[Sub-Zero]

KnowProblem posted:

Yep, still scary as fuck.

God fucking damn it this made me scream like a fucking little bitch.Fuck my heart is beating so fast

I was really sleepy and the comic woke up me,I don't think that I will ever read a horror comic without being scared of checking the next page out again.

[Nekro]

Renegade Master posted:

I saw this before, what's the story behind this picture?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harlequin-type_ichthyosis

[phagocitic]

TerabyteS_ posted:

Good night, friends:

Out of curiosity, I looked this up on Tineye and this image is also on a Russian blog with pictures of more deformities. It's pretty fucked up, but here's the link.
http://a-nikonov.livejournal.com/620148.html

[KnowProblem]

To be honest, as creepy as the backwards Revolution is, it's more annoying than it is creepy. I'll remember it if I need some creepy sound effects though. I feel like the subtitler was assuming a lot of the lyrics were about satan and shit just to make it more interesting, but the parts with the chanting and fire and cars make it clear that it was supposed to be played backwards.

[Redskins1234]

KnowProblem posted:

To be honest, as creepy as the backwards Revolution is, it's more annoying than it is creepy. I'll remember it if I need some creepy sound effects though. I feel like the subtitler was assuming a lot of the lyrics were about satan and shit just to make it more interesting, but the parts with the chanting and fire and cars make it clear that it was supposed to be played backwards.

Yea with alot of "backmasked" songs, people don't hear shit if they are told to "listen to this"

But if you tell someone "listen to this song backwards, there is messages about satan" and even add the words you are supposed to hear on the screen, they are going to hear it.

[Griffster26]

[Blazyd]

Why did I ever even bother clicking this thread

[KarloMcMarlo]

Blazyd posted:

Why did I ever even bother clicking this thread

Because you have a very complex personality disorder. You feel the need to mentally harm yourself, your sleep schedule, and your sanity.

I'd like to spend some time talking about your mother now.

   Is she hot?   

[77662]

[bull04]

77662 posted:

Why can't I tell if that's her real face? Fucking weird shit.

[megafat]

77662 posted:

Oh god, her actual face scares the fuck out of me too.

[Neat!]

It's a he, probably.

Also, I'm just gonna post this revised version of that story I posted in the last thread. I just got some good crits, so it should flow a bit better. Any more criticisms would be wonderful.

Chernzobog Dream Cycle

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"The blast tore a hole in the earth and the sky, the smoldering ruination obstructed by a
massive white mushroom cloud. The heat was unbearable, I could feel my hair
falling out. No matter how hard I closed my eyes, how hard I pressed my sunglasses to my face, I was still blinded by the searing light.
It illuminated my skin, giving an unsettling juxtaposition between my opaque flesh and darkened bones.

I noticed the trees in the distance bend over towards me, and a powerful wind was tearing across the battered landscape.
The several zeppelins and ornithopers that loomed over the
battlefield were reduced to ash and tangles of red-hot iron beams. I notice a ring forming
around the top of the mushroom cloud, it was expanding quickly and was almost directly
above me. The shock wave hit me with a deafeningly loud bang, shattering the windows of a nearby car as well as the lenses of my sunglasses. It knocked me off my feet, and out of consciousness.


When I woke up, the landscape was now a hideous ichor of brown and grey, with orange embers raining down from the now black mushroom cloud.
That was when I saw it. A hideous mass of black eyes and sharkskin, drenched in the bile,
viscera, blood and semen of it's former world. The thing was flying like a drunken moth as it was
birthed from the churning smoke and ash. Flying on angular golden wings it surveyed the
abused landscape, it altered course and beamed it's "head" at me, summoning a large beak-like protrusion, forming something one could almost call a face.
I began to remove my broken glasses, when I noticed my skin was mutilated and red from the radiation of the
blast. Looking upon my melted, wrinkling skin I wondered how I was still alive, and I
wondered even more so after I noticed my left hand was all but a cudgel of bone and
flesh.

Amidst my horror I failed to notice a gaunt figure, red as the smoldering iron it loped over,
skulking over the mud and wreckage.
I finally realized my assailant when I heard a mulish, depraved, yet
sharply-pitched wail coming from the figure, summoning embers and smoke from its
jagged mouth. I innately find the strength to run, or limp, away from the figure. I've been
motivated by fear and anger in the past, but I have never had to endure such horrors as this. I
made my way towards what looked like a large, grated sewer pipe about seven feet
in diameter. It seemed to be the only cover from the burning embers and radioactive mud
raining from the sky, as well as the unyielding gaze of the beaked thing.


