Blood Freezing Experiment

In 1944, the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) tried developing a chemical that would affect the blood of a human being. A copy of this lab report can be found somewhere deep within the old MI5 building in London.

Overture

This chemical was derived with mixtures of [name removed]’s Nomofungin and [name removed]’s Communesin, as well as my perophoramidine. The chemical would modify the blood’s chemical properties and structure, so that if shot or cut, the blood would have the ability to freeze (or solidify) to where the person was shot. This would stop bleeding, and can make a person far stronger than an average human being. However, a chemical like this would be incredibly expensive and only offered to the most valuable of people, such as MI5 units and important politicians.

Other things that have to happen in order for the blood to solidify include increasing the amount of blood plasma from 55% to 59%. Modified blood cells when oxygenated constitute percentages of 96%, therefore the subject has to breathe deeper or more often. Since Thrombocytes seem to get into the way of modified blood cells, they are removed prior to modification. The medulla oblongata is also modified by a chemical that familiarises it with modified blood cells. Also, since the blood cells expand when solidified, 4% to 6% of the normal blood volume must be removed. Blood vessels of course, are changed a slight bit by the chemical as well in order to handle the heavier cells.

Procedure
Test subjects can be any male over 21. Subjects are compensated with £35,000.

The subject will be provided with hospital beds and some entertainment. The subject must remain on an EKG and his or her heart monitor must be watched at all times. Once the chemical is introduced into the subject, he must be monitored for 24 hours. No food must be given until the 25^th hour. All requests made by the subject in the first 24 hours must be ignored.

Beginning with the 25^th hour, the subject may be given painkillers and proper meals. Patient must continue to be monitored until the 72^nd hour.

After 72 hours, the subject is to be escorted to the test room. The subject is to be bound and sedated. The left arm is to be cut open four inches, and the right arm is to be shot by .45 automatic. Observe the effects.
After hour 144, the subject is to be taken to the test room again, and the subject is to be shot in multiple places without sedation. Each place and effect is to be observed and recorded.

The three subjects were males, 22, 23, and 29. The subjects also swore to secrecy.

The chemical was successfully administered to all three subjects. Within the first hour, all three of them started screaming in agony. Surprisingly, this stopped by hour 3. Subjects 1 and 3 requested a copy of a King James Bible after hour 6, but it was denied. The fellow researchers decided this meant that they believed they would die.

Subjects 1 and 3 were granted a copy of a King James Bible after hour 25. Painkillers were administered to all three subjects.

After 72 hours, the subjects were taken into the test rooms. The three seemed delighted to leave the room. After sedation, each subject had his left arm cut open with a scalpel and his right arm shot by a .45 automatic. When the scalpel penetrated Subject 1’s skin, it reacted with a dark amorphous solid substance filling the cut almost as fast as the skin was opened up. It sealed so fast that the scalpel was stuck in his arm. The injury caused by the .45 automatic bullet was sealed by the dark amorphous blood within three seconds. The results were the same for subjects 2 and 3.

After 84 hours, all three of the subjects started to act unusual. Instead of using the entertainment around them, they sat in their beds and groaned, as if they were sad or ashamed. Subjects failed to make eye contact.

After 110 hours, Subject 1 passed out. Blood tests could not be run because the blood was solid and amorphous. The only thing that was determined was the pH, which was at 5, which is far more acidic than usual.

A researcher was sent in after 127 hours, to take blood tests on the three subjects. Subjects have become increasingly silent. All three subjects have shown signs of aggression. The doctor found the pH values to be 4.3, 4.6, and 4.4 for Subjects 1, 2, and 3, respectively. pH values are decreasing.

A blood test was taken at 140 hours. The pH values haven’t changed. The experiment will continue as planned.

At 144 hours, subjects were escorted to the test room. The three subjects looked far different from the beginning. The skin had turned to a shade of grey, and their skin looked noticeably thicker. Their eye colours have changed to pure black, and they were bloodshot. The experiment will continue as planned, but the chemical must be remodelled before repeating the experiment.

Before opening fire on subjects 1, 2, and 3, subjects showed inhuman strength. They immediately pounced on their attackers and used their teeth as a most effective weapon. Six armed men lost consciousness as their attackers touched their teeth to their skin. One’s arm was devoured by the subjects. When MI5 agents entered to neutralise the room, the subjects were reported to be missing.

