Platform(s): android, unknown if it was on ios
Genre: fashion dress up game + mini games
Estimated year of release: around 2010/2015
Graphics/art style: 3D barbie'ish, colorful, mostly pink, semi realistic but still cartoonish
Notable characters: the main girl was a blond girl with thick straight bangs, on the logo she had a high pony tail but you could change her hairstyle and clothes so yeah, also she had boyfriends, she could get boyfriends, i believe there were side characters that would give advice or help, we could see them when we went to do the mini games, there was also a jury i believe
Notable gameplay mechanics: it was just like thegame star girl, which is known, but it was based on Paris, the girl was in paris. the game had the same walkthrough in stores, menu, home.. as the game star girl, when you went in a boutique it looked very similar but as i said the game was in 3D, based off of your boyfriends taste you would get clothes, i remember a very specific boutique that sold lingerie💀the other ones were regular stores that sold dresses, tops, shoes etc.. i remember clothes being sorted by "hotness?" they were symbolized by lips or hearts i dont really remember, the hotter it was the better boyfriends you could get (and i believe their level were based on money), and with the bf you had you could make the relationship more advanced by wearing nice clothes, and sometimes they would gift you clothes and stuff. also you could get money with the mini games , the mini games included i believe a runway show where you had to score the highest (by making an outfit), a memory game (you had to memorize an outfit and recreate it)
Other details: the logo had the blond girl, thebackground had the city i believe, and there were some black and white stripes somewhere and some pink

For those who don't know Hamilton is not only Alexander Hamilton's name but also a town in scotland, Rutherglen is also a town in scotland. Everyone in the musical had a strange name and the only names I don't remember are lafyette, Thomas Jefferson, king george and aaron burr. The schuyler sisters are now the benson cousins, Eliza has been replaced by Barry B. Benson and Peggy has been replaced by Barbie. George Washington is now Edward Yorkshire. Mr and Mrs Reynolds are now called Mr Robertson and Fuecoco-Chan Robertson (once my friend pretend to be a weeb and romanced a Fuecoco plush so maybe that's where it came from) and the shot is now called sharon (for context I once sent a photoof my room to a friend and there was a Litten plush that looked like it was dying in the background). Since most of the characters are played by me I just changed hat's to change characters. The entirety of the play was set in my bedroom except for the songs "I am not throwing away my shot" and "guns and ships" I don't remember what the first songs name was changed to but guns and ships was changed to knives and flowers. The first half of the play was about Alecsander working at tesco while at a school outside his catchment area and the second half was him trying to become an msp. During the renolds pamphlet (or rather, the Robertson Paragraph) the paragraphs all had a black and white tesco logo on the back and Barry would have burnt one during burn but instead it was just a png fire because we couldn't afford a real fire. I can't remember the last but that's fine because this is already pretty long.

I would always play this game at my local library’s computer. I don’t remember the name or much at all about it. What I do remember is that the logo you would click on to play was some kind of darkish color, maybe purple or black with gold idk. When you would open the game it was play really princess kind of music but they weren’t actual princess like it wasn’t any kind of Barbie game or anything. The Barbie rapunzel game I attached above is the closest thing I could find to what this game was like but it WASNT the game attached above just an example and it kinda reminds me of it, we would be in some kind of castle/palace. I remember sometimes like glowing powers would surround them idk if it was to change or what, sorry this is so vague but I seriously can’t ever remember anything about it. I also think they had powers and it definitely wasn’t a kind of dress up game but idk what kind of game it was. Please help out!!! Thanks

I've wasted countless hours trying to rack my mind on what that video was called. All I remember in terms of metadata was that it was the mid-to-late 2000s when I've first watched it, and that it was on Newgrounds and YouTube if I recall correctly.
The video starts off with the user having booted up their version of Windows (a completely fictitious version of Windows, of course), soon clicking on a program called "Barbie Online" and putting in their login credentials (if I remember the credentials implied that the user was in fact Bill Gates himself), but to no avail as the program threw back an error about incompatibility or insufficient hardware.
The user soon decides to start up Final Fantasy, but that also crashed right after showing the first logo.
The only program that seemed to work was the Media Player that was playing what sounded like Billy Talent's Falling Leaves. There was an accompanying video that had some goth rocking off while doing the rock on symbol. It was during this time that the user turned the volume down while the video soon showed a close-up of the goth shaking his head before cutting to a demon (nothing scary or anything like that, just what looked to be a stick figure with horns) lighting a speaker on fire before the user exited the program and turned up the volume.
The last thing the user did was to shut down the computer, but instead of shutting down the computer, the user opted to nuke the computer. The rest of the video showed a mushroom cloud expanded across the planet while some sort of heavy metal choir was playing in the background. Just as the mushroom cloud got large enough to cover the planet, a record scratch is heard as the epilogue is shown, basically stating that Bill Gates would go on to create a second version of the version of Windows shown in the video.
Does anyone else happen to remember that video in particular?

Does any one know if it is legal to use mass produced products, specifically toys in your art(sculpture/photograph)? For example a barbie or a lego toy?
​
I would also like to know how it is not forbidden to portray trademark characters in art. I've seen Jeff Koons sculptures of Mickey Mouse(this one is widely portrayed by other artists as well) and Popeye. I've also seen, in a lot of museums things like Coca-Cola bottles with the trademark logo in pop art paintings.

