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(Story disclaimer: many of you are asking me to post the story of Zozo, this is one mans recollection of Zozo, there are many other stories of this demon. This is only one.)
My name is Darren and I am from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I am currently 40 years old, and have held a fascination with the occult since an early age. I have had many bizarre experiences with Ouija boards and I am writing this as a warning to people that bad things can happen because of these “portals.”
Parker brothers doesn’t care if a demon possesses you, or if you come under some type of attack from something you know nothing about. The majority of people from The United States holds a skeptical view regarding the scientific evidence of spirits or ghosts, and many people who believe in these things also believe that it is for this very reason that ghosts and poltergeists occur here and exist “under the radar” so to speak. These Ouija boards are manufactured under the precept that they are mere “toys.” Let me tell you first hand that THEY ARE NOT TOYS, and should be used with strict caution, and probably should not be messed with AT ALL. Other countries take a more open minded view of spirits, demons, and ghosts, and many many cultures have based entire religions from these beliefs.
During my experiences with Ouija boards one particular spirit always seemed compelled to make it’s presence known. It’s name is ZOZO. Today I refuse to even pronounce it’s name as I believe the mere pronunciation of it can cause it to manifest itself. Too many times to count, it has at first pretended to be a nice spirit, or pretend to be whomever I was trying to contact. But eventually it showed it’s true self, cussing me, threatening me and others present in the room. Once it actually cussed me using what looked like Latin or Hebrew, and using biblical terminology.
I was genuinely fascinated and startled by how many times ZOZO showed up, even in many different states and many different Ouija boards. It always wound up being very nasty and commented freely about how it wanted to posses my girlfriends and take them to paradise. When asked where paradise was, it spelled H.E.L.L. One time after ZOZO was being extremely evil, I walked into my bathroom only to see my 1 year old daughter about to drown. Her mother had left her alone in the tub “just for a second” and somehow the water got turned on and was overflowing. Instinctively she had her face tilted up and was seconds from going under when I grabbed her from the water. The next day she was hospitalized for some weird internal infection and was put in isolation for 14 days straight as doctors tried to diagnose the illness. We almost lost her, and that was when I began to suspect demonic attack.
At this same time my girlfriend maintained a “trance like” state. Her personality changed from a very sweet person, to withdrawn, and uncaring. ZOZO said before this that it was going to possess her and eat her soul. I was recording music for a future rock project and I remember jokingly asking if it had an opinion on what I should name the band. It spelled IRON TONGUE, which at the time I thought was pretty cool, only later when my daughters tongue swelled up in the hospital to the point of asphyxiation I realized that this wasn’t cool AT ALL! Her tongue became rock hard, and distorted her face, swelling up to where it hung grotesquely from her mouth. We took turns bedside at the hospital for what seemed like forever before my daughter began to recover from this strange affliction.
When guests would spend the night in our house they would claim that they heard frightening voices coming from inside the walls. Objects would be thrown across the room, and spiders seem to come from nowhere. My girlfriends brother whom lived with us complained that he couldn’t sleep at night because the “conversations” were so loud that he simply could not rest. He believed in ghosts, and though he wasn’t afraid of them, he said that it definitely felt demonic. Lights would come off and on by themselves, doors would open and unlock themselves. One night in our bedroom a viscous laughter emanated from thin air, and to this day I cannot explain the terror in that laughter. One night I was awakened by what felt like hands on my throat choking me. I could not breathe, I could not scream. After about 30 seconds it released it’s grip and I gasped for air. The same thing happened to my girlfriend the next night. Another night me and her brother were standing just outside the back porch sliding glass door when we were talking about a supposed curse of their family. I abruptly exclaimed “I rebuke this curse in the name of Jesus Christ!” I no longer finished saying those exact words when a deafening sound and a vibration struck the entire house with such an alarming “boom” that the neighbors came over to ask if I had heard something strange. I knew it wasn’t our imaginations, I got out the ladder to see what had landed on top of the house only to find nothing. Things settled down after that, and to this day I believe that whatever made that noise also caused the disturbance to go away… For awhile.
My girlfriend broke up with me, and I met someone online in Michigan, where I moved up to be with her. She didn’t believe in spirits, and although I knew better, I decided to make her a believer as well. Living in a very small town in Marshall Michigan there were no stores that sold Ouija boards so I downloaded one from the internet. I printed it out, and to my horror ZOZO returned. It said it came from “cyberspace”…and when I asked it where it lived it spelled “SKULL NECKLACE”… We didn’t think much of this until I asked it again where it was, this time spelling “MIRROR.” The was only one mirror in the bedroom where we were crouched on the floor, and I heard a scream coming from her 7 year old niece who was watching us with another young friend. We looked up at the mirror and saw the skull necklace swaying back and forth with glowing eyes looking down at us!
My new girlfriends son had hung the necklace on one of the posts of the waterbed hours before I downloaded the paper board. We almost jumped out of our skin, and although 3 feet of fresh snow had fallen that night we all found ourselves in the front yard not knowing what to do, scared and frozen in terror. My girlfriend was so fascinated she drove 40 miles to purchase a new glow in the dark Ouija board much to my dismay.
The next night we had another session in the same room. ZOZO immediately came forth, and even without me being a participant. My girlfriends nieces were using the planchette and I would secretly write down a color onto a small piece of paper, then crumple it up where no one could see. I asked the young girls to ask the board if it knew which color I had written down, it quickly scooted to “YES!”…”BLUE!” I remember chills coursing up and down my spine as I threw the wadded up paper to my girlfriend. Her eyes widened as she read the written color BLUE! We then tried the same thing with shapes, and words and every time the board knew.
One night we asked the board if the spirit would show itself. It spelled YES and told me to turn out the lights and take a picture of the necklace above the board. I did just that and what turned out is eerie to say the least. On the upper left hand corner of the picture you can plainly see “winged” skeletons flying about, and they are of the exact same weird shape of this “skateboarders” skeleton necklace. Towards the middle you can make out hideous faces, I have seen at least 4 evil faces in this picture. I took this picture about 6 years ago, people have stolen it off of paranormal websites claiming they took it, when I know truthfully it was me. I have sent this picture to several “experts” and they have all said they cannot explain the images inside. As if all of this wasn’t strange enough now comes the REALLY scary part.
A few months ago I googled the word ZOZO. To my shock, many other people have also been contacted by a demon by the SAME NAME! I read about 20 similar stories and I am now convinced that this simply CANNOT be mere coincidence. Supposedly ZOZO is an ancient demon name which possibly stands for “The Destroyer.” Claims of demonic possession are associated with this ZOZO, and I feel it my duty to warn people to steer clear from this if it happens to present itself during a Ouija board session. I am currently researching this phenomena for a future book, and am in the initial stages of presenting my findings to a reputable demonologist who has been involved in hundreds of cases of paranormal activities across the world including “A Haunting in Connecticut.”
What is this ZOZO? Supposedly the 3 headed dog demon which guards the gates of hell has a tattoo on it’s forehead that spells ZOSO. Also, ZOZO is a term Aleister Crowley claimed meant “666.” Jimmy Page of the rock group Led Zeppelin also used ZOSO as a symbol on the Zeppelin 4 album. Could ZOZO and Zoso be connected somehow? How can so many different people from so many different parts of the world somehow lie about this ZOZO spirit? And if they aren’t lying, than how can you explain these visitations by this wicked entity? Is ZOZO the devil himself? Or a wayward demon who has the power to manifest itself wherever and whenever it is called?