I stumble over defunct brass war machines and charred corpses, still clutching their rifles
and swords. The desperation of the situation begins to sink in as I realize there are no
nearby roads or buildings; just charred husks and ash. When I finally make it to the
outflow tube there was no water in it, just an outline of sediment and feces.
I walk through a hole in the grate, and notice the red-hot thing was now a light grey, and gaining speed as it
lopes towards me in a hypnotizing yet sickening gait. Pain in my left arm and face begins
to set in, as a smoldering hunk of flesh slides off my neck and lands on the floor of the
chamber like a wet, fleshy rag. I advance into the darkness, hot wind coming from the
inside of the chamber like the breath of some hellish beast.

Pieces of paper and ash roll out from the depths of the tunnel. I could hear the loping thing coming closer, its howl getting louder.
I begin to stagger away from the thing, its deafening scream echoing through the chamber, Its footsteps get louder. When it wasn't screaming
in that horrible tone it was wheezing trenchantly, with phlegm and god knows what undulating in its
mouth. I hurry down the musty tunnel, noticing a copper shine to my right, about a hundred feet
away.


The creature hurries as well, its scampering feet coming closer, scratching like a dog on
concrete. It screams again, echoing throughout the tunnel, piercing my ears. The shine reveals
itself to be some exposed copper pipe, warped in a manner that allowed me to wedge myself in,
hopefully safe from the loping thing's grasp. I was about fifteen feet away from
the pipe when the creature took hold of me, pulling me away, slamming my mangled
head against the ground. It was the most grotesque sight I, or quite possibly anyone has ever
seen. I think I went mad then.

It was just under seven feet tall, it was hairless, with a hunched, warped back and large, three-fingered hands at the ends of long, lanky arms.
Its legs were essentially the same as the arms, but slightly longer. Its head was that of a humans, but much larger, earless
and inverted, with crusted, dead eyes and with a fleshy hole where it's nose should be. Pink tentacles protruded from the
nasal bones, and the mouth was large, with horribly deformed, tiny jagged teeth. It let out another depraved scream as I writhed away.
It leaped at me, but I dodged its lunge. The evasion was not without toll, however, as my back was now completely skinless. It a fit of pain
I stagger towards the exposed pipes, nestling myself between two layers of pipes. The thing clawed at the pipes, trying to get at me, wailing and screaming.
This assault went on for about three hours, and then you showed up."


"Did you see anything more of the 'beaked thing'?" asked one of my interrogators.
I replied, "No all I saw of it was outside the tunnel."

The secretary typed furiously on her typewriter.
"Do you know where the creature went?" he asked.
"No sir, I passed out after about an hour." I respond. My condescending emphasis on the "sir" went unnoticed.
"Did you know you were the only survivor of the blast?" the other agent asked.
"I'm blessed." I reply flatly.
I feigned a smile,showing my yellowed, gritty teeth.
The agents looked at each other, one nodded to the other, who then signaled the secretary
stop typing.
"That'll be all for today, Mr. Wozniak." one says.
The agents and the secretary leave the room, the secretary carrying three papers,
presumably transcripts from the recollection of my misfortune.
The rhythmic thuds and hums of the life-support machine lull me to sleep. It's been so long
since I was last immobilized like this, with tubes and needles encompassing my broken body like
an empathetic cornucopia, binding and degrading me in an attempt to spare my feeble life.
I can't hope to repay the debt I've made in this condition.
The beaked thing knows that.
The loping thing knows that.
This machine knows that.
I knew I wronged red crown the moment I looked into the beaked thing's eyes. The red crown
will not forgive, nor will this machine once it turns. I can feel the shores of Adamantinarx hissing in my ears.
The zephyrs of the Keter tremble my innards, my side hemorrhages at the very sight of my new interrogators...

That painting is what inspired this, by the way. I've decided to continue writing this, so if the next installment has enough creepy shit in it, I'll post it here.

[latin_geek]

One of the best pieces of creepy writing I've ever seen was that "russian sleep deprivation experiment" thing

[rinoaff33]

Redskins1234 posted:

Yea with alot of "backmasked" songs, people don't hear shit if they are told to "listen to this"

But if you tell someone "listen to this song backwards, there is messages about satan" and even add the words you are supposed to hear on the screen, they are going to hear it.

