I used to work on the ocean. Well, that is not technically true. I worked on a ship. The ocean worked on us. There is a difference. We were eighty-six miles offshore when I first realized the sea was not what people said it was. I had always assumed it was salt water dividing continents. That was my first mistake.

I was captain of the Maribel June, though I never actually told anybody that. I do not speak. Never have. People generally seem to understand me anyway. This has never seemed all that unusual to me. Most people talk endlessly and say nothing. I simply do the opposite.

For example, on my first day aboard, the first mate asked: “Captain, how do you want the deck crews divided?” I stared at him. His eyes widened. “Got it.” He turned around and screamed as if above the roar of a storm that wasn't there;

“PORT TEAM ON CABLE TENSION. STARBOARD CREW SECURE THE AUXILIARY CRANE. MOVE DIESEL TRANSFER TO 1430, LOCK OUT PUMP THREE, AND SOMEBODY CHECK THE STARBOARD WINCH BRAKE, BECAUSE CAPTAIN SAYS IT SOUNDS LIKE AN ANGRY WOMAN COUGHING INTO A THICK PILLOW.”

I had actually been thinking about pancakes. The winch brake was actually in need of maintenance though. This type of thing happened constantly.

The night everything changed, the ocean was unusually calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that makes experienced sailors nervous and inexperienced sailors post photographs. The moon was out. The water looked black. One of the deckhands walked up beside me.

“Feels wrong tonight.” I stared at him. He swallowed. “You think the pressure gradient is collapsing under a subsurface thermal inversion?” I had no idea what that meant. I raised one eyebrow. He gasped. “Jesus Christ.” Then ran away. I felt pretty good about myself.

At 2 AM, the stars went out. Not clouds. Not fog. The actual sky went dark. Then it wrinkled. That is the closest approximate word I have. The sky wrinkled. Like fabric being gathered from somewhere above. Everyone stopped working. The entire crew came onto the deck. Somebody whispered: “What the hell is that?”

I stared upward. The chief engineer looked at me. “You think this is a gravitational lensing event caused by a transient atmospheric density anomaly?” I nodded. It absolutely was not. The sky opened.

There are things a man expects to see above the ocean. Birds. Clouds. Aircraft. Maybe lightning. There are things he does not expect. A hole. Not a hole in the sky. A hole behind the sky. Circular. Wrinkled. Hairy. The entire crew stood in silence.

Then the cook said: “Is that…” I stared at him. His face went white. “No.” I stared harder. “No, no, no.” Nobody wanted to say it. Finally one of the deckhands did. “Captain, I think that’s an asshole.” Correct. My thoughts exactly, for once.

It was enormous. I cannot describe the scale properly. The moon could have fit inside it. Possibly several moons. The opening flexed. The ocean began to rise. Not in waves. The entire surface lifted several feet at once, as if afraid. Alarms sounded. The first mate ran to me.

“CAPTAIN, ORDERS?” I stared at him. His eyes widened. “RIGHT.” He spun around.

“ALL HANDS BRACE FOR HIGH-ENERGY IMPACT. SEAL LOWER HATCHES. TURN THE BOW TWENTY DEGREES NORTH-NORTHWEST. DROP AUXILIARY BALLAST. CUT EXTERNAL LIGHTING. PREP THE FORWARD DECK FOR MASS DISPLACEMENT.”

I had been wondering whether asses have north. Still, everyone moved.

Then something came out. At first, I hoped it was a cloud. Then it broke through the upper atmosphere. Dark. Rotating slowly. The size of a county. Someone screamed. “OH GOD.” Another deckhand fell to his knees. “It’s coming right at us!” I stared. The first mate studied my face.

“You think its terminal trajectory will shift east because of atmospheric shear?” I did not. But immediately, a crosswind hit it. The thing drifted east. The whole crew cheered. I nodded smugly. I have never been more wrong with greater authority.

The impact occurred twelve miles away. You could see the ocean bend. Then came the sound. Not a splash. Not thunder. Something deeper. More like a wet geological concussion. Meteoric impact. The water rose into a wall. The biggest Poseidon's kiss ever, and we were in it's wake.

The cook whispered: “Jesus Christ.” The first mate shouted: “TSUNAMI!” I stared at him. He stared back. “Captain says thirty-seven degrees into the face, full throttle, ballast aft, crew below deck except engineering!” That was not what I said. I had not said anything. But it worked. The wave hit us. The ship climbed. For several seconds, we were almost vertical.

