O.H. (loveishappiness) wrote in boo_scared_ya,

Haunted Bran Flakes

(This story is probably NSFW as you will shit in your knickers from fear) 

I woke up this morning to find the sky overcast and grey and the wind howling like a dead raven. I didn't want to leave the comfort and apparent safety of my bed, but a hunger groped lecherously at my stomach. A chill insinuated its horrid will throughout every room of the empty house as I walked with fearful steps to the kitchen. Every object seemed perverted by darkness and evil. I opened the cupboard and reached for my normal breakfast; a box of Bran Flakes. As soon as my fingers touched its ghastly cardboard an unknowable dread shot through me like a beastly knife. I shuddered like some pathetic spastic as I opened its ridges. Did the terrifying wind outside just moan my name? Ignoring these omens, I tore open the oafish boxes seals and regretted my actions instantly. For what happened next I have no rational explanation, at least not one that cormforms with our understandings of the world of science.
Out of that insane box came first a sigh that made me drop it to the floor and jump back in demented fear. The next sound it puked out into the atmosphere was thrice as detestable. This abominable sound was somewhere between the last moans of a haggard old witch on her deathbed and the laughter of insects. There is no point in vain allusions, the truth must be told. What then came out from amongst the crusty flakes was indeed a ghost, a spirit, a messenger perhaps from hell or somewhere just a filthy.
This entity hung in the centre of the room, its face - as it did have a face - laughing silently at my cowering horror. After what seemed an unbearable age it spoke. The voice hit me in the deepest hidden caverns of my mind, forcing my eyes open and my ears attentive. This voice was mocking and cruel. It told me that all human life was of no importance, that God was dead and Satan has an active social life. The voice spoke of human accidents with humour, it pored scorn on the disabled and elderly. It showed all history to be a lie and wore a t-shirt with a picture of Gary Glitter surrounded by cartoon love hearts. It told of the comedy of death, that all human spirits are doomed to loneliness for all eternity and that my hair is scruffy and needs cutting. With that the demon abated, span around and disappeared in a subtle explosion.

I have been left badly shaken by this experience. I live on now as a shadow, a half-soul, only able to convey my tale and wait. Wait with a constant dread at the unspeakable foulness of the inevitable.


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