you open your resume in microsoft word. your qualifications have been replaced with the words “NEVER ENOUGH.” the cursor winks.
the website asks you to fill in your basic information. the website asks you for your resume and cover letter. the website asks you to answer additional questions. the website asks you to fill out an applicant questionnaire. the website asks you to sacrifice your family. you click “submit” with bloody hands.
everyone is hiring. no one is hiring. the signs disappear when you look at them too closely, but you can see them in distant shop windows. only a few blocks more and you will be safe.
you attend a job fair hiring individuals in your field and are offered several jobs on the spot. your dream-self accepts the position and shakes the manager’s hand as you awaken in your bed. there is still a hand in yours.
“are you a student?” yes. “are you between the ages of 18-24?” yes. “are you human?” you were. you don’t know now.
the hiring manager has listed their contact information. phone number: blank. email: blank. sacrifice: three rabbits. you stop by the pet store on your way home.
a cacophony of voices scream wordlessly into the void. these are your cover letters. these are your only hope.
you are waiting for your interview. you watch as other applicants go into the office. none of them come out.
every hampton inn seems the same. every hampton inn is the same. you forget your bag in your room in cleveland and retrieve it in georgia. you don’t remember packing a severed head.
please proceed to the gate of the damned. proceed to the gate of the damned to board flight 7734. flight 7734 is now boarding. this is your last call for boarding on flight 7734. this is your last chance.
you are staying in a cottage in key west. there are large dark shapes in the water. “it’s just the manatees,” the locals tell you. screams come from the water’s edge. “it’s just the manatees.” the water is red. “it’s just the manatees.”
you have never seen a manatee. you are thankful.
you visited toronto once. you stood on the glass floor in the cn tower, 1,122 ft above the ground. (they told you not to look down. you should have listened.)
disneyland is the happiest place on earth. you have never smiled this much in your life. you have never had this many teeth.
turn left in three kilometres. turn right in three kilometres. the road will cease to exist in three kilometres.
recalculating. recalculating. recalculating.
your best friend used to live in vancouver. vancouver still lives in them.
you visit the museum of modern art. the paintings are screaming. the walls are screaming. the patrons are screaming. black ichor runs out of the frames. you turn to the museum staff for help, but they are screaming too. the ichor is up to your neck.
new york city is the best city you have ever visited. you heart nyc. you heart nyc. you heart nyc.
you have seen the sphinx. the sphinx has seen you. it remembers.
there is sand in a bottle in your room from the valley of the kings. no matter where you look, it is in the corner of your eye. you can hear the pharaohs talking in the night. soon we will be free.
years later, you are going through your travel journals. you find your entry for detroit: don’t walk on woodward. don’t walk on woodward. don’t walk on woodward. don’t walk on woodward.
you think you may have walked on woodward. you think you may never have been to detroit. (the ink smudges beneath your fingers. there is blood on the corner of the page.)
you’re not sure when the scary thoughts began. you just know that they manifested from the ink of a dark night and carry the energy of a withering forest in autumn. they hound you, grow in size when unattended. you don’t mind much; you have more to write about if you ever really do.
the green in your header disgusts you. it reminds you of gloomy swamps oozing with matter, of the gunk in your sink that you swear comes to life when the house is still at night. still, you leave it be. you are afraid of what your identity will become if you change it.
your profile picture hasn’t been changed since you set it when you first made your account. it was originally a picture your cousin took of you outside of your house. you thought it to be goofy when you first chose it, but every so often you zoom in on it just to make sure the camera didn’t hide anything malicious behind you. sometimes right before you glance away you swear you see figures lurking in the sickly orange light in the background. you dismiss it as overthinking and continue on.
your phone never sleeps. someone is liking your post every few minutes, another is sharing it to their mass of followers. your own following grows to a monstrous size, despite not being active for god knows how long. it intimidates you. it keeps you up at night. it is thirsty for more, demanding for you to spill the contents of your horrific brain onto the cracked and ugly pavement. yet, for some reason, you continue to welcome the waves of attention crashing over you without satisfying their hunger.
you try to keep your mind clear of frustrations felt towards your blog. the ones that crank the horror machine handle will get their feelings hurt if they overhear. after all, they tell the stories. they’ve seen it all, they are capable of anything. you wouldn’t want to know what they would do to you if you ridiculed them.