Coincidentally, here is an SCP related to Revolution 9: http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-043

[Pretiacruento]

Dunno if it's been posted already, but here is a list of over 600 camera IPs.

Just select one randomly and brick-shitting should ensue.

For instance, this came up on my browser when I tried to access Camera IP #55...

What's with the 666 stuff? :S

And camera IP #18 asks you for credentials... I chose that one because 6 + 6 + 6 = 18... *shivers*

Edited:

SOMEBODY PLEASE, HOLD ME

Edited:

Bonus



Edited:

Camera IP #100...



NOPENOPENOPE *closes laptop*

[Neat!]

latin_geek posted:

One of the best pieces of creepy writing I've ever seen was that "russian sleep deprivation experiment" thing

Sounds neat. Mind posting it?

[latin_geek]

pagestretch, couldn't find a text version

[Pretiacruento]

Protip: I read/watch stuff like the above post with ambient music like this one in the background, for maximum creepyness.

Edited:



_{Sorry if it's a repost}

[Neat!]

holy shit that was great (snipe, the soviet russian one)

also, what y'all think of my short story?

[Goodthief]

Thread needs more Penderecki

Edited:

[Alien_23]

Earlier that year, about the time the last school year had let out, one of my friends from work, (McDonalds, which some people think is lame), had taught me a technique to make yourself pass out with the help of an assistant. It worked something like this: One person would rapidly take ten deep, heavy breaths, and on the tenth, squeeze his eyes shut and hold his breath as tightly as possible while crossing his wrists over his heart. The assistant would then give the person a huge bear hug from behind and squeeze the person’s wrists into his breastbone. Within seconds, the person holding their breath would lose consciousness. The assistant was then in a perfect position to make sure you didn’t totally collapse and crack your skull open on the sidewalk. The effect only lasted for like a second or two–it wasn’t like we were putting ourselves into comas or anything–but it felt like you had been out for hours, and when you came to, the disoriented feeling of not knowing where the hell you were and what you were doing there was awesome.

Now I know some people are like “WTF, are you a fucking retard?” And yeah, I know, we were probably killing about a million brain cells each time we would knock ourselves out, and I think probably my memory has suffered for it. But to a bored-as-hell sixteen-year-old, I thought it was hella cool. All the effect of getting your lights punched out, with none of the pain of getting hit in the face.

One interesting side-effect of doing this, which was really most of the reason we did it, was that while you were out, you’d have extremely lucid, vivid dreams, which you could always recall upon awaking. We were good kids, and had never, and would never try drugs, so to us, this was like a poor man’s LSD. These visions, in some way, were usually related to what you were looking at right before you passed out. For example, once I dreamed that I was climbing a mountain. Way up in the Himalayas or something, but there was a hand rail there. When I came to and remembered where I was, I realized I had been looking at the staircase at the corner of my girlfriend’s living room. Another time, I had a vision of Fred Flintstone smiling and holding out his hand in front of a mural with the D.A.R.E. logo. (That’s Drug Abuse Resistance Education, a program cops teach in public schools.) I woke up and saw that my friend Brett had been standing in front of me right before I slipped into dreamland, and that logo was on his shirt. Where Fred Flintstone came from, I have no idea.

That one day, school had been going on for about a month, and we were already sick of it. We were hanging out one Saturday in “the field,” which was really an easement for the electric company to run their high voltage lines. A few of us were sitting on the metal beams at the bottom of one of the towers. My friend Mike was climbing up to the second tier of beams so he could jump the eight or ten feet to the ground. I thought it was stupid, but hey, I’m the guy who thought it was cool to induce unconsciousness by starving my brain of oxygen. I sure as hell didn’t want to spend the last few moments of a pleasant Saturday afternoon watching this dumbass climb partway up the high-tension tower, jump down, complain about how “that one killed his feet,” only to climb up and do the same stupid thing over again.

“Hey, let’s make ourselves pass out,” I said. By that time, it wasn’t as much fun as it had been in the early summer when we first discovered it, but it was a hell of a lot better than what we were doing. Vince was up for it, so was Richard, but Mike, the guy jumping off the tower, said, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Holy crap, you haven’t been knocked out before?” Vince asked. Mike had been at his mom’s house all summer, so he hadn’t been in on all the fun we had been having.