I remember my very first day of work nearly six months ago with horrifying clarity, the memories still shining like keloid scars across my mind. My new partner and I got sent to a Victorian house in the middle of a forest of dead, twisted trees. Our boss, an old Greek man with balding hair who chain-smoked Marlboros constantly, had warned us that the scene would be a fiasco. An entire family of six had suffocated from a freak carbon monoxide leak. Soon after that, the bizarre occurrences began.
“They sent a repairman out there for something or another,” George explained through a cloud of thick, gray smoke, smashing out a half-smoked cigarette and lighting up another one without pausing. We sat in the office across the desk from him, wearing our dark blue uniforms with the logo of “Big George’s Cleaners” emblazoned across the chest. I had laughed when I first saw the name of the cleaning business. Big George sounded like the name of a seven-foot-tall pimp to me, not this small, bent man with a thick Greek accent and white fluffs of hair forming a wispy horseshoe around his head.
“So what happened?” I asked. George inhaled deeply, meeting my gaze.
“Well, I don’t know exactly what he saw, but he was screaming about baby’s arms and spiders.” I groaned.
“Dead spiders?” my partner, Xavier, asked hopefully. George shook his head ruefully.
“Don’t know, son. I figure you’ll find out when you get there, eh?” George got up and slapped me on the back in a fatherly way. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands with Xavier. He’s worked here for over three months. One of our longest-lasting employees!”
I looked over at my new partner doubtfully. Gang tattoos ran up the lengths of his arms, and he had a teardrop tattoo below his left eye. He looked like the type of person who only got a job to keep his parole officer happy.
We walked out into the clean summer air, the small town around us bustling with midday traffic. Xavier pointed to the panel van parked behind the building, an ancient, black rusted heap of a van with the company’s logo peeling off the side.
“That’s our ride. She’s a beauty, huh?” Xavier said. I smiled politely. “What’s your name again?”
“Brian,” I said curtly. “Brian Felman. So this company has a high turnover rate, huh?”
“High turnover rate, high disappearance rate.” He shrugged apathetically. “None of my business. That’s why we get hazard pay, right?” He laughed- a shrill, dry sound that sounded much higher than his normal voice.
We got in, and Xavier put on some blaring rap song that I tried to block out. We drove for what felt like hours, going deeper and deeper into the middle of nowhere. The GPS started taking us down pothole-strewn dirt trails before finally failing completely five miles from the place. We drove up and down the road until, after thirty minutes of searching, we found the only house in the area. The thin, looming turrets loomed overhead, like sharp spikes set up to impale the sky. The exterior of the building appeared dull and filthy, the white paint yellowed with age. Cracked windows covered in dust and grime leered at us from the top floors.
“Well, that’s gotta be it,” I said, glancing down at the paperwork George had given us. It just said “1 Ghoulish Road, Barton.” I looked up at the house, but it had no number on it. The road hadn’t even had a street sign. From what I saw, Barton probably didn’t have more than a hundred people living in it. Perhaps they didn’t use street signs in such an abandoned area.
Then I saw the police crime scene tape rolled out in an X across the door, and I knew we had arrived at the right house.
“I hate spiders,” Xavier offered like a piece of sage advice, sighing. He lit a cigarette in the van, which technically wasn’t allowed but, after all, no one was here to complain. He handed the pack to me and I took one. I looked over at him.
“Well, as long as they’re dead, who cares?” I said. He got out and started putting on protective gear, tucking his pants into his socks while he fished out two pairs of thick rubber suits. “They are dead, right?” He gave me a grim smile.
I sighed as I looked down at the suit. It looked like something an Axis frogman might have worn during World War 2. I wondered where George got half this stuff.
After we both put on the hot and stuffy rubber suits, Xavier reached into the back doors of the van and pulled out two gas masks. I stuffed one on my head and began adjusting the straps, making sure it was airtight. It felt somewhat suffocating and also obscured my peripheral vision. Two small circular holes of ballistic glass were the only opening for sight.
I glanced over at Xavier. He looked like a cross between a SWAT officer and a scuba diver figurine from a fish tank. I figured I looked exactly the same. We took the canisters of poison with a sprayer nozzle out of the van. I strapped the heavy metal cylinder to my back.
“Just in case,” Xavier said with fake nonchalance as he put on his own sprayer. “Spiders have a tendency to be hardy little bastards. Supposedly, the exterminators already came and sprayed the house once, according to George, but…” He trailed off, his voice quivering with fear at the end. I could see his eyes rolling and wild behind the mask. Yet he still walked towards the door, ripped away the police tape and walked right inside. I followed close behind him.
The front hallway looked totally dark. I tried flicking a light next to the door, but I got absolutely no response. I didn’t know if the electricity was cut or if the light bulbs had all gotten smashed by vandals. I took out a small LED flashlight from the random items looped into my work belt, clicking it on and shining the bright white beam around. An instinctual, primordial horror came over me as I saw what scurried all around us.
It looked like brown recluse spiders, some of them nearly a foot long, and they most certainly were not dead. There were thousands of them, but that wasn’t even the worst part.
They all had strange, small, white baby legs and arms, slightly longer and more emaciated-looking than something taken from a Barbie doll. Each had four grasping arms in the front and four bent legs in the back. Except these didn’t look plastic. All the miniaturized limbs looked real, with tiny dimples in the elbows and smooth rolls of fat like an infant’s.
The spiders made sounds that sounded almost human. They opened their fanged mouths and cried out with the cooing or shrieking of a baby. Infantile cries began to sound all around us, echoing and mixing in a cacophony of high-pitched shrieking and wailing. I tried to block it out, pulling out my poison nozzle to start spraying. I took a headlamp George had given me out of my belt and flicked off the flashlight.
I looked for the best place to start. A layer of dead spiders littered the floors, their curled-up doll legs facing upwards with tiny fingers clenched in death. The white skin of the miniature human appendages peeled off in dry, papery layers.
But I didn’t look at the hundreds of spider corpses for too long, because at that moment, something heavy landed on my shoulder. I screamed through my gas mask. The sound came out muffled and choked. Spinning around crazily, I tried to get the spider off my protective suit. I craned my head and saw a massive brown recluse only inches away from my face. I gasped as I looked at this mutated abomination.
It had six black, soulless eyes. The pincers clicked open and closed, dripping clear fluid. The venomous spider’s long back had a marking like a dark brown violin. As its pincers flew wide open, it opened its mouth wide, and I saw teeth inside no spider should possess. Tiny, fanged teeth, like the canines of a human. It had an entire set of these sharp, vampiric fangs. Then, in a blur, it lunged for my face. I felt it smash into the side of the gas mask, and then, emanating cries like a hungry baby, it tried to bite through it.
I dropped the large poison canister I carried and ran shrieking towards the door, more spiders falling down all around me as I went. Some jumped from the ceiling. Others skittered over the bodies of their comrades, bodies that covered the floor like a rug from some nightmarish acid trip.
Xavier hadn’t fared much better. I heard him close behind me, his steel-toe boots smashing the mutated corpses with muted thuds. I felt like I couldn’t breathe in the confining gas mask. I had a sudden insane urge to rip it off. But I felt more spiders skittering across my shoulders and back now, and I knew that both of us were likely covered. A large part of me wanted to run screaming from that house, clean the century-old wood with the pungent, refreshing smell of gasoline and watch those abominations burn.
We sprinted out the door out into the summer light streaming down from a clear blue sky, covered in dozens of the freakish spiders. One of them skittered up my chest and covered my face. I couldn’t see anything, but I still had the poison canister attached to my back. I brought it up and began spraying it at the abomination. It gave a very human whimper as its doll legs began to kick and seize, its surreal mouth opening into a O of surprise. It gave a cry like a starving infant and fell to the black earth in front of me, its miniature demonic face finally relaxing as the mouth went slack and its six eyes glazed over.
Over the next few minutes, Xavier and I killed all the spiders that still attached themselves to our thick rubber suits. To my horror, a few dozen of them streamed out the open door and into the surrounding dead trees. I ran over as soon as I saw them escaping. I wondered if they would begin a new population of mutated, freakish spiders in the environment.
Shaking and traumatized, we went back to the van. Xavier said George had supplies for just such an occasion.
“Do you know what Zyklon B is?” he asked me, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone. I shrugged.
“Not really,” I admitted.
“It’s basically just pellets of stabilizer mixed with hydrogen cyanide,” he said. “The entire can is kept under high pressure, so once we open it, cyanide gas is released and begins spreading throughout the entire area. However, you can speed up the reaction by pouring the pellets into a metal bucket of sulfuric acid.” He pulled out a heavy barrel with danger logos prominently emblazoned in bright red all around its perimeter, then told me to grab a small metal container with the letters “H2SO4” and “Warning: Do Not Inhale. Do Not Allow to Come in Contact with Skin” written prominently on the side.
“We’re going to have to gas those fuckers,” Xavier admitted, grinning.
***
Needless to say, the fumigation worked. We started at the front door, running in and slamming it behind us. With tightly-secured gas masks and full body coverings, I put the small metal bucket of sulfuric acid down in the middle of the writhing mass of spiders and Xavier poured the pellets in. We quickly ran out of the house, but as we left, I saw great, billowing clouds of white chemical smoke exploring the hallways and corridors with opaque, reaching fingers.
By the end of the day, after airing out the house, we only had the problem of having to dispose of tens of thousands of freakish spider-doll corpses. A few of them still clung to life as we swept the bodies up into barrels and trash bags, trying to use their eerily human teeth to inject us with the brown recluse’s agonizing hemotoxic poison. However, our protective suits did their jobs well enough, and no one died- at least not on my first day.
As we did a final sweep through the house, I went into the basement and found a trapdoor. It had a rusted black metal handle that stuck up a fraction an inch from the surrounding beams. I nearly tripped over it, otherwise I would never have seen it through the dirt and grime covering everything down there. The worn boards looked fused to the aging floor, so much so that I couldn’t even see the trapdoor’s seam. Curious, I called up to Xavier.
“Hey, buddy, there’s a trapdoor down here. Should we open it, you think?” I said. “It could be filled with more spiders. Imagine if some Karen and her shitty husband and bratty kids moved in here and found half-human spiders pouring out of some hidden compartment in the basement.” Xavier came down the stairs, smoking a cigarette, having taken his gas mask off once the last of the cyanide gas had dissipated out all the open windows and doors. We both still wore thick rubber suits.
Xavier had just finished pouring the soiled sulfuric acid off the porch into the weed-strewn dirt in front of the house, laughing and grinning, turning his head up to the sky and screaming cheerfully, “Those fuckers won’t be able to grow a lawn here for a dozen years!” I had laughed at the pure enjoyment and lunacy in his face. I could tell this was a person who never held back anything.
“Ah, shit,” he said, frowning as he climbed down the basement stairs. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, looking at the trapdoor with one eye squinted, as if it were a particularly pernicious cockroach he wanted to crush. He sighed, letting out a long, unhappy breath. “Well, I guess we might as well check it out. Put your gas mask back on and grab the poison sprayer, just in case. It’s a small space, so we could probably just spray it.” We suited up. I walked over and flung open the trapdoor, but there wasn’t a single spider down there. The dirt floor of the small hidden room was swept clean in eerie spiral patterns, reminding me of pictures of crop circles.
Instead of spiders, we found what looked like a site for ritual sacrifices. On an ancient table ten feet below us, human arm and leg bones formed an inverted pentagram around a grinning skull. A gleaming black dagger with an obsidian handle pierced the skull through its topmost point, the spot where Hindus say the crown chakra is located. A circle had been drawn around the ritual site with salt. Various ancient-looking leather-bound books lay on the long, mahogany table, written in an alphabet I had never seen before.
“This is freaking weird,” I said, frowning. Xavier quickly pulled me out and we slammed the trapdoor shut, giving each other wary looks. Something didn’t feel right about this. I felt a sense of energy rising from the secret chamber, a smell like ozone and a sizzling in the air that made the hairs on my body stand straight up.