you still don’t understand why you force yourself to write such gruesome, terrifying things. your own words force your eyelids open throughout the night, keeps your ears honed sharp and alert for every single noise your house makes. just to let off steam, you reassure yourself every time, pulling your covers up to cover the length of your body. who are you comforting: the demons inside your head, or yourself?
what is your purpose?
you do not know.
you may not ever know.
all you know are the words within this blog and the twisted wonderland you bring to life for it.
it is pitch-black. you do not know if the chill is from the breeze rattling through the tree branches above you, or if it is from the cold glimmering of the thousands of stars above your head.
you turn your gaze upwards. countless unanswered questions take form in your head, yet most do not even elicit an answer. the stars seem to hold the secrets to the universe, but will you ever know them?
you do not know now, and you certainly do not know if you ever will.
you return your gaze to the dark forest beyond you.
the cottage in the woods is showing signs of decay. you can hear the wind groaning through the holes in its walls. she is afraid. she does not want you to come any closer. but you are impulsive. you are curious. so curious, in fact, that you find yourself helplessly taking cautious steps towards the front door of the place. the groans grow louder, as if she were warning you to turn back. but it is too late. you are already pushing the door open.
the blood on the wall and the body crumpled on the floor was enough to send you bolting out the door.
check to make sure all of your headlight bulbs are working before you depart from your starting location. not only are broken headlights against the law, you could potentially be blindly stumbling into some dangerous territory. the more area you can see, the better. the last thing you want is to be stuck on their land.
do not let your eyes linger on the wheat fields. some have reported a sudden drop in temperature in their car. some have spoken of a tugging sensation coming from the fields. some have claimed they saw the devil himself grinning back. you do not want to find out what lurks within the wheat fields.
if you happen to come across a hitchhiker, check for wounds or anything out of the ordinary on their person. if their eyes reflect your headlights, drive faster. do not stop under any circumstances. do not slow down until you are absolutely sure they cannot catch up to you. they are not human.
do not slow down or stop to marvel at the cottage in the forest. do not go inside or get out of your car. you will not return unscathed.
if you see yellow eyes watching you from the corn, continue on. they are just the ravens.
if you see red eyes watching you from the corn, continue on. they are just the crows.
if you see green eyes watching you from the corn, get out of there as fast as you possibly can. they will follow you. they will hunt you down.
objects in your side mirrors indeed seem closer than they look. don’t glance over too often, though. they come nearer with every look.
the creatures in the woods are rumored to attack pickup trucks more often than any other type of automobile. make sure all of your windows are shut and your truck bed is empty and uncovered if you drive one. you wouldn’t want to ferry one of them home without knowing.
do not stare at the empty, broken-down cars on the side of the road. they do not welcome the gazes of strangers. it is best if you only say a quick prayer for them and drive on. you do not want to be next.
the radio may spit out some inaudible blubber occasionally. white noise may come through for a few seconds before reverting back to what you were listening to. just convince yourself you’re driving through a spot with patchy satellite signal. don’t mind what they’re saying through the static. ignorance is bliss.
some travelers claim they often hear shrieking while they are driving. contrary to popular belief, they do not want to hurt you. they are just playing tricks on you. just don’t slow down. just don’t stop.
whatever you do, don’t fall asleep. pull into a rest stop, at least. do not fall asleep on the side of the road. you may not wake up again.
the witching hour does not apply when you’re on the road. they roam after sunset. they are bloodthirsty. stay aware of your surroundings.
that stain on the grass over there was definitely from a deer. don’t think too much about it.
right?
not everything that you can see is real.
not everything that is real you can see.
the devil never sleeps. he is out for blood. he is nothing like anything you’ve ever seen before. you have been warned.
tips for exploring the woods at night with your significant other
bring a flashlight.
bring another flashlight.
both of you should have at least two flashlights each. the woods are rumored to siphon battery life from certain contraptions.
bring spare batteries.
dress warm. even if it’s the middle of july, the woods get colder the deeper you venture.
make sure both your phones are fully charged. there might be service. you might get lucky.
do not lose sight of each other.
