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Don't hit me because of the name of this topic... I drew Tokiko Midorikawa/Shuyako Asai. When you see her you'll understand the name of this topic... :wink: Tokiko

Yeah, I posted it in "Scary Ghost Stories," but I wanted to post it separately, so I could have a poll. Here it is: I am Gregory Davis. Every night, before the sun sets, I go around the house and check on every light. I lock the front and back doors and windows, close the shutters, open every door that doesn't lead outside, and ensure that there is no dark corner or shadow. In this house, there is a closet where I keep hundreds of lightbulbs, to replace the ones that I leave on all night. There will never be more than one lightbulb out of its socket at a time, and I will never turn out the lights. Every night, I sit on the empty floor of my room. I never get up to go to the mirrorless bathroom, because He would be there, waiting in the corners. I sit against the wall in my windowless bedroom and write. I write His death, over and over, in as many ways as I can think of. But I know He will never die. I made Him immortal, gave Him life and power. The power to haunt my dreams, to hunt down my weakness. But now, I am trying to free myself. I cannot leave the house, nor do I dare open the door, except between noon and one p.m, when I have food, writing materials and lightbulbs delivered, and send off my next manuscript, full of His influence. I don't hear the rumors that I'm insane, but I know they exist. Without a phone, or any electronics, I am cut off from their world, and trapped in mine alone. No, I can't say that. Because He is here, waiting for me to slip up. Always waiting... I sit here writing this, my final book of stories, in hopes that somewhere, someone will realize that it's all real. Ever since I wrote His name in that first book, He has haunted me, waiting in every dark space to jeer at me. His shapeless black form, like smoke, was once simply an idea. His red eyes, that burn like ice, rather than fire, once only a thought. But I gave Him a name, a form, and now I am hiding in the light. If ever I were to die, He would remain, waiting where the shadows meet for another to say his name. To believe is to give the beast power, but there is no way I can disbelieve. I have seen what He can do. That first night, my fear merely a suspicion that I wrote far too late into the night and needed rest, he came up beside the bed that no longer sits in my room with its walls of white. He looked me in the eyes, silent as death, and then glanced at my wife. She was hidden, I thought, by the shadow over her side of our bed. And I, I was merely dreaming, giving my monster a shape in my dazed mind. And yet, when He shifted, He had to tread around me, His fluid and translucent form sliding at the edge if the moonlight that leaked through our window. I was within the light, but she was not. He simply moved to her side and stared until she awoke, feeling the same freezing dread that I have felt every night since then. Her beautiful eyes, brown as the earth, darted to me and back to the monster, and she appeared to wonder whether we were sharing a nightmare. If I had known who He was, I would have pulled her away, far from his gaze. But I was in a dream, and nothing can hurt you when you're dreaming... or so I believed. He watched as her fear took over and she froze, her breath quickening until I thought her lungs would burst. Captivted by His horror, I was unable to move, to make a sound, to wake up. Sandra's eyes, no longer sparkling, changed slowly. Her pupils stretched across the iris, enveloping all the color they had held. But then the blackness glazed over both her eyes entirely, and I was horrified by her transformation as it continued. Her soft, pale hands twitched and became gnarled, arthritic claws, and her rosy cheeks became grey and sunken. Her hair morphed from its golden straw appearance and became matted and colorless, as black as the night, as he was. She turned to me, her mouth wide open in a silent scream of terror, and began to disappear. First, her feet and hands, then her legs, arms, waist, and torso. The last thing to vanish was the image branded on my mind: Her face, distorted in mortal fear, slowly disappeared, her eyes staring into mine until every last bit of her was gone. When I broke from the sight, He was gone. Since that day, not a single living creature has been allowed to cross the threshold of my house. I hear sounds of life from outside, birds, children, insects, but at night, everything changes. The chorus of crickets chirp a macabre tune, relentlessly repeating the same eerie chords, drilling it so far into my mind that the sound of it drowns out the beautiful music of the day. I hear that song always, and always, it reminds me that He is there. Thunder and pounding rain tell me when there is a storm, but flashes of lightning are never allowed to become visible. The shadows they cast would be enough to give Him a chance. There is a storm going on now, the thunder harassing my eardrums, but a welcome break from the haunting melody that repeats itself in my head. My backup generator is always on, as I will never allow the light to disappear. But the hum of the machine stops, and yet I don't dare move from where I sit, pressed against the wall, shaking as I nearly always do. When I was a child, and read a story that frightened me, I would duck under the covers to escape imaginary monsters. But that is just what He wants. That darkness is now a sanctuary for the hunter. The hunted have no haven but light. My bedroom door is the only one I keep closed, in the admittedly silly belief that the door separates me from Him. The thunder rumbles again, and I sit patiently, waiting for the night to end so that I may fix the backup tomorrow. I have no clock, but as the lights flicker momentarily, I know it is midnight... His time... I sit there, shivering uncontrollably, as every beautiful light fades and I am plunged into darkness. My eyes are helplessly drawn to the crack between the door and its frame, where a silken, cloudy shadow moved. Red light that roots me to the spot appears within the darkness, and I let out a scream, my final words written on this paper, even as I am sure of my demise. Tomorrow, my house will be discovered empty, and this paper will be found on the floor beside where I am no longer. I can only hope to transfer a portion of this torment away from me. I feel my wife's presence even now, and I know that rather than die, I will be trapped behind His leering, , icy, red eyes for eternity, plagued with his existence for all of time. And so, with these final sentences as He draws near, I give Him to whomever may read this. I wouldn't turn off that light, as now you know, His name is Faer.