Far worse than the feeling, however, was what I thought I saw. I kept seeing something pale and bloodless and tall peeking around corners, its face twisted in an unnatural grin. But when I turned to look, whatever it was had gone. I hoped that this was only my imagination. I didn’t tell Xavier about it.
“I think we need to call a professional this week,” he said. “Whoever set this shit up is probably the cause of the freakish spiders. We might have a witch on our hands.”
***
Now that I had an idea of what was expected of me at the job, I really didn’t know how thrilled I felt about it. But George was paying extremely well, over $30 an hour after hazard pay bonuses, and there was simply no way I could make that kind of money anywhere else without a degree or professional skill, except maybe by selling drugs.
So I went back to work the next day. I don’t know if the stars frowned upon me that week or if I was just naturally cursed, but things didn’t improve at all.
In fact, the second crime scene we cleaned was worse by far.
***
There was a psychopath in the area called Dr. Satan, though I don’t know if he legitimately had his PhD or any family relation to the fallen archangel. Dr. Satan inspired the kind of fear in our area of the country that one rarely sees, even with serial killers. And the ironic part was, Dr. Satan never killed anyone, despite having dozens of victims. Not a single person died at his hands.
Now, his victims probably wished they had died, because the torture he inflicted upon them was some of the worst agony imaginable. Dr. Satan had turned them into mockeries of human beings. He had cut off their legs and arms in pieces, using a surgical saw and no anesthetic or painkillers. He cauterized the wounds as he went before stitching them up. He kept them alive and healthy with antibiotics and intravenous fluids, hence the bestowed media moniker of “Doctor”.
With only a torso and a screaming head remaining, the person basically became a shrieking pillow with hair. But Dr. Satan wasn’t done with them yet. He wanted the complete destruction of their sanity, the worst kind of torture and punishment for his victims. He would use a scalpel and cut out their eyes and peel off the eyelids, then start on their ears. He would puncture the eardrums so they couldn’t hear anymore. Then he’d cut out the tongue and start on the nose.
By the time he finished, they had barely any senses left and almost certainly no sanity. They couldn’t walk or grab anything or move their bodies in any way, except perhaps lifting their heads. They would be in a pain so severe that perhaps only burn victims could understand, but this went on much longer than burning alive.
Dr. Satan would trap them in the blackness of their mind for the rest of their lives. They could scream all they wanted in their own heads, but without tongues, the screams would simply die and fester inside them. And the worst part was, he did this in stages over a period of months.
The victims would know there was always more slicing, more torture in the future, but not exactly when. None of the victims of Dr. Satan were able to communicate with anyone in any way. In a few cases, the family members had given the suffering, insane individuals a lethal overdose of barbiturates or opiates as a form of mercy.
I had talked to the police and first responders who found the victims of Dr. Satan. Some of the shrieking human torsos were found in isolated cabins deep in the woods, often foreclosed buildings owned by major banks. Other victims were abandoned in front of churches or in empty parking lots, a nightmarish surprise for anyone who came upon this supreme desecration of the human form. As far as I know, a lot of the first responders who found these horrid scenes are still in therapy, and will likely carry mental scars from what they saw for the rest of their lives.
After a long police investigation, they found an abandoned house Dr. Satan had used for his bizarre surgical practices. It was a cabin on the edge of a stagnant lake, a stinking, fetid hole of a pond that shone a shade of cancerous green. From what Xavier told me on the ride over, the cops had taken three mutilated, totally insane wrecks of human beings from cold steel tables in the cracked basement of the old cabin. The bank who owned the property eventually called our company to try to clean up the immense amounts of blood left staining the entire basement. But there were apparently other remnants from Dr. Satan’s experiments left in that house.
Our secretary, Caroline, had answered the phone to hear someone screaming on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” she said. “You’ve reached Big George’s Cleaners. I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you with all that shrieking in the background.”
“There’s eyes in the walls!” someone cried in a voice choked with terror. “The blood has faces peering out of it! God, please send someone!”
“Who is this?” Caroline asked in a calm, nonchalant tone, having dealt with this kind of situation many times before. It was, after all, a dangerous job.
“I’m with Federal United Bank. Oh God, I…” She heard a door slamming, she said, then a car engine revving. An inhuman wail like a banshee growled over the line, reverberating for a full minute without creature needing to inhale. She heard the man cursing and hyperventilating. It sounded like the man was accelerating at maximum speed, but the demonic wailing drew closer and closer. Finally, the agent came back on the line.
“I just left that cursed cabin. I barely escaped with my life. We need someone to come to Turtleback Road. You’ll see it. It’s marked with police tape. Please come as soon as… Oh, no! God, it’s following me!” She heard glass shattering and the shrieking of tearing metal, then the line went dead.
“Ah, shit,” she muttered, writing down the information. She had a feeling that the agent would not be calling her back.
***
We pulled up to the cabin early in the morning, not knowing what exactly to expect. We heard a recording of the call to our office. George called the bank and confirmed the existence of the contract to clean the place, even though the man who had originally signed off on it hadn’t returned to the office or been heard from by anyone. Where his car had gone, I had no idea, and really didn’t care. I didn’t get paid to worry about details like that.
We saw the filthy pond from a distance as the black van rumbled along the dirt road, the well-worn engine grumbling like an old man having a nightmare. The log cabin sat on a patch of black earth in the midst of ancient pine trees. From far away, the building looked innocuous, even idyllic- just a humble hunting retreat for a middle-class bachelor, maybe. Little did I know the horrors that place would bring.
The pond only ten feet from the cabin’s right wall frothed and hissed, sounding as if it whispered secrets to me in the bursting bubbles of rancid gas that constantly rose to the surface. Strange, barely-glimpsed creatures flitted through the murky, dark-green waters. Algae blooms covered the water like a leper’s rotting skin. Wide, circular patches of algae were absent in many areas. Through them, I saw slitted eyes and flicking tongues.
In the light of the rising sun, something dark green and slimy slithered out of the farther shore. It turned and looked back at us as we pulled the van to the side of the road. A long, coiled snake with two heads coming off its slick black body regarded us with yellow, slitted eyes. Both heads bobbed and flicked their tongues as they watched us impassively. Then it turned and disappeared into the tall grass and thick evergreens beyond.
“Weird shit,” Xavier grumbled, lighting up a cigarette. He gave the cabin a distrustful look, reminding me of a kicked dog. “I still remember the first time I saw those snakes. I nearly shit myself out of mortal terror.” I stared at him, confused.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” he answered. “It’s exactly like I said.”
“How did you see the snakes before?” I said. He stared for a few seconds at the pond, his eyes distant and haunted. He turned to look at me from the driver’s seat, reading my face. It looked like he was judging how much he wanted to tell.
“Well, we did some cleaning a couple months ago. My old partner was with me. I don’t know where he is now. One day, he just stopped showing up. And then his family called the office and asked if we had seen him. Caroline told them no, she had no idea where he was.” He heaved a deep breath, looking shaky and pale. The tattoos stood out like open sores on his trembling body.
“Well, the day that he disappeared, we cleaned a house together, maybe ten miles from here. The entire place was filled with mutated snakes. Some of them had multiple heads, others had withered, white limbs sticking out of their sides, dancing and weaving listlessly as they slithered. The limbs had no use and many didn’t even face the ground. Some also had compound eyes like an insect, six or eight pairs strewn across their black faces. It looked like they had been through a nuclear war or something, man. Something changed those snakes, just like something changed those spiders. Those things shouldn’t exist, but they do. And you know what I found there?” I shook my head at his story, fascinated.
“I found a skull with a black dagger sticking through its head, just like at the other place. It was part of some weird black magic ritual set up in a hidden room in the attic. And something was following us as we killed the snakes. I couldn’t ever see it directly, but I knew it was following us. I kept seeing a face leering around corners at me, a grinning, bloodless face that nearly scraped the ceiling. While I drove us back to the office, my partner kept screaming that the thing was following him. He saw it hiding behind trees or in the windows of houses. He started to lose his shit, and later that night, he disappeared forever.”
***
We pulled up next to the swampy waters before the front door into the idyllic log cabin. It had a brownstone brick chimney and an open porch. A few rocking chairs lay there, wavering in the slight breeze.
Xavier went first, muttering to himself. When he took a step up on the porch in front of me, his blue button-down shirt rode up on his skinny body. I caught a flash of a concealed pistol tucked tightly into a hidden holster around his waist.
“You have a gun?” I asked. He looked down, cursing.
“Of course I have a gun, cabron,” he said, giving me a quick backwards glance.
“Why?” I felt baffled. What could he possibly shoot during crime scene clean-ups? Not the spiders or two-headed snakes.
“What do you mean, why? Why don’t you have a gun?” he asked. “I can get you one for a few hundred bucks. They’re probably stolen, but…”
“Have you ever had to use it?” I asked. He shook his head.
“Not at work,” he said cryptically. “Not yet.” He opened the front door to the cabin, peering inside nervously. He looked left and right, checking the corners, as if he were a SWAT officer clearing a crime scene. Then he inhaled sharply and walked inside. I followed close behind.
The cabin looked beautiful on the first floor. Paintings of mountains and nature covered the walls. A comfortable-looking couch stood in front of a TV and liquor cabinet. Bookshelves filled with thousands of books covered the walls.
“This is actually pretty nice,” I said, smiling. I felt a sense of relief wash over me. Xavier had started sweating heavily, his eyes large and searching.
“Let’s do this quick,” he said, heading for the basement. “We need to see what kind of equipment we need to do the job. This is just bloodstains, so…” He flung open the door and began descending. I followed him down into the dark.
The police had apparently taken all the dismembered body parts out, but the place still looked horrifying. Three steel, blood-stained tables were fused to the concrete floor. Cracks ran along the concrete and cockroaches and spiders skittered up through them. Blood covered nearly everything, including the walls and the floor. It had dried into a sticky dark paste. With every step, our shoes made a tacky sucking noise.
“This isn’t so bad,” I said. “I mean, it’s definitely horrifying, but at least there’s no two-headed snakes or anything, right?” Xavier didn’t respond. A sense of energy seemed to sizzle in the air. I felt a change in pressure as if a snowstorm were sweeping in. The smell of ozone mixed with the stink of old, rotting blood.
“I have a bad feeling about this place…” Xavier said when all hell started breaking loose. The basement began to shimmer. A mist as dark as a starless sky billowed around the walls and ceiling in great, swirling currents. And then the walls started to change, the blood on the surfaces rejuvenating, dripping again, brightening into the red of a freshly-slashed throat.
Pale, bloodless hands came out of the walls, stretching and lengthening as if they had minds of their own. The emaciated arms cracked and shivered with pleasure and anticipation. Random splotches of dark blood and flecks of gore stained their skin. Dozens of them reached towards us, constantly extending and thinning their freakish limbs. Bones snapped and popped like firecrackers going off.
I heard a shrill, faraway shrieking. Everything moved slowly, as if seen through water. Waves of adrenaline coursed through my body.
I looked up and saw a shimmering ripple pass through the bare wooden boards of the basement ceiling. A cloying mist the color of blackened, frostbit tissue began to spread from the misty void that seemed to eat the ceiling like some potent acid.
And then the mist began to clear. Hundreds of eyes stared down from the ceiling as the starving, inhuman arms lengthened and reached towards us. I could see a morphing sheet of them above me, human eyes and insect eyes and snake eyes and countless other ones I didn’t recognize.
They all stared down at us with malice and hatred, a fire burning deep in those alien orbs. I began to pray, knowing I would soon die in this cursed place.
Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/190gvoo/im_a_cleaner_for_haunted_houses_skulls_pierced/