Heed my warnings people, if you are playing around with a Ouija board, and you jokingly ask it if it has a name and it spells ZOZO. Close the session properly, cleanse the house, NEVER I repeat NEVER ask it again. And if you are brave enough to carry on conversations with this spirit do NOT antagonize it, or act on it’s directions. I know what I have seen, and I know other people have also come into contact with this spirit. It is dangerous beyond words. I realize not every session results in negativity, but when you play with this ZOZO you are playing with fire. Everything I have described here is true, and I am not exaggerating one bit. It may take me years, but I DO intend on writing a book about this, as I have many more stories that I do not have time to mention here. They all stem from true events that took place while talking to this ZOZO.
Folks I have been told by people wiser than myself that the spirit world is “MORE REAL” than this world of so called reality. Ouija boards can cause many bad things to happen in your life. I am including the Ouija Ghost picture within this submission. Maintain an open mind, and most of all BE CAREFUL!
It all began in the home of Mr. And Mrs. Thomas Otto in the year of 1896. It was well known the Otto’s were wealthy and unkind. They mistreated their servants. One servant, that aided in the care of the couples son, Robert Eugene (Gene). The servant was said to have knowledge in the ways of voodoo. She for one reason or the other became very angry with the Otto’s. She decided to do something about it. As the story goes the servant gave Gene a doll. The doll stood three feet tall and was stuffed with straw. With life-like features Gene was very attracted to this doll. He decided to name the doll “Robert”.
Gene took the doll everywhere with him. It is said that the Otto’s often heard Gene upstairs talking to the doll. This normally wouldn’t be unusual. Many children talk to their dolls. In this particular situation however, the Otto’s were frightened because the boy would answer himself in a voice very unlike his own. The story of Robert the haunted doll is unlike any you’ve heard.
Strange things began to occur in the Otto household. Even neighbors claimed to see Robert move about from window to window when the family wasn’t home. Gene began to blame Robert for mishaps that would occur. The Otto’s claimed to hear the doll giggle, and swear they caught glimpses of the doll running about the house. If you look at the picture and imagine the haunted doll running about the house you can see how frightening it would be.
Gene began to have nightmares and scream out in the night, and when his parents would enter the room they would find furniture over turned. Their child would be in a fright with Robert at the foot of the bed. “Robert did it!” Gene would tell them. The doll was eventually put up into the attic. Where he resided for many years.
The citizens of Key West heard about Robert and his evil doings. Many people walking by the home reported that the doll watched from the turret room and mocked them as they passed. Children walking home from school would avoid walking in front of the home.
Gene reported when visiting the turret room he found Robert him in the rocking chair by the turret room window. Finally Gene himself had enough of the doll.
The haunted doll had other plans, however. Visitors that entered the house could hear something walking back and forth in the attic, and strange giggling sounds. Guests no longer wanted to visit the Otto home.
Gene Otto died in 1972.The home was sold to a new family, and the tale of Robert had died down…
Robert waited patiently up in the attic to be discovered once again. The 10 year old daughter of the new owners soon found Robert in the attic. It was not long before Robert unleashed his displeasure on the child. The little girl claimed that the doll tortured her, and made her life hell. Even after more than thirty years later, she steadfastly claims that “the doll was alive and wanted to kill her.”
Robert, still dressed in his white sailor’s suit and clutching his stuffed lion, lives quite comfortably, though well guarded, at the Key West Martello Museum. Employees at the museum continue to give accounts of Robert being up to his old tricks still today.
After weeks of unexplained murders, the ominous unknown killer is still on the rise. After little evidence has been found, a young boy states that he survived one of the killer’s attacks and bravely tells his story.
"I had a bad dream and I woke up in the middle of the night," says the boy, "I saw that for some reason the window was open, even though I remember it being closed before I went to bed. I got up and shut it once more. Afterwards, I simply crawled under my covers and tried to get back to sleep. That’s when I had a strange feeling, like someone was watching me. I looked up, and nearly jumped out of my bed. There, in the little ray of light, illuminating from between my curtains, were a pair of two eyes. These weren’t regular eyes; they were dark, ominous eyes. They were bordered in black and… just plain out terrified me. That’s when I saw his mouth. A long, horrendous smile that made every hair on my body stand up. The figure stood there, watching me. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he said it. A simple phrase, but said in a way only a mad man could speak.
"He said, ‘Go To Sleep.’ I let out a scream, that’s what sent him at me. He pulled up a knife; aiming at my heart. He jumped on top of my bed. I fought him back; I kicked, I punched, I rolled around, trying to knock him off me. That’s when my dad busted in. The man threw the knife, it went into my dad’s shoulder. The man probably would’ve finished him off, if one of the neighbors hadn’t alerted the police.
"They drove into the parking lot, and ran towards the door. The man turned and ran down the hallway. I heard a smash, like glass breaking. As I came out of my room, I saw the window that was pointing towards the back of my house was broken. I looked out it to see him vanish into the distance. I can tell you one thing, I will never forget that face. Those cold, evil eyes, and that psychotic smile. They will never leave my head."
Police are still on the look for this man. If you see anyone that fits the description in this story, please contact your local police department.
Jeff and his family had just moved into a new neighborhood. His dad had gotten a promotion at work, and they thought it would be best to live in one of those “fancy” neighborhoods. Jeff and his brother Liu couldn’t complain though. A new, better house. What was not to love? As they were getting unpacked, one of their neighbors came by.
"Hello," she said, "I’m Barbara; I live across the street from you. Well, I just wanted to introduce my self and to introduce my son." She turns around and calls her son over. "Billy, these are our new neighbors." Billy said hi and ran back to play in his yard.
"Well," said Jeff’s mom, "I’m Margaret, and this is my husband Peter, and my two sons, Jeff and Liu." They each introduced themselves, and then Barbara invited them to her son’s birthday. Jeff and his brother were about to object, when their mother said that they would love to. When Jeff and his family are done packing, Jeff went up to his mom.
"Mom, why would you invite us to some kid’s party? If you haven’t noticed, I’m not some dumb kid."
"Jeff," said his mother, "We just moved here; we should show that we want to spend time with our neighbors. Now, we’re going to that party, and that’s final." Jeff started to talk, but stopped himself, knowing that he couldn’t do anything. Whenever his mom said something, it was final. He walked up to his room and plopped down on his bed. He sat there looking at his ceiling when suddenly, he got a weird feeling. Not so much a pain, but… a weird feeling. He dismissed it as just some random feeling. He heard his mother call him down to get his stuff, and he walked down to get it.
The next day, Jeff walked down stairs to get breakfast and got ready for school. As he sat there, eating his breakfast, he once again got that feeling. This time it was stronger. It gave him a slight tugging pain, but he once again dismissed it. As he and Liu finished breakfast, they walked down to the bus stop. They sat there waiting for the bus, and then, all of a sudden, some kid on a skateboard jumped over them, only inches above their laps. They both jumped back in surprise. “Hey, what the hell?”
The kid landed and turned back to them. He kicked his skate board up and caught it with his hands. The kid seems to be about twelve; one year younger than Jeff. He wears a Aeropostale shirt and ripped blue jeans.
"Well, well, well. It looks like we got some new meat." Suddenly, two other kids appeared. One was super skinny and the other was huge. "Well, since you’re new here, I’d like to introduce ourselves, over there is Keith." Jeff and Liu looked over to the skinny kid. He had a dopey face that you would expect a sidekick to have. "And he’s Troy." They looked over at the fat kid. Talk about a tub of lard. This kid looked like he hadn’t exercised since he was crawling.