Here it is: I copied it from the cover of a book but I think you should be able to find this picture on the internet, maybe even on this wiki Please tell me what you think and how I can improve. Thanks

Dear Anonymous, That isn't true. Some people do actually care. Don't be upset, cuz everything will turn out alright in the end. Signed, Anonymous.

Welcome to Kleene's moldy scribbling~ Here I'll post some of my fan-arts :3 dA account: http://kleeneonigiri.deviantart.com/ ^ newer v older *Paint Tool Sai and Photoshop Contest entry, Crossover with Treasure Island Careful, possible SPOILERS!!! File 818!!! SPOILERS over... for now... *Paint Tool Sai and Photoshop Yuriko (DCTP) *Paint Tool Sai and Photoshop Sonoci! <3 Random Onigiris *Paint Tool Sai Vodka! XD *Paint Tool Sai and Photoshop Comic *Paint Tool Sai and Photoshop It's Jd-! (DCTP) *Paint Tool Sai Random Gin *Colored with Copic Ciao Akonyl <3 Bday gift! <3 *Colored with Copic Ciao It's Chekhov <3 *Colored with Copic Ciao Chibi Pofa from DCTP *Colored with Copic Ciao Conia form DCTP XD *Colored in Paint Tool Sai Chibi Gin :3 *Colored with Copic Ciao Chibi Abs. (DCTP) *Colored with Copic Ciao Chibi Kor (DCTP) Sketch *Colored with Copic Ciao Chibi Jd- *Colored in Paint Tool Sai Chibi PhoenixTears <3 *Done in Photoshop CS4 Chibi KID XD *Colored in Photoshop CS4 Baby Red-chan! <3 *Colored in Photoshop. Inuyasha D: Old stuff is old. *Colored in Photoshop A MMO Character "Kleene Onigiri" Extremely old drawing :V The uglier stuff I did won't be shown \o/ Bwahahaha~ This is totally not copyed from DCTP XD Hope it's ok to also post non-DC art D:

YES!! I FINALLY GOT THIS VIDEO WORKING. In truth, I finished this video last week... I finally worked my way through a loophole to save it right. Hope you guys enjoy~! Akako Koizumi - World is Mine Please tell me what you thought~!

So, considering spoilers are now out and I think this case'll be pretty interesting I started this topic before the file came out. Spoilers courtesy of Conan 48:69 Text spoiler now translated by Zenthisoror of the DCTP c-box~! Basic file info And the bits I found interesting were:

LMAO at this photo. My link I wanna be a member. :grin:

Name:Nikko Gender:Male100% Age:16 Birthday:May 9,1995 Location:Philippines Likes:number one will be DETECTIVE CONAN,MYSTERIES,SCIENCE,HISTORIES,Theories,Riddles,Puzzles, to know that nothing is impossible in this world,Anime,Deducting,Drawing,Playing,Watching TV,Eating but i'm skinny,Joking,Sleeping,Teasing,Imitating,Surfing the net,etc.... Dislikes:Killing,Abusing animals,Insects,Singing,Misunderstandings,Dancing,etc... Motto:Nothing Is Impossible yey FTW!! KAITO KID Attitude:Simple,Kind,Caring,Loyal,maybe i have all positive Attitude except for being hot-headed like heiji :mrgreen: :mrgreen: maybe that's all for now anyways hello to all DCW Users especially those very active users,Moderators and the administrator...Nice to meet you all