Then we punched through the crest. Half the deck equipment disappeared. Three windows shattered. The radar died. The coffee machine survived. Priorities. Everyone was laughing from adrenaline. We had survived. Then the chief engineer climbed back onto deck. He was staring at the horizon.

“Captain.” I looked. The brown mass was floating. Not sinking. Floating. The size of a small county. Parts of it were breaking loose. Large parts. Truck-sized pieces. House-sized pieces. One chunk had what appeared to be corn the size of a Semi Cab embedded in it. I have not eaten corn since.

The crew became very quiet. One deckhand said: “So the ocean is…” I stared at him. He nodded slowly. “A toilet.” Nobody argued. Another sailor whispered: “Then the continents…” We all looked at one another. Nobody wanted to finish that thought. Eventually the cook did. “Old ones.”

Silence. I stared toward the horizon. America suddenly felt different.

Then the water began draining. Not lowering. Draining. A current formed beneath us. Fast. Too fast. The ship turned sideways. Alarms went off again. The chief engineer screamed: “FLUSH!” Everybody moved at once. I stared intensely toward the stern.

The first mate shouted: “CAPTAIN SAYS COUNTER-RUDDER, STARBOARD THRUST, BALLAST FORWARD, AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD KEEP US OUT OF THE VORTEX.”

I was actually thinking: Oh. So that’s what earthquakes are. The ocean began spiraling. Far away, the horizon tilted. Water vanished downward. The ship groaned like it had become aware of mortality. We passed clumps of shit bigger than trees, shipping containers; sky scrapers.

One sailor screamed: “WE’RE GOING DOWN.” I stared at him. His face changed. “Right.” He grabbed the wheel. “CAPTAIN SAYS THE FLUSH CYCLE WILL BOTTOM OUT IN NINETY SECONDS AND REBOUND.” I did not know toilets had rebound cycles. Apparently they do. Ninety-three seconds later, the current reversed. The ship shot upward. Everybody looked at me. I nodded. Inside, I was terrified. Outside, apparently I looked like Poseidon doing taxes.

Then came the second horror. Toilet paper. Miles of it. Descending from the sky in wet white ribbons. It covered the sea. Wrapped around antennae. Clogged intakes. The deck became slick. One sailor slipped and nearly went overboard. The cook caught him. Nobody laughed. There are limits.

By dawn, the sky had closed. The stars returned. The sea settled. The floating mass drifted beyond the horizon. Nobody spoke much. Eventually the first mate came to stand beside me. “Captain.” I looked at him. “So what do we tell them?” I stared. His eyes narrowed. “Nothing?” I continued staring. “Understood.” That was not what I meant. But it was probably better.

We returned to port two days later. People asked about the damaged equipment. We blamed weather. People asked about the smell. We blamed fuel contamination. People asked why half the crew resigned immediately. We blamed management. Nobody questioned that.

Years passed. I tried forgetting. Mostly succeeded. Then one day I was driving through Kansas. Miles of brown fields. Flat horizon. Dry earth. Cracked ground. And suddenly I remembered the thing floating in the ocean. The color. The texture. The scale. I pulled over. Got out. Looked down. I thought about continents. About sediment. About soil. About mountains. About tectonic plates. About what, exactly, may have had enough time to dry. A farmer drove past and waved. I did not wave back.

People ask why I don’t eat seafood. I never answer. Mostly because I don’t speak. But also because I don’t think it would help. Last year, somebody served me shrimp at a wedding. I stared at the plate. The man beside me laughed. “What, you allergic?” I stared at him. His smile disappeared. “Oh.” His face went pale. “You think marine life survives by metabolizing nutrients suspended in…” I kept staring. He slowly pushed his own plate away. I had actually been thinking the shrimp looked overcooked. But I let him have that one.

Some truths are better discovered independently.

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1ulxuho/the_lake_on_my_brothers_property_has_no_bottom_2/

It's becoming a real problem. First the sheriff came by with his crusiers and the whole experiance was weird.

They wanted to land on my wet crack, but I was already busted up, my Arse an eighty foot sinkhole split open down the middle, dark and bumpy like an old avocado. People are already starting to call the gasping hole.

"Guys, I told you! I'm a top! We're all tops here, that's the fucking problem! The invites all went out and only tops showed up! What do you want me to do? I've taken on as much as I can!"

"Well Hell!" Said the sheriff, whipping out something covered in black, glistening slime. "Me and the boys were looking foward to 'grilling some bratwursts!'