“Dude, you gotta try this. Watch, we’ll show you.”

Vince and I got off the tower, stood in the grass at the center, and I did the customary ten deep breaths. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath so hard that if they hadn’t been shut, they’d have probably popped out of my head. Then I felt my friend clamp down on my arms in front of my chest, and suddenly, as if there were nothing more natural in the world, there was a giant lobster, climbing around a lobster cage, and I was under the ocean with seaweed growing from the sandy bottom under my feet.

The next thing I remember, I was awake and Vince and Richard were asking me, “Dude! What did you see? What’d you dream?” The back of my head was killing me.

“Fuck, did you let me fall?” I wasn’t really that heavy, but Vince was pretty weak. He just stood there, looking guilty, and Richard told me he had. “What’d you see though?” he asked.

I rubbed my head and said it was a lobster. It was pinching Vince’s head off with its claws.

I turned to Mike, watching from the L-shaped beams above, and said, “See, it’s fuckin’ awesome.”

“Whatever, I don’t trust any of you enough to do that shit to me.”
“Come on man, you gotta try it. It’s no more dangerous than what you’re doing now. I promise I won’t let you fall like this bitch did.”

He squinted in the way people do when they’re trying to decide if what they’re thinking of doing is worth the risk or trouble. He jumped down one last time, got up and said, “Fine, once.”

He repeated the ten deep breaths, with me as the assistant to make sure he didn’t fall. He held his breath and I helped him slip into that other place. I felt the dead weight shift from his feet onto my chest, and he was a pretty big guy, but I made sure to let him down easy and not knock his head against the hard-packed earth. Just as I laid him on the grass, he came back.

He woke up screaming.

“FUCK! HOLY FUCK GET AWAY! GET AWAY! GET AWAY!” he screamed as he leaped up to his feet and flailed his arms around his head. We all jumped back, afraid of being hit in his frenzy, but more afraid, so scared we almost shit our pants, of what we were seeing.

After about five seconds, which is about twice the time it normally takes a person to realize where they’re at and remember what they were doing, he slowed down. “Shit. Shit Holy shit” He was breathing heavily, gasping deep breaths and hunched over at the corner of the tower. It’s a wonder that in his maddened state he didn’t run right into the supports and knock himself out for real. But he just stood there, bent over at the waist, then fell to his knees. With his back turned to us, he started rocking and wringing his hands and muttering to himself.

“Holy mother of fuck,” said Vince. “What the hell did you see?” But Mike didn’t answer. We approached him slowly, and as we drew near we could hear him quietly sobbing. In our macho world, that was normally a crime punishable by death, but at the time of course we didn’t say a word. I reached out a hand to his shoulder. But as soon as I touched him, a touch so tentative and light that he shouldn’t have even been able to feel it, he shrieked and jumped away, clanging his back into the corner of the tower. He pressed up hard against it, staring at us with a look of terror in his eyes so real you’d think we were demons from the pit of hell.

None of us said anything, but after about ten minutes Mike had calmed down enough that Richard was able to coax him to his feet and lead him back to his house. As I had suspected, the temperature had fallen like crazy in just a few minutes and, just as I figured it would, the freezing cold drizzle started to fall. I told Vince I was just gonna go home and I’d see him tomorrow. We always spent the evenings and rainy days playing Mortal Kombat on our SNES, but he didn’t object. I think he probably wanted some time alone to reflect on what horrible thing we had done to our friend, just like I did.

The next day I went to see how Mike was doing, but he and his dad were gone the whole day. I asked him later where he went, but he wouldn’t tell me. I think it must have been to a psychiatrist, because by Tuesday, the next time I saw him, he seemed to be better, if a little zoned out. I figure he got some drugs to calm his nerves, but that’s just a guess. I never really found out. Over the next few days, the four of us hung out, and while Mike was quiet, he didn’t say anything about what had happened. We just talked about stupid, unimportant stuff. Girls we liked, classes at school we hated. We avoided the subject of what happened that Saturday, and the practice of passing out in general, like it was the plague.

It wasn’t until the following Saturday that he said anything related to what was happening to him.

We were walking down the quiet street of our neighborhood, towards the wooden footbridge that crosses the creek that runs between the houses, separating the development into two halves. I was going on about this hot girl who was a grade above me and who wouldn’t give me the time of day, and he, staring at the ground, walked on with his hands in his pockets. Suddenly, out of nowhere and right in the middle of one of my sentences, he says, “I won’t be around much longer.”