I just wrote this one. Hope you guys like it. I am Gregory Davis. Every night, before the sun sets, I go around the house and check on every light. I lock the front and back doors and windows, close the shutters, open every door that doesn't lead outside, and ensure that there is no dark corner or shadow. In this house, there is a closet where I keep hundreds of lightbulbs, to replace the ones that I leave on all night. There will never be more than one lightbulb out of its socket at a time, and I will never turn out the lights. Every night, I sit on the empty floor of my room. I never get up to go to the mirrorless bathroom, because He would be there, waiting in the corners. I sit against the wall in my windowless bedroom and write. I write His death, over and over, in as many ways as I can think of. But I know He will never die. I made him immortal, gave him life and power. The power to haunt my dreams, to hunt down my weakness. But now, I am trying to free myself. I cannot leave the house, nor do I dare open the door, except between noon and one p.m, when I have food, writing materials and lightbulbs delivered, and send off my next manuscript, full of His influence. I don't hear the rumors that I'm insane, but I know they exist. Without a phone, or any electronics, I am cut off from their world, and trapped in mine alone. No, I can't say that. Because He is here, waiting for me to slip up. Always waiting... I sit here writing this, my final book of stories, in hopes that somewhere, someone will realize that it's all real. Ever since I wrote His name in that first book, He has haunted me, waiting in every dark space to jeer at me. His shapeless black form, like smoke, was once simply an idea. His red eyes, that burn like ice, rather than fire, once only a thought. But I gave Him a name, a form, and now I am hiding in the light. If ever I were to die, He would remain, waiting were the shadows meet for another to say his name. To believe is to give the beast power, but there is no way I can disbelieve. I have seen what He can do. That first night, my fear merely a suspicion that I wrote far too late into the night and needed rest, he came up beside the bed that no longer sits in my room with its walls of white. He looked me in the eyes, silent as death, and then glanced at my wife. She was hidden, I thought, by the shadow over her side of our bed. And I, I was merely dreaming, giving my monster a shape in my dazed mind. And yet, when He shifted, He had to tread around me, His fluid and translucent form sliding at the edge if the moonlight that leaked through our window. I was within the light, but she was not. He simply moved to her side and stared until she awoke, feeling the same freezing dread that I have felt every night since then. Her beautiful eyes, brown as the earth, darted to me and back to the monster, and she appeared to wonder whether we were sharing a nightmare. If I had known who He was, I would have pulled her away, far from his gaze. But I was in a dream, and nothing can hurt you when you're dreaming... or so I believed. He watched as her fear took over and she froze, her breath quickening until I thought her lungs would burst. Captivted by His horror, I was unable to move, to make a sound, to wake up. Sandra's eyes, no longer sparkling, changed slowly. Her pupils stretched across the iris, enveloping all the color they had held. But then the blackness glazed over both her eyes entirely, and I was horrified by her transformation as it continued. Her soft, pale hands twitched and became gnarled, arthritic claws, and her rosy cheeks became grey and sunken. Her hair morphed from its golden straw appearance and became matted and colorless, as black as the night, as he was. She turned to me, her mouth wide open in a silent scream of terror, and began to disappear. First, her feet and hands, then her legs, arms, waist, and torso. The last thing to vanish was the image branded on my mind: Her face, distorted in mortal fear, slowly disappeared, her eyes staring into mine until every last bit of her was gone. When I broke from the sight, He was gone. Since that day, not a single living creature has been allowed to cross the threshold of my house. I hear sounds of life from outside, birds, children, insects, but at night, everything changes. The chorus of crickets chirp a macabre tune, relentlessly repeating the same eerie chords, drilling it so far into my mind that the sound of it drowns out the beautiful music of the day. I hear that song always, and always, it reminds me that He is there. Thunder and pounding rain tell me when there is a storm, but flashes of lightning are never allowed to become visible. The shadows they cast would be enough to give Him a chance. There is a storm going on now, the thunder harassing my eardrums, but a welcome break from the haunting melody that repeats itself in my head. My backup generator is always on, as I will never allow the light to disappear. But the hum of the machine stops, and yet I don't dare move from where I sit, pressed against the wall, shaking as I nearly always do. When I was a child, and read a story that frightened me, I would duck under the covers to escape imaginary monsters. But that is just what He wants. That darkness is now a sanctuary for the hunter. The hunted have no haven but light. My bedroom door is the only one I keep closed, in the admittedly silly belief that the door separates me from Him. The thunder rumbles again, and I sit patiently, waiting for the night to end so that I may fix the backup tomorrow. I have no clock, but as the lights flicker momentarily, I know it is midnight... His time... I sit there, shivering uncontrollably, as every beautiful light fades and I am plunged into darkness. My eyes are helplessly drawn to the crack between the door and its frame, where a silken, cloudy shadow moved. Red light that roots me to the spot appears within the darkness, and I let out a scream, my final words written on this paper, even as I am sure of my demise. Tomorrow, my house will be discovered empty, and this paper will be found on the floor beside where I am no longer. I can only hope to transfer a portion of this torment away from me. I feel my wife's presence even now, and I know that rather than die, I will be trapped behind His leering, , icy, red eyes for eternity, plagued with his existence for all of time. And so, with these final sentences as He draws near, I give Him to whomever may read this. I wouldn't turn off that light, as now you know, His name is Faer.

