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This World and Church Trends and Bible Prophecy End Times Depravity Addition Blog was started in late 2015. It continues Don’s perspectives on issues pertaining to the end of this age. Don’s previous writings can be found on “World and Church trends and Bible Prophecy” Blog or from his website homepage, www.thepropheticyears.com The rise and fall and the depths of depravity of pedophile Jared from Subway. 12 · 1 comment . Erica Parsons' adoptive mother pleads guilty to murder, child abuse. 6 · 1 comment . Canton mother receives 30 year sentence for felony child abuse. 5 . The case of Asunta-Netflix documentary. 5 . A recent headline left many readers sickened: “Wisconsin Man Sentenced to 60 Years in Prison for Trying to Sell His 4-Year-Old Daughter for Sex.”. ABC7Chicago.com reported that this father placed an ad on Craigslist under the heading “Play With Daddie’s Little Girl.” In e-mail exchanges, 30-year-old Andrew Turley told a customer that he would give his daughter “sleep meds” for an ... The rise and fall and the depths of depravity of pedophile Jared from Subway. 11 · 4 comments . Canton mother receives 30 year sentence for felony child abuse. 12 · 2 comments . Erica Parsons' adoptive mother pleads guilty to murder, child abuse. Welcome to Reddit, The rise and fall and the depths of depravity of pedophile Jared from Subway. Close. 33. Crossposted by. ... Posted by. u/BuckRowdy. 4 months ago. crime. The rise and fall and the depths of depravity of pedophile Jared from Subway. Full disclosure. I used to be kind of obsessed with the idea of Jared from Subway. He always seemed like nothing ... The rise and fall and the depths of depravity of pedophile Jared from Subway. nsfw. ... Archived. The rise and fall and the depths of depravity of pedophile Jared from Subway. ... Full disclosure. I used to be kind of obsessed with the idea of Jared from Subway. He always seemed like nothing more than wallpaper in a commercial, a guy whose job ... The case was similar to another pedophile ring broken up in 2014 where more than 1,400 girls were victimized over several years. In 2014, Operation Underground Railroad rescued 54 children, ranging in age from 11 to 18, from a Columbian child sex ring. 2013 saw a world-wide pedophile ring, run from Ontario, Canada broken up. Police rescued ... Provided to YouTube by The Orchard Enterprises The Depths of Depravity · Six Feet Under Undead ℗ 2012 Metal Blade Records, Inc Released on: 2012-05-22 Auto-generated by YouTube. Pedophilia in the U.S. is "unprecedented" and has reached an almost "epidemic level," according to assistant director of the FBI's Criminal Investigative Division Joseph Campbell. Please Note: We moderate all reader comments, usually within 24 hours of posting (longer on weekends). Please limit your comment to 300 words or less and ensure it addresses the content. Comments that contain a link (URL), an inordinate number of words in ALL CAPS, rude remarks directed at the author or other readers, or profanity/vulgarity will not be approved.

2020.09.18 14:47 BuckRowdy New voyeur house

This is an updated and edited version of a post I originally submitted at /redditcrimecommunity. It's been updated with the latest info.
I used to be kind of obsessed with the idea of Jared from Subway. He always seemed like nothing more than wallpaper in a commercial, a guy whose job amounted to holding up a comically giant pair of pants for seconds at a time in commercials. How much do you think they paid that guy to do that?
I used to search to see if I could find out Jared's salary or his net worth because to me it seemed like he had the easiest job in the world. Just stand there and smile, hold up the giant pants, shake a few kids hands at store openings and other corporate promotional events; essentially play the character of Jared from the Subway commercials.
The Midwestern everyman who once weighed over 425 pounds and lost it all by eating at Subway every day. Of course the fine print at the bottom of the screen gave the wider context to his weight loss routine, but there was a much wider, much darker context to Jared's story that would only be revealed years later.
Jared started working for Subway in 2000. By 2005 they had stopped featuring him in commercials and their sales declined by 10%. They quickly reinstated him and he was a fixture ever since.
It is true that Jared did lose the weight, and he did do it in part by eating at Subway.
At this point it would be reasonable to ask how did he get the money as a college student to eat all his meals at Subway?
Because he was running a porn video rental business out of his apartment at the time and had an extensive collection. You've got to remember that this was in an era where media of all types was more difficult to obtain. You didn't have everything at your fingertips back then.
Subway opened up on the ground floor and Jared was lazy so he started eating all his meals there.
The rest of Jared's story is marketing mythology. A friend wrote an article in the student newspaper that got published in Men's Health which caught the eye of Subway's marketing department. Jared started working for Subway in 2000 and up until about 2007 it appeared to be a marketing master stroke. That's when the reports started trickling out. In 2007, TMZ published the story about the porn rental business.
We'd learn later that as early as 2008, Subway had received serious reports about Jared from a franchisee in Florida that Jared had befriended at a few store openings. Cindy Mills, the franchisee said:

"He would just tell me he really liked them young," she says. Fogle and Mills had a sexual relationship, which lead Fogle to disclose disturbing details of his criminal activity in lewd text messages.
Mills says she tried to blow the whistle by phoning ad executive Jeff Moody — then CEO of the Subway Franchisee Advertising Fund Trust (SFAFT) — after Fogle had told her that he had sex both in Thailand and the US with child prostitutes between the ages of 9 and 16 years old. According to Mills, Moody stopped her mid-conversation and said, "Don't worry, he has met someone. She is a teacher and he seems to love her very much, and we think she will help keep him grounded." Mills also claims she spoke with two more SFAFT execs after Moody, but ran into more dead ends.
Jared was up to no good for years, but his world really started to crumble in 2015 with the arrest of Russell Taylor. Taylor was Jared's partner in his non-profit charity and he was just as bad as Jared if not worse.
Russell Taylor, the former director of Fogle's anti-childhood obesity foundation, was arrested in April [of 2015] on three counts of possession of child pornography, three counts of child exploitation, and three counts of voyeurism.
Taylor had gotten in trouble for texting a woman a picture of bestiality and suggesting such between the two of them. It's a sick thing to think about, but that's just what Jared and Russell were up to.
In one of those text messages, according to the affidavit, “Russell Taylor asked her if he and another adult female she identified could come to Jane Doe’s residence and engage in” an act of bestiality. The woman did not agree to that request, but told investigators “you could tell (Taylor) was serious.” She also told investigators that “she received an image file via text from Russell Taylor that depicted (another act of bestiality).”
Jared's house was raided and the rest quickly became history. Subway dropped him. Sharknado 3 dropped him. Jared accused Taylor of fraud and sued him. One quarter of the funds of the charity were unaccounted for, and the only money they ever paid out went to Taylor's $73k salary.
I'm no professional but it's hard not to draw the conclusion that Jared was paying Taylor to produce child porn with a non profit charity.
The world found out about Jared in 2015, but in 2007 and 2008 two women were finding out a lot about Jared.
Jared had met a franchisee in Florida and started a sexual relationship with her. She called the FBI when Jared started texting stuff like this:
In one series of texts sent from April 2008, Fogle tries to convince the franchisee, a woman, to advertise herself for sex on Craigslist. She could make $500 per act he explains and he could watch her have sex with other men. Fogle then goes on to apparently admit to paying for sex with a 16-year-old girl off Craigslist.
The woman franchisee writes: "Is this the same website you found that 16 year old you that you f---ed?" the woman replied, according to an affadavit.
The woman got a lawyer and submitted the texts to Subway who sat on them.
Around the same time, Jared met Rochelle Herman Walrond, a journalist who initially remained anonymous, who came forward and said that she got suspicious about Jared when he called middle school girls hot
According to the woman, Jared would often visit schools in Sarasota County, and allegedly told her numerous times that, 'Middle school girls are hot.'"
She contacted the FBI who asked her to wear a wire. She went on to record Jared over a nearly 5 year period, pleading with the FBI to go ahead and arrest him with them always saying that they didn't have enough evidence and needed more.
So she tried to get Jared to incriminate himself. Over that 4.5 year period they talked about a lot of stuff, like that Jared wanted to fly to Thailand to have sex with children.
"I would fly all three of us clear across the world if we need to,"[Jared] says on the tape. "It would just make things a lot easier — if we're going to try and get some young kids with us. It would be a lot easier probably."
He gave her grooming tips:
"Well, if we get them segregated out ... you know, start talking or whatever ... and we get a little closer, and a little closer and a little closer and before you know it ... it just starts to happen," the man's voice says. "But I think that girl from the broken home could be a possibility, you know."
He daydreamed on the phone:
"Do you want to watch me f— a young girl, too?" the voice of Fogle asks. "Will you f— a young boy?" When Herman-Walrond asks if that would turn Fogle on, he responds with a whispered "yeah."
“I had a little boy. It was amazing,” Fogle reportedly said, in response to a question about being with children. “It just felt so good. I mean, it felt—it felt so good.”
He also, allegedly, asked her repeatedly to let him install hidden cameras in her kids’ rooms.
“I had two young children at the time, and he talked to me about installing hidden cameras in their rooms and asked me if I would choose which child I would like him to watch,” she told Inside Edition.
The audio recordings can be heard at this link. She reported him to Subway in 2009 and nothing happened.
At the same time this was happening, Jared was flying to New York to pay for sex with minors. He asked the minors who he paid for sex if they knew anyone else they could recommend, always stressing younger if possible.
Also, according to the charging documents:
Fogle received "images and videos of nude of partially clothed minors engaged in sexually explicit conduct," which were allegedly recorded by Russell Taylor, the former director of the Jared Foundation.
Taylor secretly filmed some of the minors in his home using hidden cameras that captured them changing clothes and bathing.
Taylor was in possession of 400 videos of child pornography upon his arrest.
In 2011, someone else reported Jared to Subway via their website and yet nothing happened.
All this came raining down on Jared in 2015 when his house was raided and he was arrested and later charged with 14 acts of sex involving minors. He was ultimately sentenced to 15 years in jail and had to pay restitution to his 14 of his many victims totaling $1.4 million. His wife divorced him as quick as she could, Subway cut ties with him and the dominoes started to tumble.
All of a sudden the past reports about Jared came to light and Subway didn't have an explanation. Lawsuits started flying. Jared's now ex wife accused Subway of covering up Jared's pedophilia even from her because their marriage made Jared more grounded and more marketable.
It's now a sick joke, but at the same time of jared's arrest, Subway was trying to rebrand him as a family man.
So why didn't Subway act on the various reports it had gotten about Jared over the years? As this site puts it, it was a story bookended by laziness. Jared's laziness brought him to Subway, and their laziness in vetting stories led to the end of the Jared era with a lot of human misery left in his wake.
Subway has waffled in its response. Rather than taking the path of clear messaging and communication, and aiming to transparent and authentic throughout this terrible situation for the victims and Fogle’s family (as well as the brand), the company hasn’t been clear about where it stands in the midst of this crisis. What message was Subway sending to its employees and franchisees by keeping Fogle around for as long as it did?
As soon as he went to jail he instantly gained 30 pounds
In 2016, he filed an appeal which was denied. The DA's office argued:
[that] Fogle's text messages to a woman, in which Fogle stated he would "pay big" if she could procure 14-year-old children, and that he "craved" underage Asian girls. In these text messages, he also expressed sexual interest in young boys, although there is to date no evidence that he paid for sex with male children.
Later that same year, a brawl broke out and Jared was nearly killed in an attack meant to send a message to all pedophiles.
Other than that, rumor has it that Jared has it pretty easy in jail which is disappointing to hear given all that he's responsible for.
In 2017, Fogle tried to pull the Sovereign Citizen defense and claim that the feds didn't have jurisdiction over him which I imagine gave the feds a good laugh. The motion was dismissed.
In 2018, Jared sued to void his conviction going so far as to name the president (among others) as a defendant. It was unclear how the president was involved and Jared was forced to remove him as a defendant.
He claimed:
he was wrongfully allowed to plead guilty to conspiracy to receive child pornography, claiming that conspiracy doesn’t apply to such an offense.
His suit was dismissed.
That same year a woman pen pal of Jared's sold their racy letters to Radar Online. Seen here and here. She also sold a recorded phone call where she and Jared discuss porn and his sexual preferences.
If he wanted to appeal to a parole board, surely sending hand-drawn pictures of his genitalia that later end up on radar online is not a good strategy.
In March 2020, three of associate Russell Taylor's child pornography convictions were overturned for ineffective counsel. He still faces trial on 9 other charges.
In the five years since Fogle was arrested, Subway has been reeling. In 2015, their co-founder passed away and a new CEO was brought in. Internal reports indicate that customer traffic is down 30%. They've laid off over 400 people from the corporate HQ and this summer they had to revoke a promotion due to a franchisee revolt over the pricing.
Subway was associated so long with Jared it may take time for customers to form a new association. They tried to drop him once, struggled, and re-hired him. Clearly Subway lived in denial while Jared was their spokesman and looked the other way as business boomed. The new marketing strategy involves athletes. Time will only tell if they can recover from one of the worst scandals to ever hit a sandwich chain.
As of September 2020, Russell Taylor was being held at a federal prison in Yazoo City, Mississippi; Fogle was being held at a federal prison in Littleton, Colorado.
submitted by BuckRowdy to TrueCrime [link] [comments]


2020.09.14 01:24 ThrowRABFsPanties Just found a box full of my friends panties in my (23f) bf's (22m) closet.... FREAKING OUT