I remember my very first day of work nearly six months ago with horrifying clarity, the memories still shining like keloid scars across my mind. My new partner and I got sent to a Victorian house in the middle of a forest of dead, twisted trees. Our boss, an old Greek man with balding hair who chain-smoked Marlboros constantly, had warned us that the scene would be a fiasco. An entire family of six had suffocated from a freak carbon monoxide leak. Soon after that, the bizarre occurrences began.
“They sent a repairman out there for something or another,” George explained through a cloud of thick, gray smoke, smashing out a half-smoked cigarette and lighting up another one without pausing. We sat in the office across the desk from him, wearing our dark blue uniforms with the logo of “Big George’s Cleaners” emblazoned across the chest. I had laughed when I first saw the name of the cleaning business. Big George sounded like the name of a seven-foot-tall pimp to me, not this small, bent man with a thick Greek accent and white fluffs of hair forming a wispy horseshoe around his head.
“So what happened?” I asked. George inhaled deeply, meeting my gaze.
“Well, I don’t know exactly what he saw, but he was screaming about baby’s arms and spiders.” I groaned.
“Dead spiders?” my partner, Xavier, asked hopefully. George shook his head ruefully.
“Don’t know, son. I figure you’ll find out when you get there, eh?” George got up and slapped me on the back in a fatherly way. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands with Xavier. He’s worked here for over three months. One of our longest-lasting employees!”
I looked over at my new partner doubtfully. Gang tattoos ran up the lengths of his arms, and he had a teardrop tattoo below his left eye. He looked like the type of person who only got a job to keep his parole officer happy.
We walked out into the clean summer air, the small town around us bustling with midday traffic. Xavier pointed to the panel van parked behind the building, an ancient, black rusted heap of a van with the company’s logo peeling off the side.
“That’s our ride. She’s a beauty, huh?” Xavier said. I smiled politely. “What’s your name again?”
“Brian,” I said curtly. “Brian Felman. So this company has a high turnover rate, huh?”
“High turnover rate, high disappearance rate.” He shrugged apathetically. “None of my business. That’s why we get hazard pay, right?” He laughed- a shrill, dry sound that sounded much higher than his normal voice.
We got in, and Xavier put on some blaring rap song that I tried to block out. We drove for what felt like hours, going deeper and deeper into the middle of nowhere. The GPS started taking us down pothole-strewn dirt trails before finally failing completely five miles from the place. We drove up and down the road until, after thirty minutes of searching, we found the only house in the area. The thin, looming turrets loomed overhead, like sharp spikes set up to impale the sky. The exterior of the building appeared dull and filthy, the white paint yellowed with age. Cracked windows covered in dust and grime leered at us from the top floors.
“Well, that’s gotta be it,” I said, glancing down at the paperwork George had given us. It just said “1 Ghoulish Road, Barton.” I looked up at the house, but it had no number on it. The road hadn’t even had a street sign. From what I saw, Barton probably didn’t have more than a hundred people living in it. Perhaps they didn’t use street signs in such an abandoned area.
Then I saw the police crime scene tape rolled out in an X across the door, and I knew we had arrived at the right house.
“I hate spiders,” Xavier offered like a piece of sage advice, sighing. He lit a cigarette in the van, which technically wasn’t allowed but, after all, no one was here to complain. He handed the pack to me and I took one. I looked over at him.
“Well, as long as they’re dead, who cares?” I said. He got out and started putting on protective gear, tucking his pants into his socks while he fished out two pairs of thick rubber suits. “They are dead, right?” He gave me a grim smile.
I sighed as I looked down at the suit. It looked like something an Axis frogman might have worn during World War 2. I wondered where George got half this stuff.
After we both put on the hot and stuffy rubber suits, Xavier reached into the back doors of the van and pulled out two gas masks. I stuffed one on my head and began adjusting the straps, making sure it was airtight. It felt somewhat suffocating and also obscured my peripheral vision. Two small circular holes of ballistic glass were the only opening for sight.
I glanced over at Xavier. He looked like a cross between a SWAT officer and a scuba diver figurine from a fish tank. I figured I looked exactly the same. We took the canisters of poison with a sprayer nozzle out of the van. I strapped the heavy metal cylinder to my back.
“Just in case,” Xavier said with fake nonchalance as he put on his own sprayer. “Spiders have a tendency to be hardy little bastards. Supposedly, the exterminators already came and sprayed the house once, according to George, but…” He trailed off, his voice quivering with fear at the end. I could see his eyes rolling and wild behind the mask. Yet he still walked towards the door, ripped away the police tape and walked right inside. I followed close behind him.
The front hallway looked totally dark. I tried flicking a light next to the door, but I got absolutely no response. I didn’t know if the electricity was cut or if the light bulbs had all gotten smashed by vandals. I took out a small LED flashlight from the random items looped into my work belt, clicking it on and shining the bright white beam around. An instinctual, primordial horror came over me as I saw what scurried all around us.
It looked like brown recluse spiders, some of them nearly a foot long, and they most certainly were not dead. There were thousands of them, but that wasn’t even the worst part.
They all had strange, small, white baby legs and arms, slightly longer and more emaciated-looking than something taken from a Barbie doll. Each had four grasping arms in the front and four bent legs in the back. Except these didn’t look plastic. All the miniaturized limbs looked real, with tiny dimples in the elbows and smooth rolls of fat like an infant’s.
The spiders made sounds that sounded almost human. They opened their fanged mouths and cried out with the cooing or shrieking of a baby. Infantile cries began to sound all around us, echoing and mixing in a cacophony of high-pitched shrieking and wailing. I tried to block it out, pulling out my poison nozzle to start spraying. I took a headlamp George had given me out of my belt and flicked off the flashlight.
I looked for the best place to start. A layer of dead spiders littered the floors, their curled-up doll legs facing upwards with tiny fingers clenched in death. The white skin of the miniature human appendages peeled off in dry, papery layers.
But I didn’t look at the hundreds of spider corpses for too long, because at that moment, something heavy landed on my shoulder. I screamed through my gas mask. The sound came out muffled and choked. Spinning around crazily, I tried to get the spider off my protective suit. I craned my head and saw a massive brown recluse only inches away from my face. I gasped as I looked at this mutated abomination.
It had six black, soulless eyes. The pincers clicked open and closed, dripping clear fluid. The venomous spider’s long back had a marking like a dark brown violin. As its pincers flew wide open, it opened its mouth wide, and I saw teeth inside no spider should possess. Tiny, fanged teeth, like the canines of a human. It had an entire set of these sharp, vampiric fangs. Then, in a blur, it lunged for my face. I felt it smash into the side of the gas mask, and then, emanating cries like a hungry baby, it tried to bite through it.
I dropped the large poison canister I carried and ran shrieking towards the door, more spiders falling down all around me as I went. Some jumped from the ceiling. Others skittered over the bodies of their comrades, bodies that covered the floor like a rug from some nightmarish acid trip.
Xavier hadn’t fared much better. I heard him close behind me, his steel-toe boots smashing the mutated corpses with muted thuds. I felt like I couldn’t breathe in the confining gas mask. I had a sudden insane urge to rip it off. But I felt more spiders skittering across my shoulders and back now, and I knew that both of us were likely covered. A large part of me wanted to run screaming from that house, clean the century-old wood with the pungent, refreshing smell of gasoline and watch those abominations burn.
We sprinted out the door out into the summer light streaming down from a clear blue sky, covered in dozens of the freakish spiders. One of them skittered up my chest and covered my face. I couldn’t see anything, but I still had the poison canister attached to my back. I brought it up and began spraying it at the abomination. It gave a very human whimper as its doll legs began to kick and seize, its surreal mouth opening into a O of surprise. It gave a cry like a starving infant and fell to the black earth in front of me, its miniature demonic face finally relaxing as the mouth went slack and its six eyes glazed over.
Over the next few minutes, Xavier and I killed all the spiders that still attached themselves to our thick rubber suits. To my horror, a few dozen of them streamed out the open door and into the surrounding dead trees. I ran over as soon as I saw them escaping. I wondered if they would begin a new population of mutated, freakish spiders in the environment.
Shaking and traumatized, we went back to the van. Xavier said George had supplies for just such an occasion.
“Do you know what Zyklon B is?” he asked me, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone. I shrugged.
“Not really,” I admitted.
“It’s basically just pellets of stabilizer mixed with hydrogen cyanide,” he said. “The entire can is kept under high pressure, so once we open it, cyanide gas is released and begins spreading throughout the entire area. However, you can speed up the reaction by pouring the pellets into a metal bucket of sulfuric acid.” He pulled out a heavy barrel with danger logos prominently emblazoned in bright red all around its perimeter, then told me to grab a small metal container with the letters “H2SO4” and “Warning: Do Not Inhale. Do Not Allow to Come in Contact with Skin” written prominently on the side.
“We’re going to have to gas those fuckers,” Xavier admitted, grinning.
***
Needless to say, the fumigation worked. We started at the front door, running in and slamming it behind us. With tightly-secured gas masks and full body coverings, I put the small metal bucket of sulfuric acid down in the middle of the writhing mass of spiders and Xavier poured the pellets in. We quickly ran out of the house, but as we left, I saw great, billowing clouds of white chemical smoke exploring the hallways and corridors with opaque, reaching fingers.
By the end of the day, after airing out the house, we only had the problem of having to dispose of tens of thousands of freakish spider-doll corpses. A few of them still clung to life as we swept the bodies up into barrels and trash bags, trying to use their eerily human teeth to inject us with the brown recluse’s agonizing hemotoxic poison. However, our protective suits did their jobs well enough, and no one died- at least not on my first day.
As we did a final sweep through the house, I went into the basement and found a trapdoor. It had a rusted black metal handle that stuck up a fraction an inch from the surrounding beams. I nearly tripped over it, otherwise I would never have seen it through the dirt and grime covering everything down there. The worn boards looked fused to the aging floor, so much so that I couldn’t even see the trapdoor’s seam. Curious, I called up to Xavier.
“Hey, buddy, there’s a trapdoor down here. Should we open it, you think?” I said. “It could be filled with more spiders. Imagine if some Karen and her shitty husband and bratty kids moved in here and found half-human spiders pouring out of some hidden compartment in the basement.” Xavier came down the stairs, smoking a cigarette, having taken his gas mask off once the last of the cyanide gas had dissipated out all the open windows and doors. We both still wore thick rubber suits.
Xavier had just finished pouring the soiled sulfuric acid off the porch into the weed-strewn dirt in front of the house, laughing and grinning, turning his head up to the sky and screaming cheerfully, “Those fuckers won’t be able to grow a lawn here for a dozen years!” I had laughed at the pure enjoyment and lunacy in his face. I could tell this was a person who never held back anything.
“Ah, shit,” he said, frowning as he climbed down the basement stairs. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, looking at the trapdoor with one eye squinted, as if it were a particularly pernicious cockroach he wanted to crush. He sighed, letting out a long, unhappy breath. “Well, I guess we might as well check it out. Put your gas mask back on and grab the poison sprayer, just in case. It’s a small space, so we could probably just spray it.” We suited up. I walked over and flung open the trapdoor, but there wasn’t a single spider down there. The dirt floor of the small hidden room was swept clean in eerie spiral patterns, reminding me of pictures of crop circles.
Instead of spiders, we found what looked like a site for ritual sacrifices. On an ancient table ten feet below us, human arm and leg bones formed an inverted pentagram around a grinning skull. A gleaming black dagger with an obsidian handle pierced the skull through its topmost point, the spot where Hindus say the crown chakra is located. A circle had been drawn around the ritual site with salt. Various ancient-looking leather-bound books lay on the long, mahogany table, written in an alphabet I had never seen before.
“This is freaking weird,” I said, frowning. Xavier quickly pulled me out and we slammed the trapdoor shut, giving each other wary looks. Something didn’t feel right about this. I felt a sense of energy rising from the secret chamber, a smell like ozone and a sizzling in the air that made the hairs on my body stand straight up.