The chemical must have had a negative effect on the medulla oblongata, causing aggression. The chemical also affected the salivary glands. Superhuman movements were caused by the enhanced blood cells within the muscles. The subject’s lust for human flesh is unknown. Locations of Subjects 1, 2, and 3 are currently unknown.

Research for this project will be discontinued. Evidence including this laboratory report will be classified as SIS Top Secret.

---
Credits to: EvraVon53

Moonlight Films

In many stores and establishments that provide videos of a less than savory manner, a business card is kept. Some stores keep it well hidden, locked in a safe, and will deny its existence. Others will show you if you ask for it by name. None will have it displayed in the open.

On this card is a name, "Moonlight Films", and a contact number. It is always a local number. Go to any payphone in your city and dial the number. The answer will be prompt but all you will hear is silence. Wait thirty seconds. Then you will be served.

A dry, monotone male voice will ask you a question: "Is the road from life to death dark?" The correct response is: "It is moonlit."

If you answer with anything but the correct reply, he will hang up on you. If you fail the first time, I'd suggest not trying again. But if the question is answered properly, the man will say one address in your city and then hang up.

Go to this address and you will find that it is a small, dingy apartment. The carpet will be dirty, the wallpaper flaking and wrinkled, the windows cracked. It will smell of tobacco smoke and decay. On the stained old coffee table there will be a paper bag. On this bag your full name will be written in red sharpie.

Open the bag and you will find an unlabeled video tape. Take it and place exactly $10.99 in the bag then leave.

You can watch the tape if you like, but you don't have to. I warn you: it's not pleasant. You will see a room or chamber papered in dessicated skin, the furniture will be crafted from flesh and bone. The tape will last approximately 32 minutes and will depict the murder of a person and the subsequent crafting of their body into furnishing - lampshades made of skin, tables made of bone.

After renting the tape for one week, you must return it to the apartment by sliding it through the mail slot when the time is up. After that, never return to the apartment and definitely don't call the number ever again.

I'd also suggest you not keep the tape more than a week. The owners will not be satisfied with a mere late fee - and you know, a good home can never have enough accessories.

The Closest Enemy

Some murderers see their work as an art form. If their piece is a success, they will continue on with their life, outside of jail. However, with the limited capability of understanding humans possess, combined with their narrow mindedness, the true secret of a killer can go entirely missed.

The following is a video log of young man recording his last moments. It spends its time quietly residing in a dark, silent evidence room, calling out to whoever may hear its cry. Upon deaf ears will its shrill screams always fall.

The video starts off recording the youth adjusting his camera. His room is entirely dark, not a single spec of light to be found. The camera records in night vision as the man looks directly into the lens and begins speaking.

“Hello. My name is…” The voice pauses for a moment, deciding how he should start off. “Ugh. No, I’m not beginning it like this. It sounds too much like I’m recording my last words. That isn’t what I want this to be. Instead, I’ll just get straight to the explanation. I’ll describe to you the hell that has been nipping at me for god only knows how long now. It started the night of my 18th birthday. January’s cold held reign over our outside activities. It was just a small party, if you could even call it that. A few presents from my family, cake, the norm. All irrelevant. It was that night, as I was lying in bed, my lights out with my TV providing the only light for the room, that my story begins. My curtains and blinds were closed, which gave the room a nice ominous feel at the time. I liked that sorta thing back then.”

The man takes a slow breath, looking away from the camera for the first time. His focus returns after a brief moment and once more he begins reciting his story.


“Right. Back to what I was saying. My TV was in front of me, and the light it gave out cast a shadow on the wall beside me. I was a bit bored, so I decided to entertain myself by interacting with the two dimensional doppelganger of myself. My hand traced along the wall, as if I was playing a game of tag with my shadow’s hand, which seemed to be trying to flee from me, going out in front of me. That was the first sign, but I didn’t notice it. I should’ve been more aware.”

A brief pause accompanied by a stressed exhale and quick inhale. His expressions seemed to show that he was trying to think.