do not talk above a whisper. the trees are known to lash out at things they do not like, and they despise loud noises.
there should always be some sort of noise going on around the two of you (leaves rustling, animals pattering as they walk, water rushing, etc.) if either of you notice everything has suddenly gone silent, do not panic. do not cause a commotion. just keep on walking. do not stop moving. do not look behind you, but keep your ears open. the woods can sense fear, and they prey on it.
always keep the braver of the two of you in the back. they cannot look behind them at any time lest it has its eyes on you. neither of you can look behind you. keep your head forward and your gaze ahead. do not let your eyes stray from the path.
the woods hold many secrets. it is best you refrain from finding out the truth. do not go searching for answers. they are annoyed by prying eyes.
do not lose sight of each other.
both of you may see flashes of figures in your peripherals. do not look at them. they will not hurt you, but they do not like to be looked at. they are simply curious. mind your own business.
you may feel eyes on the back of your head. you may feel eyes everywhere around you. they are watching you. do not turn your head to search for them. do not make eye contact with them. they are also curious. mind your own business.
do not anger it. do not look at it. it is all around you, and the two of you have ventured right into the heart of its territory. there is no guarantee the both of you will make it out alive if you do. be polite. be mindful. be humble. be wary.
do not lose sight of each other.
it is best you exit the woods after a few hours of walking. no one knows how long anyone can stay within the trees before they are trapped there for eternity. if you and your partner decide to explore for longer, be mindful you are voluntarily overstaying your welcome and that they might not be happy with you.
if you see anything questionable, do not go near it. avoid it. walk around it and do not stare. the woods do not appreciate rudeness and criticism. do not look behind you to look at it once you see it for the first time. do not touch it. do not stop walking to inspect it.
time does not exist in the woods. do not depend on the clock on your phone. it is no longer safe to rely on. nothing is safe to rely on in the woods. keep your cool at all times.
one of you must stay awake while the other sleeps. you cannot both be asleep at the same time. you may not wake up after. the woods are known to capture sleeping souls. it is recommended the two of you stay awake at all times lest the person who is awake cannot fight it off.
you may feel a sense of suffocation while you are walking. do not give in. fight off the sense. it will eventually give up.
do not lose sight of each other.
if by chance the two of you you get separated, pick up your walking pace. walk in a zigzag path. this confuses the things following you. do not call out for help or for each other. remember that the woods do not like loud noises. do not call attention to yourself. you are now at the mercy of it. from then on, watch every step you take. be swift. you may be able to find a way out if you are quick enough.
if the two of you make it out alive, go home immediately. do not linger. they will grow restless. they need their privacy. go home. do not return to those woods. they will not be as welcoming the next time.
the airport is always packed. there is barely enough room to extend your arms out all the way. everyone is on the phone. they are cackling loudly in a language you hardly understand. hundreds of voices overlap. their laughter echoes throughout the terminal. it is never quiet. their laughter echoes in your brain. it keeps you up at night. it is never quiet.
there are taxis everywhere you look. they are all the same shade of yellow. you open the door of one. a man greets you cheerfully through the rearview mirror. his eyes scream for help. you blink. he has no eyes. you blink. you cannot understand what he is saying. he will not let you leave the taxi. you blink. it is 10:28 pm. three hours pass. you blink. it is 10:29 pm. he will not let you leave the taxi.
your grandparents meet you at the door. their smiles are plastic. their eyes are hollow. you hug them warmly. you haven’t visited them in years. they step aside for you to go in. there is a red handprint on the wall directly opposite from you. the bathroom is locked. no one else lives in this house. grandmother says your great-uncle was playing with sriracha sauce. you do not have a great-uncle. you hear the front door lock. the entire house smells like copper. you ask no questions.
at night, the ambulances scream. they rip through your skull. they sound like crying children. you know that none of them will ever reach their destination. you’d be better off dead than calling for one. god knows what they do to the people who call for them.
it is exactly 12:30 am. you are hungry. there is a 7/11 a ways down the street. you hop into your car and start driving. you pass a 7/11. that is not the right one. there is another 7/11 across the street. that is not the right one. you check your side mirrors. you have driven past three more 7/11s. none of those are the right 7/11. their led lights beckon you eerily. they tempt you. you continue driving. there is a 7/11 at every stoplight. you have been driving for ten minutes. you check your dashboard clock. it is exactly 12:30 am. you are no longer hungry. you do not stop driving. the 7/11s call to you. you do not stop driving.