I 'm 23f and I've been dating my 22m boyfriend Andrew since the beginning of university, pretty much. We lived on the same floor and met on move-in day when his roommate invited me to a party in. I didn't want to be that girl aka the girl who falls in love with the first dude she sees at college but I pretty much instantly had a major crush- he was so funny and the life of the party and one of those really smart guys that manages to never come off as condescending. We were super flirty for the first few weeks but officially "just friends" until we finally hooked up at a halloween event and we've been together ever since, no major fights or breakups. Our friend group is super intertwined and most of us moved to the same city after graduating last year (some have since left due to corona and other reasons but a core group is still here). He's my best friend and pretty much my parents' second son at this point and he gets along with my brother and sister like a house on fire. We have a fantastic relationship - frequent sex, before corona we'd go on weekend getaways every month or two, we adore each other's families, and obviously we have the same friends. My high school boyfriend was the type who "didn't believe" in Valentine's day or doing anything lovey dovey and Andrew's pretty much the complete opposite; he's honestly the most thoughtful person I've ever met - every anniversary or birthday he gives me some insane gift that's based on an inside joke or vacation or just something I really like and whatever I got him always feels super lame in comparison lol. He moved in with my brother (25M) last year but our leases are almost up and we've decided we want to take the next step and move in together. We're currently in the process of securing a place with the lease officially beginning in November but we haven't signed a contract or paid any money yet.
So, now that I've given you the background on my relationship, I'm going to get to the real shit.
I live with two roommates but I spend a ton of time at my boyfriend and brother's place. My brother is out of town a lot so most of the time it's just me and Andrew, which means we can do the kinda of things you normally can't do with two roommates hanging around. This weekend, my brother was off visiting his girlfriend in another city and I was staying over. My boyfriend was working yesterday morning but we had loose afternoon/evening plans so I decided to just chill at his apartment to wait instead of trekking back and forth across the city. When I woke up, I went rummaging around in his closet for some clothes to steal and long story short I ended up finding a shoebox FILLED with panties, thongs, and bras. The worst thing is that I RECOGNIZED some of them!!!!! I lived in a house of 5 girls during uni and we'd go bra shopping and do our laundry together so I know what my friends' underwear looks like. I even saw a thong that I'd personally bought for my roommate on her 21st birthday!!!!! I also found my best friend's missing La Perla thong- they were so expensive and we were convinced that some hookup had stolen them for some weird wall of panties. I honestly still don't know what to say????? I almost threw up when I saw them and my head hasn't stopped hurting since yesterday. At first I thought they were new and maybe he was cross dressing or cosplaying idk but imo the similarities to my friends' missing/disappeared things is too much. I had to get out of there so I pretty much ran but I wish I'd taken some photos or something because part of me still doesn't believe it. I told him I had to rescue a sick friend yesterday because I still don't even know how I'd broach this conversation. "Hey, are you stealing my friends' panties" like what the fuck???? And what if he's not?? What if he's wearing them or holding them for a friend with an overprotective/conservative girlfriend or they randomly got mixed in with his things when he moved last year and he doesn't even have any idea what's inside that box????? Part of me doesn't even want to bring it up though because what if he does know what's inside the box and he's some weird voyeupervert. Andrew's the love of my life - I've never seen a red flag from him. Even my most militant "I hate men" friends don't have a single bad thing to say about anybody. This is the kind of accusation you can't walk back from and I don't want to blow up my relationship over something that may not even be what I thought! Especially because our friend group is so intertwined - I feel so shaky and nauseous right now thinking about how I'd even explain this to my friends. I've been in my room for the last day pretending everything is normal and my life isn't over but obviously I need to talk to him soon. We're supposed to be moving in together in a month and a half and we've been talking about possibly getting a pet together too. Part of me just wants to pretend I didn't see anything at this point.
Sorry for the rambly post, I'm just really scared of what's going to happen to my relationship and our friend group. I have no fucking clue how I'm supposed to go on while knowing this!! But I also have no fucking clue how to bring it up with my boyfriend without blowing everything up if there's an innocent explanation!!!!!
submitted by ThrowRABFsPanties to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2020.09.12 13:19 AWickedMind New voyeur house

(Long wall of text ahead. If you're interested in finding out my prompts, skip to the last section.)
“One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. The latter procedure, however, is disagreeable and therefore not popular.” (Carl Jung)
The human mind is a curious thing. It wants what it doesn't need. It craves what it doesn't have. It creates instincts which, if acted upon, result in nothing but total destruction of the self, and all that it holds dear.
And yet, these desires exist and arise out of nowhere. Why does something happen when there's clearly nothing good to be gained out of it? Why does the primal core of our being want what cannot be achieved in a decent, civilized society? Why do we feel a burning desire to give in to our basic instincts if we could never act on them?
Any person living in a civilization will tell you that these instincts must not be acted upon for the greater good - peace and stability in society as a whole. I fully agree with them. I absolutely do not condone the themes I post in my prompts to be acted upon in real life.
What brings me here? To have a safe avenue for exploring these fantasies.
I want to explore the what ifs that keep you awake at night, and make for intriguing dreams, to say the least. Some of them may be dark, criminal even, that you'd be ashamed to accept even to yourself that you're capable of fantasizing about something like that. Some of them maybe immoral, something that society would crucify you for if you were to come out accepting it. Some of them maybe just plain absurd, things that could never happen to you, either because you aren't, and will never be, in such a situation of life.
What am I looking for? Creating stories. Experiences. Fantasies.
I want a partner who is, first and foremost, interested in writing long term stories with me. This will proceed in the form of a roleplay, with you controlling your character(s) and I controlling mine. I tend to focus on the characters' internal world a lot, so expect plenty of internal thoughts and dialogues along with a description of their ever changing emotions. I expect my partner to reasonably reciprocate.
I also tend to take the world building more on my own shoulders, and don't really mind doing that. Partners are always welcome to add their own thoughts and contributions, and in fact are encouraged to do so. But even if you simply want to sit back and enjoy the ride, be my guest. All I ask is for you to give me a window to your character's soul - let me know what they're thinking, feeling, seeing, hearing etc.
Things to know about my writing style: I tend to write about 3-5 paragraphs per response, changeable according to need. I'm not picky about using first person or third person. My prompts tend to default to a third person writing style, but feel free to ask for a change if you have a different preference.
I don't like writing for my partner's characters, and expect the favor to be returned.
At times I may respond rather quickly, shooting multiple messages back and forth in a single day. At times, I might get busy with work and may not be able to reply for a few days. Please be patient; if we have started an interaction I won't leave you hanging without a response indefinitely.
Also, I may post the same prompt multiple times, even though I've already found a partner. To all future partners with whom this may happen - that is NOT, in any way, a sign that I'm not satisfied with our current RPs. I value your efforts and your company, and don't mean disrespect to you in any way. My prompts are usually quite open ended, such that with each interpretation it tends to take the story in a completely different direction, and so finding another partner is as good as finding a partner for a new story altogether, and not because I'm not enjoying our current story.
Last but not the least - I DO NOT GHOST. If there's ever a problem, be it within the RP or the story's direction, or any personal reasons due to which I need to stop writing to you, you'll hear back from me atleast one last time saying I need to go.
The type of characters I like to play: I generally like to play characters in their late twenties or thirties, although I can change it if the scene demands. I tend to be self indulgent, and my characters can sometimes reflect that, in the sense that you'd be hard pressed to find flaws in them. But that's not to say they're without any flaws, simply that they won't be aware of how arrogant or rude they might come across as.
My characters will be intelligent, sharp, and with a keen sense of the world around them. They don't expect the world to bend over backwards for them, but they don't shy away from getting what they want either. They have a realistic sense of how the world works. They don't expect a girl to fall head over heels in love with them just because they flashed a charming smile or wore a designer suit. They want to get in her mind first before getting in her pants.
Some other characters may be darker, and not-so-gentlemanly if the scene calls for it. These will usually be thugs, the scum of the society and on the wrong side of law. As such, they'd hardly care about being politically correct or being 'nice' to your character.
Please note that regardless of my character's actions, I'd never want you, the person behind the screen, the person typing out the words, to ever feel slighted or wronged. If you ever feel something is crossing a personal limit, please bring it up. I assure you it won't be out of malice, maybe just an oversight.
Some random thoughts: On keeping things interesting without being boring and repetitive
On using visual aids to enhance the writing experience
On writing a good submissive character
Kinks and limits: My biggest kink is showing off my large sex organ. The largest you'll ever see. So large you won't be able to take in all the things it can give you. You're gonna be overwhelmed with all the feelings its gonna make you feel! It is...it is....
The brain.
Human mind is the biggest, sexiest, and kinkiest sex organ in the world, might as well make use of it.
My biggest priority would be to create worlds that excite you. Something vanilla for one person may not be as vanilla for another, and this nuance is very important to understand. I try my best to give my partners exactly what they want in terms of characters, worlds, emotions, kinks - you name it.
But for material purposes, here's a typical list of what I'm into and not into. Its a lot of things, possible non-exhaustive, and just a big collection of everything I know about myself. Not every kink needs to be incorporated into an RP, ofcourse. Besides, if you have something in mind but don't see it here, just ask.
Kinks :
Gentle : sexy lingerie, sexy outfits, living the high life, luxury, smooth talking, dirty talking, flirty banter, sexual vibes, risky public play, exhibitionism, voyeurism, gentle lovemaking, missionary, whispering sweet nothings, handcuffs, blindfolds, eating you out, blowjobs, caresses, cuddles, hugs, kisses, pampering you, aftercare, ice creams, chocolates etc.
Not-so-gentle : spanking, rough sex, doggy style, anal(giving), rimjobs (giving and receiving), hair pulling, breast play, ass play, cock worship, body worship, large cocks, deepthroat, facials, cheating, cuckolding, bondage play, threesomes (MFM and FMF) etc.
Ouch!: butt plugs, vibrators, toys, slapping, collars, leashes, metal chains, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, double penetration, full nelson, pet play, slave play, D/s M/s dynamics, total power exchange, blackmailing, dub-con, non-con, kidnappings, knife play etc.
Maybes :
Spitting, piss play, extreme torture, incest etc.
Hard Limits :
Scat, gore, bestiality, underage characters, vore, lasting damage etc.
Previous prompts and ideas: A harmless fantasy gone too far : You've wanted an escape from your boring, monotonous life and you create an anonymous account to live out your fantasies. But its not enough for you, and now you want to take it one step further - you want to meet the man behind the screen.
Its such a small world after all
An extension of the above idea, but when you finally meet the man, he's someone you know!
Who in their right minds sets up an appointment with their rapist!?
You were raped, but you loved it. He left his number with you almost as a taunt, but you can't help wanting to set it up all over again.
You're on your way to the top in Hollywood, but not without hitting a few lows
You're a college student and you receive an unexpected response to your application for a modeling role. You're obviously very excited about your career. Little do you know the producers have very different ideas for what career to push you in.
Sub at first sight
When you know, you know.
Every high functioning person needs a break at times. You've got an awesome career, you're in charge of a group of people, you make decisions for your teams all day long. Wouldn't you just want to sit back, relax, and let someone else run the show every once in a while?
A sense of belonging
Some relationships take a lifetime to build. Some, merely a glance. Your relationship with him can't be expressed in words. It's simply a feeling you have whenever you're with him, a sense of belonging that just can't be shaken off.
An unexpected guest at a wedding
You had left the old life behind you. You had severed all connections, erased all memories that would take you back to him. Why, oh why, did he have to show up at your wedding of all places!
Only under a mask are we free to be ourselves
Your life has come to an unexpected standstill. You're supposed to be happy, you should feel good about having a loving, caring husband, but you just don't. Luckily, your friend has a solution for you - this masquerade party where you could afford a night of debauchery while remaining completely anonymous!
Love makes the greatest fools out of us
You love him more than your own self. Your heart breaks to see him in trouble. You'll do anything to help him, go to any lengths to protect him. Even if it means giving yourself away to one man you hate the most.
Being a spy is not an easy job!
You're on a secret mission. There's supposed to be a party you're going to attend, with the celebrity status you've cultivated for yourself under cover. Little do you know, your enemies are one step ahead of you and are already expecting you.
What a great first day at work
You're doing porn for the first time in your life. Your co-star is famous for his rough and brutal scenes, and stories of just how badly his co-stars are usually bruised have left you on edge the whole week. However, just before the shoot starts, you're in for a rather sweet surprise from him!
A good girl gone bad
You were sweet, shy, and innocent. No one could raise a finger at you when it came to questioning your morals. How then, did you go from that girl to the kind who sleeps around and freely expresses her sexuality without a care in the world?
A class apart
You've always had a thing for the finer things in life, be it jewels, cars, or houses. Why would you hold back on your job then? Ofcourse you'd sign up for the most exclusive, sophisticated, and elegant whore house that exists in the modern world! But be warned, its not that easy to get a job with them, they've got a very strict set of standards to uphold their reputation!
The newest craze in social media apps - FukPix - is here!
Since the rise of social media, social tolerance for posting revealing pictures of yourself up on the internet for the whole world to see has steadily gone up. Was it any surprise then that someone made an app specifically to share your sexual escapades, and it was taking off like crazy?
The most effective strategy to get over someone
It's your wedding anniversary, and your husband had to pick up a fight with you on this very day! Your mood is ruined, but you won't let that bastard spoil your whole day. You were gonna dress up and give him a good time tonight. You're still in the mood for sex. So what if it won't be your husband who gets to enjoy it?
The correction officer
There exists a special group of people, whose job it is to correct wayward girls and bring them to their senses. Only the rich and affluent can afford them. Luckily for you (or unluckily?) someone close to you has decided your behavior needs to be made more 'lady like', and has invited the correction officer to work on you.
Someone out there wants revenge, and tonight they're gonna get it
You pissed off somebody. Badly. So much so that they laced your drink at the party, and made sure you'd find yourself in their basement when you wake up. What plans do they have for you?
What makes a happy housewife, really happy?
Doing all the little things for your husband, ofcourse, but not because he likes it. You don't want him to have any suspicions, and you'd rather keep him docile with happiness than alert with suspicion.
Porn isn't what its supposed to be, let's change that
Porn glorifies violence and aggression far too much, and this needs to be changed. Lucky for you, your partner thinks the same way and wants to make a difference in the world, with your help ofcourse.
You've been abducted, but your father is no Liam Neeson!
Just as the title suggests. You go to a different country on a vacation, and end up getting abducted. What's going to be your fate now that no ex-special agent is coming to rescue you?
Cult of Colossal Cocks
The world is controlled by a cult of men who are gifted phenomenally, and the cult needs special women to take care of their men's libido. Are you brave enough to satisfy them?
It's not what you know, but who you blow
Stuck in a dead end office job with no prospects of progress, you realize the only way up is by going down...on your boss, his friends, his colleagues, whoever he wants!
submitted by AWickedMind to AdvancedLiterateRP [link] [comments]


2020.09.01 20:13 MikeJesus I found a VHS tape of a man threatening to burn the world