"And I," said the first kid, "am Randy. Now, for all the kids in this neighborhood there is a small price for bus fare, if you catch my drift." Liu stood up, ready to punch the lights out of the kid’s eyes when one of his friends pulled a knife on him. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, I had hoped you would be more cooperative, but it seems we must do this the hard way." The kid walked up to Liu and took his wallet out of his pocket. Jeff got that feeling again. Now, it was truly strong; a burning sensation. He stood up, but Liu gestured him to sit down. Jeff ignored him and walked up to the kid.
"Listen here you little punk, give back my bro’s wallet or else." Randy put the wallet in his pocket and pulled out his own knife.
"Oh? And what will you do?" Just as he finished the sentence, Jeff popped the kid in the nose. As Randy reached for his face, Jeff grabbed the kid’s wrist and broke it. Randy screamed and Jeff grabbed the knife from his hand. Troy and Keith rushed Jeff, but Jeff was too quick. He threw Randy to the ground. Keith lashed out at him, but Jeff ducked and stabbed him in the arm. Keith dropped his knife and fell to the ground screaming. Troy rushd him too, but Jeff didn’t even need the knife. He just punched Troy straight in the stomach and Troy went down. As he fell, he puked all over. Liu could do nothing but look in amazement at Jeff.
"Jeff how’d you?" that was all he said. They saw the bus coming and knew they’d be blamed for the whole thing. So they started running as fast as they could. As they ran, they looked back and saw the bus driver rushing over to Randy and the others. As Jeff and Liu made it to school, they didn’t dare tell what happened. All they did was sit and listen. Liu just thought of that as his brother beating up a few kids, but Jeff knew it was more. It was something, scary. As he got that feeling he felt how powerful it was, the urge to just, hurt someone. He didn’t like how it sounded, but he couldn’t help feeling happy. He felt that strange feeling go away, and stay away for the entire day of school. Even as he walked home due to the whole thing near the bus stop, and how now he probably wouldn’t be taking the bus anymore, he felt happy. When he got home his parents asked him how his day was, and he said, in a somewhat ominous voice, "It was a wonderful day." Next morning, he heard a knock at his front door. He walked down to find two police officers at the door, his mother looking back at him with an angry look.
"Jeff, these officers tell me that you attacked three kids. That it wasn’t regular fighting, and that they were stabbed. Stabbed, son!" Jeff’s gaze fell to the floor, showing his mother that it was true.
"Mom, they were the ones who pulled the knives on me and Liu."
"Son," said one of the cops," We found three kids, two stabbed, one having a bruise on his stomach, and we have witnesses proving that you fled the scene. Now, what does that tell us?" Jeff knew it was no use. He could say him and Liu had been attacked, but then there was no proof it was not them who attacked first. They couldn’t say that they weren’t fleeing, because truth be told they were. So Jeff couldn’t defend himself or Liu.
"Son, call down your brother." Jeff couldn’t do it, since it was him who beat up all the kids.
"Sir, it…it was me. I was the one who beat up the kids. Liu tried to hold me back, but he couldn’t stop me." The cop looked at his partner and they both nod.
"Well kid, looks like a year in Juvy…"
"Wait!" says Liu. They all looked up to see him holding a knife. The officers pulled their guns and locked them on Liu.
"It was me, I beat up those little punks. Have the marks to prove it." He lifted up his sleeves to reveal cuts and bruises, as if he was in a struggle.
"Son, just put the knife down," said the officer. Liu held up the knife and dropped it to the ground. He put his hands up and walked over to the cops.
"No Liu, it was me! I did it!" Jeff had tears running down his face.
"Huh, poor bro. Trying to take the blame for what I did. Well, take me away." The police led Liu out to the patrol car.
"Liu, tell them it was me! Tell them! I was the one who beat up those kids!" Jeff’s mother put her hands on his shoulders.
"Jeff please, you don’t have to lie. We know it’s Liu, you can stop." Jeff watched helplessly as the cop car speeds off with Liu inside. A few minutes later Jeff’s dad pulled into the driveway, seeing Jeff’s face and knowing something was wrong.
"Son, son what is it?" Jeff couldn’t answer. His vocal cords were strained from crying. Instead, Jeff’s mother walked his father inside to break the bad news to him as Jeff wept in the driveway. After an hour or so Jeff walked back in to the house, seeing that his parents were both shocked, sad, and disappointed. He couldn’t look at them. He couldn’t see how they thought of Liu when it was his fault. He just went to sleep, trying to get the whole thing off his mind. Two days went by, with no word from Liu at JDC. No friends to hang out with. Nothing but sadness and guilt. That is until Saturday, when Jeff is woke up by his mother, with a happy, sunshiny face.
"Jeff, it’s the day." she said as she opened up the curtains and let light flood into his room.
"What, what’s today?" asked Jeff as he stirs awake.
"Why, it’s Billy’s party." He was now fully awake.
"Mom, you’re joking, right? You don’t expect me to go to some kid’s party after…" There was a long pause.
"Jeff, we both know what happened. I think this party could be the thing that brightens up the past days. Now, get dressed." Jeff’s mother walked out of the room and downstairs to get ready herself. He fought himself to get up. He picked out a random shirt and pair of jeans and walked down stairs. He saw his mother and father all dressed up; his mother in a dress and his father in a suit. He thought, why they would ever wear such fancy clothes to a kid’s party?
"Son, is that all your going to wear?" said Jeff’s mom.
"Better than wearing too much." he said. His mother pushed down the feeling to yell at him and hid it with a smile.
"Now Jeff, we may be over-dressed, but this is how you go if you want to make an impression." said his father. Jeff grunted and went back up to his room.
"I don’t have any fancy clothes!" he yelled down stairs.
"Just pick out something." called his mother. He looked around in his closet for what he would call fancy. He found a pair of black dress pants he had for special occasions and an undershirt. He couldn’t find a shirt to go with it though. He looked around, and found only striped and patterned shirts. None of which go with dress pants. Finally he found a white hoodie and put it on.
"You’re wearing that?" they both said. His mother looked at her watch. "Oh, no time to change. Let’s just go." She said as she herded Jeff and his father out the door. They crossed the street over to Barbara and Billy’s house. They knocked on the door and at it appeared that Barbara, just like his parents, way over-dressed. As they walked inside all Jeff could see were adults, no kids.
"The kids are out in the yard. Jeff, how about you go and meet some of them?" said Barbara.
Jeff walked outside to a yard full of kids. They were running around in weird cowboy costumes and shooting each other with plastic guns. He might as well be standing in a Toys R Us. Suddenly a kid came up to him and handed him a toy gun and hat.
"Hey. Wanna pway?" he said.
"Ah, no kid. I’m way too old for this stuff." The kid looked at him with that weird puppydog face.
"Pwease?" said the kid. "Fine," said Jeff. He put on the hat and started to pretend shoot at the kids. At first he thought it was totally ridiculous, but then he started to actually have fun. It might not have been super cool, but it was the first time he had done something that took his mind off of Liu. So he played with the kids for a while, until he heard a noise. A weird rolling noise. Then it hit him. Randy, Troy, and Keith all jumped over the fence on their skateboards. Jeff dropped the fake gun and ripped off the hat. Randy looked at Jeff with a burning hatred.
"Hello, Jeff, is it?" he said. "We have some unfinished business." Jeff saw his bruised nose." I think we’re even. I beat the crap out of you, and you get my brother sent to JDC."
Randy got an angry look in his eyes. “Oh no, I don’t go for even, I go for winning. You may have kicked our asses that one day, but not today.” As he said that Randy rushed at Jeff. They both fell to the ground. Randy punched Jeff in the nose, and Jeff grabbed him by the ears and head butted him. Jeff pushed Randy off of him and both rose to their feet. Kids were screaming and parents were running out of the house. Troy and Keith both pulled guns out of their pockets.
