The klaxons blared in the creeping fog of the neon demon night...


First Post
The Sorrowed Merchant lifted his face from the damp newsprint, the reversed words forming soft soliloquies to better times. The puddle mocked his nostalgia with reflective suffering, a reminder of ages gone and the horrible truths that haunt his waking moments and whisper hopeless slumber to his ego-stripped subconscious. He decided it would be today. Fridays are like that.

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Who's that coming out of the woods?

They're chanting. Sounds like?!?...

"Kshalfe. Kshalfe tounphug. Kshalfe tounphug."


"Ratatösk. Ratatösk pharol czostruis ponthicelli. Nellang region inesploraph."

again and again...

"Ratatösk pharol czostruis ponthicelli. Nellang region inesploraph."

"Ratatösk pharol czostruis ponthicelli. Nellang region inesploraph."

"Ratatösk pharol czostruis ponthicelli. Nellang region inesploraph."


Not An Evil Twin
Jerry paused in the midst of his daughter's entrails, blood and bile dripping incontinently from the corners of his puffy lips and mingling with the unspeakable crusts matted into his tangled rats'-nets of a beard. His head was cocked to one side, listening to the quavering voices of broken angels only he could hear.

He swallowed a length of tasty, still-warm duodenum.


First Post
The Firstborne Nightmare gave in to temptation and gathered his playthings into his glamorwoven sack. Stalking carefully between the quiet places and the moments before terror sets in he made his way through the city. On the way he stole peace from the children and their parents and poured salt into the draughts of sugarjoy set out for the Shapers. Work could wait, this was a night for games.

A body drops to the ground as The Theif disappears back into the shadows. Another stolen soul to add to the collection. This was a good night to be on the prowl.


First Post
Ten bramblebirches ran pleasantly toward their oily beds.

Only a third of three could hear the impending mock of all the reasonable reckoning in store for moth-kind.

Why does fauna preach delicately wind-blown arches?

Bird-legged arachnid overlords launch tickled pickets from their long tendrils of glass.


The wheels on the bus go round and round... over the bleached bones of long dead children. Round and round...


First Post
Mother of Chaos, Nothing stirred and Hell started searching for the one innocent soul who would save them all, demons, angels and humans alike. For if Hell fell, nothing would spread, devouring all in its wake.

Shadows rose in the darkening night, the wind blew lonely notes across countless eves and something in the darkness began snuffling in its burrow, hungry once more.


First Post
Hey, this is fun!

The thirtieth seal was broken, and apple juice turned orange. There was noone who mistook this sign for a good omen. As to what happened to orange juice, you're better off not knowing.

Clouds discussed and sent thunder adrift, for when the tax collecter rang, even the heavens were worried.

Cats and dogs mated with each other, begetting tiny tin soldiers. The time of Duracell had begun.

And in the darkness that followed, the only sound that could be heard was a solitary dripple. It was a single tear, shed by the cruelest animal of all, and it cried for innocence lost.

When the tourists had left the beach, a single grain of sand went for a swim.

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[Welcome to the boards, Empress!]

Like Gaul, the heart of the beast was into three parts divided, and woe betide the man who owned but one piece.

Sung: One if by land; two if by sea; three if by phone or facsimile; four if by plane; five if by boat; six if bilingual; seven by goat [rote?]; eight-by-ten glossies of me.

And yet, despite all its glory, all its allure, and all who had died to posses it, it remained nothing more than a randomly arranged collection of base metals.


The pulsating frogs, guided by the light of the oven, carved their way to the blasphemous regions of my underbelly.

What the hell is this thread about?!?


First Post
Tick tock, tick tock so goes the old grandfather clock.
So the fable goes, yet when the blind mice left, what was there to hear the clock?

Fables, stories and myths all have a grain of truth. We search, we ponder, we hope for the grain to be bigger than nothing, but in the end, you have only your insanity to guide you.


First Post
Joshua Dyal said:
Evocative is all well and good, but does this go anywhere?

I'm confused...does it have to?

die_kluge said:
What the hell is this thread about?!?

Like, what isn't it about, man?

The significant owl hooted in the night.

The ice cream man locked up for the night, sealing the weapon that the Zugzugs had travelled 5,000 light years for in the trash bin.

Wherever you go, there you are.

*snaps fingers*

The Traveler

First Post
The other day upon the stair,

It was upon him before he knew what was happening. No footsteps, no shadow, simply lunging, greasy fingers clutching at his mouth, pulling his jaw loose from its moorings.

I met a man who wasn't there.

Its face drew level to his, eyes stitched shut, nostrils flaring and snuffling. Its mouth opened, impossibly wide, its breath hot on his skin.

He wasn't there again today.

A carpet of filth spilled forth from the yawning maw. Billions of bristly crawling legs, wings humming against distended thoraxes. He gagged upon them, even as it plunged its fingers into his eyes.

I wish, I wish he'd go away.

He groaned wordlessly, his tongue long since bitten through as it pulled the final stitch tight. His stomach bulged grotesquely, churning with new life.

They were home now.



First Post
I just channeled Raymond Chandler's spirit and he read this thread. Between bouts of projectile vomiting, he insists that at least seven doors should have been kicked in by now.

Epic Threats

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