taipei 101 looms over the city. you can see it wherever you go. there is glass on every side of the tower. the tower sees all. the glass reflects the truth. you do not look at the glass. you do not want to know the truth.
you go to visit your child cousins. they are overjoyed to see you. you notice their hair glinting raven-black in the sun. they ask you how you are. you cannot understand their language. you cannot understand the words coming out of your mouth in response. they do not stop talking. their words become slurred as the heat melts off their lips. the girl’s tongue falls out of her mouth. the boy’s eyes begin to lighten. they do not stop talking. you notice their hair shimmers strawberry-blond in the sun. you cannot understand their language. you respond anyways.
this city is covered in cockroaches. they scuttle between people’s feet as they walk down the street. they live in the subway station. they party in the gutters. they buzz up in the air to dodge traffic. you do not step on any of them. you remember you stepped on one once, years ago. they have not stopped following you. they have not stopped judging you. you remember a story told to you about a distant cousin who stepped on too many cockroaches one day. his body was found in the road the night after. his entrails were scattered about him. the cockroaches got revenge. you see the empty husk of a cockroach lying in the corner of a store. you hear shrieking from the floorboards. you mind your own business.
the locals say that ximen station is haunted. they say that the spirits come out and roam after sunset. you are meeting a friend in ximen for dinner. you call them and lightheartedly joke about the haunted subway. they laugh with you. they tell you that they will not hurt you. just don’t look at them directly in the eye. don’t look at the little girl at the bottom of the rails. don’t be late or they will not let you leave. you say you feel ill. you ask if you can meet tomorrow in taipei. the line goes dead. you do not hear from them again.
“try our bubble tea!” vendors screech from the side of the road. their large sunhats keep their faces hidden. you stop at a booth and squint at the sign. you can only make out the words “milk tea” in messy, scrawled handwriting. you cannot read the other words on the sign. the vendor takes a step closer to you. in his hand is a cup of boba. the boba is not black like normal. the boba is the color of swamp moss. the vendor smiles underneath his enormous sunhat. you swear he has more teeth than normal. he thrusts the cup towards you. “only 70 dollars!” you take a step back. he takes a step forward. you manage to sneak a peek under his gigantic sunhat. you now know why the vendors wear such huge sunhats. the sun is not the reason. you no longer walk down that road. their screeches still follow you everywhere you go.
it is the night before the day you fly home. grandfather has scrubbed the handprint off the wall. grandmother has made pig intestine for dinner. flies buzz around the dish. you lean in and take a whiff. it smells like copper. you recoil. grandmother looks at you curiously. her plastic smile fades. “do you like it?“ you bite back your tongue. you do not show disgust at grandmother’s cooking. you nod your head enthusiastically. your heart is pumping wildly. grandmother’s plastic smile returns. she leans in to give you a hug. she praises you. you hope she cannot feel how rapid your heartbeat is. everyone in the family knows what happens when you criticize grandmother’s cooking. you realize the bathroom door is still locked. the house still smells like copper. everything smells like copper. you hope she doesn’t know.
grandmother knows all.
grandfather comes into your room. he is holding a butcher knife in his right hand. he sets it down right by the door. he tells you it’s for emergency purposes. you cannot fathom what kind of emergency would require a butcher knife. the stray dogs cry behind your house. grandmother laughs from the living room. why is she laughing? stray dogs are not funny. you turn back to grandfather. his face is pale. you tilt your head. he does not answer. he backs out of the room and closes the door. he locks it from the outside. odd. you didn’t know your door could lock from the outside. you pick up the butcher knife. you see a reflection in the blade. you do not look back down. you scan the walls for a clock. there is none. the stray dogs howl again. you swear you hear a scream from the living room. you do not get up. you do not let go of the knife. you cannot under any circumstances let go of the knife after you’ve picked it up. it will turn against you. whatever is on the other side of the door will not lose interest in you. grandmother is not who she seems.
It’s pitch black outside and you swear it’s the middle of the night. How could it only be 5:30?