I studied the VHS tape. It was one of those pop-in shells, the ones that have an open slot in the center where you can throw in a camera cartridge and watch your home movies without having to process them at a film store. It was exactly what I was looking for.
“Any idea where this came from?” I asked.
“No,” The man replied, wiping away about a quarter of the sweat that had gathered in his beard. The rest of it kept dripping on the remainder of his strange wares. He watched me with utter disdain, but I gave it another shot-
“Really? Where did you find it? Like, c’mon, a little bit of a background would be nice.”
“It’s not a boutique buddy, you’re at a flea market. You either buy it or you can fuck off. Too hot to deal with this detective shit,” he said, but then, probably because I was the only customer at his stall, his tone softened. “Got it from a storage unit auction. That’s all I can tell ya. Don’t keep track of this shit, I just sell it.”
That’s all the information I needed. I paid the man and took my mysterious prize home.
Back in the early 2000s I consumed YouTube vlogs like they were fine caviar and I was a Russian oligarch. There was just something about being able to kick back and become an invisible observer in someone else’s existence that really got to me. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t some desperate basement dweller, I still had a functioning life of my own, but when evening came and all of my responsibilities were checked off, I’d jump behind my computer desk and take a break from reality.
I’d sit back and watch hours upon hours of other people’s lives. I watched a lonely man beat cancer, a promising student struggle with pills, a teen mother who cracked under the pressure of her new responsibilities. I watched people overcome and spiral and regress, I watched slices of raw humanity from all across the globe from the comfort of my own home. I got to get a taste of fates I never would have considered otherwise; a bunch of people speaking to inanimate objects reminded me that the world outside was vaster than I ever could conceive.
Then the Internet money rolled in and ruined it all. As soon as the people bearing their soul into the camera lens realized they could get paid all of the honesty seeped out of their videos. They built up the drama to get more views, they started hiring editors to make them look good, they started to advertise products that no one really needed. Whatever bond I felt to the lives that I have observed for so many years was broken. That rawness of human stories that I craved was gone.
But I still craved it.
That’s when I started going to flea markets and buying abandoned home movies.
What I found on those assorted VHS tapes and unlabeled DVDs was much better than anything I could hope for with YouTube. These people acted completely naturally, the awkward pauses, the obvious annoyances, the grumpy people who didn’t want to be on tape, it all made it so much easier to imagine that I was there. The fact that they didn’t know I was watching made all the difference.
Voyeurism. I know. That’s what my girlfriend called it. She’s my wife now, and she still calls it that, but what is marriage if not a descent into accepting your partner’s quirks? She treats the dog like she’s our daughter, and unless she starts breast-feeding you won’t hear me complain. My flea market bargain trips usually get an eye roll out of her, but there was never any yelling involved.
As I pulled up the driveway, however, Laura was waving her arms around, yelling.
“Three hours? Are you serious Ryan? Three hours out of the city for some stupid tapes?” Betty obediently stood by her, gazing up at her as if she was some Greek goddess. Her little sausage tail wagged a bit when she saw me walk up the porch but after a quick glance she shook her head and looked back up at my wife. I was just a background character in that dog’s life.
I could have told Laura that all the markets around the city limits were tapped out, that any unmarked tapes I could find around town usually ended up being recordings of movies from television with the advertisements still kept in. But I didn’t. This wasn’t about the tapes. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“There’s something broken in Betty’s neck. I need to take her to the vet. I need to take her to the vet and my husband decides to drive out to some corn-field and look for porn,” Laura hissed. The dog shook her head again. And again.
“The tapes aren’t porn. They’re –“ Echoes of the therapist we stopped going to bounced around my skull. This was not the time nor place for that argument. “–Something else wrong?”
“I can’t find her passport. Every other bit of documentation I have, but I’ve looked all around the house and I can’t find her passport.” Laura’s anger gave way to fear. The dog shook its head again. “See? Look! There’s something wrong with her neck!”
I was going to ask her why the hell she thought she needed the dog’s passport for a vet check, but I didn’t. I just shrugged. “Haven’t seen it.”
“Well, I hope they take us without it,” she said, as if the chance for Betty’s neck getting checked out without travel documents was slim to none, “I’ll call you when I know what’s wrong. Can you do the laundry? Left the whites by the machine. Just need to put them in.”
Laura made her way to the car with the dog. Betty shook her head again. “God, I hope you’re okay,” Laura whispered to her pet. “I’ll need a glass of wine when we come back,” she said to me.
My wife and her dog drove off.
I was just about to close the washing machine when I noticed a pair of my red boxers peeking out from the pile of whites. When I took them out I noticed Laura’s blue university tee shirt. In my haste to get to my mysterious tape I didn’t check if the laundry was sorted. It wasn’t.
The sorting couldn’t have taken longer than two minutes, and for thirty seconds I tried, but my eyes quickly drifted to the television in the corner of the basement. The prospect of sorting through my dirty laundry instead of indulging in someone else’s seemed like torture. I’d turn on the tape. Just to get a glimpse of what I was getting into. Then I’d go and do that thing my wife told me to do.
Within seconds of turning on the VCR I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. The tape was exactly what I was craving.
The timestamp in the lower right corner read June 14th, 1994. We were inside of a fancy house, nice marble staircases and oil paintings of mildly inbred aristocrats filled the screen as the camera shook and bobbed around the wedding reception. Whoever was behind the lens had no idea what they were doing, the zoom and shake of the video made it barely watchable. It was perfect. I could imagine standing there, among the fancily dressed guests, watching someone swing around a hulking piece of Sony in utter confusion.
A group of children wearing miniature suits and dresses ran by the camera. The boys made faces and giggled. One girl in a yellow dress waved to the lens.
“Jesus Jessica, where were you? I’ve been looking for you!” a hushed female whisper cut through the hubbub of the reception. I jumped for my remote to turn up the volume.
“I’m just recordin’ stuff, Mary said she wanted a video of today,” Jessica replied as she zoomed in on a very old man staring out into the ether.
“Well there’s a problem.” The other voice hissed.
“What’s wrong?” The crowd walked around the old man like he didn’t exist. Jessica swung the camera at a particularly uninteresting part of the carpet.
“Mary’s ex is here, he’s freaking out at the gate demanding they let him in.”
“Is it Todd?” Jessica pronounced the word Todd with the same intonation one would pronounce terminal cancer.
“I think so.” The other voice whispered.
“Shi-“
For a split second I saw a pair of nervously clasped hands against a bright blue dress, but then the video cut out.
Complete darkness.
My phone dinged. “THEY TOOK US WITHOUT THE PASSPORT!!! THANK GOD!!!”
I ignored it and stared at the screen, hoping that another part of the story would flicker into existence. After a couple waves of static, it did.
A courtyard with a view of a stunning mountain range, in it, a bride and groom – The woman, a Venus of the 90s, the man, a chiseled jawline with too much gel in his hair, they were smiling at each other, but the camera was too far off to tell whether those smiles were genuine. In front of the possibly happy couple was an array of wooden chairs seating the guests of the wedding. Beneath their feet, a sea of sparkling calm gently swayed. A layer of crystal glass divided the family and friends from the pool below them.
A man next to the camera kept on coughing. Someone next to him whispered something, but that didn’t stop the coughs. The couple kept on looking at each other.
Then the video cut out.
The darkness of the screen dragged on, for a split second I even considered getting the laundry out of the way, but just as I was about to reach into the washing machine for Laura’s orange stocking another image crackled to life on the screen.
We were back in the courtyard but it was in a considerably worse state. Cigarette stubs peeked out of the once impressive stone floor, empty and sometimes broken bottles were all over the place and where there was once a sea of calm there was now the shell of a pool filled with broken furniture. Even smashed up with rough axe cuts the dressers and chairs still looked expensive. It was evening, August 19th 2002 and the groom from eight years ago was wearing a dirty pink bathrobe.
The man aged a couple of decades; his hair was gathered around his shoulders in thick greasy clumps, a patchy beard of graying hair now covered his chiseled jawline. “You really hurt me,” he said. A cigarette hissed in his mouth and a controlled madness burnt in his eyes.
“You changed me. I used to like people. I used to want to do some good in this world. I could have done some good in this world.” The man bent down and produced a bottle off the floor. “But you hurt me. You hurt me so bad I just want to see everything burn.”
The man continued ranting and raving, but as he walked away from the camera his words fell to a static filled whisper. I turned up the volume as loud as it would go but the only thing I could hear was the chirping of crickets intercut by a steady bassy tone. Out in the mountains beyond the courtyard there was a grouping of lit up tents. A man was going quietly insane in a fancy house as people across the valley indulged in cheery techno music.
I was watching someone go insane on a summer evening. The tape was better than anything I could have hoped for.
The man in the bathrobe took a pull from the bottle, recoiled and then smashed the thing against the mountain of furniture stacked in the pool. He screamed. I heard that part.
“You ever talk about fire with Todd? Ever talk about how much you wouldn’t want to burn alive?” The man was back in front of the camera now. He was swaying from side to side, clearly off balance from whatever was in that bottle. “Of course you don’t. All you two talk about is vapid bullshit; all you do is waste your stupid lives, stuck in meaningless gossip that doesn’t matter. But you know what? YOU KNOW WHAT?!”
The man paused. A gentle gust of wind blew his filthy bathrobe apart, revealing far too much of his malnourished body. For a second he tried to pull the flimsy bit of pink cloth back around his jagged ribcage but with a frustrated sigh he gave up on his drunken hands.
Memories of wasted nights in high school filled my head. I remember how the world spun, how impossibly bright and quick all the headlights were as I stumbled my way back home, how difficult it was to stand upright with my blood full of booze. Once the body is so far off in the deep end of the whiskey pool there’s only one way to momentarily regain balance.
The man on the television squished his face into an effort filled wink. For a blink I was standing there, in his ratty flip-flops, watching the triple vision of the world focus into a singular blurry image.
“I love you,” he mumbled to himself. He tore his eye away from the camera and stared down at his dying cigarette. “I love you…. I love – but I won’t love you for long! No! I won’t! Because I’ll be dead! And you’ll be dead! And he’ll be dead! The world will burn!”
The man reached behind the camera and produced another cigarette, but he didn’t light it. He studied the stick of tobacco for a bit and then put it behind his ear. “How much do you know about fire?” he asked, reaching down. “You don’t know shit about fire,” he hissed, as he reemerged off-screen with a jerry can.
“I’ve been reading my great uncle’s books. They say old Vernerzeig was mad, but could a madman build all of this? Could a madman create an empire out of nothing? Could a madman-“ he spilled a bit of the gasoline out of the can as he waved around his arms. This calmed him down somewhat. The madman’s voice dropped to a whisper, the music across the valley slowed down to a steady low heartbeat. “I’ve been reading Vernerzeig’s books, and I know more about fire than your feeble mind ever could,” he started.
The words that the man spoke came out in a controlled whisper, but the ideas that lingered in his monologue flickered with madness. Fire was not a tool that humanity discovered, it was a portal to another realm that our primitive ancestors had stumbled upon and were too simple to comprehend. He spoke of flames as if they were hands, as if the flashes of chemical energy that burst out of a bonfire were fingers from a different world that were desperately trying to claw themselves into our realm.
“My uncle warned of the power that exists in the fire. He spoke of Alexandria, of Peshtigo, of Bois Du Cazier, of fires that ravaged humanity, but he spoke of them as if they were mistakes. As if we were lucky that the flames were put out. He was wrong. The man was a genius, but in this one essential thing he faltered. Each time that the burning God emerged humanity was given a chance at becoming pure and they spit out the embers of freedom. Every time that the burning God’s arrival was postponed it was a tragedy. But even that tragedy can be brought to rest.”
He went over to the pool and started pouring gasoline on the broken down furniture. As he poured he spoke, but he was too far away from the camera’s microphone. The music across the valley started to grow in tempo. The man started to punctuate his inaudible rant with manic shouts. “I WILL SUMMON HIM!” he shouted. With the techno music playing in the background he sounded like a misguided DJ, trying to hype up a tired dive-bar. After the can ran dry he produced another one and resumed pouring and rambling. The man might have emptied out his pool and filled it with chopped up furniture, but he was far off in the deep end.
Less than half a year after I got out of university I also got out of my first real relationship – five years of raw connection in the trash and unemployment to boot. I was desperate for any form of affirmation in my life. I bought dozens of pick-up artist books that offered to teach me the secret to making women want to sleep with me. Watching that broken man pour gasoline all over the antique furniture a part of me felt his pain. It’s not that difficult to fall for a cult when your heart is broken.
My phone dinged, again. “THERE IS SOMETHING IN BETTY’S EAR. DOCTOR SAYS NOT SERIOUS. SHE’S SUCH A TROOPER. LAUNDRY DONE?”
I barely looked away from the television. The man in the bathrobe was done with the pouring. He was back in front of the camera now. A cigarette dangled from his lips.
He was thinking. Fear broke through the mania in his eyes. He turned around and looked at the festival across the valley. The sun had set by then but bright lights flashed across the darkening sky from the music-filled tents. The man let out a desperate groan. For a second it looked as if he would walk away from the fire-to-be, as if he would give up on whatever ritual he was trying to perform, but before he could give up his right hand flew through the air.
He slapped himself, dropping his cigarette. After he picked it up he slapped himself again. “I WILL SUMMON HIM!” he screamed at the camera as he lit up his smoke, “AND HE WILL BURN THE WORLD!”
He took one long puff of his cigarette and threw it into the pool.
For a moment he simply stood there, a man in a filthy bathrobe with dark mountains stretched out before him. He looked at peace.
Whooosh! BOOM!
He screamed. He screamed in a way that I didn’t think was possible for a grown man to scream. He screamed and ran through the courtyard, burning. He spun in place like a wounded animal, shedding his bathrobe, but as the flames behind him started to consume the furniture his body propelled him away from the inferno. Screeching and limping the man ran towards the camera.
He knocked it over in his escape, but it kept recording. The fire soon drowned his agonizing cries out. Only his burning bathrobe remained.
Out across the valley the tents lit up with another color; a flashing of blue and red. For a couple beats of the far off techno I could see the siren lights traveling down the mountain road, but the flames quickly cut off my line of sight.
My phone dinged, again. I didn’t look at it. I was so enthralled in the video that I had started chewing on my shirt collar. Haven’t done that since I was eight.
The flames reached out into the night sky like clawed fingers. They grasped at oxygen, growing, roaring, demanding more. The fire spread throughout the screen. I tilted my head sideways to see better. The inferno beckoned to me.
I was on my feet staring into the television. It was as if the fire was calling for me, pulling me in, demanding that I join it in that crackling universe of energy. In the cool air of my basement I felt warmth. I reached out for the television.
“You should have seen the size of the thing they pulled out of her ear! We need to be careful when we let her run in the – Ryan? Ryan what are you doing?” Laura stood on the stairs. Betty squeezed herself past and gave my calf a lick before jumping on the couch.
“I was uh-“ my eyes shifted towards the open washing machine. Her gaze followed mine.
“You didn’t do the laundry. Great. Absolutely great. Come on Ryan, we talked about this. I don’t ask for a lot I just want –“ it took me a second to realize she stopped talking. As she spoke my eyes drifted back towards the screen.
Out in that burning hellscape I could see something move. I could see a beak. Two orbs of blue flame stared back at me. I tore my attention away from the eldritch god and back towards my wife, “Sorry.”
“What are you watching?” She walked down the last couple of steps with a controlled anger that cracked as soon as she saw what was on the television, “Jesus Christ Ryan! What the hell are you watching?”
“It’s, uh – some guy was going through a bad divorce, I think, so he tried to set the world on fire. Burned himself in the process and now there’s –“
As hot as the inferno on the screen was, her icy stare cut through me. She inhaled sharply, turning her words into cold steel, “That shit belongs in an evidence locker. Not our house.” Laura stomped her way up the stairs, with Betty barely making it past the door before she slammed it.
I turned my attention back towards the screen. Whatever presence I saw hiding in that fire was gone now. The flames still tore through the sky with animalistic fervor but the beast’s eyes were gone. The fire roared on for a couple of minutes until it’s thunderous cry turned into a hiss.
A burst of water was softening the flames. Soon enough firefighters were talking about how they wished they could have stayed at the festival. As they sprayed water over the gasoline filled pool one of them proceeded to give a five-paragraph essay’s worth of description of a redhead bartender he once saw in the 90s.
I thought about rewinding the tape, about going back to that moment when I saw those burning balls of light hiding in a storm of bristling energy, but I decided against it. Upstairs I could hear a cork get angrily pulled out of a wine bottle. I sorted through the washing machine, turned it on and went to get a wine glass.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She was on the porch, puffing on a cigarette with one hand and scratching Betty behind the ear with the other. She didn’t look at me as she spoke. “You can’t keep on doing this Ryan. This isn’t about the laundry; this is about you not being reliable. You can’t just drop everything to indulge in your voyeurism.”
I tried to remember all three parts of the three-part apology thing that our therapist kept on rambling about back in the day. “I’m sorry for not being reliable and sometimes acting like a child, I’ll try to do better next time.” Her lack of yelling made me reconsider therapy for a split second. “So, Betty okay now?”
The dog wagged her tail at the mention of her name.
“Oh yeah, she was a real trooper. Held still for the doc, shook a bit, but didn’t move her head at all. Everyone in the lobby kept on saying how cute she is!”
Asking about Betty would always get Laura talking.
We finished off the bottle of wine, watched some shitty reality TV show, made love and now Laura is sleeping on my chest. Betty’s curled up by our feet and seems to be having a dream that involves a lot of biting and running. There’s a nice summer breeze outside.
I should be sleeping.
The thought of going back to the basement and rewinding the tape was there as soon as we finished the wine, but Laura wanted to watch some scripted reality TV show about hot people looking for love on a beach and I figured I’d be a good partner and indulge with her. The question of the sentient inferno disappeared during our own little fiery bout of passion, but now that we’re post-coital and cuddled up, I can’t let go of the memory of those hungry claws.
She’s a light sleeper, so if I move she’ll wake up and be disappointed. And I don’t want to disappoint her, she might have a weird relationship with the dog and a horrible taste in entertainment, but I’d probably be burning furniture without her. Maybe she’s right. Maybe the video does belong in some evidence locker instead of our basement.
All of this is bouncing around my head and I can’t get any sleep, so I figured I’d come to this little insomniac corner of the internet and vent for a bit. I’m torn between the mystery of what that desperate man brought into our world and being a decent husband.
My wife just mumbled something about how I should go to sleep.
I think the light from my phone is keeping her up.
I think I should just go to sleep.