Far worse than the feeling, however, was what I thought I saw. I kept seeing something pale and bloodless and tall peeking around corners, its face twisted in an unnatural grin. But when I turned to look, whatever it was had gone. I hoped that this was only my imagination. I didn’t tell Xavier about it.
“I think we need to call a professional this week,” he said. “Whoever set this shit up is probably the cause of the freakish spiders. We might have a witch on our hands.”
***
Now that I had an idea of what was expected of me at the job, I really didn’t know how thrilled I felt about it. But George was paying extremely well, over $30 an hour after hazard pay bonuses, and there was simply no way I could make that kind of money anywhere else without a degree or professional skill, except maybe by selling drugs.
So I went back to work the next day. I don’t know if the stars frowned upon me that week or if I was just naturally cursed, but things didn’t improve at all.
In fact, the second crime scene we cleaned was worse by far.
***
There was a psychopath in the area called Dr. Satan, though I don’t know if he legitimately had his PhD or any family relation to the fallen archangel. Dr. Satan inspired the kind of fear in our area of the country that one rarely sees, even with serial killers. And the ironic part was, Dr. Satan never killed anyone, despite having dozens of victims. Not a single person died at his hands.
Now, his victims probably wished they had died, because the torture he inflicted upon them was some of the worst agony imaginable. Dr. Satan had turned them into mockeries of human beings. He had cut off their legs and arms in pieces, using a surgical saw and no anesthetic or painkillers. He cauterized the wounds as he went before stitching them up. He kept them alive and healthy with antibiotics and intravenous fluids, hence the bestowed media moniker of “Doctor”.
With only a torso and a screaming head remaining, the person basically became a shrieking pillow with hair. But Dr. Satan wasn’t done with them yet. He wanted the complete destruction of their sanity, the worst kind of torture and punishment for his victims. He would use a scalpel and cut out their eyes and peel off the eyelids, then start on their ears. He would puncture the eardrums so they couldn’t hear anymore. Then he’d cut out the tongue and start on the nose.
By the time he finished, they had barely any senses left and almost certainly no sanity. They couldn’t walk or grab anything or move their bodies in any way, except perhaps lifting their heads. They would be in a pain so severe that perhaps only burn victims could understand, but this went on much longer than burning alive.
Dr. Satan would trap them in the blackness of their mind for the rest of their lives. They could scream all they wanted in their own heads, but without tongues, the screams would simply die and fester inside them. And the worst part was, he did this in stages over a period of months.
The victims would know there was always more slicing, more torture in the future, but not exactly when. None of the victims of Dr. Satan were able to communicate with anyone in any way. In a few cases, the family members had given the suffering, insane individuals a lethal overdose of barbiturates or opiates as a form of mercy.
I had talked to the police and first responders who found the victims of Dr. Satan. Some of the shrieking human torsos were found in isolated cabins deep in the woods, often foreclosed buildings owned by major banks. Other victims were abandoned in front of churches or in empty parking lots, a nightmarish surprise for anyone who came upon this supreme desecration of the human form. As far as I know, a lot of the first responders who found these horrid scenes are still in therapy, and will likely carry mental scars from what they saw for the rest of their lives.
After a long police investigation, they found an abandoned house Dr. Satan had used for his bizarre surgical practices. It was a cabin on the edge of a stagnant lake, a stinking, fetid hole of a pond that shone a shade of cancerous green. From what Xavier told me on the ride over, the cops had taken three mutilated, totally insane wrecks of human beings from cold steel tables in the cracked basement of the old cabin. The bank who owned the property eventually called our company to try to clean up the immense amounts of blood left staining the entire basement. But there were apparently other remnants from Dr. Satan’s experiments left in that house.
Our secretary, Caroline, had answered the phone to hear someone screaming on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” she said. “You’ve reached Big George’s Cleaners. I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you with all that shrieking in the background.”
“There’s eyes in the walls!” someone cried in a voice choked with terror. “The blood has faces peering out of it! God, please send someone!”
“Who is this?” Caroline asked in a calm, nonchalant tone, having dealt with this kind of situation many times before. It was, after all, a dangerous job.
“I’m with Federal United Bank. Oh God, I…” She heard a door slamming, she said, then a car engine revving. An inhuman wail like a banshee growled over the line, reverberating for a full minute without creature needing to inhale. She heard the man cursing and hyperventilating. It sounded like the man was accelerating at maximum speed, but the demonic wailing drew closer and closer. Finally, the agent came back on the line.
“I just left that cursed cabin. I barely escaped with my life. We need someone to come to Turtleback Road. You’ll see it. It’s marked with police tape. Please come as soon as… Oh, no! God, it’s following me!” She heard glass shattering and the shrieking of tearing metal, then the line went dead.
“Ah, shit,” she muttered, writing down the information. She had a feeling that the agent would not be calling her back.
***
We pulled up to the cabin early in the morning, not knowing what exactly to expect. We heard a recording of the call to our office. George called the bank and confirmed the existence of the contract to clean the place, even though the man who had originally signed off on it hadn’t returned to the office or been heard from by anyone. Where his car had gone, I had no idea, and really didn’t care. I didn’t get paid to worry about details like that.
We saw the filthy pond from a distance as the black van rumbled along the dirt road, the well-worn engine grumbling like an old man having a nightmare. The log cabin sat on a patch of black earth in the midst of ancient pine trees. From far away, the building looked innocuous, even idyllic- just a humble hunting retreat for a middle-class bachelor, maybe. Little did I know the horrors that place would bring.
The pond only ten feet from the cabin’s right wall frothed and hissed, sounding as if it whispered secrets to me in the bursting bubbles of rancid gas that constantly rose to the surface. Strange, barely-glimpsed creatures flitted through the murky, dark-green waters. Algae blooms covered the water like a leper’s rotting skin. Wide, circular patches of algae were absent in many areas. Through them, I saw slitted eyes and flicking tongues.
In the light of the rising sun, something dark green and slimy slithered out of the farther shore. It turned and looked back at us as we pulled the van to the side of the road. A long, coiled snake with two heads coming off its slick black body regarded us with yellow, slitted eyes. Both heads bobbed and flicked their tongues as they watched us impassively. Then it turned and disappeared into the tall grass and thick evergreens beyond.
“Weird shit,” Xavier grumbled, lighting up a cigarette. He gave the cabin a distrustful look, reminding me of a kicked dog. “I still remember the first time I saw those snakes. I nearly shit myself out of mortal terror.” I stared at him, confused.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” he answered. “It’s exactly like I said.”
“How did you see the snakes before?” I said. He stared for a few seconds at the pond, his eyes distant and haunted. He turned to look at me from the driver’s seat, reading my face. It looked like he was judging how much he wanted to tell.
“Well, we did some cleaning a couple months ago. My old partner was with me. I don’t know where he is now. One day, he just stopped showing up. And then his family called the office and asked if we had seen him. Caroline told them no, she had no idea where he was.” He heaved a deep breath, looking shaky and pale. The tattoos stood out like open sores on his trembling body.
“Well, the day that he disappeared, we cleaned a house together, maybe ten miles from here. The entire place was filled with mutated snakes. Some of them had multiple heads, others had withered, white limbs sticking out of their sides, dancing and weaving listlessly as they slithered. The limbs had no use and many didn’t even face the ground. Some also had compound eyes like an insect, six or eight pairs strewn across their black faces. It looked like they had been through a nuclear war or something, man. Something changed those snakes, just like something changed those spiders. Those things shouldn’t exist, but they do. And you know what I found there?” I shook my head at his story, fascinated.
“I found a skull with a black dagger sticking through its head, just like at the other place. It was part of some weird black magic ritual set up in a hidden room in the attic. And something was following us as we killed the snakes. I couldn’t ever see it directly, but I knew it was following us. I kept seeing a face leering around corners at me, a grinning, bloodless face that nearly scraped the ceiling. While I drove us back to the office, my partner kept screaming that the thing was following him. He saw it hiding behind trees or in the windows of houses. He started to lose his shit, and later that night, he disappeared forever.”
***
We pulled up next to the swampy waters before the front door into the idyllic log cabin. It had a brownstone brick chimney and an open porch. A few rocking chairs lay there, wavering in the slight breeze.
Xavier went first, muttering to himself. When he took a step up on the porch in front of me, his blue button-down shirt rode up on his skinny body. I caught a flash of a concealed pistol tucked tightly into a hidden holster around his waist.
“You have a gun?” I asked. He looked down, cursing.
“Of course I have a gun, cabron,” he said, giving me a quick backwards glance.
“Why?” I felt baffled. What could he possibly shoot during crime scene clean-ups? Not the spiders or two-headed snakes.
“What do you mean, why? Why don’t you have a gun?” he asked. “I can get you one for a few hundred bucks. They’re probably stolen, but…”
“Have you ever had to use it?” I asked. He shook his head.
“Not at work,” he said cryptically. “Not yet.” He opened the front door to the cabin, peering inside nervously. He looked left and right, checking the corners, as if he were a SWAT officer clearing a crime scene. Then he inhaled sharply and walked inside. I followed close behind.
The cabin looked beautiful on the first floor. Paintings of mountains and nature covered the walls. A comfortable-looking couch stood in front of a TV and liquor cabinet. Bookshelves filled with thousands of books covered the walls.
“This is actually pretty nice,” I said, smiling. I felt a sense of relief wash over me. Xavier had started sweating heavily, his eyes large and searching.
“Let’s do this quick,” he said, heading for the basement. “We need to see what kind of equipment we need to do the job. This is just bloodstains, so…” He flung open the door and began descending. I followed him down into the dark.
The police had apparently taken all the dismembered body parts out, but the place still looked horrifying. Three steel, blood-stained tables were fused to the concrete floor. Cracks ran along the concrete and cockroaches and spiders skittered up through them. Blood covered nearly everything, including the walls and the floor. It had dried into a sticky dark paste. With every step, our shoes made a tacky sucking noise.
“This isn’t so bad,” I said. “I mean, it’s definitely horrifying, but at least there’s no two-headed snakes or anything, right?” Xavier didn’t respond. A sense of energy seemed to sizzle in the air. I felt a change in pressure as if a snowstorm were sweeping in. The smell of ozone mixed with the stink of old, rotting blood.
“I have a bad feeling about this place…” Xavier said when all hell started breaking loose. The basement began to shimmer. A mist as dark as a starless sky billowed around the walls and ceiling in great, swirling currents. And then the walls started to change, the blood on the surfaces rejuvenating, dripping again, brightening into the red of a freshly-slashed throat.
Pale, bloodless hands came out of the walls, stretching and lengthening as if they had minds of their own. The emaciated arms cracked and shivered with pleasure and anticipation. Random splotches of dark blood and flecks of gore stained their skin. Dozens of them reached towards us, constantly extending and thinning their freakish limbs. Bones snapped and popped like firecrackers going off.
I heard a shrill, faraway shrieking. Everything moved slowly, as if seen through water. Waves of adrenaline coursed through my body.
I looked up and saw a shimmering ripple pass through the bare wooden boards of the basement ceiling. A cloying mist the color of blackened, frostbit tissue began to spread from the misty void that seemed to eat the ceiling like some potent acid.
And then the mist began to clear. Hundreds of eyes stared down from the ceiling as the starving, inhuman arms lengthened and reached towards us. I could see a morphing sheet of them above me, human eyes and insect eyes and snake eyes and countless other ones I didn’t recognize.
They all stared down at us with malice and hatred, a fire burning deep in those alien orbs. I began to pray, knowing I would soon die in this cursed place.
Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/190gvoo/im_a_cleaner_for_haunted_houses_skulls_pierced/