"No one interrupts or guts will fly!" they said. Randy pulled a knife on Jeff and stabbed it into his shoulder.
Jeff screamed and fell to his knees. Randy started kicking him in the face. After three kicks Jeff grabs his foot and twists it, causing Randy to fall to the ground. Jeff stood up and walked towards the back door. Troy grabbed him.
"Need some help?" He picks Jeff up by the back of the collar and throws him through the patio door. As Jeff tries to stand he is kicked down to the ground. Randy repeatedly starts kicking Jeff, until he starts to cough up blood.
"Come on Jeff, fight me!" He picks Jeff up and throws him into the kitchen. Randy sees a bottle of vodka on the counter and smashes the glass over Jeff’s head.
"Fight!" He throws Jeff back into the living room.
"Come on Jeff, look at me!" Jeff glances up, his face riddled with blood. "I was the one who got your brother sent to JDC! And now you’re just gonna sit here and let him rot in there for a whole year! You should be ashamed!" Jeff starts to get up.
"Oh, finally! you stand and fight!" Jeff is now to his feet, blood and vodka on his face. Once again he gets that strange feeling, the one in which he hasn’t felt for a while. "Finally. He’s up!" says Randy as he runs at Jeff. That’s when it happens. Something inside Jeff snaps. His psyche is destroyed, all rational thinking is gone, all he can do, is kill. He grabs Randy and pile drives him to the ground. He gets on top of him and punches him straight in the heart. The punch causes Randy’s heart to stop. As Randy gasps for breath. Jeff hammers down on him. Punch after punch, blood gushes from Randy’s body, until he takes one final breath, and dies.
Everyone is looking at Jeff now. The parents, the crying kids, even Troy and Keith. Although they easily break from their gaze and point their guns at Jeff. Jeff see’s the guns trained on him and runs for the stairs. As he runs Troy and Keith let out fire on him, each shot missing. Jeff runs up the stairs. He hears Troy and Keith follow up behind. As they let out their final rounds of bullets Jeff ducks into the bathroom. He grabs the towel rack and rips it off the wall. Troy and Keith race in, knives ready.
Troy swings his knife at Jeff, who backs away and bangs the towel rack into Troy’s face. Troy goes down hard and now all that’s left is Keith. He is more agile than Troy though, and ducks when Jeff swings the towel rack. He dropped the knife and grabbed Jeff by the neck. He pushed him into the wall. A thing of bleach fell down on top of him from the top shelf. It burnt both of them and they both started to scream. Jeff wiped his eyes as best as he could. He pulled back the towel rack and swung it straight into Keith’s head. As he lay there, bleeding to death, he let out an ominous smile.
"What’s so funny?" asked Jeff. Keith pulled out a lighter and switched it on. "What’s funny," he said, "Is that you’re covered in bleach and alcohol." Jeff’s eyes widened as Keith threw the lighter at him. As soon as the flame made contact with him, the flames ignited the alcohol in the vodka. While the alcohol burned him, the bleach bleached his skin. Jeff let out a terrible screech as he caught on fire. He tried to roll out the fire but it was no use, the alcohol had made him a walking inferno. He ran down the hall, and fell down the stairs. Everybody started screaming as they saw Jeff, now a man on fire, drop to the ground, nearly dead. The last thing Jeff saw was his mother and the other parents trying to extinguish the flame. That’s when he passed out.
When Jeff woke he had a cast wrapped around his face. He couldn’t see anything, but he felt a cast on his shoulder, and stitches all over his body. He tried to stand up, but he realized that there was some tube in his arm, and when he tried to get up it fell out, and a nurse rushed in.
"I don’t think you can get out of bed just yet." she said as she put him back in his bed and re-inserted the tube. Jeff sat there, with no vision, no idea of what his surroundings were. Finally, after hours, he heard his mother.
"Honey, are you okay?" she asked. Jeff couldn’t answer though, his face was covered, and he was unable to speak. "Oh honey, I have great news. After all the witnesses told the police that Randy confessed of trying to attack you, they decided to let Liu go." This made Jeff almost bolt up, stopping halfway, remembering the tube coming out of his arm. "He’ll be out by tomorrow, and then you two will be able to be together again."
Jeff’s mother hugs Jeff and says her goodbyes. The next couple of weeks were those where Jeff was visited by his family. Then came the day where his bandages were to be removed. His family were all there to see it, what he would look like. As the doctors unwrapped the bandages from Jeff’s face everyone was on the edge of their seats. They waited until the last bandage holding the cover over his face was almost removed.
"Let’s hope for the best," said the doctor. He quickly pulls the cloth; letting the rest fall from Jeff’s face.
Jeff’s mother screams at the sight of his face. Liu and Jeff’s dad stare awe-struck at his face.
"What? What happened to my face?" Jeff said. He rushed out of bed and ran to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and saw the cause of the distress. His face. It…it’s horrible. His lips were burnt to a deep shade of red. His face was turned into a pure white color, and his hair singed from brown to black. He slowly put his hand to his face. It had a sort of leathery feel to it now. He looked back at his family then back at the mirror.
"Jeff," said Liu, "It’s not that bad…."
"Not that bad?" said Jeff," It’s perfect!" His family were equally surprised. Jeff started laughing uncontrollably His parents noticed that his left eye and hand were twitching.
"Uh… Jeff, are you okay?"
"Okay? I’ve never felt more happy! Ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaa, look at me. This face goes perfectly with me!" He couldn’t stop laughing. He stroked his face feeling it. Looking at it in the mirror. What caused this? Well, you may recall that when Jeff was fighting Randy something in his mind, his sanity, snapped. Now he was left as a crazy killing machine, that is, his parents didn’t know.
"Doctor," said Jeff’s mom, "Is my son… alright, you know. In the head?"
"Oh yes, this behavior is typical for patients that have taken very large amounts of pain killers. If his behavior doesn’t change in a few weeks, bring him back here, and we’ll give him a psychological test."
"Oh thank you doctor." Jeff’s mother went over to Jeff." Jeff, sweety. It’s time to go."
Jeff looks away from the mirror, his face still formed into a crazy smile. “Kay mommy, ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaa!” his mother took him by the shoulder and took him to get his clothes.
"This is what came in," said the lady at the desk. Jeff’s mom looked down to see the black dress pants and white hoodie her son wore. Now they were clean of blood and now stitched together. Jeff’s mother led him to his room and made him put his clothes on. Then they left, not knowing that this was their final day of life.
Later that night, Jeff’s mother woke to a sound coming from the bathroom. It sounded as if someone was crying. She slowly walked over to see what it was. When she looked into the bathroom she saw a horrendous sight. Jeff had taken a knife and carved a smile into his cheeks.
"Jeff, what are you doing?" asked his mother.
Jeff looked over to his mother. “I couldn’t keep smiling mommy. It hurt after awhile. Now, I can smile forever. Jeff’s mother noticed his eyes, ringed in black.
"Jeff, your eyes!" His eyes were seemingly never closing.
"I couldn’t see my face. I got tired and my eyes started to close. I burned out the eyelids so I could forever see myself; my new face." Jeff’s mother slowly started to back away, seeing that her son was going insane. "What’s wrong mommy? Aren’t I beautiful?
"Yes son," she said, "Yes you are. L-let me go get daddy, so he can see your face." She ran into the room and shook Jeff’s dad from his sleep. "Honey, get the gun we….." She stopped as she saw Jeff in the doorway, holding a knife.
"Mommy, you lied." That’s the last thing they hear as Jeff rushes them with the knife, gutting both of them.