(A shared smouldering universe)
submitted by MikeJesus to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.08.28 12:22 imagine_otherwise I'm stuck in quarantine, and something is wrong.

I moved a week and a half ago from the US to a European country for grad school. When I accepted the offer, back in February, coronavirus was little more than a footnote in the “World” section of my news feed; to the extent that I gave it any thought, it was with the comfortable assurance of the ignorant, safe in the assumption that what was going on “over there” couldn’t affect me at all, let alone my plans six months down the line. Well, we all know how that assumption played out, and while the pandemic has given me unexpected (and unfortunate) reasons to be glad to have left the States, it has certainly complicated the process, and has more or less led to my current…situation.

My new country is imposing a mandatory twelve day quarantine on any travelers arriving from “high risk” areas, which includes the good old US of A. They’re extremely serious about it, too; proceed directly from the airport to your accommodation, don’t leave except to go to a doctor or the hospital, get takeout or groceries delivered to your door, etc. If I get caught breaking quarantine, I’ll get at minimum a massive fine, plus possible deportation or even jail time, which wouldn’t exactly be an auspicious way to start this chapter of my life. So yeah, I’ve been staying put. I ordered pizza my first two nights, got a grocery shipment on day three, and settled in for a claustrophobic, but otherwise pretty chill, two weeks of Duolingo, anime, and hitting my head against the wall. Beyond a bit of jet lag, I didn’t experience anything out of the ordinary until night ten.

I should begin by describing the building where I’m quarantining. I’ll eventually be sharing an apartment with four other people, but that sort of defeats the purpose of quarantine, so the company that owns that apartment is putting me up in a single in a different student housing complex for these two weeks. The room is one of those ultra-modern deals that looks and smells like an IKEA, and the building is a bit of high-concept architecture, a giant seven-story ring with rooms facing either side, and walkways circumscribing each level (more or less a panopticon, minus the guard tower). I’m on the fifth floor, looking out over the inner courtyard.

There’s a pretty significant time zone difference between where I came from and where I am now, and since time is fairly meaningless when you have nothing to do and nowhere to go (as many 2020 survivors can probably attest to), I haven’t really bothered trying to fix my sleep schedule. The time difference plus the aftereffects of initial jet lag means that I’m waking up around noon and going to bed around 4am. When it gets dark, you can pretty much see right into anyone else’s apartment from anywhere on the inside ring (barring those right above/below you). I’ve been passing the time by weaving little narratives in my head about my fellow residents, based on nothing more than glimpses of them coming and going, shadows flickering behind drawn curtains in the evenings, and what time their rooms finally go dark. The guy on the first floor who comes back every day in a shirt and tie and turns out the light at 9pm sharp? Definitely an android, or at least a cult member. The girl on the third floor with the multicolored LEDs going till 3am? Twitch streamer, and possibly TikTok-er if those shrouded gyrations are what I think they are. Voyeurism really isn’t a bad way to entertain yourself if you’re stuck in one place. The guy in Rear Window had the right idea.

This building only just opened this summer, meaning there aren’t any returning tenants, and the semester doesn’t start for another month, so most of the rooms are empty. Other than Twitch girl and the Jehovah’s Witness-bot, there are two rooms occupied on the second floor, one on the fourth floor, and one on the sixth floor (plus whoever is above or below me that I can’t see from my room). The walkways are lit by motion-sensor lights that illuminate the space from one stairway to the next (about a quarter of the ring). They’re bright enough that I notice immediately when they turn on after someone leaves their room, or returns late at night.

Like I said, things were fine until my tenth night here. It was about 3:30am; I’d had my fill of Netflix, and the people-watching had petered out about 45 minutes previously when Twitch girl shut down her operation for the night. I was on the brink of dozing off when the motion-sensor lights from across the courtyard brightened my room. I looked up, equal parts confused and irritated, to see a section of the second floor lit up, near one of the occupied rooms. My working theory for that particular resident, an otherwise nondescript young man, was Russian secret agent, so a rendezvous in the small hours of the morning slotted nicely into the gaps in my imagination. I sat up in bed to see if I could see what he was up to but, expecting to see motion, initially failed to notice anything. After a second or two, my eyes fell on the form of my suspected spy standing stock-still in front of his door. He was up against the railing with the lights behind him, and so appeared in my view as a shadowy black void in the shape of a man.

Or, almost the shape of a man. The more I struggled to make out details, the more I noticed the arms that were a little too elongated, the body a bit too tall, the head unnaturally oblong. The shadow had the build of an NBA player, but with thick, simian limbs reaching down to terminate just above the knee. I shivered a bit, stuck by the cerebral tingle down the spine that accompanies a sense of utter, profound wrongness. Who (or what) ever that was, it wasn’t my fellow tenant. After about 30 seconds, wherein the half of my brain wanting to creep to the window for a closer look negotiated with the half wanting to dive under the covers, and settled on doing absolutely nothing, the motion-sensor lights clicked off.

Even after my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the weak glow of the solitary lamp in the courtyard wasn’t enough to reveal if the thing had moved, or if it was still there. I was now weirded out to the point that sleep wasn’t gonna happen, so I grabbed the Boy Scout pocketknife I stuck in my checked luggage to make myself feel a little better, and sat on my bed thinking about (my possibly imminent) death until about 5:45. At that point, the sky had lightened enough for me to confirm that whatever I had seen had left the premises, and I finally let myself pass out.

I woke up seven or so hours later half-expecting to see police cars crowding the courtyard and blood splattered across the second floor, but was greeted by a perfectly pleasant, unremarkable afternoon. Sunshine and daylight have a way of making the terrors of the night seem ridiculous, and I pretty quickly convinced myself that “quarantine psychosis + fucked up Circadian rhythm” was a much better explanation for whatever I saw than “cryptid ghost demon thing.” I popped open my computer and nestled into another day of monotony, one eye on the apartment across the courtyard, waiting for the lights to come on or the Russian spy to walk out and put my lizard brain fully to rest.

Of course, the day passed without a hint of life from his apartment, and it remained dark as afternoon faded to twilight and the lights of the rest of the building’s occupants clicked on one-by-one. This didn’t confirm anything – I had seen the spy leave for a couple days shortly after I arrived, so this wouldn’t be the first time he was absent from my nightly observations – but things were certainly getting a bit trickier for Occam and his razor. I began feeling a nagging uneasiness, the same sort of sensation you get when you’re hiking on a mountain and see thunderheads starting to gather on the horizon. Not quite “oh shit,” more “I got a bad feeling about this.” Still, rationalization is a powerful force, and my Steam library proved distracting enough to push thoughts of the dark figure to the back of my mind.

Around 3am, my exhaustion from the night before started to get the better of me, and I laid down to try and get some sleep. I could see across the courtyard that Twitch girl was still going strong, which I found oddly comforting, like it was the two of us versus the darkness and its inhabitants, not just me. Plus, maybe she was streaming DOOM or something and had picked up some knowledge about killing monsters. I closed my eyes, but a few moments later a bright glare cut through my eyelids, and I opened them again to see the motion-sensor lights outside Twitch girl’s room lit up. Fuck. For a half second I kidded myself into thinking that she might have stepped outside for some air or something, but instead I saw her door firmly shut, and a tall, dark figure motionless outside of it.

I’d like to say I did something to try and warn her (although I’m really not sure what I could’ve done, it’s not like I had her contact information), but in reality I was principally concerned with a) not pissing my pants and b) not moving a damn muscle. Somewhere in my brain I was processing the fact that what I had seen the night before was real, and that whatever happened to the Russian spy was probably about to happen to Twitch girl, but those thoughts were submerged deep in a lake of pure, cold terror. All my anxiety about home invasions and serial killers was being combined with both the worst paranormal depravities of my imagination and the skin-crawling, revulsive dread that is the brain’s reaction to seeing something it knows shouldn’t exist.

Just as the previous night, the motion-sensor lights shut off after about 30 seconds of stillness, but this time the glow from LEDs inside the girl’s apartment was enough to let me see that the figure had vanished. At the same time, those LEDs began going crazy, changing from the smooth chromatic cycle that she favored to an erratic flashing. With the thing out of sight, I found my courage, and crept over to the window to try and get a view through her blinds. I expected at any moment to hear a scream, or banging, or chainsaw noises or something, but the night was silent.

This is where I really fucked up. Straining to see any sign of what was happening inside that apartment, I pulled my curtain out of the way and pressed my face up against the glass – and immediately recoiled as the motion-sensor lights outside my room flared to life. My heart rate jumped about 20 bpm, and panic started to set in. I spared a glance at Twitch girl’s room, and froze. Her LEDs had stopped flashing and settled on a dim, sickly yellow-green, and a shadow with an oblong head and long, thick arms had appeared behind her curtain.

I couldn’t see anything beyond the silhouette in the window, but I was absolutely sure that whatever it was, it was staring straight at me. I heard a high pitched whine as first my hearing started growing dim, then my sight. I wanted to move, or yell, or do *something*, but my body refused to move, like in one of those nightmares where you try to throw a punch but end up just waving your arm. I remember a massive headache starting to flare up, and the last thing I saw before I passed out was the lights outside my apartment clicking off.

That was last night. I woke up this afternoon to a sun already low in the sky and a bump on my forehead where I guess I hit the floor. I’ve seen no signs of life from either Russian spy or Twitch girl’s apartments. I really have no idea what’s going on, but I know two things for sure: whatever is haunting this apartment complex knows I’m here, and I still have one more night of quarantine left.
submitted by imagine_otherwise to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.08.17 10:03 SpookyGen13 New voyeur house

I posted this once before but i feel like this belonged here. So this is hard for me, cause in my head this is some tragic thing... but it may not be, i guess you decide.
First off let me give you some context. Ive always had issues mentally and growing up my father was a pedophile and i had sexual trauma fron a voyeur as a child, as well as by two men when i was in high school. Once on the school bus, and once in a classroom, and no it wasnt movie day. He just went for it.
I knew i had ptsd, and ive been diagnosed with OCD, Bipolar, Anorexia, and ADHD. All i definitely do have to varying degrees.
I add this to show you how i was already a bit "sick" to begin with. It was the reason for the one time we broke up because i "emotionally cheated" on him. It was hard for me to control myself because of my past trauma. Its not an excuse, just a reason. He worked seven days a week about a month into me moving in and i was lonely, and being abandoned or feeling so is a big trigger for me. I never touched or even kissed anyone else, just soaked up the attention he wasnt giving me.
We split but ended up back together since we still lived together. So he had always been a work in progress... he is beautiful, kind, smart, and a good soul. He always sees the best in people even when im so cynical. We used to go dancing, we would go to bars and events, raves and the like. We would travel to eugene oregon and in humbolt ca to do all the fun stuff. We were truly happy, having fun and working on ourselves.
Then as i got older and turned 27, i began to change... my bipolar 1 which was hardly apparent before suddenly got worse... i became a tottaly different person. My parents tried to seperate me from my BF and i think it triggered my disorder cause i flipped... and after that... well... like i said i became someone else.
I was really up and down, hitting such extremes that i would sit on the ground and slam my head against the floor until i was dizzy. I would smack myself repeatedly in the face until i bruised myself. Then the pandemic hit...no more dancing... no more having fun with the one person i truly felt in love with. No more of the fun we had.
Truth is... i didnt mind at first... it was him...he felt apart... he became depressed... that interaction was what he needed to be happy and support me and my disorder. I can also say he has some undiagnosed issues like ADHD that cause him to already struggle mentally.
I was still doing relatively okay at this point, but then the riots happened. Being a mixed race, it really ate me up inside... and i could no longer help him mentally... and he couldnt help me. My mood swings, rage, and self harm got worse. I would take a knife and stab toys, couches, even the shirt i was wearing i would stab and rip off me in a hulk like fashion.
Im going to say it again... i was very sick, and the problem with bi polar disorder as ive read in my many books, the mania keeps people from seeing how bad it really is cause they will just be happy again at some point. Its blinding so to speak. The week before he sent me away... we looked at new trailer parks... we were planning on moving.
The week before he kicked me out i had told him im going to stop drinking every day(i had been for about 3 months cause of the pandemic and riots making my depression bad). We talked about it a bit and he said it was a good idea, and so i detoxed... in a pandemic... with increasingly bad bipolar 1. He wasnt being supportive so much those last few days... thats part of why i snapped i think. Whenever i got anxious he did this fake im gonna hit myself motion... he was mocking me... and i was trying to detox and get better.
When i struggled to not drink he said well i did this so you can do that. Im not saying what it is, but it was an addiction and it was causing him mood swings as well. He just wasnt supporting me on it and it hurt my feelings alot. This was the meanest id ever seen him, it was a bit out of character.
I have to say he was hurting before this... his family is not good to him... and his friends just betrayed him recently. He even said a day or two before it blew up that he wanted to die... so i knew he was hurting inside.
So as i detox, i realize... i drank all my money... i couldnt afford my phone bill... i flipped the fuck out... and i told him things i had been holding in for a long time, he was nice at first... then i showed him a living will i wrote... He tried calling and i ignored it... I told him i was going to kill myself the next day, and that if he needed anything to let me know, and that i would clean the whole house before i went. It was a bluff... it was a living will... not a suicide note.
The cops showed up and took me in for a psych eval. I ended up sitting in there scared as shit and half crying for about 2 hours.
I needed help, i know, that's why i wasn't that upset about the psych eval. I was upset yeah but knew i needed help so i was pretty open to the doctors. I just hate hospitals cause i dont like getting stuck there, which is exactly what happened.
Finally the doctor shows up and makes an appointment with me to see someone the next day. She also talked to my bf who she said was very sweet and sounded like a good guy. She told me he took the night off to take care of me.
I was happy, and he came to pick me up. He didnt hug me or anything and i was just wanting to go home. He drove in the opposite direction of our trailer park and i asked him where we were going. He told me the beach and i felt him look at me a few times but i was a little mad and alot tired from that experience. He pulls up at the beach where there is an overlook and we get out. He walks me uo to the top and offeres me a seat. He asks if i had anything to say and i said no.
He said you know this is psychological abuse right and i said dude i just tried, wanted to kill myself and your telling me that. He said i dont think we can be together right now, i think we should be friends. I said you brought me to a cliff to break up with me and i just wanted to kill myself. You must want me to kill myself.
I ran towards the railing and even though i was bluffing he still somehow had time in all my yelling to press 911 on his phone, letting the cops hear all my bluffs...they didnt know me though. I said fine, ill just walk home. So i started heading home and he drives up beside me and tells me to get in. I said i only get in with my bf and he said fine... get in... and i get in.
He then dumps me again i started screaming and ripping my hair out. I say let me out of this car, let me out out.
I had my hand on the handle and he thiight i was going to open it. I wasnt but he still had 911 on the ohone so they thought i was going to jump out. My bf put his arm over me, i said fine take me back to the hospital... he said no... and i cried and said just take me home so i can go smoke and drink. Take me home. He argues saying didnt you want to go to the hospital and i said no just take me home.
We roll up to my house and whos there? The cops... I jump out and he asks me whats up then tells me that he heard everything on the phone. I look at my bf and say how could you, how could you do that to me... my bf looks at the other cop and says there has been a pattern of this...
I was defeated... if he had just taken me to that appointment the next day... things would have changed for the better. I would have gotten on meds. When i was in the hospital i kept calling him... he wouldnt pick up.
I called my coworker who called him and she told me that my parents were picking up my stuff and that ill be moving back in with them. Its been 2 months and ir still hurts to talk abiut this. The psych ward messes with your brain and made me paranoid for some time. I know i wasnt a perfect gf... but i still feel like he did me dirty.
submitted by SpookyGen13 to SuicideWatch [link] [comments]