I wonder how it would turn out if we had personification for dc, or Pokemon, or other anime XD

FIIIINNNNAAAAAAAAAALLLLLYYYYYYYYYYYYY! \o/ I finished a request xpon requested this setting XD I thought to do it as a wallpaper XD And that's why it took ages @.@ Here it is! Warning! It's big! 1600x1200: http://circe.kandai.org/drawings/Jd_Paint1600x1200.jpg 1920x1080: http://circe.kandai.org/drawings/Jd_Paint1920x1080.jpg Also, I suck with colors :x

Many people to meet! Like... Our awesome Admin: Maurice Members: Aeyra Kid the Phantom Thief True Tears Cammy3131 Moho Azu-chan Miko-chan IU And many more to come!

That title is wrong or at least not confirmed. The official title will be released and/or confirmed at the beginning of december.

... The conversations I have with Cleverbot make no sense. We started with songs, then went to DC, then numbers, then how Cleverbot is really a human made of celery, then how old Cleverbot was, then what kind of foods each age is, then dragon and chicken meat, and now extinct animals.

Sapat na sa akin na may mahal kang iba. Kahit na nasasaktan ako wag lang kita makitang umiiyak. kc... sa bawat pagpatak ng luha mo, sumasabay pati pagpatak ng sipon mo... Tao po! May tao ba rito?

Since when did Detective Conan become a vampire from Twilight?

My conversation: User: I want to be the very best. Cleverbot: Like no one ever was. User: To catch them is my real test. Cleverbot: To train them is my cause! User: I will travel across the land. Cleverbot: Searching far and wide. User: Each Pokémon to understand. Cleverbot: The power that's inside. User: Pokémon, gotta catch 'em all! Cleverbot: Every challenge along the way. User: No, you're too early! Damn you, Not-So-Cleverbot!!! Yep, he kinda ruined the fun there. :/ But hey, it was awesome singing with him! XD

I wish Ryuuji wouldn't use such small font, so i can read what his quote says easier. <-wrong topic It's impossible to truly forget someone, especially someone you have grown fond of. But if this memory of the person really makes your heart to ache in unpleasurable pain than all you need to do is let the feelings go~. Do whatever it takes. Cry. Laugh. Distract. Or suffer in your own suffering. Take as long as you like. It's really your choice. Decide what you have to do. But just remember, as you're dwelling over someone in ur past-someone who probably doesn't even think about you as much as you do them-you are making that special someone wait longer for you to find them~. </3

Thank you~ I tried to match the color accordingly to the movie Thank you jovan I should be thanking you for the compliments~ Glad you liked it. Thanks Lupin-san Thanks once again >\\\<

Hello~ If anyone saw the 'DC Characters on My Folders' topic this should look familiar. Since I had MEAP testing all week and everyone's schedules got messed up NO HOMEWORK \o/ I had lots of free time and some of it I spent on GimPhoto...So Ta-Da! Yeah it still needs work but I got this much done so far. Her hair &eyes looks darker than it should be D: Shading hasn't been added yet, I'm still trying to figure out how I should do that... Feedback would be lovely?

LOoooooooooooooo0ooove It!!~~~

Pretty darn good!