“Huh?”

“They’ll be coming again tonight, and I don’t think I’ll be able to keep them out this time.”

“Hey. Hey, what are you talking about? Who’s coming tonight?”

“The hands, the voices.”
At this point I was like, “holy shit.” I could feel my breathing get quick and shallow and I felt my face and hands get hot to hear him talk, so matter-of-factly, about some horror that I couldn’t even imagine.

I stammered a few times, then said, stupidly, “What hands?”

“At night, I look at the tree out my window, then it goes black and the hands, dozens, a hundred of them, push in against the glass.”

“And what do you do?”

“I push back. All night. But I’m tired. I can’t keep them out anymore. And the voices say I have to let them in. Little kid voices, and little kid hands.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, but I could tell, in what he said next, that he was struggling to keep the panic at bay. “Sometimes, I see their faces,” he said in a trembling voice.

We had come to the walkway up to his house. He stopped and finally lifted his face to me. “Tell Vince he can have my Super Nintendo. He don’t have one and his mom sure as hell won’t buy him one. Richard can have my CD’s. I know you guys don’t like rap, but he does.”

I started to say something, but he turned and walked up to his house. He went inside and closed the door. How I wish I would have went up and knocked. Told him I would have stayed the night. But we were sixteen, and at that age guys didn’t do that anymore. So I just went home. I didn’t even answer the door for Vince when he came over later. When I went to bed, I didn’t sleep well, and I was constantly listening to every creak and groan that the house made, listening for the voices of a multitude of children. I normally slept with the curtains open, but tonight, I closed them tight.

The next day, we learned someone had broken into Mike’s house. A police car was there in his driveway, and I about shit a brick when I saw it. Later, my worst fears were confirmed when I learned that it was Mike’s bedroom window that had been broken into. He was missing, was all they told us. The cops asked all three of us a ton of questions, and people from the Center for Missing and Exploited Children came and asked us more. I’m sure I looked as guilty as shit, but when I said I didn’t know what happened; it was, after all, halfway true. They were looking for some pervert that had abducted Mike. So no matter how hard they grilled me, they couldn’t get any information relating to that, of course, so finally they gave up. He was on milk cartons and missing children TV shows, but to this day, his is still an unsolved case.

After it was all over, I went to the library to research what the fuck happened, because in those days, while the internet was a research tool, it was only for rocket scientists or people who could afford a $5000 computer. I didn’t find much. The closest thing that I think is related is something I only discovered later, in my Junior class on World History. Apparently, Egyptian priests used to seal themselves in coffins for just long enough a time to almost die. They would then be resuscitated so they could relate the things they saw in the netherworld while dead to the other priests. I can only figure that perhaps the electricity in the air, or the weather, made Mike go under deeper than we ever had and gave him an experience something like what the Egyptian priests had. But Vince knocked me out too, in almost the same spot where Mike was standing when I did it to him. Could he have just been more receptive to the call of that other place? Or had knocking my head on the ground somehow jostled me free of their hold? I don’t know, and I don’t think I ever will, but sometimes it still makes me shiver.

Edited:

Good luck going to the bathroom now

[Articsledder]

Reading Ted the Caver for the first time

http://www.angelfire.com/trek/caver/

Damn this is good.

Edit: Finished. I also heard there was an alternate ending, anyone happen to know it/have a copy?

[Da_Maniac_]

Articsledder posted:

Reading Ted the Caver for the first time

http://www.angelfire.com/trek/caver/

Damn this is good.

Edit: Finished. I also heard there was an alternate ending, anyone happen to know it/have a copy?

I've read it and it was extremely cheesy.

It involves an ancient monster.

[Black]

[Hobo Jesus]

Wow, I was reading that Normal sex thing and i forgot that the Let me hear your war cry video was loading at the same time and it autostarted and made me shit my pants.

[Bootlord]

Hey guys. I don't know how much overlap there is between this thread and the Slender Man thread, but I would recommend the Slender Series (MarbleHornets, DarkHarvest, EveryManHybrid) to anyone who enjoys a cryptic, scary, and thrilling story.

[Neat!]

Neat! posted:

It's a he, probably.

Also, I'm just gonna post this revised version of that story I posted in the last thread. I just got some good crits, so it should flow a bit better. Any more criticisms would be wonderful.