2020.08.17 09:56 SpookyGen13 House new voyeur

So this is hard for me, cause in my head this is some tragic thing... but it may not be, i guess you decide. Alot if peoplein my town have no idea what happened and just assumed that my bf and i split up, so i havent gotten to really tell my story too much, and it haunts me every day.
First off let me give you some context. Ive always had issues mentally and growing up my father was a pedophile and i had sexual trauma fron a voyeur as a child, as well as by two men when i was in high school. Once on the school bus, and once in a classroom, and no it wasnt movie day. He just went for it.
I knew i had ptsd, and ive been diagnosed with OCD, Bipolar, Anorexia, and ADHD. All i definitely do have to varying degrees.
I add this to show you how i was already a bit "sick" to begin with. It was the reason for the one time we broke up because i "emotionally cheated" on him. It was hard for me to control myself because of my past trauma. Its not an excuse, just a reason. He worked seven days a week about a month into me moving in and i was lonely, and being abandoned or feeling so is a big trigger for me. I never touched or even kissed anyone else, just soaked up the attention he wasnt giving me. We split but ended up back together since we still lived together.
So he had always been a work in progress... he is beautiful, kind, smart, and a good soul. He always sees the best in people even when im so cynical. We used to go dancing, we would go to bars and events, raves and the like. We would travel to eugene oregon and in humbolt ca to do all the fun stuff. We were truly happy, having fun and working on ourselves.
Then as i got older and turned 27, i began to change... my bipolar 1 which was hardly apparent before suddenly got worse... i became a tottaly different person. My parents tried to seperate me from my BF and i think it triggered my disorder cause i flipped... and after that... well... like i said i became someone else.
I was really up and down, hitting such extremes that i would sit on the ground and slam my head against the floor until i was dizzy. I would smack myself repeatedly in the face until i bruised myself. Then the pandemic hit...no more dancing... no more having fun with the one person i truly felt in love with. No more of the fun we had.
Truth is... i didnt mind at first... it was him...he felt apart... he became depressed... that interaction was what he needed to be happy and support me and my disorder. I can also say he has some undiagnosed issues like ADHD that cause him to already struggle mentally.
I was still doing relatively okay at this point, but then the riots happened. Being a mixed race, it really ate me up inside... and i could no longer help him mentally... and he couldnt help me. My mood swings, rage, and self harm got worse. I would take a knife and stab toys, couches, even the shirt i was wearing i would stab and rip off me in a hulk like fashion.
Im going to say it again... i was very sick, and the problem with bi polar disorder as ive read in my many books, the mania keeps people from seeing how bad it really is cause they will just be happy again at some point. Its blinding so to speak. The week before he sent me away... we looked at new trailer parks... we were planning on moving.
The week before he kicked me out i had told him im going to stop drinking every day(i had been for about 3 months cause of the pandemic and riots making my depression bad). We talked about it a bit and he said it was a good idea, and so i detoxed... in a pandemic... with increasingly bad bipolar 1. He wasnt being supportive so much those last few days... thats part of why i snapped i think. Whenever i got anxious he did this fake im gonna hit myself motion... he was mocking me... and i was trying to detox and get better.
When i struggled to not drink he said well i did this so you can do that. Im not saying what it is, but it was an addiction and it was causing him mood swings as well.
He just wasnt supporting me on it and it hurt my feelings alot. This was the meanest id ever seen him, it was a bit out of character. I have to say he was hurting before this... his family is not good to him... and his friends just betrayed him recently. He even said a day or two before it blew up that he wanted to die... so i knew he was hurting inside.
So as i detox, i realize... i drank all my money... i couldnt afford my phone bill... i flipped the fuck out... and i told him things i had been holding in for a long time, he was nice at first... then i showed him a living will i wrote... He tried calling and i ignored it... I told him i was going to kill myself the next day, and that if he needed anything to let me know, and that i would clean the whole house before i went. It was a bluff... it was a living will... not a suicide note.
The cops showed up and took me in for a psych eval. I ended up sitting in there scared as shit and half crying for about 2 hours.
I needed help, i know, that's why i wasn't that upset about the psych eval. I was upset yeah but knew i needed help so i was pretty open to the doctors. I just hate hospitals cause i dont like getting stuck there, which is exactly what happened.
Finally the doctor shows up and makes an appointment with me to see someone the next day. She also talked to my bf who she said was very sweet and sounded like a good guy. She told me he took the night off to take care of me.
I was happy, and he came to pick me up. He didnt hug me or anything and i was just wanting to go home. He drove in the opposite direction of our trailer park and i asked him where we were going. He told me the beach and i felt him look at me a few times but i was a little mad and alot tired from that experience. He pulls up at the beach where there is an overlook and we get out. He walks me uo to the top and offeres me a seat. He asks if i had anything to say and i said no.
He said you know this is psychological abuse right and i said dude i just tried, wanted to kill myself and your telling me that. He said i dont think we can be together right now, i think we should be friends. I said you brought me to a cliff to break up with me and i just wanted to kill myself. You must want me to kill myself.
I ran towards the railing and even though i was bluffing he still somehow had time in all my yelling to press 911 on his phone, letting the cops hear all my bluffs...they didnt know me though.
I said fine, ill just walk home. So i started heading home and he drives up beside me and tells me to get in. I said i only get in with my bf and he said fine... get in... and i get in.
He then dumps me again i started screaming and ripping my hair out. I say let me out of this car, let me out out.
I had my hand on the handle and he thiight i was going to open it. I wasnt but he still had 911 on the ohone so they thought i was going to jump out. My bf put his arm over me, i said fine take me back to the hospital... he said no... and i cried and said just take me home so i can go smoke and drink. Take me home. He argues saying didnt you want to go to the hospital and i said no just take me home.
We roll up to my house and whos there? The cops... I jump out and he asks me whats up then tells me that he heard everything on the phone. I look at my bf and say how could you, how could you do that to me... my bf looks at the other cop and says there has been a pattern of this...
I was defeated... if he had just taken me to that appointment the next day... things would have changed for the better. I would have gotten on meds. When i was in the hospital i kept calling him... he wouldnt pick up.
I called my coworker who called him and she told me that my parents were picking up my stuff and that ill be moving back in with them. Its been 2 months and ir still hurts to talk abiut this. The psych ward messes with your brain and made me paranoid for some time. I know i wasnt a perfect gf... but i still feel like he did me dirty.
submitted by SpookyGen13 to offmychest [link] [comments]


2020.08.16 17:29 eve_salmon A Cinematic Guide to The Weeknd: Pt 1. Trilogy and Kiss Land