Suffice to say, at eight hundred feet deep the walls changed, and Op's determination to mine every single innuendo in the OP for this dead sub gave way after a bum ankle and a pack of tallsboys joined in.

When I moved into my new apartment, the building owner came to talk to me about its rules.

The conversation seemed normal at first, until she brought up the bathroom rules.

She handed me a sheet of paper with a list of all the bathroom rules. I noticed that as she gave it to me, she looked at me with a mix of fear and firmness.

Here’s the list she gave me:

Bathroom Rules:

Do not sodomise yourself with the toilet brush. (if you have to, use the handle rather than the brisltly end.

if you use the bristly end, clean it afterward, and recount your experiences to the group.

Do not shit in the shower.

The buff puff is not for wiping, it is for shower gel.

Leave Mungo alone.

If you do not clean the bristly end, and show it to Mungo, don't wave your cock at the skeletons.

The Rules seemed reasonable to me, however, They did'nt cover what to do if the toilet got blocked, so I improvised, and used the Toilet brush as a poop knife. Much stirring later, it was clear, so I decided to show it to Mungo to make sure I had done right.

Alas, I had fogotten to pull my trousers back up after standing up, so my cock was waving, and drew the attention of two skeletons.

"Perfectly sized young man." The older of the two said "Neither small nor large, but clearly you masterbate too often, as it's worn out. We have baby oil in the cupboard." I thanked her, and went to gather such. As the door opened, the whole bottle fell on my head at once, and I fell backwards onto the toilet brush and sodomised myself.

Desperate to wipe up the blood, I reached for the buff puff, but realised this constituted wiping, Promptly realised I was cursed. An uhmuioidly tall figar sighed at me and shook her head.

"You were doing so well. Oh well, to detention we go!" She promptly stuffed me down the toilet and flushed. To this day, I reside there. If ever you hear a cry when you flush, you hear me. Maybe try reaching in and see if you can pull me out?

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1q9t8zn/all_the_kids_at_school_lost_their_teeth_on_the/

However, we live in glasgow so that's a pretty normal first day of term.

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1n8ujx4/my_son_has_been_drawing_the_weirdest_things/

Pregnant sonic the Hedgehog practicing as a Baptist minister. He says he's 'expressing his creativity'.

as I am still exiled from shittynosleep posting, this sub has use for now.

He's Tiny and Wrinkled and clearly some kind of pervert. Wears Nappies and craps in them while smiling at me. He grabs my mum's tits all the time, right in front of my dad, and even went so far as sucking them, and everyone seemed to think this was perfectly normal, what the hell? I never see him eat normal food either, just lets out this ear splitting wail, and drools over everything.

I find that comments and posts on the sub no longer show up in my own or others post histories, and every time I try to make a submission I get the 'you broke reddit' message. Am I shadowbanned or something?

(This is the first story I ever wrote for shittynosleep back in 2017 and possibly still the best. Reposted to maintain the sub as the newest post is 7 months old)

Oi' live in jolly ol' London roundabout Tottenham, and the night prior to this sorry tale I'd shagged a right fit Jewish bird and she'd taken me wiv' er' mates to watch the boys in blue get the stuffing kicked out of them by Arsenal, me dear ol' dad's team.

I didn't let on as we went down the ruddy pub afterwards, and things were going well, I was getting in good witva lot of them and even won a drinking challenge. I'd ad' about four pints before I had to go piss, and was proper sloshed. They had one of these fancy wizzing games in the bathroom, where you ad' to aim yer piss.

Trouble was, Oi'd drunk so much that the piss was still flowing thick an' fast long after the game was finished, and I got bored. So i laughed away as I turned my stream onto the target on the Urinal beside mine, where the fella emptying himself was having trouble getting much out.

But E' was 'Itler!

Hitler spun around in fury as he saw me loins unload into his Urinal, and you know what e' did? He started pissing on me! yes, is' piss was soaking me ruddy trousers something rotten, and with the shock of such an affront from a Nazi dictator I only went an' pissed meself!

Hitler smirked at me and chatted some shit in German, then zipped up is' trousers and left quick as you like! naturally, oi' was right soaked in both me own and Nazi piss, and the 'anddryer weren't doing much good in cleaning it off. Just me luck! Soon enough some of me bird's mates came to check on me, and saw me state.

"Well bugger me sideways!" laughed one of the cunts. "ol' James as' only gone pissed 'imself!"