His brother Liu woke up, startled by some noise. He didn’t hear anything else, so he just shut his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. As he was on the border of slumber, he got the strangest feeling that someone was watching him. He looked up, before Jeff’s hand covered his mouth. He slowly raised the knife ready to plunge it into Liu. Liu thrashed here and there trying to escape Jeff’s grip.
Disney built the “Treasure Island” resort in Baker’s Bay in the Bahamas. It didn’t START as a ghost town! Disney’s cruise ships would actually stop at the resort and leave tourists there to relax in luxury. This is a FACT. Look it up.
Disney blew $30,000,000 on the place… yes, Thirty Million Dollars. Then they abandoned it.
Disney blamed the shallow waters (too shallow for their ships to safely operate) and there was even blame cast on the workers, saying that since they were from the Bahamas, they were too lazy to work a regular schedule.
That’s where the factual nature of their story ends. It wasn’t because of sand, and it obviously wasn’t because “foreigners are lazy”. Both are convenient excuses.
No, I sincerely doubt those reasons were legitimate. Why don’t I buy the official story? Because of Mowgli’s Palace.
Near the beachside city of Emerald Isle in North Carolina, Disney began construction of “Mowgli’s Palace” in the late 1990s. The concept was a Jungle-themed resort with a large, you guessed it, PALACE in the center of the whole thing.
If you’re unfamiliar with the character of Mowgli, then you might better remember the story “The Jungle Book”. If you haven’t seen it anywhere else, you’d know it as the Disney cartoon from decades past.
Mowgli is an abandoned child, in the jungle, essentially raised by animals and simultaneously threatened/pursued by other animals.
Mowgli’s Palace was a controversial undertaking from the start. Disney bought up a ton of high-priced land for the project, and there was actually a scandal surrounding some of the purchases. The local Government claimed “eminent domain” on people’s homes, then turned around and sold the properties to Disney. At one point a home that had just been constructed was immediately condemned with little to no explanation.
The land grabbed by the Government was supposedly for some fictional highway project. Knowing full well what was going on, people started calling it “Mickey Mouse Highway”.
Then there was the concept art. A group of stuffed shirts from Disney Co. actually held a city meeting. They intended to sell everyone on how lucrative this project was going to be for everyone. When they showed the concept art, this gigantic Indian Palace… surrounded by JUNGLE… staffed with men and women in loincloths and tribal gear… well, suffice to say everyone flipped their shit.
We’re talking about a large Indian Palace, Jungle, and Loincloths not only in the center of a relatively wealth area, but also a somewhat “xenophobic” area of the southern USA. It was a questionable mix at that point in history.
One member of the crowd tried to storm the stage, but he was quickly subdued by security after he managed to break one of the presentation boards over his knee.
Disney took that community and essentially broke it over its knee, as well. The houses were razed, the land was cleared, and there wasn’t a damned thing anyone could do or say about it. Local TV and Newspapers were against the resort at the beginning, but some insane connection between Disney’s media holdings and the local venues came into play and their opinions turned on a dime.
So anyway, Treasure Island, the Bahamas. Disney sunk those millions in and then split. The same thing happened with Mowgli’s Palace.
Construction was complete. Visitors actually stayed at the resort. The surrounding communities were flooded with traffic and the usual annoyances associated with an influx of lost and irate tourists.
Then it all just stopped.
Disney shut it down and nobody knew what the Hell to think. But they were pretty happy about it. Disney’s loss was pretty hilarious and wonderful to a large group of folks who didn’t want this in the first place.
I honestly didn’t give the place another thought since hearing it closed over a decade ago. I live maybe four hours from Emerald Isle, so really I only heard the rumblings and didn’t experience any of it first-hand.
Then I read this article from someone who had explored the Treasure Island resort and posted a whole blog about all the crazy shit he found there. Stuff just… left behind. Things smashed, defaced, probably ruined by the disgruntled former employees who had lost their jobs.
Hell, the locals from all around probably had a hand in wrecking that place. People there felt just as angry about Treasure Island as folks here did about Mowgli’s Palace.
Plus there were rumors that Disney had released their aquarium “stock” into the local waters when they closed… including sharks.
Who wouldn’t want to take a few swings at some merchandise after that?
Well, what I’m getting at is that this blog about Treasure Island got me thinking. Even though many years had passed since its closing, I figured it might be cool to do some “Urban Exploration” at Mowgli’s Palace. Take some photos, write about my experience, and probably see if there was anything I could take home as a memento.
I’m not going to say I wasted no time in getting there, because honestly it took me another year after I first found that Treasure Island article to get around to going up to Emerald Isle.
Over the course of that year, I did a lot of research on the Palace resort… or rather, I tried to.
Naturally, no official Disney site or resource made any mention of the place. That had been scrubbed clean.
Even odder, however, was that nobody before myself had apparently thought to blog about the place or even post a photo. None of the local TV or Newspaper sites had one word about the place, though that was to be expected since they had all swung Disney’s way. They wouldn’t be out there lauding their embarrassment, you know?
Recently, I learned that corporations can actually ask Google, for example, to remove links from search results… basically for no good reason. Looking back, it’s probably not that nobody spoke of the resort, but rather their words were made inaccessible.
So in the end I could barely find the place. All I had to go on was an old-as-hell map I’d received in the mail back in the 90s. It was a promotional item sent out to people who had recently been to Disney world, and I guess since I had been there in the late 80s, that was “recent”.
I didn’t really intend to hang onto it. It just got shoved in with my books and comics from my childhood. I’d only remembered it months into my research, and even then it took me another few weeks to locate the storage bin my parents had shoved it all into.
But I DID find it. Locals were no help, as most were transplants who had moved to the beach in recent years… or old residents who just sneered at me and made rude gestures the second I managed to say “Where would I find Mowgli’s—-“
The drive took me through an inordinately long corridor of overgrowth. Tropical plants that had run rampant and overpopulated the area mixed with the native species of flora that actually BELONGED there and had tried to reclaim the land.
I was in awe when I reached the front gates of the resort. Tremendous, monolithic wooden gates whose supports to either side looked like they must’ve been cut from giant sequoias. The gate itself had been gouged in several places by woodpeckers and eaten away at the base by burrowing insects.
Hanging on the gate was a sheet of metal, some random scrap, with hand-painted letters scrawled in black. “ABANDONED BY DISNEY”. Clearly the handiwork of some past local or an employee who wanted to make some small protest.
The gates were open enough to walk through, but not drive, so grabbing my digital camera and the map, whose flip-side showed a layout of the resort, I set off on foot.
The inner grounds of the place were just as overgrown as the entryway. Palm tree stood untended and ragged among piles of their own coconuts. Banana plants similarly stood in their own stinking, bug-riddled refuse. There was this sort of clash between order and chaos, as carefully planted rows of perennial flowers mixed with obnoxious tall weeds and stinking, blackened mushrooms.
All that remained of any outdoor structures were broken, rotting wood and various charred bits of unidentifiable material. What was most likely an information booth or an outdoor bar was now simply a pile of assorted debris chopped up by past vandalism and ravaged by weather.
The most interesting thing on the grounds was a statue of Baloo, the friendly bear from the Jungle Book, which stood in a sort of courtyard in front of the main building. He was frozen in a jovial wave toward no one, staring into empty space with a silly, toothy grin as bird shit covered whole swaths of his “fur” and vines ensnared his platform.
I approached the main building - the PALACE - only to find the outside of the building covered in graffiti where the original paint hadn’t peeled and chipped away. The front doors weren’t just open, they had been taken off their hinges and were stolen.
Above the front doors, or the gaping maw where they had been, someone had once again painted “ABANDONED BY DISNEY”.
I wish I could tell you about all the awesome stuff I saw inside the Palace. Forgotten statues, abandoned cash registers, a full-fledged secret society of homeless bums… but no.