A Cinematic Guide to The Weeknd: Pt 1. Trilogy and Kiss Land Not since Jackson has there been a pop star who was so influenced by film. Without cinema, there is no The Weeknd. I decided to write this after reading his CR interview where he namedrops Der Fan, a pretty serious cinephile cut and one of my favorite films ever. In this series of posts I will attempt to chronicle the major cinematic influences on each album. While I’ve seen some other articles cover similar ground, I haven't really seen it covered in the depth it deserves. However, thats not to say this will be any more complete. I honestly didn’t even go that deep. This is by no means exhaustive, I’m not The Weeknd, I haven’t seen every movie in the world, and even amongst movies I’ve seen, my recall is different from others. Much of this comes from some light research, a familiarity with his catalog, but mostly from my own film watching. At the end of the day, like everyone else, I don’t really know anything.
All that being said, I hope you all enjoy this. I will be posting two more parts covering Beauty Behind The Madness + Starboy, and My Dear Melancholy + After Hours.
Trilogy Stalker:
Visually referenced in the video for "the Knowing," and titularly referenced in "the Zone", Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker is considered by most to be one of the greatest movies ever made. Stalker follows two philosophers (identified as The Writer and The Professor) as they enlist a guide known only as the Stalker to help them traverse a restricted area called the Zone, which is said to hold a room that grants wishes. It can almost be considered a road movie, with much of the film being the party waxing philosophical as they traverse a hypnotic, Chrenobyl-esque landscape. One of the films main themes is that of desire and wish fulfillment, and the disillusionment that comes with it, a theme that echoes throughout Trilogy. On an aesthetic level, the film, which starts out sepia toned and burst into color when the trio enters the Zone, explores the of escapism of the mundane and into cerebral, psychedelic dream worlds, shades of which can be seen particularly on the House Of Balloons portion of Trilogy, on tracks like "The Party and The After Party" and "What You Need", both exploring tangible physical areas, but also states of mind (zones), their pleasures and desires, but ultimately also the emptiness that they truly occupy.
https://preview.redd.it/w1knpe9eqeh51.png?width=500&format=png&auto=webp&s=4fa763a1831084bb45154801b0c9c6b128f5b0b2
David Lynch:
On the note of escapism and other worlds, perhaps one of the most foundational influences on Trilogy and The Weeknd overall is the cinema of David Lynch. Lynch’s films are noir leaning phantasmagorical trips full of gangsters, ghosts, and movie stars. The video for the Zone contains a number of possible references to Lynch, such as the eyes appearing over the speeding of the lonely road as a reference to the opening of Lost Highway, and perhaps the road scene in Wild at Heart, and the Thursday Girl in the balloon world also bears some resemblance to The Red Room in Twin Peaks. He’s also name dropped Eraserhead a number of times, but the overall impact of Lynch on his music can’t be counted in just blatant aesthetic references. One of Lynch's films that somewhat parallels Stalker is Mulholland Drive, a horror noir murder mystery (many call the film unclassifiable). Like Stalker, Mulholland Drive sees a party of foils (in this case, a fresh ingenue and a jaded actress) enter a mysterious world, this time investigating a case of mistaken identity and getting drawn into the dark dream world of Hollywood (more on this later). While Mulholland Drive isn’t directly referenced at any point in Trilogy, The Weeknd’s debt to Lynch is more the appropriation of themes, feelings and moods of Lynch’s overall body of work, his "cinematic universe" per se, and into the sonic universe of The Weeknd. But of all the references to his work, it must be noted that Wild at Heart, Lynch’s love on the run movie starring Nicholas Cage and Laura Dern, prominently featured Chris Isaak’s "Wicked Game", and was largely responsible for it becoming a hit in the early 90s.
https://preview.redd.it/kyg4zcggqeh51.png?width=992&format=png&auto=webp&s=dc941b2ff6de1bd27ab7b9419c96b9cddbc34dbc
https://preview.redd.it/syt8fsuhqeh51.png?width=786&format=png&auto=webp&s=5d7bc438a33cdc35a2372c70167889abb8cd2c53
Vampires:
When describing The Weeknd, many critics evoke towards vampire imagery (one review described him as “Transylvanian”), with good reason. Besides the Nosferatu imagery in the "Wicked Games" video, he’s also expressed a strong affinity for Gary Oldman’s performance in Bram Stoker’s Dracula. From what is known about his background, living with a group of other young runaways it’s likely films like The Lost Boys and Near Dark (more on this later), which revolve around gangs of young vampires, was an influence on him as well, especially in parallel to darker tracks like "Initiation" (A Clockwork Orange likely falls in here as well, more on Kubrick below). One of the most interesting ways this is expressed is in "XO/The Host", which samples George Frederic Handel’s "Sarabande", a metre in dance that was in fact banned in 1583 for “exciting bad emotions.”
https://preview.redd.it/xch6r88mqeh51.png?width=696&format=png&auto=webp&s=614553333a5ec8a7d4a74b61a9c01c2557a334da
Stanley Kubrick:
In addition to it's bloodsucking elements, "Sarabande" is also the recurring theme used in Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon, Kubrick being another formative overall influence like Lynch. Kubrick’s ideas and imagery are a constant (Visual references to Eyes Wide Shut in the Secrets and "Twenty Eight" videos, A Clockwork Orange references in "Price on My Head", a general appreciation for the Shining etc.). Like Lynch, Kubrick loves his hallucinatory worlds, however, he is less focused on escapism and instead presents our current world as inherently absurd and psychedelic in itself, and people left to their own devices will reflect that experience. For example, like Lynch’s Blue Velvet, Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut posits that a gilded sexual underworld truly holds the keys to society, and that the sheen of civility is but a thin veneer. However, [Spoiler Alert] Blue Velvet ends with the police getting Dennis Hopper’s iconic villain Frank and the couple that caught him living happily ever after. However Eyes Wide Shut ends with Tom Cruise’s Bill being bullied out of his investigation into the murder of a hooker by a mysterious masked cabal. When he spills out to his wife, she says that all that they do about it is go home and fuck. So while Lynch isn’t exactly an optimist, his works still exist within his own controlled continuum and plane. Kubrick on the other hand, applies his vision to our own world, and presents us with his own theories on our past, present, and future.
https://preview.redd.it/2rpiq79oqeh51.png?width=998&format=png&auto=webp&s=712bdfb0b3b3c3e96b2e2949b19ac6f72e3edcd5
Loosies:
While I hesitate to delve too deep into the simple name drops (Nightmare on Elm St. on "Glass Table Girls", "The Birds", etc.) on "Loft Music", I believe he namechecks The Third Man, Carol Reed's seminal noir film of mistaken identity. This is a pretty interesting reference, as The Third Man is considered one of the Great Films by many, and is actually what first made me think he was a cinephile all the way back in the day. I don’t even know if he’s actually referencing it, it would definitely be the oldest film he's mentioned besides Nosferatu (everyone does Nosferatu though), but I don’t think it would be out of his wheelhouse. In the "Twenty Eight" video, much has been made about the stacked televisions and the interview (Videodrome) and the fake street (Eyes Wide Shut). However the scene where he’s watching the girls dance in the movie theater, and the ghost girl in the hotel room is very similar to John Carpenter’s Cigarette Burns, an old Masters of Horror episode starring Norman Reedus as a theater owner who tries to track down a film that’ll make whoever watches it go insane. He’s also spoken before about the Machinist, another film about the divide between dreamworlds and reality, rooted in traumatic experience (it should be noted that the aforementioned Mulholland Drive is rooted in a car crash in which one of the leads experiences amnesia, very similar to the Machinist).
https://preview.redd.it/t9iazjkqqeh51.png?width=1486&format=png&auto=webp&s=312c2da5346b7d1dd5eea2626b101aa1cb7dac55
https://preview.redd.it/c2e3aekqqeh51.png?width=1496&format=png&auto=webp&s=aa44732001e75d777ade39e353cd443ee351f7ef
Kiss Land Blade RunneThe Matrix:
One of the cornerstone films of Kiss Land is Blade Runner, with the Kiss Land world being strongly inspired by Blade Runner’s Los Angeles, November 2019, most notably with the metropolitan Asian influence, the neon signs and the futuristic skyscrapers, as well the film’s Vangelis score (which opened the Kiss Land Memento Mori episode). Most blatantly, there’s "Tears in the Rain", a reference to Rutger Hauer’s classic, improvised ending monologue. The parallels to Kiss Land and Blade Runner run deep on a conceptual level. Many come to Blade Runner expecting a sort of sci-fi adventure film (what Blade Runner 2049 turned out to be), when it is in fact a futuristic neo-noir mood piece. Like Kiss Land, it isn’t so much about the story, but about the scenes, the textures, the world it built and inhabited. To truly feel the Blade Runner influence, check "Not Used To (The Town Demo)", which is available on google drive somewhere on this sub. Another important film to is rather obvious visually, The Matrix. The sci-fi adventure classic, beside serving as a strong aesthetic standpoint, uniquely influenced Kiss Land’s sonic palette of industrial music, noise, and contemporary rock, from the likes of Linkin Park, Rob Zombie and Marilyn Manson, not to mention the cave rave from the second movie, had a strong influence on the sound of Kiss Land, most strikingly the cold, aggressive drums on songs like "Adaptation" and "Love in The Sky."
https://preview.redd.it/7lczbgctqeh51.png?width=998&format=png&auto=webp&s=30eb0664b9785c21b9653a4bd60fbf36221bf1ae
https://preview.redd.it/t4iu9kctqeh51.png?width=998&format=png&auto=webp&s=5a261ff8c85d79ea89072f720aafda94cf01e3ed
Only God Forgives/Black Rain/Enter The Void/New Rose Hotel:
Blade Runner isn’t the only Ridley Scott film he pulled from (There’s something to be said about Alien’s haunting Jerry Goldsmith score and its use of icky greens and steely blues), as the Kiss Land concept and storyline was also heavily influenced by Scott’s Black Rain. Black Rain stars Michael Douglas and Andy Garcia as two New York City cops who must escort a Yakuza hitman to Tokyo. While not one of Scott’s more famous works, it is a cult classic in certain circles, primarily with the vaporware crowd, for it’s evocative cinematography, metropolitan portrayal of Tokyo, and Hans Zimmer’s "Black Rain Suite." The idea of foreigners lost in the seedy underworlds of the East, a major element in Kiss Land, is also reflected in Nicolas Winding Refn’s Only God Forgives. While Black Rain is a slick, Hollywood production, Only God Forgives is a down and dirty indie. After his huge success with Drive (more on this film later), Winding Refn was interested in doing something less commercial, and put together Only God Forgives in Thailand with a far lower budget than Drive. While Cliff Martinez’s score features the cinematic symphonies so common in the Kiss Land films, one notable motif is his use of huge organs, similar of which can be seen on "Kiss Land. But the pinnacle of the foreigner lost abroad set of films is the infamous Enter the Void, Gaspar Noe’s sleazy psychedelic odyssey through Tokyo underworld. Set in neon soaked strip clubs and red light hotel rooms, besides the thematic and visual influence, like the Matrix, Enter the Void had a strong influence on the sonic palette, with Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter providing sound effects, most famously for the film’s iconic title sequence (More on both Noe and Bangalter later). The seediness extends, to Abel Ferrara's New Rose Hotel, a groovy cyberpunk romp about corporate sleaze which takes us on a journey through just as many night clubs and hotel rooms, and is perhaps the pioneering Kiss Land film (more on this film later).
https://preview.redd.it/4ca1wx4vqeh51.png?width=736&format=png&auto=webp&s=e9c001e553408408f42d99d01b540d7b1e34b887
John Carpenter:
With the setting and city playing such a large role, a filmmaker who exemplifies this is John Carpenter, who’s best work makes strong use of location as a character. While he frequently diverges, he markedly enjoys sprawling urban metropolises, best seen in films like Escape From New York, Escape from LA, and They Live (more on this film later), all of which he also composed the soundtrack to, most famously Escape from New York’s iconic intro theme, which was also a likely influence on Kiss Land. While there is likely some mood taken from The Fog, another Carpenter film that influenced Kiss Land was The Thing. He has specifically name dropped this in interviews, and while this isn’t as face obvious as the others, it features a massive, iconic Ennio Morricone soundtrack that mirror Kiss Land’s paranoid blockbuster ambitions.
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Early David Cronenberg:
While much has already been made about Kiss Land’s sci-fi influence, David Cronenberg’s horror influence can be felt throughout. He is known as the king of body horror, most impressively seen in films like the Fly, Naked Lunch, and of course, Videodrome , however, most relevant to Kiss Land and possibly The Weeknd overall is his portrayal of sexual deviance. While Ridley Scott and John Carpenter had been anticipating a career in filmmaking for a very long time, Cronenberg’s initial interests were the sciences and academia, specifically botany and lepidopterology (the study of butterflies). As such, his films have a colder, psychological edge but retain an air of elegance and sophistication. As opposed to Lynch’s exploration into the deviance in the underbelly, Cronenberg explores similar deviances amongst the upper class. He enjoys mad scientists and dark lords, his protagonists usually being surgeons, psychologists, ambassadors, etc. This can be seen in Dead Ringers, where Jeremy Irons plays twin surgeons who pretend to be one and date the same woman. The film is a deft mix of drama, horror and sci-fi, (strikingly displayed in the twins surgery “tools” and outfits), and a darkly comedic exploration of sexuality. Videodrome, a well known favorite of The Weeknd, also touches on these ideas of sexual deviances, with James Wood’s Max being a purveyor of smut and engaging in all sorts of bloody, piercing sex to the point that it begins to melt his brain. In a sort of meta twist Cronenberg, even seems to parody his own ideas of exhibitionist sexuality with the play scene at the beginning of the Brood, which possibly served as inspiration on the body show in the "Belong to The World" video.
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Corporate Faculty/Conspiracy:
On the topic of Videodrome, besides it’s body horror, another interesting aspect of the film is it’s portrayal of corporate faculty. When making Trilogy, The Weeked regularly mentions how much time he had as there were no label obligations. With Kiss Land however, he had set up the XO imprint on Republic Records, and was now answerable to corporate powers. Videodrome’s plot revolves around Max, a tv programmer who acquires a menacing tv show called Videodrome that seems to depict graphic torture and killing. As he continues on, he begins to encounter hallucinations and uncovers a conspiracy that stretches across multiple civic organizations. Smuggled inside a body horror scifi film is a powerful commentary on corporate rationale and reasoning, as well as prescient, forward thinking ideas of mass media and its effect on people. This idea appears as well in Carpenter's They Live, a film where Roddy Piper discovers that humans have been replaced by alien zombie like beings who attempt to enslave the earth through subliminal messaging in mass media. This idea of sinister corporations pops up in a number of films, it can be seen in Blade Runner with the Tyrell Corporation, and to an extent the robots of the Matrix harvesting people for energy. However, one of the cuter examples is the Oxcy Cat logo being a play on the logo of Max Shreck’s corporation from Batman Returns, another film involving corporate conspiracies and sexual politics. Shreck is played by Christopher Walken, who is also a lead in New Rose Hotel, Abel Ferrara's film about two corporate raiders who use a lounge singer to seduce a scientist to defect companies. While set in Japan, putting it more in league with Only God Forgives, Black Rain, Enter The Void in the foreigners abroad category, those films explore the more bohemian side of the underworld. Adapted from a William Gibson short story, New Rose Hotel is more concerned with the moral corruption and sexual politics encountered when climbing the ladder in a capitalist society, and the price that must be paid as the ladder is traversed. I believe New Rose Hotel to be a foundational Kiss Land film up there with Blade Runner and The Matrix, the extended lo-fi Kiss Land video seems almost like a stealth remake of the film. While I can't exactly say for sure this was an influence, I do know that The Weeknd is familiar with Bad Lieutenant, Abel Ferrara's most famous film, so it is in the cards. Another speculative film that I have absolutely no proof of would be Olivier Assayas's Demonlover, a brutally sexual tale of corporate espionage taking place in Japan and Paris, over control of a powerful hentai website that may be involved something more sinister.
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J-HorroSci-fi:
For a work “set” in Asia, there’s a conspicuous lack of Asian films mentioned on my end. Not to say Asian works are not referenced in Kiss Land, but I do think that the larger influences are films made on Asia by Westerners. The Asian works I believe mostly provide aesthetic, notably the animated films Ghost in a Shell, Casshern, and Akira for their depictions of sci-fi metropolises, and Ju-on: the Grudge for the "Belong to the World" body show. From a thematic standpoint, there is Audition, a definitive J horror film, which revolves around a woman with a mysterious past and Cronenberg-esque sexual deception and body horror, and of which The Weeknd is a known fan. Slightly more obscure and more speculatory however, is the work of Shinya Tsukamoto. While he is best known for his classic Tetsuo: The Iron Man, a body horror classic, I believe his film A Snake of June may have been a strong influence on Kiss Land. A Snake of June is about a woman having an affair who is blackmailed into sexual games over the phone. Shot in an icy blue tinted grayscale, as with many of the Kiss Land works the city (Tokyo) plays as much of a part in the film as the characters, but most interestingly is the intersection between sexuality, technology and voyeurism. Again, this is pure speculation, on one hand I find it hard to believe that this film never came up in his research, but at the same time I myself didn’t discover this film till a little later into my film watching, so I can believe it may have slipped through the cracks.
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Pt. 2 coming soon.
submitted by eve_salmon to TheWeeknd [link] [comments]