:-o Wow! You're amazing!!!(I really don't know what else to say, my vocab is limited ...lol ) PS: I clicked the green + button on the bottom right of your post, I'm supposing it's like liking it?

You're always good.Enough said.

I have an odd habit a friend recently picked up on, a habit I developed about a year ago. He noticed that when I enter a room, any room, and shut the door, I turn my face away from it and close my eyes until I hear the lock click. Only after the door is fully closed will I open them. He gave me a hard time about it until I told him where it started. I work for a water-seal company in St. Paul. We produce sealant for exposed wood - decks, boats, that kind of thing. You hear about sealant being a dirty word in the Ashland-Ichor Falls-Ironton area, but not all those companies were part of the infamous “Ethylor summer” that wiped out the local economy in the ’50s. I got sent to an industrial park outside of Ichor Falls on business. I checked into this dismal hotel, the Hotel Umbra, that looked like the decor hadn’t been changed since 1930. The lobby wallpaper had gone yellow from decades of cigarette smoke, and everything had a fine layer of dust, including the old man behind the front desk. I hoped that the room would be in better shape. Mine was on the fourth floor. Being an old place, the hotel had a rickety cable elevator, the kind with the double sets of doors: one of those flexing metal gates, and a solid outer pair of doors. I shut the gate and latched it, and pressed the tiny black button for my floor. Just as the outer elevator doors were about to close, I was startled by the face of a young woman rushing at the gap between them. She was too late; the doors shut, and after a moment the elevator ascended. I thought nothing of it, until I needed to take the elevator back down for one of my bags. I entered, pushed the button for the lobby, and pressed my tired back to the elevator wall opposite the doors. They had nearly completely shut when again I was surprised by a woman’s face moving towards the gap, staring into the elevator through the gate, too late to place her hand in to stop the doors from closing. This time I sprang forward and held the “Door Open” button, and after a moment the doors lurched and slid open. I waited a moment. From the opening I could see partly down the hallway: no one in sight. Still holding the button down, I slid open the metal gate and craned my head into the hallway to look down the other direction. No one. No trace of the girl, no recently shut hotel room door, no footsteps, no jingle of keys. I released the button, but did not lean back against the wall. I stood directly in front of where the gap in the doors would be, in the center of the elevator. After a pause, the outer doors again began to slide shut, to move towards each other until the space between them was the width of a young girl’s face. In that quarter-second several fingertips appeared, followed immediately by her face again, rushing from around the corner, staring at me as the doors met. I had been watching the gap where I thought she might be, so I saw her - she was about thirteen years old, and very plain, almost homely, with a pale complexion and neck-length dark brown hair that looked mussed or slightly dirty. I did*’t have time to glance down at her visible shoulder, to see what she was wearing; from her behavior I wondered if she was a runaway or a homeless person who had gotten into the building. She had had a glassy, blank expression, tinged with a little desperation, some distant desire or need. A look that could easily be accompanied by the words “Please help.” The next time I passed the front desk, I asked the old man if he’d seen a young girl running through. “Heard the stories, then,” he said between throat-clearings, rocking gently in his seat. “Young Maddy has been here a long time. Takes a liking to gentlemen guests. Always been shy. Never says a word, not a word. Just curious.* I told him I hadn’t heard any stories, and that there had been a girl taking the stairs and standing in front of my elevator on every floor. “That’s our Maddy,” he said. “She likes you then. Sweet on you. She just wants to see, that’s all, just to see. All she ever does. Curious little thing. Just wants to see.” I stayed at the Hotel Umbra for three nights. It was a four-night business trip; the last night I tried sleeping in my car. It did*’t help. Let me tell you about Young Maddy. You only catch glimpses of her, of a face with a resigned look of quiet desperation, dominated by a pair of wide, dark eyes. Locked doors, barricades, nothing made a difference; she gets inside. I never saw her longer than half a second. Every time I laid eyes on her she retreated instantly, only to appear again an hour or two later. An hour or two if I was lucky. Let me tell you about where I saw Young Maddy. Every time I shut the door to my bathroom, in my hotel room, I saw her. If I watched as I shut it, at the last possible second I’d see the crescent of her face moving fast at the gap. I’d throw the door open to find nothing. Every time I closed the closet door I saw her. If I watched that gap, she’d suddenly be inside the closet, leaning her head to watch me just as it shut. It’s as if she knew where to go, where to be, so that my eye would meet hers. But there was never an impact, never a moment when she’d make contact with the door or the wall. I did spend that last night in my car, but like I said, it did no