You check your backseat to make sure no one’s in your car before you get in. You lock the doors before you start driving. Apparently you didn’t look long enough.
The same car passes you over and over again. It turns the opposite direction at every intersection. You find it parked in your driveway when you get home.
Where were you headed again? You’re on autopilot when you realize you don’t know where you are anymore. It’s too dangerous to turn around.
You make the mistake of looking in your rear view mirrors too many times.
You merge onto the highway and you’re the only car in sight. You feel eerily alone.
But they watch from the shadows.
Nobody sees their glowing eyes.
“They’re just parking lights. Cars pulled over on the side of the road”
Why does no one see them?
Was that a man or a cryptid? You keep driving after they run in front of you.
The radio plays the same song on repeat. The host sounds like he’s being held against his will. You can’t bear to listen but you can’t bear the consequences of silence, either.
essential supplies include: plenty of food and water, a change of socks, a hat, rope, bandaids, a knife, gloves, an acorn in your pocket, and an offering
there are always odd noises on the farm. half of them come from the animals
try to forget what the lake looks like between the hours of three and four AM
never ever find yourself alone in the milking shed in the south end of the farm. time passes differently there
if you happen to hurt yourself in your exploration, make sure you do not bleed onto the dirt
bring plenty of water, you do not want to drink from there
the cows will watch you, this is normal
close every gate you open, even if the fields are empty. don’t ever leave one open behind you, just trust me
beware unstable rocks, the cracks tend to be filled with insect nests
bring a weapon with you, but no guns
if you see someone else while exploring, never tell them your name. you can never be sure if they are real or not, and further out you go, the less real they will seem. the patupaiarehe have evolved in cruel and unusual ways
do not go inside the empty share-milkers cottages, whatever you do, do not go inside. something else lives there now
a tree with the undersides of its leaves showing mean that a storm is coming. a tree with no leaves means the storm has already come
sometimes the hills look like they’re moving. be aware of this, because some things don’t like to be disturbed
do not sleep under the full moon, in fact, just don’t sleep on the farm
finding skulls is normal, only become worried when you start finding ribs
if you find yourself lost in a forest, continue walking in a straight line until you are free again. the trees may make it look as though you are going in circles, but i promise you’re not. ignore the soft music you can hear
your phone won’t work out here
the ghosts from the land wars won’t harm you, but be sure to show them respect
don’t take anything from the farm with you when you leave. just be grateful you have made it out alive
This is labeled as New Zealand Gothic so there are a few things specific to NZ here, but I live in Michigan and let me tell you. This isn’t a joke, not is it region specific. There is a farm my father has visited since childhood that never felt right. He once saw a black mass that they don’t like to talk about. A few years ago a swarm of flies attacked his tent one morning while he was camping with a friend. That same day, he became suddenly and violently ill. He brought whatever attached itself to him back home and it didn’t leave until we did a full cleansing ritual.
Do not fuck around on farm land. Especially if you don’t know what was on that land before it.
I actually need to add to this because there’s some stuff the locals out in Missouri told me.
around dawn/dusk/twilight if you feel something behind you, don’t turn around. Even if you are in an open field
you hear a woman crying in the woods, hope that its probably a cougar. dont go looking for it
avoid the woods around these farmlands if you can
dont cross streams
try not to be there around the evening time. whatever you’re feeling will get worse and might follow
if you’re religious, don’t bring any artifacts of such if you can. crosses etc. it can upset whatever is there.
I dont care how pretty the rock is, don’t pick it up
avoid going in most buildings. not just the ones listed above. especially barns. look in, look around, don’t physically walk in there. not only is it structurally unsafe, you don’t know whats hiding in there. corporeal or not.
lastly, before you leave. check your belongings and pockets and anywhere anything you can stash stuff in. chances are you will be missing something, that’s normal. if you had something there you didn’t before. sometimes they just happen to be there even with no recollection. get rid of it on that land, not off of it!
IT IS RARE IN THIS DAY AND AGE THAT THE EARTH IS ALLOWED TO RECLAIM LAND BUT WHEN IT DOES IT DOES SO TOOTH AND NAIL AND WILL NOT GIVE IT UP AGAIN SO EASILY