2020.08.06 08:06 SuikaCider New voyeur house

Kirk was sitting on the bed when I arrived to his cell, right leg crooked over the left and fingers interlaced in his lap. He didn’t seem imposing, and in fact did not even acknowledge me at first, just sat there staring at whatever point on the wall he’d laid his eyes upon. I wasn’t sure what to make of him. Bony face, empty and unadorned as the room itself. Pronounced clavicles. Tufts of brown hair poked out from the neck of a white tank top, which in turn had been tucked into a pair of orange trousers. Both were too large. An untouched pork roast was laid out on a platter next to him, the slab of meat girthier than his leg.
“We don’t normally do this, you know,” I said.
He turned and looked up at me, moving only his head to do so. Bushy eyebrows, flat nose, drooping earlobes, pointed chin. The corners of his lips curled up just enough to tip the scales and qualify as a smile. For a while he continued sitting there, looking more through me than at me, but then he blinked twice and met my eyes.
“I know.”
I took a step back in spite of myself, feeling like I’d opened the door to a naked stranger. Instead of covering up, though, he acknowledged me and grinned, as if saying don’t worry, this is the locker room, everybody is changing clothes here. He never moved an inch, but the tightness in my gut insisted that we were much too close. I was about to retreat another step when he reached out to pat the mattress beside him. The ring finger on his left hand was missing.
“Take a seat.”
I hesitated for a moment and then edged forward, sitting as far away from Kirk as I could. There were two feet or so between myself and the pork roast. Then him. A few feet further was the far wall of the cell. Its cement bricks were painted a peculiar green, like melted mint ice cream.
“Oh, Peter,” he said, a twinge of disappointment colouring his voice. “I don’t bite.”
I scooched closer, perhaps six inches; just enough to create a space for my left hand. The tips of Kirk’s lips dropped back down and his eyes glazed over again. It happened so quickly, as if an electric current was running through his veins and my little rejection had caused an important switch inside of him to fall out of place. Weight disappeared from the air, I was able to suck in a quick breath and, sighing, realized that the hand I’d planted next to me had been shaking. My eyes wandered to the far wall and settled upon a worn steel sink.
“I heard that you’d requested to eat with me,” I said.
The mention of food seemed to flip whatever switch I’d knocked loose. Kirk leaned over towards his pillow and then turned back to face me, a plate and some silverware in each hand. He placed one set on his side of the pork roast and the other on mine. I couldn’t help but notice the scars on his bicep when he extended his arm to do so. Jagged purple things that stood a half-centimeter tall, as if whatever caused them hadn’t quite been able to take his life and settled for a swathe of skin instead. Just then Kirk looked up, but as his smile grew, he must have misinterpreted the reason for my staring.
“I don’t suppose you like pork, do you?”
“I don’t eat pork,” the words fell out of my mouth, practically a reflex at this point.
“Really?” his eyebrows shot up. “You Muslim?”
“Huh? No. I mean, it’s not just pork. I don’t eat meat at all,” I said, more comfortable now that his focus had shifted off of me. “Back in high school I—”
Kirk interrupted me. “I used to do construction work. Carpentry, to be more specific. Anyhow, sometimes we got lunch at this barbecue joint. But one of the guys was a Muslim—Abdulrahman, I think—and he never came. So I asked him why. He said that pork was considered haram ‘cause it tastes like human flesh.”
“Uhh.. well, in my case, back in high school I dated this girl for a couple years. One day we saw a PETA advertisement on TV; cows getting tazed in a slaughterhouse. She got upset and started bawling—the cows were panicking and wailing, it was really terrible—and the next thing I knew, we were vegetarians. We broke up a few months afterwards, but fifteen years later and here I am, still a vegetarian.”
Kirk let out a whistle.
“It’s not really something I think about anymore, though,” I added. “After you haven’t eaten meat for a while, eventually it stops looking like food to you. Plus, I was already a vegetarian when I began cooking, so I never learned any recipes that needed meat. It’s just a habit, I guess.”
At the word habit, Kirk turned to look at me again. Differently, this time. I’m not sure how to describe the way he looked at me, exactly. Hesitantly, with scrutiny; the face a child makes when they’re rolling a new word around in their mouth and aren’t sure what to make of it. He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through the stubble along his jaw, back and forth from the beginning of his cheekbones to the bottom of his chin. Interested, to say the least, and searching.
“In that case,” he said, “do you want a slice?”
“Erm, no. I’m fine, thank you. ”
“Oh,” he frowned, then put a few slices of pork roast on his own plate. He stabbed one with his fork and then held it up in front of his eyes, squinting as if he were inspecting a dollar bill for signs of forgery. “Kind of boring for a last meal, huh. I heard that people order some pretty crazy stuff, but I just couldn’t think of anything I really wanted to eat,” he cocked his head a little to one side. “When I was a kid I heard about this restaurant in New York that sold gold-leaf plated ice cream sundaes. Always thought I wanted to try that just once before I died. Even just a spoonful. But when it came down to it, I asked for a pork roast. That’s the funny thing about habit, I guess.”
I didn’t respond, and he didn’t press me to. After a while he placed the entire slice of pork into his mouth—a whole slice, and a rather thick one at that—and chewed in silence. Though I’d have cut it into smaller pieces, myself, it was a wholly normal manner of eating. Lips sealed, but struggling to remain so. Cheeks puffed out. His jaw went down, his jaw came back up; slow, rhythmical, intentional. Eventually he lifted his chin a bit and swallowed. A lump formed in his throat and seemed to be stuck there for a second, then disappeared.
“Abdulrahman was wrong, by the way,” he said, bringing a fist to his mouth to suppress a burp, then turned to face me. He looked into my eyes right away this time. “About the pork, I mean.”
There wasn’t vitriol or remorse in Kirk’s words, but there was lightning. People often say they feel a chill race along their spine, or that their hairs stand on edge, but this was nothing like that. A wave of electricity dashed through my body as soon as the word pork made contact with my ears; my forearms clenched, my stomach lurched and my back straightened. All in the span of a tenth of a second. Then, finding nowhere to go, it held me transfixed. Pressure built in my throat and I wanted to breathe so badly, like a leading tone itchs to resolve to its tonic, but I found myself unable to contract my diaphragm. So I sat there, tensed and trembling, until I realized that Kirk wasn’t looking at me anymore. His gaze had returned to the wall—or to the sink, rather, judging by the tilt of his head—and he fell quiet. But the way his fingers slowly flexed and unflexed, clutching his pants so hard the fabric ruffled and then falling lifeless, I could tell that he wanted to say something. Unfortunately, the sink’s basin seemed much too shallow to find the words he was looking for.
“I wasn’t always like this,” he said, finally. “It... happened to me, really. Was just minding my job, you know? You’ve got to, in construction. My dad used to point at the saw after he’d cut a board in half. You see how slick it cut through this here two-by-four? Yeah? He’d say. Like a goddamn knife through butter. And it’ll do the same thing to your finger. Ya hear? We respect our tools, but all it takes is a second. One day a few guys had just finished loading a skip hoist and somebody told a joke. Apparently one of the others—his name was Carlos—thought it was real funny and he cracked up. Really cracked up, could hardly stand straight. Without thinking he laid a hand on the skip hoist to steady himself and so happened to grab the wire rope. It was exposed, somehow. Anyway, they’d been loading it with debris, yeah? Just then the batch they’d sent off discharged, the wire jumped and it ripped three of his fingers straight off. He’s lucky he didn’t lose his whole hand. I was standing twenty feet away, smoking a cigarette on break, and one of the fingers made it all the way to me.” Kirk sighed, long and deep.
“Just plopped there in front of me, fell right out of the sky. I was stunned for a second, but by the time I came to, I had that finger in the ziplock bag with my chips. At first I was worried somebody might see me, but they were preoccupied with Carlos. Understandably. So I wrapped the bag in a few napkins and stuck it under the ice pack in my lunch box, then ran off to help. We got him to the hospital real quick and then the foreman told us to take the rest of the day off. Everybody was shaken, to say the least.” he said. I was scrambling to put pieces together, but thankfully, Kirk didn’t seem too interested in hearing what I had to say. He just kept talking.
“I used that extra couple hours to go to the store and get stuff for a simple marinade. A bit of olive oil and soy sauce. Dijon mustard, ground black pepper and a clove of garlic. Let it sit overnight, then I roasted it with an omelette for breakfast in the morning. There’s not much meat on a finger, unfortunately.” Kirk suddenly glanced up, meeting my wide eyes for a second before looking away. His face was a mix of guilt and embarrassment, as if he was confronting someone who had earlier walked in on him masturbating. “It was nice. A bit chewy, but not in a bad way. I’m not much of a chef, but I remember thinking that it’d have gone better with something more acidic. Maybe a pineapple marinade. Anyhow, nothing like pork. Noth—” He looked up again, stopping mid-sentence upon meeting my eyes. Then he just sat there with his mouth open for a few seconds.
“And that was that for awhile. It was just… a really intense curiosity, and it was harmless, and it was done. The fingers were too fucked up to be reattached, anyway. Now I knew, you know, so that was that. It wasn’t bad, but not so special. Just a piece of meat. Not worth the trouble. That project we were working on ended and I went the next couple years without thinking about it again,” he nodded and bit his lower lip. “Then I took a project upstate. The commute was too far, so after the first day on the job I went to book a room at a nearby motel. Am I scaring you, Peter?”
I stuttered for a few seconds without saying much. His gaze hung much more heavily over me than his words did, so I looked away, to escape his eyes. “It’s unsettling, yes.” I said.
“That it is,” he said. “Anyway, it’s 9:30 at night or so and I pulled into this little motel lot. The worksite was already out of the way as it was, and the motel was in the opposite direction of the city. Real pretty though, at the foot of a mountain trail. I imagine it was for hikers, but this was mid-march and it was still too cold for that. There was nobody in the administrator’s office and, just as I was resigning to a night in the truck, I heard the scream. Not a scream like your kid had done something stupid or something on TV made you jump, either. You don’t know what desperate means till you hear someone scream like that. So I went looking. It didn’t take long, given that there was only light coming from one room and the door was cracked.”
“I stepped into the room to see two people struggling in bed. A woman old enough to be wrinkled but still with a head full of brown hair, her nightshirt half ripped off, and standing on the bed over her a large man. He had on a dirty red t-shirt, a bare ass and a pair of denim shorts around one of his ankles. When I walked in they both stopped and stared at me for a minute, all three of us frozen in place. The man moved first. ‘Get out,’ he said, but I was so shocked I couldn’t move. Then he turned towards the doorway, took a step forward and pointed a finger at me. You. He took another step forward, and when I met his eyes, I understood a bit of what I heard in that woman’s scream. They were hard steps, his penis bouncing from side to side with each one. For some reason my response was to bunch up my shoulders, hands at my side, like I was standing at attention. I couldn’t move from that spot, and maybe he saw my terror, that man started laughing as he walked towards me. Then the tips of my fingers felt the hammer, still hanging off the loop of my jeans.”
“A few steps later he reached out towards me. I don’t know if he meant to push me, or to grab me or to hit me. But when he reached out, suddenly all that desperation exploded into action. I swung out, the hammer connected with the side of his head and he dropped. Like a stone. It was over in a second, much quicker than I actually processed what happened. I stood there staring at him, motionless and bleeding on the floor, then looked up at the woman. She had pushed herself up tight against the bed frame and pulled the blankets up, scrunching them to cover her chest. We met eyes and she began whimpering—Please, don’t hurt me. Over and over again like some mantra. Eventually she lost it and started sobbing and convulsing, shaking the blankets off. Her breasts were pockmarked with cancer spots and bruises and wrinkles, but in that moment, she looked like a vulnerable little girl. Fear does that to people,” he said.
“Anyhow, I just stood there for a few minutes; it was all too surreal. Eventually it dawned on me that I’d just killed someone. The adrenaline and dizziness disappeared, like the image of an old television shrinks to a single point before blinking out into darkness, and I panicked. I hadn’t planned this. I was just doing my job. In that moment my life fell apart to the background music of this woman’s crying. There was no more noise than that, it was practically silent, and it all happened in a mundane hotel room you wouldn’t look twice at, but there was no going back from that day. That stood out to me real clear, like it was a line of text highlighted in a book. Everything had changed now. I didn’t know what to do so I dragged the man’s body outside, put him in my truck bed’s tool box and drove home. It was less of a choice and more of a resignation.”
“I ate him, of course. Started with his penis; deep fried, strewn with parsley. It was chewy, not in a particularly pleasant way, but the testicles were nice. Hard on the outside, crispy, but soft and sticky on the inside. His thighs were memorable, too—salt, pepper, a bit of nutmeg. Some sauteed brussel sprouts on the side. Eventually I finished eating him, but curiosity had only begun eating away at me. The next few years are a blur; I don’t remember how many people I killed. Ten? Fifteen? Maybe more. When I killed the man I was so worried that I’d see my face on the news; every time I heard sirens outside I tensed up, assuming they were for me. That they were coming, and the world knew what I’d done; but the world didn’t know and the police never came. I guess that woman at the motel didn’t paint a picture of me, and even if she did, I’d never ran into issues with the law before. They had no reason to look for me. I was just a normal guy out doing my job. The serial killers you see on TV, you know, I think they wanted the notoriety, like it was some sort of voyeurism. But I tried to stay out of the spotlight, and I guess it helps that I didn’t have a type. I’d get a fat old homeless guy here, a little orphan there. Lots of different ethnicities and sizes and ages. One day I picked up this methed-out prostitute. Straight up told her that I was going to kill her and eat her. That one sticks with me, out of all of them, you know. She didn’t respond, didn’t start frantically yanking on the door handle. Didn’t fight me or panic. Just sighed, closed her eyes and reclined the passenger seat a bit. It was hardly the worst thing the world had thrown her way; I suppose she’d been waiting to die for a long time already. I didn’t enjoy her.”
“I didn’t enjoy much after that, in fact. It was like the printer ran out of ink and started putting out stills that were nothing more than several shades of gray. The passion was gone, the creativity dead. Everybody looked about as appetizing as your dad’s meatloaf—” Kirk glanced at me. “No offence, Peter. I’m sure you’re great. Anyway, I stopped eating. Not just people, either. Everything. The bread in my pantry got moldy, the milk in my fridge went bad, and I started going, too. I lost a lot of weight.” Kirk’s hands reached up, seemingly inadvertently, and traced his clavicle. It stood so far out that I imagined he could wrap his fingers around the bone if he pushed a bit. “It happened real gradually. I’d always wake up early on Sunday mornings to make breakfast. Toss some bacon into the skillet, then when that’s done you use the bacon grease to make fried potatoes. You might as well have a cigarette or two because that takes awhile, fifteen or twenty minutes maybe, and otherwise you’re just standing there stirring. But they’ll be real good and crispy. Try it sometime. After that you can start the toast, then you use the same pan to scramble eggs. Once they set, toss in a bit of cheese, some salt and pepper. I liked to add a bit of paprika, myself. Anyhow, it’s simple, but it’s good.” Kirk wet his lips.
“Or, well, it was good. This prostitute, yeah? I picked her up on a Tuesday evening and we got back to my place at nine in the evening or so. Normally I’d talk to people, get to them a bit, but this woman just sat in the chair and ignored me the entire trip. When we got back I walked over to open her door, and she adjusted her skirt a bit then got out. I walked a bit behind her because I expected her to run, but she didn’t. Just walked to the house and let herself in. So I led her to the bathroom and told her to wait there; I went to the bedroom and took off my clothes, so as not to get blood on them. I took my time, and I thought she’d make an escape while I was gone. Show her colors. The door wasn’t locked, after all. But when I came back she was still there, sitting on the toilet. Didn’t even acknowledge me at first. Eventually she looked over real slowly, like she was bored. And her eyes, they—” Kirk stopped mid-sentence and scrunched up his face. “You’ ever kill anybody before, Peter?”
The question took me aback. “No,” I said. My voice was much shriller than I had expected, almost a whisper. “Never,” I glanced at my watch.
Peter nodded. “Well,” he said, “people look at you in a certain way, just before it happens. It’s an intimate thing. At first they’re shocked, and that quickly turns to fear. The adrenaline kicks in and they struggle for a bit, but before long that wears off and they accept that the ball is in your court. From there, some people start crying. Some people will beg with you, some people scream. Some people just stare at you, like a challenge. Eventually they give up. All of them. From that point on, they look at you in this special way. Like a child looks at their mother, or a pet waits for food. Expectantly, vulnerable, submissive. They’re totally dependent on you now, and they know it, and they know you know it. It’s a real intense thing, real personal; they might never have looked at anybody like that before. Hopeful and hopeless at the same time. It’s like looking right into their soul. You learn a lot about them during those few minutes. And then you kill them.”
“But this lady, she didn’t do anything like that. Just sat there, as if she was bored, like I was wasting her time. I stood there looking at her for a long time, I don’t know how long. I wasn’t sure what to do with her. You can’t dance if your partner doesn’t do their part, you know? Eventually she got up, walked over and took the knife. At this point I’d have let her wave it at me, I just wanted to see something in her. Instead she ran it through her own stomach. Deep. Then she walked over to the bathtub, laid down and died. I was still standing there, and I stood there for a long time, unsure what to make of things. But I never figured out what to do, so instead I left the bathroom and went to bed,” Kirk raised his eyebrows and shook his head slowly from side to side.
“I felt off that entire week. Sunday came, I made breakfast but found I couldn’t eat the bacon. The eggs were fine, and the potatoes, but I had no appetite for the bacon. I ate her liver, instead, but it was off, too. Next went steak and fried chicken, and within a few days, I couldn’t make myself eat any sort of meat. Somehow, after eating so many people, normal meat had just become a bit boring. That’s what I told myself, at least. Like somebody who starts drinking sparkling water instead of soda. It’s just not quite the same. Hard to get excited about. So I became, as you call it, a vegetarian,” Kirk flashed me a smile, but his lips were the only part of his face that moved. It disappeared just as quickly as it came, then he reached up and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know what happened, really. At first it was just meat, but then other foods followed, too. Within a couple weeks I couldn’t stomach the scrambled eggs or fried potatoes, either. By the time a month had passed I’d completely stopped eating. She was still up there in the bathtub and it was starting to stink. There was a half bath on the first floor, but I hadn’t showered since.”
“Two months in I woke up to hunger pangs. Terrible ones. Oh god, the hunger; it felt like my stomach was being ripped apart. I needed to eat. Something, anything, now. But I hadn’t left the house since that night. There was nothing left. So I—well you know, right?” Kirk glanced at me. “I saw you looking at my arms. I began cutting myself, taking chunks of meat from here and there. Mostly my thighs. Not such big ones; they bled for a bit and then closed up just fine. Unfortunately, it turns out I’m not all that delicious. A few days later I did this,” he held his hand up. “Just went into the kitchen, grabbed a knife and cut it off. There wasn’t as much blood as I expected, but it didn’t stop. Once it started it just kept going, and going, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. So I went to the hospital. The entire world stopped to look at me when I walked into the emergency room, but they hurried me to a room and patched me up just the same. Then they asked what happened, so I told them, and they sent me to inpatient care. Later that day the police found the girl. The therapists there asked me why I did that, so I told them—how this all started with Carlos’ finger, had come full circle and now it was time for me. Or something like that. I was in the hospital for a couple weeks, then was sent to prison to wait until my court case. That whole process took several months, but time wasn’t so important to me during those days. The next thing I knew my sentencing was up around the corner.”
“It hit me when I was getting dressed that morning. I didn’t dress up too much, but I figured that a guy should at least wear a tie to his own sentencing. So I put on a pair of navy blue slacks and a white Oxford; found an old belt, too, then set about doing my tie. Choosing the tie didn’t present much of a dilemma, as I only had one of them—mottled yellow, knitted—but what to do with it was more difficult. Eventually I decided on the Merovingian. It’s quite a difficult knot, so I expected to fail a few times. I fucked it up, of course, and then again. And again. Eight times. It didn’t bother me until I looked in the mirror and, seemingly for the first time, noticed my missing finger. Surely I would have succeeded if I had but one more finger; I threw the tie down and stomped. The Merovingian laughed at me.”
Kirk sighed.
“Not a lot gets by me, you know. But somehow, somewhere along the line, I lost my self. I’d have noticed if it were my dress socks or the change jar. If the stop sign down the street disappeared one day. But my self, it slipped away so quietly, and I was none the wiser. Maybe it was chased off by lust, or maybe my… hunger… consumed it, too. Maybe it went bit by bit, I don’t know. But for whatever reason it struck me that morning when I was trying to put on my damn tie. I was shocked to see that I was missing a finger, and suddenly I began coming back to myself. The fuzziness disappeared and I snapped back into it, only to find that I was missing much more than a finger. I didn’t have a self to come back to anymore. The Merovingian laughed at me.”
There’s nothing you can do,” it said. “It’s inevitable. Even if you stop, even if you know that you’re done, you swear it won’t happen no more, that doesn’t mean it’s gone. Nothing can replace it, that taste. And you know it. Try to move on. Just try. It’s hungry, and it’s powerful, and it’s patient. And once it gets ahold of you, it’ll eat away at you until nothing is left.
Just then two men appeared in the doorway and announced that time was up. Kirk was taken by a guard, and on his way out, without looking back at me, he announced:
“A nail is driven out by another nail, Peter. The Merovingian is coming for you, too. ”
And then he disappeared around the corner.
The warden furrowed his eyebrows and looked at me. “What the fuck was that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’ve never talked to the man in my life.”