“After that, I’m sure there were more signs, I’m positive. They were probably just too subtle for me to notice. By the time I did notice something wrong, it might as well have been written in big bold letters in front of me. It was later on in the day, and I was in the kitchen of our house by myself. It was mildly lit. Just enough to see where you’re going with out needing the aid of a light. I got some snack out of a cabinet, but knocked over a box onto the ground in the process. No big deal. I bent over to pick it up, and noticed the presence of my shadow. It immediately struck me as awkward. There was no light in here to cast a shadow. I put the box and my snack on a nearby counter without letting my eyes leave my shadow. If they were deceiving me, I wanted to know right away. My interest in the paranormal may have made me a bit paranoid, but I knew that the tenseness I was feeling now wasn’t unwarranted. I took a step towards the room’s exit, and of course my shadow mimicked me. I raised my left arm, as if tempting him to continue mirroring what I was doing. He raised his left arm. Then he raised his right arm. Mine was still at my side. My skin crawled like a trillion tiny little bugs were trying to make their way out from under it. Then in one swift movement his hands wrapped around his neck, and I was the one who felt its effects. My throat was pained and my breathing stopped. I struggled frantically, but against what? My attacker was my own shadow. I don’t remember what happened after that. Only what I was told by my family when I woke up. My blood was on the corner of one of the cabinet doors I had left open. Apparently I knocked myself good and passed out on the floor. Back then, I was happy to believe that’s what really happened. After all, this kind of stuff only happens in stories.”

Once more he collects himself from the rough memories with a deep breath of air.

“After that, I was always suspicious of the me that didn’t talk, that didn’t have any facial expressions, that would never confess to what he did to me. But what I had thought happened had a perfectly logical explanation. I couldn’t doubt it. Instead, I carried on, always holding that distrust in the back of my mind. But he didn’t assault me again. Though several times I noticed things that just couldn’t have really happened. I’d brush my teeth with my right hand, he’d use his left. I’d scratch my back, he’d scratch his head. I’m sure he was just taunting me. Probably the same reason he let me live the first time he attacked me. For fun, no doubt.”

There is a creak off to the man’s left, which catches his attention. He stares at the origin of the sound intently for a moment before returning to his monologue.

“The next attack… I’m betting this one was planned to finish me off. Once again I was in the kitchen, home alone for the time. I had an apple on a plate, and I grabbed a steak knife from its group. Not entirely necessary for cutting an apple, but it was in easy reach. Only half way through grabbing the knife did I realize that when I had it, so did my shadow, my enemy. Stunned by my lack of thinking, I dropped the knife. As I feared, my shadow did not repeat this action. If he had a face, I’m sure it would have been filled by a crooked and malevolent smile. I whispered “No.” as best as I could. My voice was barely more than a whisper but I doubt it made any bit of a difference. My silhouette raised the knife, and then brought it down in one swift, uncaring motion. The result was a jet of blood from my arm and a surge of pain that reverberated several times through out my body. But on instinct I turned around and ran. I didn’t know where, and I didn’t know why. I couldn’t out run him. Another stab. This one brought me to my knees. The nearest room was the bathroom. I dragged myself across the carpet, slowly into the room, and shut the door behind me. There was no window to the outside, which made the room completely dark. I waited for him to return, I was expecting to be ended by something that was essentially me. Hours went by and nothing happened. That’s when I learned how to defeat him. He can’t exist in total darkness. He becomes nothing.”

The young man looked around his surroundings, devoid of any light, and then back to the camera.

“And that’s why I’m here now. I couldn’t do this at home. If I tried to explain, I would’ve been sent out to an asylum. I had to run away. I suppose he let me get this far as a sort of show sportsmanship. Twisted. Doesn’t matter, really. So long as I’m in this chamber of darkness, I’m safe. That’s all that matters for now. Although I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll be trapped in here. What do I do when I run out of food? What do I do-“

The sound of cars pulling up and parking outside stop the young man midsentence.

“Taylor? Taylor are you in there? Please, Taylor, say something!” A voice yelled just outside the door, and the young man’s previous moderately calm demeanor has changed to one of panic.

“Go away! Just go! I don’t want you here, go away damn it!” He screamed back. His voice was so angered that the woman on the other side was silent for a minute.

“Taylor, we’re coming in honey. It’s for your own good.”