I remember my very first day of work nearly six months ago with horrifying clarity, the memories still shining like keloid scars across my mind. My new partner and I got sent to a Victorian house in the middle of a forest of dead, twisted trees. Our boss, an old Greek man with balding hair who chain-smoked Marlboros constantly, had warned us that the scene would be a fiasco. An entire family of six had suffocated from a freak carbon monoxide leak. Soon after that, the bizarre occurrences began.
“They sent a repairman out there for something or another,” George explained through a cloud of thick, gray smoke, smashing out a half-smoked cigarette and lighting up another one without pausing. We sat in the office across the desk from him, wearing our dark blue uniforms with the logo of “Big George’s Cleaners” emblazoned across the chest. I had laughed when I first saw the name of the cleaning business. Big George sounded like the name of a seven-foot-tall pimp to me, not this small, bent man with a thick Greek accent and white fluffs of hair forming a wispy horseshoe around his head.
“So what happened?” I asked. George inhaled deeply, meeting my gaze.
“Well, I don’t know exactly what he saw, but he was screaming about baby’s arms and spiders.” I groaned.
“Dead spiders?” my partner, Xavier, asked hopefully. George shook his head ruefully.
“Don’t know, son. I figure you’ll find out when you get there, eh?” George got up and slapped me on the back in a fatherly way. “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands with Xavier. He’s worked here for over three months. One of our longest-lasting employees!”
I looked over at my new partner doubtfully. Gang tattoos ran up the lengths of his arms, and he had a teardrop tattoo below his left eye. He looked like the type of person who only got a job to keep his parole officer happy.
We walked out into the clean summer air, the small town around us bustling with midday traffic. Xavier pointed to the panel van parked behind the building, an ancient, black rusted heap of a van with the company’s logo peeling off the side.
“That’s our ride. She’s a beauty, huh?” Xavier said. I smiled politely. “What’s your name again?”
“Brian,” I said curtly. “Brian Felman. So this company has a high turnover rate, huh?”
“High turnover rate, high disappearance rate.” He shrugged apathetically. “None of my business. That’s why we get hazard pay, right?” He laughed- a shrill, dry sound that sounded much higher than his normal voice.
We got in, and Xavier put on some blaring rap song that I tried to block out. We drove for what felt like hours, going deeper and deeper into the middle of nowhere. The GPS started taking us down pothole-strewn dirt trails before finally failing completely five miles from the place. We drove up and down the road until, after thirty minutes of searching, we found the only house in the area. The thin, looming turrets loomed overhead, like sharp spikes set up to impale the sky. The exterior of the building appeared dull and filthy, the white paint yellowed with age. Cracked windows covered in dust and grime leered at us from the top floors.
“Well, that’s gotta be it,” I said, glancing down at the paperwork George had given us. It just said “1 Ghoulish Road, Barton.” I looked up at the house, but it had no number on it. The road hadn’t even had a street sign. From what I saw, Barton probably didn’t have more than a hundred people living in it. Perhaps they didn’t use street signs in such an abandoned area.
Then I saw the police crime scene tape rolled out in an X across the door, and I knew we had arrived at the right house.
“I hate spiders,” Xavier offered like a piece of sage advice, sighing. He lit a cigarette in the van, which technically wasn’t allowed but, after all, no one was here to complain. He handed the pack to me and I took one. I looked over at him.
“Well, as long as they’re dead, who cares?” I said. He got out and started putting on protective gear, tucking his pants into his socks while he fished out two pairs of thick rubber suits. “They are dead, right?” He gave me a grim smile.
I sighed as I looked down at the suit. It looked like something an Axis frogman might have worn during World War 2. I wondered where George got half this stuff.
After we both put on the hot and stuffy rubber suits, Xavier reached into the back doors of the van and pulled out two gas masks. I stuffed one on my head and began adjusting the straps, making sure it was airtight. It felt somewhat suffocating and also obscured my peripheral vision. Two small circular holes of ballistic glass were the only opening for sight.
I glanced over at Xavier. He looked like a cross between a SWAT officer and a scuba diver figurine from a fish tank. I figured I looked exactly the same. We took the canisters of poison with a sprayer nozzle out of the van. I strapped the heavy metal cylinder to my back.
“Just in case,” Xavier said with fake nonchalance as he put on his own sprayer. “Spiders have a tendency to be hardy little bastards. Supposedly, the exterminators already came and sprayed the house once, according to George, but…” He trailed off, his voice quivering with fear at the end. I could see his eyes rolling and wild behind the mask. Yet he still walked towards the door, ripped away the police tape and walked right inside. I followed close behind him.
The front hallway looked totally dark. I tried flicking a light next to the door, but I got absolutely no response. I didn’t know if the electricity was cut or if the light bulbs had all gotten smashed by vandals. I took out a small LED flashlight from the random items looped into my work belt, clicking it on and shining the bright white beam around. An instinctual, primordial horror came over me as I saw what scurried all around us.
It looked like brown recluse spiders, some of them nearly a foot long, and they most certainly were not dead. There were thousands of them, but that wasn’t even the worst part.
They all had strange, small, white baby legs and arms, slightly longer and more emaciated-looking than something taken from a Barbie doll. Each had four grasping arms in the front and four bent legs in the back. Except these didn’t look plastic. All the miniaturized limbs looked real, with tiny dimples in the elbows and smooth rolls of fat like an infant’s.
The spiders made sounds that sounded almost human. They opened their fanged mouths and cried out with the cooing or shrieking of a baby. Infantile cries began to sound all around us, echoing and mixing in a cacophony of high-pitched shrieking and wailing. I tried to block it out, pulling out my poison nozzle to start spraying. I took a headlamp George had given me out of my belt and flicked off the flashlight.
I looked for the best place to start. A layer of dead spiders littered the floors, their curled-up doll legs facing upwards with tiny fingers clenched in death. The white skin of the miniature human appendages peeled off in dry, papery layers.
But I didn’t look at the hundreds of spider corpses for too long, because at that moment, something heavy landed on my shoulder. I screamed through my gas mask. The sound came out muffled and choked. Spinning around crazily, I tried to get the spider off my protective suit. I craned my head and saw a massive brown recluse only inches away from my face. I gasped as I looked at this mutated abomination.
It had six black, soulless eyes. The pincers clicked open and closed, dripping clear fluid. The venomous spider’s long back had a marking like a dark brown violin. As its pincers flew wide open, it opened its mouth wide, and I saw teeth inside no spider should possess. Tiny, fanged teeth, like the canines of a human. It had an entire set of these sharp, vampiric fangs. Then, in a blur, it lunged for my face. I felt it smash into the side of the gas mask, and then, emanating cries like a hungry baby, it tried to bite through it.
I dropped the large poison canister I carried and ran shrieking towards the door, more spiders falling down all around me as I went. Some jumped from the ceiling. Others skittered over the bodies of their comrades, bodies that covered the floor like a rug from some nightmarish acid trip.
Xavier hadn’t fared much better. I heard him close behind me, his steel-toe boots smashing the mutated corpses with muted thuds. I felt like I couldn’t breathe in the confining gas mask. I had a sudden insane urge to rip it off. But I felt more spiders skittering across my shoulders and back now, and I knew that both of us were likely covered. A large part of me wanted to run screaming from that house, clean the century-old wood with the pungent, refreshing smell of gasoline and watch those abominations burn.
We sprinted out the door out into the summer light streaming down from a clear blue sky, covered in dozens of the freakish spiders. One of them skittered up my chest and covered my face. I couldn’t see anything, but I still had the poison canister attached to my back. I brought it up and began spraying it at the abomination. It gave a very human whimper as its doll legs began to kick and seize, its surreal mouth opening into a O of surprise. It gave a cry like a starving infant and fell to the black earth in front of me, its miniature demonic face finally relaxing as the mouth went slack and its six eyes glazed over.
Over the next few minutes, Xavier and I killed all the spiders that still attached themselves to our thick rubber suits. To my horror, a few dozen of them streamed out the open door and into the surrounding dead trees. I ran over as soon as I saw them escaping. I wondered if they would begin a new population of mutated, freakish spiders in the environment.
Shaking and traumatized, we went back to the van. Xavier said George had supplies for just such an occasion.
“Do you know what Zyklon B is?” he asked me, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone. I shrugged.