The warden disappeared and Peter began to cry.
Shortly after, he took a slice of pork.
submitted by SuikaCider to shortstories [link] [comments]


2020.08.04 21:25 Erutious New voyeur house

When she opened the front door, her face was a study in relief.

"Are you the Paranormal Investigator the agency sent out?" she asked, getting right to the point. She had once been a pretty woman; he had no doubt, but grief had aged her. She wore a simple pink dress with a sensible pair of black shoes poking from underneath the hem, and her chestnut hair was swept back into a messy braid. She looked like someone who has become used to living in a situation outside her control, determined but hopeful.

He took off his hat, a tan Humphrey Bogart number, and smiled at her, "I am from the agency, but they thought your case might need something special; that's why they sent me."

She showed him in and took his coat before leading him into the living room. She introduced her husband, Michael, a tall man with a comfortable look of middle age, and introduced herself as Barbara. She sat next to him on the couch, brushing the wrinkles from her dress as she moved effortlessly into the protective shelf of his arm. He settled himself into a large red chair that didn't seem to match the other furniture at all. He took a notepad from my pocket and licked the end of the pencil before beginning.

"So, what seems to be the problem." He asked, favoring them with a warm smile.

"Wait," Barbara said, "when I invited you in, you said the agency had sent over someone special; does that mean you aren't a Paranormal Investigator?" she asked. She said it carefully as though she thought he might be insulted by the question.

He chuckled, getting this all the time.

"The agency sent him Barbara, I see no reason to..." her husband began, but he put out a hand to stop him.

"It's quite alright. No, ma'am, I'm not a Paranormal Investigator. My name is Killian Barker, and I'm what you'd call a Paranormal Facilitator."

Michael crinkled his eyebrows, "Paranormal Facilitator? What's that?"

"Well," Killian explained, "an Investigator usually comes out to inspect the phenomenon and see if there is anything the agency can do for the client. Given the description your wife provided over the phone, though, I'd say we have enough data to go ahead and send out a Facilitator, such as myself."

"But what does a Facilitator do?" Barbara asked.

"My training has allowed me to communicate with the presence or presences in your home and help you get rid of them."

Michael seemed shocked, "You can speak to them?" he asks, and Killian couldn't help a little chuckle.

"Not exactly. We can make our presence known and inform the entity that their continued inhabitation of this home is undesired. So," and with that, he leaned back and lifted the notebook, "tell me a little about what's been going on."

Killian made notes as he listened, but it was a mechanical sort of dictation. These cases seemed to run along the same course most of the time. Furniture being moved, doors and containers left open, disembodied noises or voices in the house, and an otherworldly presence felt by all who inhabit the home. He listened politely, but what was really looking for the ripples. Entities in a home don't appear as Barbara and Michael did. They seem to ripple in and out of existence like a stone making ripples in a pond when it impacts the water. As they spoke, Killian saw two entities moving about the house with a calm sort of familiarity. Both seemed to be adults. One a male who often moves between the kitchen and the back of the house and a female that seemed to flit about the kitchen like a hummingbird as she stopped and did something with objects Killian couldn't see. He thought she might also be on the phone with someone, but all he could pick up from her wavy, ripply voice was a sense of pleasure about some new experience or event.

Killian had scribbled down the words "two entity incursion" before Barbara reminded him that he wasn't alone.

"Then, there's the child sounds in our bedroom."

That snapped Killian back, "Child sounds?"

"Yes," said Michael, "we can hear a child talking and laughing and playing at odd times in our bedroom. One night it woke us up with a terrible wailing, and we spent the rest of the night in the living room with the door closed. Come morning, though, we went back and found the door wide open, and the covers on our bed were a real mess."

Killian scratched out two and wrote three as he amended the notes to reflect the child's possible presence.

"Very well then, I think I can help you, but it won't be easy. It sounds as though these entities have a certain amount of familiarity with the home, so we'll have to force them out."

Barbara looked at Michael in confusion before looking back to Killian, "How do we do that?"

"I don't think it will be too hard, but we may need to act quickly. I'll stay in your home tonight, if you'll allow me, and make notes on the situation. By tomorrow I have little doubt that I'll have formed an attack plan to push these intruders from your home."

That seemed to brighten them a little, and Barbara was happy to show him to the guest room. It was a simple room, a bed, a wardrobe, and a window that looked out on the backyard, but Killian didn't need much. He set his bag on the bed and began to compile the notes. This was far from his first encounter with the world beyond, and Killian had little doubt that he could help his clients. People tend to assign an almost magical quality to the other side. Still, for people like him, people who can see the ripples, it's easy to help people plagued by these entities. After an hour of collecting notes and making adjustments to them, Killian went out into the house to begin compiling further data.

It was a very active day within the home. The sofa the couple had been sitting on earlier kept disappearing and reappearing outside on the curb. It was replaced by a red love seat, the same color as the chair he'd noticed earlier. No matter how many times Barbara and Michael took it out and brought their couch back in, it always reappeared on the curb. Finally, they stopped trying, and Barbara fell into despair as she flopped onto the red couch. The couch was something they'd bought together after they'd married, and with Killian's help, they managed to move it to a side yard where it stayed put.

The ripples continued to move through the house. The male moved about in a state of constant action, going from the living room to the kitchen and then to the back of the house with some rapidity. The female entity continued to move about the kitchen haphazardly and then did the same around the living room for most of the afternoon. The child was not in evidence, but every now and again, Killian would hear a name called or catch a snatch of song as someone sang or hummed. He followed them with his eyes as they went about their tasks, and even though Barbara and Michael couldn't see them, Killian was pretty sure they could feel them moving around their house.

That night the activity hit a crescendo. As they sat at the dinner table, a multitude of ethereal voices came rolling out of the living room like cathedral bells. Michael and Barbara whipped around to look at the noise, scared by the clatter in their living room. To Killian's eyes, it was as though a hundred stones had been thrown at once. Around the couch, around the TV, going towards the back, and slowly trickling into the kitchen. He could see not just the two forms, but the wavy outlines of many others. At first, he thought there might be five, but after a few minutes, he decided it might be ten.

Suddenly things began moving. Cabinets opened and closed at random. The fridge rattled under the mechanical rapidity of use. The TV blared, the microwave beeped, and all around them, the ethereal voices talked and laughed. It was all Killian could do to herd Michael and Barbara into the guest bedroom.

"What is going on out there?" she cried. She and Michael huddled on the bed in terror, clutching each other for comfort, "It's never been that bad before."

"This isn't the first time I've seen something like this." Killian confided, opening the door a little so I could peek out, "the presences are getting stronger. Before long, it will be impossible to get rid of them."

Barbara collapsed into tears, and Michael held her as the din outside rose like an angry sea. Killian watched at the door, counting the swirls and seeing the indents left on the couch. One of the swirls actually wobbled towards him and threw the door open to the horror of Michael and Barbara. Killian heard a slurry voice whisper something about a bathroom before wandering off down the hall.

Finally, around midnight, it seemed to settle down. Killian suggested they get some sleep while the presence was at rest. They moved like scared rabbits down the hall, eye flicking every which way as they went. Killian watched them until the door closed and then began getting ready to sleep himself. He threw his suit jacket over the post and put his hat on top. He kicked his shoes off and lay in the comfortable embrace of the sheets as his eyes drifted towards sleep. It had been a long day, and he was ready for some sleep; if sleep would come.

No sooner had he settled himself, then an unearthly wail split the air. It was followed by both Michael and Barbara screaming his name, and he flew off the bed and out into the hall. He ran to their bedroom and saw two rippling forms standing on either side of the bed. He didn't have to ask if they could see them, the ripples were a steady wave of energy, and Killian could tell that they were seeing their intruders for the first time.

"What's wrong, Hunny?" Said the male presence. He was dressed in pajamas, and his hair was rumpled as though he too had been roused from sleep. The other figure was clearly the female, her robe pulled around her, and her long, straight hair swishing down her back. The two were on either side of the bed and seemed to be looking at something between Barbara and Michael.

Suddenly, from the center of their bed, a voice of crystalline highness shivered across my ears, "I saw something, I don't know what it was."

The female presence leaned down and nearly fell into Barbara. Barbara scuttled away from it, and Michael pulled her to him as he switched his gaze between the two apparitions. The female presence sat up suddenly, and in her arms was a shimmering child, a girl Killian thought, who stared at the pair on the bed as though she could see them. As Barbara and the child made eye contact, I heard her scream in a fit of panic. Her shrieks sent both of the wavering apparitions stumbling back a little and made the shimmering child loose a cry of her own.

"Get out, get out of my house! I hate you! I wish you'd just leave me alone!" Barbara screamed at the three of them.

The rumpled man looked at the other, and both fled out into the hallway. A door slammed somewhere in the house, and Killian could hear it being locked behind them. Barbara shuddered in fear and rage and collapsed into Michael's arms, sobbing. He could commiserate with them, it was always hard when something you couldn't fight invaded your house, but they needed to be strong now. Killian told the two of them to secure their door and get some rest while he made plans for tomorrow. He knew there would be no sleep for him as he set about making a plan of attack for the next day. He set plans and counter plans that night, covering all his angles, and when dawn broke the next day, he was ready to help them.

They sat in the living room, sipping coffee, and Killian could see the female presence pacing around the house. The child's presence not far behind her, and sometimes it would stop to glance at them on the couch as though it could see them. The male presence seemed to be absent for some reason, but Killian felt sure it would return later. The female talked to herself near continuously as the child sobbed and tugged at her. Killian tried to ignore them. Before the presences gathered together again, they needed a plan.

"You must summon all your strength together and push them from the house", he told them as they sat on the red love seat that wasn't theirs.

Barbara sobbed a little, her nerves frazzled, "How? How do we do that?"

"This house belongs to you two, not these things that have taken up residence here. You must focus your will and push them out before they become too strong. Summon up all your happy memories of this house, good times and bad times and times that brought you closer, and form them in your mind. When the time comes, we'll draw strength from these things and use them to push these malicious presences out."

So they spent the day gathering the memories that made this house a home for them. They talked about buying the house, raising their children, living, loving, and enjoying their lives. They cried a lot, and Killian felt like a voyeur as they wept in each other arms on the lurid red sofa. As darkness gathered, Killian felt the male presence return and moved them to the guest room again so they could summon the last of their strength.

He watched from the door as they all moved about the house. When all the presences gathered in the living room, he would be ready for them. Barabara wanted to act before they all returned, but Killian told them that this would only work if all of them were here to be forced out.

They waited for night to fall.

The presences had begun to gather in the living room. The ethereal sounds of their entertainment spilled into the guest room, but tonight, the gathering was more intimate. It was just the three of them this time, no spectral legion like before, and Killian brought Barbara and Michael into the living room and stood them before the couch. Killian gave them a nod and turned off the lights in the living room. The effect on the presences was immediate. The male form, seated between the other two, looked around and brought both of the smaller forms closer to him. It was a protective gesture, but it mattered little.

"Now!" Killian said. When he shouted, he saw all three stiffen in their seats, "Take the hands of each other and cast these interlopers from your home!"

Michael reached for Barbara's hand, and she grasped it tightly. As they clasped hands, Killian could see a glow surrounding them as it had encircled the presences the night before. Both seemed to pulse with light, and the forms before them began to quiver as they saw them fully. Both Michael and Barbara shouted their ire, their contempt, their rage, and their sorrow to the intruders. At that moment, Killian saw them for who they really were. The waxy flesh of the recently deceased, the puffy, jaundice skin on their faces, and the dark bruises beneath their eyes as their death masks were revealed. Asphyxiation, he thought, maybe a gas leak or something, but whatever the nature of their deaths, their ghostly visage caused an immediate reaction in the presences before them.

"GET OUT OF OUR HOUSE!" they yelled, repeatedly, and Killian moved up behind them to add his strength to theirs. When he dropped his hands to their shoulders, he felt his own throat open again as Killian retook his true form. He'd known his death was coming in life, his killers glee the last sound he'd ever heard as a mortal, but he knew from years beyond the pale that it was a grizzly sight to behold. The screams of the intruders nearly dwarfed the otherworldly voices of Barbara and Michael. The two larger presences grabbed their child and fled the house.

The ghostly trio stood silently as the sound of a car escaping split the night like a shrieking train.

"We did it." Barbara said, both she and Michael now back to their initial selves, "They're gone, we have our house back!" she cried, and both of them threw their arms around each other and laughed as they hugged and sobbed.

"Yes," Killian said, collecting his bag and preparing to leave, "but I doubt it will be for long."

Both of them stopped their celebration to look at him.

Killian took the opportunity to fish a pamphlet out of his bag, "The living are never gone for very long I'm afraid. In the light of day, they laugh off their fears and return to a place they now must call home. They chalk our presence up to a bit of bad dinner or a headache; as Scrooge put it, "There's more of gravy than of grave about you."

He handed them the pamphlet and Barbara took it with a shaky hand, "I would suggest that you leave this place soon. If they believe what they saw here tonight, they may return with a religious or some other such person. They can banish you from this place, and believe me when I say that you would find the process very unpleasant."

"Leave? But where would we go?"

"On to the next plain of being. Heaven, Hell, Shangri La, doesn't matter to me, but this small victory won't last long. Stay if you like, it is ultimately your decision, but know that someday you will need to pass on. Better to pass peacefully than be swept out like old trash."

He collected his hat and coat and shook their hands as he parted, "If you need the Agencies help again, don't hesitate to ask. We're always here if you need us."

Killian opened the door and looked out into the inky blackness of the void. He had no idea what lay beyond, that's why the agency had been so keen to have him. Maybe these two could find some peace there. The living always wonder what comes after death. If they knew it was this, Killian doubt so many of them would seek it. Someone said the living often envy the dead. As a member of them, he could honestly say the grass wasn't much greener on the other side.
submitted by Erutious to Erutious [link] [comments]


2020.07.24 16:38 wolf24Jul New voyeur house

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submitted by wolf24Jul to u/wolf24Jul [link] [comments]


2020.07.21 15:40 xdxx4520Jul New voyeur house

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