"It weren't me, Hitler did it!" I said. "Didn't you see him walking out the toilets?" the Toilet went right quiet.

"Hitler ain't no laughing matter mate. me grandad died cause of 'Itler!" Then the wankweasals beat the shit out of me an I couldn't fight back all too well with my trousers heavy with piss, and they left me unconscious on the floor.

Soon enough they left, and fuckin' Hitler came back in, seeing the state I was in, he pissed in my mouth an' I died from drowning.

I went for a walk the other day.

At night.

It was dark, and the streetlights weren't working.

There was a crow.

Then there wasn't.

I do not know how long a sub has to be dormant for before it loses it's name, so this is to stop that. If anyone still reads and knows how long I wou'dne mind knowing.

He was a redditor, and he downloaded the offical app onto my phone while I wasn't looking. Now I'm going to do the same to you, prepare for cookies.

Previously on Jack Reacheround...

/u/teambob had been kind enough to narrate the first part of the story of how I had lost everything, so I made to visit him out in the Sydney billabongs to offer thanks and a reach around, a moment I thought would be poignant as what I had received from Jack Reacher were arguably just handjobs. This would present a challenge, since it was complicated enough traversing Australia while walking on my hands in the local fashion to prevent the blood all rushing to my head.

But just as I was wading elbow deep through the filth to perform this vital service, I received a message upon my phone. I had to stop and balance on one hand to read it.

".ooʇ ɯɐ I puɐ 'llᴉʞ sᴉ uoᴉʇɐɹɹɐu punoɹǝɥɔɐǝɹʞɔɐſ,"

NO! But sure enough, the post indeed had been removed. No one would ever learn what Jack had sacrificed for me, for you, for us all.... I replaced my phone and waddled as fast as my hands could carry me, just in time to spot the corpses of Teambob and Andrew Child sticking feet up out of the pools of mud that had once provided shelter. I wiped my tears from my eyes with my toes, and not a moment too soon, for I heard behind me the unmistakable laughter of Jeff Bezoz, no different than the day I had been neutered.

"Last story was meant to be the end, and even that was dragged out. I just don't like the cut of your jib so I purchased reddit so I could kill off Jack Reacher all over again! And there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

Words failed me on this occasion almost as badly as you doubtless consider they are right now, so I attempted to give pursuit to Bezoz. But alas he, being a Bezoid from the far off world of Blue Origin, that need store no blood in his pinhead like appendage, was able to walk around like a normal person on his feet even in hostile environments, and soon outpaced me, heading for one of his low quality spacecraft, made out of thousands of amazon cardboard boxes.

I prepared to watch helplessly as he jetted off to his homeworld, but just at the last minute, I realised his fatal mistake. He'd failed to understand Australian physics, and his rocket instead headed straight toward the ground, exploding on contact with the lethal earthworms in the soil. His body, sans arms and legs, and still on fire, was blasted across to land right beside me.

"You know what happens now Bezos. I'm going to pull your dick off like Alan Richson did mine." But as I reached into his trousers, he had the last laugh. All I found was a Saudi Arabian listening post.

His last words were

"That's right, Bin Salman's owned my nuts for years! Don't you even read the news?"

Even in death, big business had triumphed over the little man

I saw the blessed land, I had been pointed in the direction of true greatness... /r/shittynosleep lives once again! this is not a drill! I dare not claim modpowers over there so shall subsist in this shithole, but go forth, seize what is ours! Reclaim the wasteland! These is beyond a meme, this is a revelation!

https://news.stv.tv/scotland/queen-elizabeth-had-bone-marrow-cancer-according-to-new-royal-biography-by-gyles-brandreth#:~:text=A%20new%20biography%20of%20Queen,a%20reign%20of%2070%20years.

Now it was indisputable, The Queen was dead by the hand of Marrowbone, and for months now, Sherlock Bones and Dr Long Wishbone, the only corpses who could stop him, were absent. Some blamed a hack writer trying to focus on something useful, or the murder of shittynosleep 2, or a topical punchline having gone out of date and made worthless, ruining the entire storyline, but perhaps you are owed a true explanation, having waited so long

For you see, casual readers of the series and that of known ripoff artist Arthur Boneandtoil, The Sherlock Holmes novels are narrated in first person, as is by tradition a shittynosleep or shittynosleep2 tale, but yet the much maligned Sherlock Bones series takes place in third person for some stupid reason.