“Not really,” I admitted.
“It’s basically just pellets of stabilizer mixed with hydrogen cyanide,” he said. “The entire can is kept under high pressure, so once we open it, cyanide gas is released and begins spreading throughout the entire area. However, you can speed up the reaction by pouring the pellets into a metal bucket of sulfuric acid.” He pulled out a heavy barrel with danger logos prominently emblazoned in bright red all around its perimeter, then told me to grab a small metal container with the letters “H2SO4” and “Warning: Do Not Inhale. Do Not Allow to Come in Contact with Skin” written prominently on the side.
“We’re going to have to gas those fuckers,” Xavier admitted, grinning.
***
Needless to say, the fumigation worked. We started at the front door, running in and slamming it behind us. With tightly-secured gas masks and full body coverings, I put the small metal bucket of sulfuric acid down in the middle of the writhing mass of spiders and Xavier poured the pellets in. We quickly ran out of the house, but as we left, I saw great, billowing clouds of white chemical smoke exploring the hallways and corridors with opaque, reaching fingers.
By the end of the day, after airing out the house, we only had the problem of having to dispose of tens of thousands of freakish spider-doll corpses. A few of them still clung to life as we swept the bodies up into barrels and trash bags, trying to use their eerily human teeth to inject us with the brown recluse’s agonizing hemotoxic poison. However, our protective suits did their jobs well enough, and no one died- at least not on my first day.
As we did a final sweep through the house, I went into the basement and found a trapdoor. It had a rusted black metal handle that stuck up a fraction an inch from the surrounding beams. I nearly tripped over it, otherwise I would never have seen it through the dirt and grime covering everything down there. The worn boards looked fused to the aging floor, so much so that I couldn’t even see the trapdoor’s seam. Curious, I called up to Xavier.
“Hey, buddy, there’s a trapdoor down here. Should we open it, you think?” I said. “It could be filled with more spiders. Imagine if some Karen and her shitty husband and bratty kids moved in here and found half-human spiders pouring out of some hidden compartment in the basement.” Xavier came down the stairs, smoking a cigarette, having taken his gas mask off once the last of the cyanide gas had dissipated out all the open windows and doors. We both still wore thick rubber suits.
Xavier had just finished pouring the soiled sulfuric acid off the porch into the weed-strewn dirt in front of the house, laughing and grinning, turning his head up to the sky and screaming cheerfully, “Those fuckers won’t be able to grow a lawn here for a dozen years!” I had laughed at the pure enjoyment and lunacy in his face. I could tell this was a person who never held back anything.
“Ah, shit,” he said, frowning as he climbed down the basement stairs. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, looking at the trapdoor with one eye squinted, as if it were a particularly pernicious cockroach he wanted to crush. He sighed, letting out a long, unhappy breath. “Well, I guess we might as well check it out. Put your gas mask back on and grab the poison sprayer, just in case. It’s a small space, so we could probably just spray it.” We suited up. I walked over and flung open the trapdoor, but there wasn’t a single spider down there. The dirt floor of the small hidden room was swept clean in eerie spiral patterns, reminding me of pictures of crop circles.
Instead of spiders, we found what looked like a site for ritual sacrifices. On an ancient table ten feet below us, human arm and leg bones formed an inverted pentagram around a grinning skull. A gleaming black dagger with an obsidian handle pierced the skull through its topmost point, the spot where Hindus say the crown chakra is located. A circle had been drawn around the ritual site with salt. Various ancient-looking leather-bound books lay on the long, mahogany table, written in an alphabet I had never seen before.
“This is freaking weird,” I said, frowning. Xavier quickly pulled me out and we slammed the trapdoor shut, giving each other wary looks. Something didn’t feel right about this. I felt a sense of energy rising from the secret chamber, a smell like ozone and a sizzling in the air that made the hairs on my body stand straight up.
Far worse than the feeling, however, was what I thought I saw. I kept seeing something pale and bloodless and tall peeking around corners, its face twisted in an unnatural grin. But when I turned to look, whatever it was had gone. I hoped that this was only my imagination. I didn’t tell Xavier about it.
“I think we need to call a professional this week,” he said. “Whoever set this shit up is probably the cause of the freakish spiders. We might have a witch on our hands.”
***
Now that I had an idea of what was expected of me at the job, I really didn’t know how thrilled I felt about it. But George was paying extremely well, over $30 an hour after hazard pay bonuses, and there was simply no way I could make that kind of money anywhere else without a degree or professional skill, except maybe by selling drugs.
So I went back to work the next day. I don’t know if the stars frowned upon me that week or if I was just naturally cursed, but things didn’t improve at all.
In fact, the second crime scene we cleaned was worse by far.
***
There was a psychopath in the area called Dr. Satan, though I don’t know if he legitimately had his PhD or any family relation to the fallen archangel. Dr. Satan inspired the kind of fear in our area of the country that one rarely sees, even with serial killers. And the ironic part was, Dr. Satan never killed anyone, despite having dozens of victims. Not a single person died at his hands.
Now, his victims probably wished they had died, because the torture he inflicted upon them was some of the worst agony imaginable. Dr. Satan had turned them into mockeries of human beings. He had cut off their legs and arms in pieces, using a surgical saw and no anesthetic or painkillers. He cauterized the wounds as he went before stitching them up. He kept them alive and healthy with antibiotics and intravenous fluids, hence the bestowed media moniker of “Doctor”.
With only a torso and a screaming head remaining, the person basically became a shrieking pillow with hair. But Dr. Satan wasn’t done with them yet. He wanted the complete destruction of their sanity, the worst kind of torture and punishment for his victims. He would use a scalpel and cut out their eyes and peel off the eyelids, then start on their ears. He would puncture the eardrums so they couldn’t hear anymore. Then he’d cut out the tongue and start on the nose.
By the time he finished, they had barely any senses left and almost certainly no sanity. They couldn’t walk or grab anything or move their bodies in any way, except perhaps lifting their heads. They would be in a pain so severe that perhaps only burn victims could understand, but this went on much longer than burning alive.
Dr. Satan would trap them in the blackness of their mind for the rest of their lives. They could scream all they wanted in their own heads, but without tongues, the screams would simply die and fester inside them. And the worst part was, he did this in stages over a period of months.
The victims would know there was always more slicing, more torture in the future, but not exactly when. None of the victims of Dr. Satan were able to communicate with anyone in any way. In a few cases, the family members had given the suffering, insane individuals a lethal overdose of barbiturates or opiates as a form of mercy.
I had talked to the police and first responders who found the victims of Dr. Satan. Some of the shrieking human torsos were found in isolated cabins deep in the woods, often foreclosed buildings owned by major banks. Other victims were abandoned in front of churches or in empty parking lots, a nightmarish surprise for anyone who came upon this supreme desecration of the human form. As far as I know, a lot of the first responders who found these horrid scenes are still in therapy, and will likely carry mental scars from what they saw for the rest of their lives.
After a long police investigation, they found an abandoned house Dr. Satan had used for his bizarre surgical practices. It was a cabin on the edge of a stagnant lake, a stinking, fetid hole of a pond that shone a shade of cancerous green. From what Xavier told me on the ride over, the cops had taken three mutilated, totally insane wrecks of human beings from cold steel tables in the cracked basement of the old cabin. The bank who owned the property eventually called our company to try to clean up the immense amounts of blood left staining the entire basement. But there were apparently other remnants from Dr. Satan’s experiments left in that house.
Our secretary, Caroline, had answered the phone to hear someone screaming on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” she said. “You’ve reached Big George’s Cleaners. I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you with all that shrieking in the background.”
“There’s eyes in the walls!” someone cried in a voice choked with terror. “The blood has faces peering out of it! God, please send someone!”
“Who is this?” Caroline asked in a calm, nonchalant tone, having dealt with this kind of situation many times before. It was, after all, a dangerous job.
“I’m with Federal United Bank. Oh God, I…” She heard a door slamming, she said, then a car engine revving. An inhuman wail like a banshee growled over the line, reverberating for a full minute without creature needing to inhale. She heard the man cursing and hyperventilating. It sounded like the man was accelerating at maximum speed, but the demonic wailing drew closer and closer. Finally, the agent came back on the line.