There was a smash against the door. Then another, followed by a soft spoken “No…” from the young man. The third crash brought the door down with a tremendous thud. Light from outside flooded the room, and almost immediately the man was knocked to the ground by some invisible force. In the struggle, the camera is tipped backwards and only records the sounds of Taylor struggling for breath as his mother and the accompanying police officer try to help him in some manner, without avail.

—
Credited to Poizn.

Cave Paintings

In a barren mountain range in northern Europe is a secluded cave.

Deep inside is a wide chamber that appears to have been used in ancient rituals. The walls of the roughly circular space are densely covered in cave paintings.

At first glance, they seem much like those found in other caves in that part of Europe, rendered in red and brown ochre.

Look more closely still, and you will find some more traditionally drawn human figures. They are being hunted by the others, run through with spears, battered with stone axes. In some scenes the horned figures seem to be roasting humans over open fires, or feasting on human-looking limbs.

The paintings are disquieting, but they are just old pictures. The scenes they depict happened countless years ago, if they even happened at all. A determined traveled seeking shelter from a blizzard might decide to ignore the paintings and make camp. He may even light a fire.

A well-used fire pit lies at the center of the room, slightly raised on a natural mound. Should a fire be lit there, wavering shadows will be cast onto the painted walls. For many, seeing their own silhouette superimposed on those eerie paintings will be the last straw, driving them to try their luck outside with the snow.

Others will stay.

Sometimes, nothing will happen. These lucky travelers will emerge the next morning, haggard from a night filled with half-remembered nightmares, anxious but alive.

Other times, shadows will move on those walls, shadows cast by nobody present in the room. The wavering firelight will blur their outlines, make them hard to pick out, and some observers may believe them to be a trick of the light.

Watch closely, though, and you will see that the shadows resemble hunched figures, perhaps with small horns, and maybe a hint of a stubby tail behind them.

These figures will gravitate toward the shadows of those who are taking shelter in the cave. They may appear to stand over their sleeping forms. They may appear to be holding weapons, like spears or rough axes.

Often, a lone traveler sheltering in the cave will never be seen or heard from again. Their fate will remain unknown.

However, those traveling in a group will be woken by screams in the night. They will look for the source of the screams and find that one of their number is missing, their bedroll empty.

If they happen to look at just the right place on the wall, they may see the wavering shadows of figures who are not present in the room, or at least not visible.

The fire will be low and red, so the shadows dim and soft-edged, but it will appear that a struggling form is being speared and clubbed by multiple assailants, and then dragged away, out of the circle of firelight. The screams will fade slowly, seeming to sink into the rocks themselves.

And is that a new cave painting on the wall the next morning? Surely not - the ochre it is painted in is just as old and dry as all the rest. No, no, that picture of a man being gutted by horned figures must have always been there.

---




reddeath-in-roomzero

Slideshow

Fingers trembling with excitement I opened the package. Just as I had hoped, it was the camera I won on ebay. With mild delight I realized I had received a better deal than I had realized because the previous owner had left the memory card in the slot.

Before sending an e-mail to the seller alerting them of the mistake I decided to see if anything was on it. Setting the camera on slideshow I watched as the camera displayed a picture of a shipping label. My confusion turned to horror as the next image was of a person brutally murdered. The rest of the card was alternating pictures of a mailing address followed by a murder scene.

The last image was of the shipping label from the box I had just opened.

—
Credits to: Blair

Sadie

“Watch out for Sadie.”

“What?”

“Watch out for Sadie. She haunts the garage.”

I searched the face of Carol, the woman who had been training me for the past week, waiting to see her wink or twitch the corners of her mouth into a mocking smile. Instead, I received a deadpan stare. Apparently this was serious business.

“I don’t believe in ghosts.” I said.

“Say what you want, but don’t let the doors shut on you. We’ve had some nasty incidents in that area, and we don’t fool around in there.” She sighed, “Oh, never mind. It looks like I’ll just have to come with you. I can’t trust you to take this seriously.”

Somewhat nonplussed, I followed Carol down the hall to the “garage.” In reality, it was where the office supplies were kept, but it had been a garage once upon a time in the buildings past, so the name stuck. Or so Carol told me.