The inside of the building was so stark, so bare, that I actually think people had stolen the molding off the walls. Anything that was too big to steal… counters, desks, giant fake trees… they were all resting amid this empty echo chamber that amplified my every step like a slow rat-a-tat of a machine gun.
I checked the floorplan and headed to all the locations that might seem in any way interesting. The kitchen was as you’d imagine… an industrial food prep area with all the appliances and space, no expenses spared. Every glass surface was broken, every door knocked off its hinges, every metal surface kicked and dented. The entire place smelled like very old piss.
The huge freezer, not even remotely cool now, had row upon row of empty shelf space. Hooks hung from the ceiling, probably for hanging cuts of meat, and as I stood inside for a moment, I noticed they were swinging.
Each hook swung in a random direction, but their movements were so slow and small that it was almost impossible to see. I figured it had been caused by my footsteps, so I stopped one from swinging by clutching it in my fist, then carefully letting go, but within seconds it started to swing once more.
The bathrooms were in much the same state as the rest of the place. Just like the Treasure Island resort, someone had methodically smashed each porcelain commode with coconuts and other implements. There was about a half inch of rancid, stinking stagnant water on the floor, so I didn’t stay there very long.
What’s odd is that the toilets and the sinks (and the bidets in the ladies’ room, yes I went there) all dripped, leaked, or just ran freely. It seemed to me that they should’ve shut the water off long, LONG ago.
There were plenty of rooms in the resort, but naturally I didn’t have time to look through them all. The few I did peer into were similarly wrecked, and I didn’t expect to find anything there. I thought there was actually a television or radio in one room, as I really think I heard a quiet conversation coming out.
Though it was like a whisper, probably my own breathing echoing in the silence, or just another case of the sound of flowing water playing tricks on the mind, this is what it sounded like…
1: “I didn’t believe it.”
2: (short, unknown reply)
1: “I didn’t know that. I didn’t know that.”
2: “Your father told you.”
1: (unknown reply, or possibly just weeping.)
I know, I know, that sounds ridiculous. I’m just telling you what I experienced, why I thought there might’ve been something running in that room - or worse, some vagrants who had holed up there and probably would’ve knifed me.
At the front doors of the Palace again, I figured I hadn’t found anything of note and had wasted the trip up.
As I looked out the door, I noticed something interesting in the courtyard that I had apparently missed. Something that would give me at least ONE thing to show for all my trouble, even if it was just a photograph.
There as a lifelike statue of a python, maybe eighty feet long, coiled up and “sunning” itself on a pedestal right in the center of the area. It was almost time for the sun to start setting, so the light fell onto the object in the PERFECT way for a photograph.
I approached the python and snapped a photo. Then I stood on my toes and snapped another. I moved closer again to get the detail of its face.
Slowly, casually, the python lifted its head, looked directly into my eyes, turned, and slithered off the pedestal, across the grass, and into the trees.
All eighty feet of it. Its head long disappeared into the woods before its tail even left the sunning spot.
Disney had released all their exotic animals onto the grounds. Right there on my floorplan map was the “Reptile House”. I should have known. I’d read about the sharks at Treasure Isle, and I should have KNOWN they’d done this.
I was dumbfounded, just utterly stupefied. My mouth must’ve been hanging open for the longest time before I came back down to Earth and snapped it shut. I blinked a few times and backed away from where the snake had been, back toward the Palace.
Even though it was totally gone, I still wasn’t taking any chances and backed my way into the building.
It took a few deep breaths and slaps to my own face to get myself right in the head again after that.
I looked for a place to sit down, as my legs were feeling a bit like jelly at this point. Of course, there WAS no place to sit down unless I wanted to recline in the broken glass and dead leaf carpet or haul myself up onto a desk of questionably reliability.
I had seen some stairs near the Palace’s lobby and decided to go have a seat there until I felt better.
The staircase was far enough away from the front of the building to be relatively clean, save for a startling accumulation of dust. I pulled a wedge of metal off the wall, once again painted with the “ABANDONED BY DISNEY” motto I’d become accustomed to. I placed the wedge on the stairs and sat on it to keep at least somewhat clean.
The stairway led downward, below ground level. Using my camera flash as a sort of improvised flashlight, I could see that the stair case ended in a metal mesh door with a padlock. A sign on the door… a REAL sign… read “MASCOTS ONLY! THANK YOU!”.
This perked up my spirits a little bit, for two reasons. One, a Mascots-Only area would have definitely had some interesting stuff back in the day… Two, the padlock was still in place. Nobody had gone down there. Not the vandals, not the looters, nobody.
This was the one place I could actually “explore” and perhaps find something interesting to photograph or wantonly steal. I had come to the Palace essentially agreeing with myself that it was okay to take anything I wanted because - hey - “abandoned”.
It didn’t take much to bust the lock. Well, actually that’s wrong. It didn’t take much to bust the metal plate on the wall that the padlock was hooked to. Time and decay had done most of the work for me, and I was able to bend the metal plate enough to pull the screws out of the wall - something nobody else had apparently thought of, or hadn’t been able to do at the time.
The Mascots-Only area was a startling and very welcomed change from the rest of the building I’d seen. For one, every second or third fluorescent light overhead was illuminated, even though they flickered and faded randomly. Also, nothing had been stolen or broken, even if age and exposure were definately taking their toll.
Tables had note pads and pens, there were clocks… even a punch-in clock on the wall complete with filled-out time cards. Chairs were scattered around and there was even a small break room with an old, static-filled television and long rotted-out food and drink on the counters.
It was like one of those post-apocalypse movies where everything is left in the state of evacuation.
As I walked the maze-like sub-basement hallways of the Mascots-Only area, the sights just became more and more interesting. As I went further, desks and tables were knocked over, papers scattered and almost melded with the damp floor, and a large carpet of mold was slowly overtaking the real rotting crimson floor-covering.
Everything was just sort of “squishy”. Anything wood disintegrated into mush when I applied even the least amount of force, and clothing items hanging on hooks in one of the rooms simply fell to moist threads if I tried to unhook them.
One thing that annoyed me was that the light was becoming more sparse and unreliable as I went further into the dank, suffocating depths of the place.
Eventually, I reached a black and yellow striped door with the words “CHARACTER PREP 1” stenciled on it.
The door wouldn’t open at first. I figured this was probably where the costumes were kept, and I definately wanted a photograph of that twisted, stinking mess. Try as I might, whatever angle or trick I tried, the door wouldn’t budge.
That is, until I gave up and started to walk away. That was when there was a slight popping sound and the door creaked open slowly.
Inside, the room was completely dark. Pitch black. I used the camera flash to look for a light switch in the wall buy the door, but there was nothing.
As I made my search, I was jarred out of my sense of excitement by a loud electrical buzz. Rows of lights overhead suddenly flashed to life, flickering and fading in and out like the rest I had passed.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust, and it seemed like the light was going to just keep getting brighter until all the bulbs exploded… but just when I thought it would reach that critical stage, the lights dimmed a bit and steadied.
The room was exactly as I had pictured it. Various Disney costumes hung on the walls, fully put together like strange cartoon cadavers hung from invisible nooses.
There was an entire rack of loincloths and “native” clothes on hangers toward the back.
What I found odd, and what I wanted to photograph right away, was a Mickey Mouse costume at the center of the room. Unlike the other costumes, it was lying on its back in the center of the floor like a murder victim. The fur on the costume was rotten and shedding, creating bare patches.
What was even odder, however, was the coloring of the costume. It was like a photo negative of the actual Mickey Mouse. Black where he should be white and white where he should be black. His normally red overalls were light blue.