“I just left that cursed cabin. I barely escaped with my life. We need someone to come to Turtleback Road. You’ll see it. It’s marked with police tape. Please come as soon as… Oh, no! God, it’s following me!” She heard glass shattering and the shrieking of tearing metal, then the line went dead.
“Ah, shit,” she muttered, writing down the information. She had a feeling that the agent would not be calling her back.
***
We pulled up to the cabin early in the morning, not knowing what exactly to expect. We heard a recording of the call to our office. George called the bank and confirmed the existence of the contract to clean the place, even though the man who had originally signed off on it hadn’t returned to the office or been heard from by anyone. Where his car had gone, I had no idea, and really didn’t care. I didn’t get paid to worry about details like that.
We saw the filthy pond from a distance as the black van rumbled along the dirt road, the well-worn engine grumbling like an old man having a nightmare. The log cabin sat on a patch of black earth in the midst of ancient pine trees. From far away, the building looked innocuous, even idyllic- just a humble hunting retreat for a middle-class bachelor, maybe. Little did I know the horrors that place would bring.
The pond only ten feet from the cabin’s right wall frothed and hissed, sounding as if it whispered secrets to me in the bursting bubbles of rancid gas that constantly rose to the surface. Strange, barely-glimpsed creatures flitted through the murky, dark-green waters. Algae blooms covered the water like a leper’s rotting skin. Wide, circular patches of algae were absent in many areas. Through them, I saw slitted eyes and flicking tongues.
In the light of the rising sun, something dark green and slimy slithered out of the farther shore. It turned and looked back at us as we pulled the van to the side of the road. A long, coiled snake with two heads coming off its slick black body regarded us with yellow, slitted eyes. Both heads bobbed and flicked their tongues as they watched us impassively. Then it turned and disappeared into the tall grass and thick evergreens beyond.
“Weird shit,” Xavier grumbled, lighting up a cigarette. He gave the cabin a distrustful look, reminding me of a kicked dog. “I still remember the first time I saw those snakes. I nearly shit myself out of mortal terror.” I stared at him, confused.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” he answered. “It’s exactly like I said.”
“How did you see the snakes before?” I said. He stared for a few seconds at the pond, his eyes distant and haunted. He turned to look at me from the driver’s seat, reading my face. It looked like he was judging how much he wanted to tell.
“Well, we did some cleaning a couple months ago. My old partner was with me. I don’t know where he is now. One day, he just stopped showing up. And then his family called the office and asked if we had seen him. Caroline told them no, she had no idea where he was.” He heaved a deep breath, looking shaky and pale. The tattoos stood out like open sores on his trembling body.
“Well, the day that he disappeared, we cleaned a house together, maybe ten miles from here. The entire place was filled with mutated snakes. Some of them had multiple heads, others had withered, white limbs sticking out of their sides, dancing and weaving listlessly as they slithered. The limbs had no use and many didn’t even face the ground. Some also had compound eyes like an insect, six or eight pairs strewn across their black faces. It looked like they had been through a nuclear war or something, man. Something changed those snakes, just like something changed those spiders. Those things shouldn’t exist, but they do. And you know what I found there?” I shook my head at his story, fascinated.
“I found a skull with a black dagger sticking through its head, just like at the other place. It was part of some weird black magic ritual set up in a hidden room in the attic. And something was following us as we killed the snakes. I couldn’t ever see it directly, but I knew it was following us. I kept seeing a face leering around corners at me, a grinning, bloodless face that nearly scraped the ceiling. While I drove us back to the office, my partner kept screaming that the thing was following him. He saw it hiding behind trees or in the windows of houses. He started to lose his shit, and later that night, he disappeared forever.”
***
We pulled up next to the swampy waters before the front door into the idyllic log cabin. It had a brownstone brick chimney and an open porch. A few rocking chairs lay there, wavering in the slight breeze.
Xavier went first, muttering to himself. When he took a step up on the porch in front of me, his blue button-down shirt rode up on his skinny body. I caught a flash of a concealed pistol tucked tightly into a hidden holster around his waist.
“You have a gun?” I asked. He looked down, cursing.
“Of course I have a gun, cabron,” he said, giving me a quick backwards glance.
“Why?” I felt baffled. What could he possibly shoot during crime scene clean-ups? Not the spiders or two-headed snakes.
“What do you mean, why? Why don’t you have a gun?” he asked. “I can get you one for a few hundred bucks. They’re probably stolen, but…”
“Have you ever had to use it?” I asked. He shook his head.
“Not at work,” he said cryptically. “Not yet.” He opened the front door to the cabin, peering inside nervously. He looked left and right, checking the corners, as if he were a SWAT officer clearing a crime scene. Then he inhaled sharply and walked inside. I followed close behind.
The cabin looked beautiful on the first floor. Paintings of mountains and nature covered the walls. A comfortable-looking couch stood in front of a TV and liquor cabinet. Bookshelves filled with thousands of books covered the walls.
“This is actually pretty nice,” I said, smiling. I felt a sense of relief wash over me. Xavier had started sweating heavily, his eyes large and searching.
“Let’s do this quick,” he said, heading for the basement. “We need to see what kind of equipment we need to do the job. This is just bloodstains, so…” He flung open the door and began descending. I followed him down into the dark.
The police had apparently taken all the dismembered body parts out, but the place still looked horrifying. Three steel, blood-stained tables were fused to the concrete floor. Cracks ran along the concrete and cockroaches and spiders skittered up through them. Blood covered nearly everything, including the walls and the floor. It had dried into a sticky dark paste. With every step, our shoes made a tacky sucking noise.
“This isn’t so bad,” I said. “I mean, it’s definitely horrifying, but at least there’s no two-headed snakes or anything, right?” Xavier didn’t respond. A sense of energy seemed to sizzle in the air. I felt a change in pressure as if a snowstorm were sweeping in. The smell of ozone mixed with the stink of old, rotting blood.
“I have a bad feeling about this place…” Xavier said when all hell started breaking loose. The basement began to shimmer. A mist as dark as a starless sky billowed around the walls and ceiling in great, swirling currents. And then the walls started to change, the blood on the surfaces rejuvenating, dripping again, brightening into the red of a freshly-slashed throat.
Pale, bloodless hands came out of the walls, stretching and lengthening as if they had minds of their own. The emaciated arms cracked and shivered with pleasure and anticipation. Random splotches of dark blood and flecks of gore stained their skin. Dozens of them reached towards us, constantly extending and thinning their freakish limbs. Bones snapped and popped like firecrackers going off.
I heard a shrill, faraway shrieking. Everything moved slowly, as if seen through water. Waves of adrenaline coursed through my body.
I looked up and saw a shimmering ripple pass through the bare wooden boards of the basement ceiling. A cloying mist the color of blackened, frostbit tissue began to spread from the misty void that seemed to eat the ceiling like some potent acid.
And then the mist began to clear. Hundreds of eyes stared down from the ceiling as the starving, inhuman arms lengthened and reached towards us. I could see a morphing sheet of them above me, human eyes and insect eyes and snake eyes and countless other ones I didn’t recognize.
They all stared down at us with malice and hatred, a fire burning deep in those alien orbs. I began to pray, knowing I would soon die in this cursed place.

I had a hyperfixation, made a google docs, this is the product ( all of its a shit post but I will die on the hill that those would be the most entertaining team line ups ) * also mind the errors ✌️

I have (3) Barbie logo postcards, and (5) 1959 Barbie postcards to send out.
I recently went to the antique shop, and saw the actual 1959 Barbie. The elderly woman said she's been collecting Barbies since she was a child. I wish I could see her collection. It reminded me of these postcards that I had saved in my online cart.
You can see the cards here, and fill out the form here.

songs

• talk to us
• avril
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• round
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• overu
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• timeslice
• noreply
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EPs

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mixes

• impact21
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• bonusmix
• hessle
• nowadays
• eternalseed

other

• s
• cloudcore
• rider
• looks
• a
• b
• talk
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• upload
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• logo
• the credits
• squad
• artwork