I had applied for the open sales position at the company about a month ago. Just around the time I had given up hope the H.R department had called me back saying that they wanted an interview. I knew absolutely nothing about the hair products they wanted me to sell, but I was desperate for any kind of occupation at that point. My first job out of college had been for a big name grocery chain, making sure that certain items were coded correctly, but when the grocery store needed to make cuts I was one of the first people to go.
Carol had been extremely friendly to me from the start. The company was housed in an old building with the previously mentioned garage attached. The staff was comprised largely of women, most of them beautiful and stylish, with a few male employees speckled here and there. Unfortunately, with the exception of Carol, many of the other employees seemed offended in some way by my casual appearance. In the past I had never been the type of girl to worry about brushing my hair or putting on lipstick. I did make an effort for my new line of work, and I pulled my hair into a neat ponytail to appeal to my peers. However, my lack of face paint or glitzy ornamentation deterred most from approaching me. Carol of course, being a free spirit of sorts as well as my trainer, did everything she could to raise my spirits. She batted her sooty eyelashes and pursed her lips in dismay when I told her of my fears of being permanently ostracized.

“Don’t you think about those silly girls for a minute, hon. You are here for a reason and you can go places.”

Well, she was confident about my potential, anyway. But she didn’t take any nonsense. As she marched down the long hall in her startlingly pointed stilettos, I couldn’t help but notice that she was glancing back at me and tossing her head in a way that meant something was irritating her.

“You don’t have to come.” I said.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Carol insisted.

We arrived at the turn that would take us to the garage. At the end of a shorter hallway was a set of heavy steel doors. They swung inward, revealing rather ordinary, if not dreary looking, cement flooring and walls. On the other side of the room was the door that would have opened to let cars or trucks in, and it seemed to have been bolted down permanently. Shelves lined the walls, and I took a quick mental inventory of where things were stored should I need to come back later. Meanwhile, Carol kicked a doorstop underneath the door to keep it from closing.

“That’s important.” She said, giving me a stern look. “The doors don’t open from the inside, and there’s no telling how long you would have to wait for someone to come and get you. As if that wasn’t enough, the switch in here is faulty. Sometimes you can’t get the lights to turn back on.” I nodded, to prove that I was taking the ghost of Sadie and the task of closing the garage very seriously.

“So, has anyone seen this Sadie?” I asked.

Immediately, Carol clapped her hand over my mouth. The smell of her fruity perfume, Juicy Couture, I found out later, enveloped me.

“You don’t ever say her name in here.” Carol snapped.

After that, it was pretty routine. Carol showed me where the light switch was on the far wall. She flicked it down, and even with the door open on the other side I felt a small tingle of fear creep up my spine. What if that door were to shut on us? What if everyone went home and we had to spend the entire night in that supply room, in the dark? I still didn’t believe in Sadie, but the fear of being trapped was very real. During the last hour of the work day, the chance of anyone coming near the garage was slim. That was why we had someone come down to do a last minute check to make sure the light was off. My coworkers were often careless and left the light on- or so I thought at the time. It turns out that neglecting to turn off the lights was a conscious decision by many.

My coworkers soon warmed to me when they realized that I wasn’t afraid of going into the garage to turn off the light before it was time to head home for the day. It became part of my nightly routine. Even though Carol rolled her eyes and told me to stop babying the other women, I saw no harm in taking it over, since everyone else was superstitious about the supposed entity that lived there.

If I were being truthful, I would have admitted to the others that I was noticing strange things about the garage. For the most part, I allowed myself to give natural explanations to every circumstance that spooked me. For instance, on more than one occasion I would find myself forced to duck as things fell off the shelves above my head. I told my supervisor, who lectured my coworkers about putting supplies back in an orderly fashion, but they didn’t seem keen on heeding her orders. I also noticed in the mornings, when I went to turn the light in the garage on, that sometimes I had to flick the switch up and down a few times. It was almost as if it didn’t want to turn back on. A silly thought.

One night, I was turning off the light switch in the garage when I heard a faint scraping noise. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that the door was sliding closed. I must not have secured the doorstop properly. Heart hammering, I darted to the other side of the room and threw my arm out to catch the door. I grunted as the thick steel shut on my arm, but I was able to wedge the door back open. I slid through, and happened to glance up as the door was closing. Something white darted back into the shadows, as if it had been trying to follow me but didn’t want to be seen.