The sight was off-putting enough that I actually put off photographing the thing until last.
I took a picture of the costumes hanging on the walls. Upward angles, downward angles, side shots to show an entire row of frozen, putrid cartoon faces, some with plastic eyes missing.
Then I decided to stage a shot. Just one of the bedraggled character heads on the slick, grimy floor.
I reached for the headpiece of a Donald Duck costume and carefully removed it so the thing wouldn’t fall apart in my hands.
As I looked into the face of the wide-eyed, moldering head, a loud clattering sound made me jump with fright.
I looked down at my feet, and there between my shoes was a human skull. It had fallen out of the mascot head and shattered into pieces at me feet; only the empty face and lower jaw remained, staring up at me.
I dropped the Duck head immediately, as you’d expect, and moved for the door. As I stood in the doorway, I looked back to the skull on the floor.
I had to take a picture of it, you know? I HAD to, for any number of reasons that may seem silly, but only if you don’t think it through.
I’d need proof of what happened, especially if Disney was going to somehow make this go away. I had no doubt in my mind, right from the start, that even if it was just gross negligence, Disney was RESPONSIBLE for this.
That’s when Mickey, that photo negative, opposite-Mickey in the middle of the floor, started to get up. First sitting up, then climbing to its feet, the Mickey Mouse costume… or whoever was inside of it, stood there at the center of the room, its fake face just starting directly at me as I mumbled “No…” over and over and over…
With shaking hands, a violently thrashing heart, and legs that had once again turned to jelly, I managed to lift the camera and aim it at the opposite creature now quietly sizing me up.
The digital camera’s screen displayed only dead pixels in the shape of the thing. It was a perfect silhouette of the Mickey costume. As the camera moved in my unsteady hands, the dead pixels spread, marring the screen wherever Mickey’s outline moved to.
Then the camera died. Went blank and quiet and… broken.
I raised my eyes once again to the Mickey Mouse costume.
“Hey,” it said in a hushed, perverted, but perfectly executed Mickey Mouse voice, “Wanna see my head come off?”
It started to pull at its own head, working its clumsy, glove-clad fingers around its neck with clawing, impatient movements similar to a wounded man trying to pull himself free of a predator’s jaws…
As it worked its digits into its neck… so much blood…
So much thick, chunky, yellow blood…
I turned away as I heard a sickening tearing of cloth and flesh… only cared about getting away. Above the doorway out of this room, I saw the final message clawed into the metal with bone or fingernails…
“ABANDONED BY GOD”
I never got the pictures out of the camera. I never wrote the blog entry about it. After I ran from that place, fled for my sanity if not my very life, I knew why Disney didn’t want anyone to know about this place.
During a wedding reception of a young couple the guests decided on a drunken game of hide and seek. It was decided that the groom was “it” and he eventually found everyone but his new bride. Eventually the man became furious and decided it wasn’t funny anymore and left her there. As weeks went by he accepted that she’d had second thoughts and went on with her life so he did the same.
A few years later a cleaning lady dusted off an old trunk in the attic of the building where the reception had taken place, out of curiosity she opened it. Inside the trunk was the rotted body of the missing bride who’d apparently became locked in the trunk she’d hid in. Whether she’d suffocated or starved was unknown, but her face was frozen in a scream and there were huge scratches in the inside of the trunk where she had tried to get back to the man she loved.
There is a video on YouTube named Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv. If you search this, you will find nothing. The few times you find something, all you will see is a 20 second video of a man staring intently at you, expressionless, then grinning for the last 2 seconds. The background is undefined. This is only part of the actual video. The full video lasts 2 minutes, and was removed by YouTube after 153 people who viewed the video gouged out their eyes and mailed them to YouTube’s main office in San Bruno. Said people had also committed suicide in various ways. It is not yet known how they managed to mail their eyes after gouging them out. And the cryptic inscription they carve on their forearms has not yet been deciphered. YouTube will periodically put up the first 20 seconds of the video to quell suspicions, so that people will not go look for the real thing and upload it.
The video itself was only viewed by one YouTube staff member, who started screaming after 45 seconds. This man is under constant sedatives and is apparently unable to recall what he saw. The other people who were in the same room as him while he viewed it and turned off the video for him say that all they could hear was a high pitched drilling sound. None of them dared look at the screen. The person who uploaded the video was never found, the IP address being non-existant. And the man on the video has never been identified.
In an American airport a strange looking young couple arrived to travel to Las Vegas. The couple carried some baggage and a baby swaddled tightly in a blanket. The young couple went trough the security without a problem with the woman holding the baby very close to her body.
Once the plane had boarded, the couple took their seats and waited for the airplane to take off with the rest of the passengers. When they were in the air a hostess came to ask if the baby needed anything but the couple refused and said everything would be alright.
From that moment the hostess was a little suspicious and she watched the couple during the flight. She noticed the couple didn’t feed the baby, the baby didn’t cry even once or make any sound at all.
When the plane landed, the police were waiting for the couple at the airport. The hostess had alerted the authorities. The police searched the couple and found that the baby was dead, it’s organs had been removed and the body was packed full of illegal drugs.
Last year I spent six months participating in what I was told was a psychological experiment. I found an ad in my local paper looking for imaginative people looking to make good money, and since it was the only ad that week that I was remotely qualified for, I gave them a call and we arranged an interview.
They told me that all I would have to do is stay in a room, alone, with sensors attached to my head to read my brain activity, and while I was there I would visualize a double of myself. They called it my "tulpa".
It seemed easy enough, and I agreed to do it as soon as they told me how much I would be paid. And the next day, I began. They brought me to a simple room and gave me a bed, then attached sensors to my head and hooked them into a little black box on the table beside me. They talked me through the process of visualizing my double again, and explained that if I got bored or restless, instead of moving around, I should visualize my double moving around, or try to interact with him, and so on. The idea was to keep him with me the entire time I was in the room.
I had trouble with it for the first few days. It was more controlled than any sort of daydreaming I'd done before. I'd imagine my double for a few minutes, then grow distracted. But by the fourth day, I could manage to keep him "present" for the entire six hours. They told me I was doing very well.
The second week, they gave me a different room, with wall-mounted speakers. They told me they wanted to see if I could still keep the Tulpa with me in spite of distracting stimuli. The music was discordant, ugly and unsettling, and it made the process a little more difficult, but I managed nonetheless. The next week they played even more unsettling music, punctuated with shrieks, feedback loops, what sounded like an old school modem dialing up, and guttural voices speaking some foreign language. I just laughed it off - I was a pro by then.
After about a month, I started to get bored. To liven things up, I started interacting with my doppelganger. We'd have conversations, or play rock-paper-scissors, or I'd imagine him juggling, or break-dancing, or whatever caught my fancy. I asked the researchers if my foolishness would adversely affect their study, but they encouraged me.
So we played, and communicated, and that was fun for a while. And then it got a little strange. I was telling him about my first date one day, and he corrected me. I'd said my date was wearing a yellow top, and he told me it was a green one. I thought about it for a second, and realized he was right. It creeped me out, and after my shift that day, I talked to the researchers about it. "You're using the thought-form to access your subconscious," they explained. "You knew on some level that you were wrong, and you subconsciously corrected yourself."
What had been creepy was suddenly cool. I was talking to my subconscious! It took some practice, but I found that I could question my Tulpa and access all sorts of memories. I could make it quote whole pages of books I'd read once, years before, or things I was taught and immediately forgot in high school. It was awesome.