good. Tossing and turning on that rental car seat, the back ratcheted as flat as I could get it, I’d have to open my eyes sometimes, and if there was a place for her to dart from my view when I opened them, she did. In the side-view mirror, or peeking over the hood of my car - once upside-down, at the top of the windshield, as if she was on the roof. I’m back in St. Paul again, and I’ve been back for a year. But Maddy hasn’t stopped. If I keep my eyes open long enough, if I watch a place long enough, I’ll eventually catch sight of movement - near the copier in my office, a pile of boxes in an alley, a column in a quiet parking lot - and my eye will get there just in time to see her eye retreating from view. There’s never anything there when I go to look, so I’ve stopped looking. That’s how I’ve had to change things since the Hotel Umbra. I’ve stopped looking. I keep my eyes shut when I close doors, when I shut drawers and cabinets, fridges, coolers, the trunk of my car. Not all spaces. Just ones that are big enough. At least, that used to work. I was getting ready for bed a few nights ago, standing in front of my bathroom mirror, door shut, cabinets shut. Watching myself floss. I opened up wide to get my molars. I swear I saw fingertips retreat down the back of my throat. _____________________________________________________________________ Have you ever heard the expression “an apple a day keeps the Doctor away”? Most assume, with no reason to think otherwise, that it is simply an easy-to-remember rhyme that stresses the importance of eating healthily to young children. But the saying did not originate as a harmless reminder. It was born in a frontier town in the early years of the gold rush, where food was scarce and money even scarcer. One August, when a bad drought had struck the region, a series of bloody killings swept through the town. Every night, a single house would be broken into, and anyone who saw the invader would be swiftly, brutally slain. Nothing was ever stolen, save for a few scraps of food. After two weeks of this, the local grocer set out a few apples and a glass of milk in the town square overnight. He then hid in the tower of the church, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone who came by. Fighting fatigue, the grocer waited for any sign of life below. Just after midnight, he was rewarded by a chilling sight; a man, carrying a black bag stuffed with dully shining metal tools and covered from head to foot in cloth bandages, staggered into view. He paused at the sight of the apples and milk, and then whipped his head around, as if looking for the one who dared to patronize him. Seized with fear, the grocer ducked out of sight, staying hidden 'til sunrise. The strange man had only taken one of the apples, and didn't even touch the glass of milk. No houses were broken into, and no one was killed. For decades, the town continued to place out an apple or two every night, even long after a single apple stopped disappearing. _____________________________________________________________________ There are stories about a certain kind of hitchhiker - they only ever appear at night on quiet roads, seeming to flicker into existence in the very edge of headlights, never carrying a sign, always with an expression of deep despondency on their faces, swathed in a heavy coat and long pants, usually with gloves. If you stop, they will seem cordial enough, polite, but hardly chatty. They will assure you that the next town or city along your route will be a fine spot to leave them. Normal enough. Unless you try killing them. They die easily enough. But look underneath their clothes, and you will see that their skin is marred with lines of scars, forming repeating patterns that are unsettling to look at, and even more unsettling in the context of their skin. They have no wallets, no identification. If you slice their belly open, however, they're different inside. There's no blood, no muscle, only a hollow cavity containing a single object. The object varies. Examples include a single coin, heavy and golden and engraved with runes nobody could ever decipher. A diamond gem with fractal edges that slice bare flesh to ribbons. A small vase, quite unbreakable, that smells of the ocean and is always damp... Once you possess a Hitchhiker's object, you'll find yourself always driving the quiet roads at night. You'll never mean to, but somehow, you just will. The lure of possessing a second one will hum quietly in your head. You'll strain to catch sight of a figure appearing in your headlights, try to resist the impulse to stop, and sometimes you might. But sometimes you won't. You'll try telling yourself that this is just a normal person on an adventure, someone who ran out of petrol. The logical part of your brain will scream at what you're doing. You'll smile and nod and they'll get into the car and you'll slowly, casually, reach under the seat or across to the glove box... _____________________________________________________________________ This morning, I stepped out of the shower and this bathroom was fine: white walls, white tiles, sink and counter with toothpaste crusted all over. Three out of the four light bulbs over the mirror were still good - 100 watt, clear bulb, blinding bright in the small white room. Like always I was late, so I skipped shaving. She liked it when I did*’t shave, anyway. I was thinking about doing mutton chops. She'd get a kick out of that. I passed the mirror and noticed I