I wish that I had been more imaginative. But I was able to convince myself that there was a rat or something in the garage. I reported it to my supervisor, who called an exterminator, but they found no signs of vermin. This didn’t bother me much. I had always been the rational type. I was proud of my bravery.

I was stupid.

The incidents in the garage happened more frequently, and I finally allowed myself to think of Sadie. Maybe there was something to the superstition that my coworkers had. The garage was certainly an unlucky place to be. Carol twisted her ankle that winter when she was fetching printer paper, and while that could be chalked up to Carol’s dubious footwear choices, another woman named Monique was hit on the head by a falling carton of envelopes. She needed stitches. The sales department also seemed to have a high turnover rate. Every other week we had someone leaving who needed to be replaced. These incidents worried me a little, but not enough to cause me any true fear. I was doing great at selling, and my supervisor was talking about cross training me in other departments.

Then, after the new year had come and gone, I received proof of the warnings that Carol had given me when I was first hired.

I was caught off guard, I admit, because my coworkers had taken over the task of closing the garage for two weeks while I trained in the accounting department. I didn’t think about the doorstop much- I just kicked it idly as I walked in, not noticing how close to the edge of the door it was. I turned off the light and simultaneously heard a familiar scraping noise. I was too late to react this time. The door snapped shut behind me. My world became total darkness.

I went to flick the light back on. Nothing.

My mouth went dry, and I tried not to panic. Maybe someone would come by. I hadn’t told anyone I was closing the garage, so it was likely that someone else would come down to take care of it. I only had to wait a few minutes.

Something cold fluttered against the back of my legs. With a yelp, I jumped forward and banged into a shelf. A box crashed behind me, and it sounded heavy. I had to be careful- if I hit my head and no one came by, I might not be found for hours. I tried to explain away the thing that had touched me. Rats. It had to be rats. The exterminators weren’t looking in the right place when they investigated.

“I misssssed you.”

That voice. Whispering into my ear. How can I describe it? Gravelly, as though it hadn’t been used for decades. And slightly muffled, as if the speaker were talking with a scarf around their face. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

“W-who are you? Carol? This isn’t funny.” I stepped backward and squinted in vain, trying to see who was in there with me.

“Not. Carol.”

My heart went into my throat. I suddenly recalled what Carol had told me last year. She had mentioned all the “nasty” incidents that had happened in this garage. I had never thought to ask about them.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Stop it.” I whispered. “Stop it right now.”

“Come into the dark with me. Come into the damp and dark. It’s nice.”

If Carol hadn’t opened the garage door then, I’m not sure what would have happened to me. Suddenly, the blinding light of the hallway was pouring in. I recall abruptly being face to face with two dark holes set deep into taut and colorless skin. And the terrible, inhumanly wide grin, inches from my nose. I also got the impression of long stringy black hair. I had always thought ghosts were transparent, but this one seemed very solid. In that moment, I had a horrible feeling that she wished to consume me. But Carol had the back of my shirt in her fist, and even as Sadie lunged, jaws snapping with a horrifying clacking noise, Carol dragged me out of that hellish place. She yanked the door shut behind us and we collapsed, gasping, on the floor. My eyes were glued to the gap beneath the door, where pale fingers with long and cracked nails scrabbled madly for a few moments and then retreated. Perhaps I was seeing things, but they looked as though they were fading, like smoke dispersing through the air.

I quit the next day. I’m still looking for a new job, but I think it’s important to take my time. Carol and I meet occasionally for coffee. Neither of us likes to speak about that day. I’m not sure how much she saw, but we share a strange bond between us. I as the survivor, and she as the rescuer. I contacted some of the other women who used to work for that company. Few wanted to speak to me about Sadie, but I did learn some important facts. Sadie has only gone after people who turned out the lights, and she has a special attraction to those who know her name.

I sleep with the lights on in my apartment now, and I don’t go out at night. I know Sadie has been in that garage for a long time- but I can’t help feeling that she wanted to follow me. Sometimes, when I step out of a room I imagine, or I think that I imagine, the sound of her scraping those long fingernails down the walls. Occasionally I find that the objects I place on my kitchen table have fallen to the floor while my back was turned. I might just be psyching myself out. If Sadie did follow me home, why would she be taking so long to finish me off?

Maybe she’s just waiting for me to turn off the lights.

—
Credits to: C.F. Campbell