it back to his room, ready to solve this mystery at least.
The king of spades watches from the bedside table, impassive, and yet seeming to anticipate what events might come next.
It's late and quiet. Everyone else has likely drifted off to sleep, leaving Victor awake and alone with whatever ghosts haunt this house.
The king doesn't look off to the side, but straight ahead.
Victor isn't sure what the kings mean, but he doesn't think it's good.
He's glad that things seem relatively normal in this house, though they did in the other house at first, too. At least Joseph has started behaving a little more civilly, though it seems more out of necessity than sincerity.
Marcus's replacement seems nice enough, though she seems to take people apart with her eyes. Victor imagines Lauren thinks she probably has a pretty good poker face, but she's not all that adept at hiding when she's analyzing someone. Given enough time and practice, and Victor is sure her eyes will sweep over someone with the practiced gaze of a criminal taking in all the details needed to make an assessment and move forward with the plan.
EV remains her indomitable self, though she seems to have gotten a little more reserved. Victor can see mixed signals fluttering across her pretty face when he's near, and he's pretty sure she's attracted to him but doesn't want to show it. In different circumstances, he might be attracted back, but the there are too many uncontrolled variables for it to be feasible.
This country house has just as many mysteries as the Victorian one did; it's just as full of locked trunks and books, jars and bottles, crates, cabinets, stairways and shadowed corners. The wedding dress intrigues him. Why was it chained into the armoire? Was someone afraid it would escape?
On a sudden impulse, Victor rises from his bed and crosses the room, opening his CSI bag and retrieving a slide. He walks down the hallway in his shirt and underwear, into the strange room with the armoire doors standing wide. The dress gleams white in the moonlight, and the unsightly stain running down the front is as black as ink.
It flakes off the fabric like old blood, onto Victor's slide, caught with expert precision. He covers the sample and carries it back to his room, ready to solve this mystery at least.
The king of spades watches from the bedside table, impassive, and yet seeming to anticipate what events might come next.
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