Saturday, October 29, 2011

In The Spirit of Halloween

As many of you may have noticed, the pagan ritual of deception and disguises festival is once again upon us. A friend (a very involved friend. Do you remember "there's, like, nothing"?) has advised me to share unto all of you what is known as a creepypasta. To the best of my knowledge, this is nothing more than a childish ghost story (Or story of similar hauntingness, be it deranged axe murderer or mildly unsettling demonic television station) told to spook young internet-goers into thumbs-upping or fanning or favoriting or liking something the author approves of (usually the author.). Now, I shall title my humble attempt at this "creepypasta"

By Your Friend, Anonymous

Frederick was having a bad day. Well, most days were bad for Frederick. He was what many people would diagnose "a grumpy old man". His favorite pastime was prunes. There was a person. He was chasing Frederick. Luckily, Frederick kept his big old fashioned camera with him at all times.  He snapped a photo.
Obviously, a person was chasing him. This person had his arms outstretched. Frederick was breathing. Heavily. His heart pumped. Pump. Pump. Pump. This man, with his arms outstretched, ran Frederick from the city, where he had previously been, to a rural area. It was filled with cotton plants. If Frederick had more time, he would have picked a piece of cotton off the ground, but he didn't, because a man, very scary, was chasing him. The blood was running through Fredericks veins at an extremely fast pace. Frederick knew instinctively that this man wanted to drink it, which was the reason for him running. Frederick realized he was running towards a warehouse that was in the middle of the field. It was covered with mold and moss and mildew. It was a place one would normally avoid, which was, as Frederick realized with great chagrin, unfortunate, because if this terrifying man behind him wished to cut him to pieces inside this warehouse, people wouldn't go near it, because people don't usually go near places such as that. However, Frederick was not able to veer his course because that might cause imminent death. Once he reached the warehouse, he was tortured brutally and killed. They say his ghost still moans.

I think we can all agree that I am Edgar Allen Poe incarnate.

(I am so proud of myself. Although this post was not the best thing ever, it had a TOPIC! PROGRESS!)

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