That was around the time I started "calling up" my double outside of the research center. Not often at first, but I was so used to imagining him by now that it almost seemed odd to not see him. So whenever I was bored, I'd visualize my double. Eventually I started doing it almost all the time. It was amusing to take him along like an invisible friend. I imagined him when I was hanging out with friends, or visiting my mom, I even brought him along on a date once. I didn't need to speak aloud to him, so I was able to carry out conversations with him and no one was the wiser.
I know that sounds strange, but it was fun. Not only was he a walking repository of everything I knew and everything I had forgotten, he also seemed more in touch with me than I did at times. He had an uncanny grasp of the minutiae of body language that I didn't even realize I was picking up on. For example, I'd thought the date I brought him along on was going badly, but he pointed out how she was laughing a little too hard at my jokes, and leaning towards me as I spoke, and a bunch of other subtle clues I wasn't consciously picking up on. I listened, and let's just say that that date went very well.
By the time I'd been at the research center for four months, he was with me constantly. The researchers approached me one day after my shift, and asked me if I'd stopped visualizing him. I denied it, and they seemed pleased. I silently asked my double if he knew what prompted that, but he just shrugged it off. So did I.
I withdrew a little from the world at that point. I was having trouble relating to people. It seemed to me that they were so confused and unsure of themselves, while I had a manifestation of myself to confer with. It made socializing awkward. Nobody else seemed aware of the reasons behind their actions, why some things made them mad and others made them laugh. They didn't know what moved them. But I did - or at least, I could ask myself and get an answer.
A friend confronted me one evening. He pounded at the door until I answered it, and came in fuming and swearing up a storm. "You haven't answered when I called you in fucking weeks, you dick!" he yelled. "What's your fucking problem?"
I was about to apologize to him, and probably would have offered to hit the bars with him that night, but my Tulpa grew suddenly furious. "Hit him," it said, and before I knew what I was doing, I had. I heard his nose break. He fell to the floor and came up swinging, and we beat each other up and down my apartment.
I was more furious then than I have ever been, and I was not merciful. I knocked him to the ground and gave him two savage kicks to the ribs, and that was when he fled, hunched over and sobbing.
The police were by a few minutes later, but I told them that he had been the instigator, and since he wasn't around to refute me, they let me off with a warning. My Tulpa was grinning the entire time. We spent the night crowing about my victory and sneering over how badly I'd beaten my friend.
It wasn't until the next morning, when I was checking out my black eye and cut lip in the mirror, that I remembered what had set me off. My double was the one who'd grown furious, not me. I'd been feeling guilty and a little ashamed, but he'd goaded me into a vicious fight with a concerned friend. He was present, of course, and knew my thoughts. "You don't need him anymore. You don't need anyone else," he told me, and I felt my skin crawl.
I explained all this to the researchers who employed me, but they just laughed it off. "You can't be scared of something that you're imagining," one told me. My double stood beside him, and nodded his head, then smirked at me.
I tried to take their words to heart, but over the next few days I found myself growing more and more anxious around my Tulpa, and it seemed that he was changing. He looked taller, and more menacing. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I saw malice in his constant smile. No job was worth losing my mind over, I decided. If he was out of control, I'd put him down. I was so used to him at that point that visualizing him was an automatic process, so I started trying my damnedest to not visualize him. It took a few days, but it started to work somewhat. I could get rid of him for hours at a time. But every time he came back, he seemed worse. His skin seemed ashen, his teeth more pointed. He hissed and gibbered and threatened and swore. The discordant music I'd been listening to for months seemed to accompany him everywhere. Even when I was at home - I'd relax and slip up, no longer concentrating on not seeing him, and there he'd be, and that howling noise with him.
I was still visiting the research center and spending my six hours there. I needed the money, and I thought they weren't aware that I was now actively not visualizing my Tulpa. I was wrong. After my shift one day, about five and a half months in, two impressively men grabbed and restrained me, and someone in a lab coat jabbed a hypodermic needle into me.
I woke up from my stupor back in the room, strapped into the bed, music blaring, with my doppelganger standing over me cackling. He hardly looked human anymore. His features were twisted. His eyes were sunken in their sockets and filmed over like a corpse's. He was much taller than me, but hunched over. His hands were twisted, and the fingernails were like talons. He was, in short, fucking terrifying. I tried to will him away, but I just couldn't seem to concentrate. He giggled, and tapped the IV in my arm. I thrashed in my restraints as best I could, but could hardly move at all.
"They're pumping you full of the good shit, I think. How's the mind? All fuzzy?" He leaned closer and closer as he spoke. I gagged; his breath smelt like spoiled meat. I tried to focus, but couldn't banish him.
The next few weeks were terrible. Every so often, someone in a doctor's coat would come in and inject me with something, or force-feed me a pill. They kept me dizzy and unfocused, and sometimes left me hallucinating or delusional. My thoughtform was still present, constantly mocking. He interacted with, or perhaps caused, my delusions. I hallucinated that my mother was there, scolding me, and then he cut her throat and her blood showered me. It was so real that I could taste it.
The doctors never spoke to me. I begged at times, screamed, hurled invectives, demanded answers. They never spoke to me. They may have talked to my Tulpa, my personal monster. I'm not sure. I was so doped and confused that it may have just been more delusion, but I remember them talking with him. I grew convinced that he was the real one, and I was the thoughtform. He encouraged that line of thought at times, mocked me at others.
Another thing that I pray was a delusion: he could touch me. More than that, he could hurt me. He'd poke and prod at me if he felt I wasn't paying enough attention to him. Once he grabbed my testicles and squeezed until I told him I loved him. Another time, he slashed my forearm with one of his talons. I still have a scar - most days I can convince myself that I injured myself, and just hallucinated that he was responsible. Most days.
Then one day, while he was telling me a story about how he was going to gut everyone I loved, starting with my sister, he paused. A querulous look crossed his face, and reached out and touched my head. Like my mother used to when I was feverish. He stayed still for a long moment, and then smiled. "All thoughts are creative," he told me. Then he walked out the door.
Three hours later, I was given an injection, and passed out. I awoke unrestrained. Shaking, I made my way to the door and found it unlocked. I walked out into the empty hallway, and then ran. I stumbled more than once, but I made it down the stairs and out into the lot behind the building. There, I collapsed, weeping like a child. I knew I had to keep moving, but I couldn't manage it.
I got home eventually - I don't remember how. I locked the door, and shoved a dresser against it, took a long shower, and slept for a day and a half. Nobody came for me in the night, and nobody came the next day, or the one after that. It was over. I'd spent a week locked in that room, but it had felt like a century. I'd withdrawn so much from my life beforehand that nobody had even known I was missing.
The police didn't find anything. The research center was empty when they searched it. The paper trail fell apart. The names I'd given them were aliases. Even the money I'd received was apparently untraceable.
I recovered as much as one can. I don't leave the house much, and I have panic attacks when I do. I cry a lot. I don't sleep much, and my nightmares are terrible. It's over, I tell myself. I survived. I use the concentration those bastards taught me to convince myself. It works, sometimes.
Not today, though. Three days ago, I got a phone call from my mother. There's been a tragedy. My sister's the latest victim in a spree of killings, the police say. The perpetrator mugs his victims, then guts them.
The funeral was this afternoon. It was as lovely a service as a funeral can be, I suppose. I was a little distracted, though. All I could hear was music coming from somewhere distant. Discordant, unsettling stuff, that sounds like feedback, and shrieking, and a modem dialing up. I hear it still - a little louder now.
I accidentally deleted my main blog which had everything attached to it. PERFECT. I emailed tumblr staff, as you know, a huge company of their status, you’d figure they might be able to help a sistah out? Nay, that isn’t the case.
I’m trying to determine wether I should restart my spooky blog or not. What say you tumblr users?