That painting is what inspired this, by the way. I've decided to continue writing this, so if the next installment has enough creepy shit in it, I'll post it here.

what do you knobs think of my story aghrghgaagle

also what is that normal sex thing?

[BananaFoam]

Neat! posted:

what do you knobs think of my story aghrghgaagle

also what is that normal sex thing?

Fine, I'll tell you what I thought of it if you please just stop pestering us about it!

I didn't really like the implied Steampunk setting (the rifles and brass war machines and what not) as having an alternate world or alternate history setting can make it harder to empathize with someone when we know he is not in our world and not experiencing the same things we are. Generally, this can be forgiven in most genres, but in Horror (where empathizing with the characters is a necessity to truthfully scare the reader) in is extremely hard to work in.

However, your gruesome and visceral descriptions of the creature, the aftermath, and your characters mauled and destroyed body almost made me cringe as they were very nicely written. The overall writing style was very good as well.

But all of this is nullified because of the ending. The constant referencing to places we've never heard of and the change in writing made it uber-pretentious and it's rather clear there's a whole other story to be told that you've simply left out. There's a difference between being artsy and just being incomprehensible. You cannot just say things without any proper meaning (What's the Red Crown or Adamantinarx.). You completely break your writing style to try and imply some "deeper meaning" bullshit that usually ends up killing stories.

In short, you are a talented writer but change the ending so it's not as pretentious.

Also, the "normal sex" thing was a story posted slightly below yours.

[Griffster26]

[Werem00se]

Griffster26 posted:

I remember that, I used to have those books when I was in like 5th grade. Scared the piss out of me.

[Neat!]

BananaFoam posted:

Fine, I'll tell you what I thought of it if you please just stop pestering us about it!

I didn't really like the implied Steampunk setting (the rifles and brass war machines and what not) as having an alternate world or alternate history setting can make it harder to empathize with someone when we know he is not in our world and not experiencing the same things we are. Generally, this can be forgiven in most genres, but in Horror (where empathizing with the characters is a necessity to truthfully scare the reader) in is extremely hard to work in.

However, your gruesome and visceral descriptions of the creature, the aftermath, and your characters mauled and destroyed body almost made me cringe as they were very nicely written. The overall writing style was very good as well.

But all of this is nullified because of the ending. The constant referencing to places we've never heard of and the change in writing made it uber-pretentious and it's rather clear there's a whole other story to be told that you've simply left out. There's a difference between being artsy and just being incomprehensible. You cannot just say things without any proper meaning (What's the Red Crown or Adamantinarx.). You completely break your writing style to try and imply some "deeper meaning" bullshit that usually ends up killing stories.

In short, you are a talented writer but change the ending so it's not as pretentious.

Also, the "normal sex" thing was a story posted slightly below yours.

Thank you, it's surprisingly hard to get good criticism. I didn't put as much thought into the endings as I should have, and now that you mention it the steampunkish setting is rather forced.

Edited:

content







Edited:

[Mining Bill]

>Get urge to masturbate
>Read thread
>No more sticky fingers!
(except for page four, dat ass)

[Zeos]

77662 posted:

A while back I found a youtube profile of a guy in a woman costume who just made videos of himself walking into rooms. That's it, no music or anything, just him walking into rooms while wearing this plastic/latex full body suit. The weirder ones I watched were him trying to get about in heels, and he didn't do to well... Then there was one where he was apparently making it look like he was going into labour and couldn't walk properly, was kinda moaning. It made me really, really uncomfortable.

[Alien_23]

Griffster26 posted:

Fucking hell, its a gif image. Made me jump as the head moved while I was scrolling down the page.

[geogzm]

hi there

Someone texted me this:


ec6e0ef0b0a3025e3921f8fef5495df7


and I don't know if it's some cryptic shit or just spam, thought I'd ask here what with the few who might analyze and shit in a creepy thread (and in other threads) because whoever it is they've been harassing me for a while now

[Lizzrd]

You're going to die.

[geogzm]

problem solved by a friend, nevermind

[Griffster26]

For a kid's game, this shit is terrifying.

[TerabyteS_]

geogzm posted:

problem solved by a friend, nevermind

What was it then?

[geogzm]

TerabyteS_ posted:

What was it then?

I got another message which was a bunch of numbers, friend said the first two were untranslatable but the third said "nicemoves", it's part of a long story