was grinning. I didn't even know I was grinning. I’m in the bathroom tonight before bed and there’s something wrong with the lights. All three are on again but they glow kind of brown, and don’t really light up the rest of the room. I should get more bulbs from the kitchen. I should, but I’m busy. The date was garbage and she shut her apartment door on me. You’d think that that would wipe off the stupid grin from this morning. But I came back in the bathroom and, in the mirror, my face was still doing it. If I touch my face, it doesn’t feel like a grin, but there it is in the mirror. In the brown light it’s hard to make out but - have you ever actually counted how many teeth show when you smile? I lean in close. One, two, three, four - I did*’t know my mouth was so wide - nine, ten, eleven - I can’t do mutton chops after all. The corners of my lips are out to my ears. It still doesn’t feel like a grin. But I keep counting, for curiosity. Thirty-six - thirty-seven - thirty-eight... _____________________________________________________________________ During the summer of 1983, in a quiet town near Minneapolis, Minnesota, the charred body of a woman was found inside the kitchen stove of a small farmhouse. A video camera was also found in the kitchen, standing on a tripod and pointing at the oven. No tape was found inside the camera at the time. Although the scene was originally labeled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm's well (which had apparently dried up earlier that year). Despite its worn condition, and the fact that it contained no audio, police were still able to view the contents of the tape. It depicted a woman recording herself in front of a video camera (seemingly using the same camera the police found in the kitchen). After positioning the camera to include both her and her kitchen stove in the image, the tape then showed her turning on the oven, opening the door, crawling inside, and then closing the door behind her. Eight minutes into the video, the oven could be seen shaking violently, after which point thick black smoke could be seen emanating from it. For the remaining 45 minutes of video, until the batteries in the camera died, it remained in its stationary position. To avoid disturbing the local community, police never released any information about the tape, or even the fact that it was found. Police were also not able to determine who put the tape in the well, or why the height and stature of the woman in the video didn't come close to matching the body they'd found in the oven. _____________________________________________________________________ I was through hiking the Appalachian Trail last year, when I got lost and found myself off the trail, in a strange, dark hollow with heavy moss and one running stream. It was getting dark, and starting to rain. I found a cave just above the creekbed, and there were no bear-tracks, so I went in for shelter. Sometime in the night, a bear did come, right into the cave, and I had no way out! Keeping my head, I crawled deeper into the cave and found a passage too small for the bear to fit. It led to a long crawlway ending in a little alcove. I had no light, and was terrified. But the sound of the bear in the bigger room faded away. This new room was cozy, with what felt like mounds of soft moss and crackly leaves all over the floor. A breeze blew through, and the leaves, though I couldn’t see them, seemed to move all over, they tickled me all night long, making it hard to sleep. The next morning I crept back out to see if the bear was gone - he was. So I exited back into the hollow. I had a terrible rash all over my body from the itchy bedding I had slept on, and couldn’t stop scratching as I gathered my stuff and went down the creek looking for a road and some directions back to the trail. I found another trail along the creek, and in a few hours, it ended at a dirt road. There I rested, trying to decide which way to walk for help. My skin was bleeding in spots now, and pustules were forming at the itchiest places. I thought I might need some cream or something. A game warden Jeep came around the bend, and when the Warden saw me sitting at the trailhead, he stopped. “You planning on going up there?” he asked, gesturing up the trail I had come down. “No, actually -- ” I began, but the itching on my skin made me stop short to scratch. “I wouldn't if I were you, especially that cave.” “Why?” I asked. “They call it Spiders-Nest Cave.” ____________________________________________________________________ An elderly man was sitting alone on a dark path. He wasn't sure of which direction to go, and he'd forgotten both where he was traveling to...and who he was. He'd sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him. She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: “Now your third wish. What will it be?* *Third wish?* The man was baffled. “How can it be a third wish if I haven’t had a first and second wish?” “You’ve had two wishes already,” the hag said, “but your second wish was for me to return everything to the way it was before you had made your first wish. That’s why you remember nothing; because everything is the way it was before you made any wishes.” She cackled at the poor man. “So it is that you have one wish left.” “All right,” he said hesitantly, “I don't believe this, but there's no harm in trying. I wish to know who I am.” “Funny,” said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. “That was your first wish...”