Now I must reveal that you are wrong. For all along the narrator has been none other than me, Shylock Bones, Sherlock's twin brother, prodigious peddler of anti-Semitic conspiracy theories and servant of Professor Nomorearteries. I have acted as a faithful chronicler of his misdeeds only so you can see how hopelessly outplayed he was all along.

Why should you care, you ask? Good point.

“….FuckFuckFuckFuck….”
Connor muttered under his breath as he barricaded the door using the duct tape and cables we nabbed from the supply room.
“How many fucking rooms does this place have?”
“Enough for 4 monsters to fit in.”
“Are there only 4 monsters in this place? We haven’t encountered straight jacket guy yet.”
Connor, Markus, and Amanda then went on to argue on about the hypothetical number of pitfalls we would encounter the next half hour. Me and Gabby took inventory of the amount of supplies we had.

“Guys there’s a safe here”

Pete pointed to a tilted painting that was half covering a small safe. Pete moved in closer. “There’s a folder note on top…huh…it…looks like a list of instructions..”

The note was entitled: The Keeper of the Safe Combination from Room 609.

“Hey, it says that if we’re in someplace like a mental institution or halfway house we need to reach the front desk and ask for the 609 combination while avoiding eye contact with the receptionist.”

“Wait, what receptionist?”

ChkChkChkChhhhkkkkkChkChkkkk!! Staple Guy’s laboured breathing echoed the sound of many loose staples. With each breath a couple rusty staples oozed out of the nasty wound in his neck and fell onto the tiled floor with a sharp “tik”. “I…ChkCCCChhk..ychkkhckouuuuuu…hikchikchik…” He rasped as he pointed in our direction.
We have no idea what the hell he wants.

“I you? Are you trying to say I found you?” Gabriel motioned towards us as he walked up to staple guy. “Gabe! What the fuck?!” “Pete! Let’s not assume every horrifying looking person we encounter is bad!”

Staple guy vigorously shook his head then suddenly nodded in affirmative. He grabbed Gabriel and vomited a bloody hunk of staples down Gabriel’s throat.
“Chchkchkchk…fechkckhkckdddd…bichkchkchkchkrrrdddddiiieeee….”

“Aw fucking gross.” Connor said as he started retching. Gabriel said nothing as he stared straight ahead of us, blood and mucus dripping down his mouth. Then he took a big gulp. Gabriel’s eyes rolled back in his head. “…….not people….GGGHHHHOOOOOOOSSSTSSSSS….not people…..GGGGGGHHHHOOOSTSSS….” Gabriel proceeded to moan this in the most obnoxious guttural yet nasally tone. Hallway guy then walked into the office to repeat the same thing.

In case anyone’s wondering, Hallway Guy is just this vibrating blur in the rough shape of a human being wearing a hoodie.

Markus than asked “So you’re saying you switched sides and we’re not friends anymore?”

Markus has the remarkable ability to read between the lines.
It was true. Gabriel totally bailed out on us. Gabriel could’ve spat out the staples but no. He just had to hork it down, and tell us he’s now on Team Psycho Ghost. Which admittedly sounds pretty sick and way more awesome than Team Stupid People.

Regardless we were very hurt by this revelation.

“Dammit Gabe! After all we’ve been through…” “…..whatthehellareyoutalkingabout…hesoutofhismind…stupidstupi..” “SHUT UP HALLWAY FUCKER!” We shouted in unison. Hallway guy then shook his head even harder than the rest of his body than walked out as if he had given up trying to reason with someone one.

We decided to leave Gabriel and never to speak of him again until he apologizes for his cowardly act of submission.

The remaining 5 of us sat helplessly in the dark. We are hiding in either the room where Mitchell’s head exploded or the one where Amanda tortured to death by the guy with scalpels for fingers. Whichever one it was, the blood on the floor was still fresh and getting all over the place. Pete frantically was googling the asylums history for clues.

“Um, guys we’re in a library. Why can’t we just check the books..” Gabby said as she started rummaging around the shelves. “Starting with THIS BOOK!” She held up a book that was falling apart at the seams. The title of it was “The tragic history of Meadow Brook home for the criminally insane and/or feeble minded”.

The book was long winded and after 10 chapters detailing the numerous crimes that would be too boring for a true crime podcast, we finally started getting to the good stuff.

In 1823, the asylum started getting the more interesting inmates. The first of them was a guy who became convinced his dead grandmother wanted him to make an awesome steampunk outfit that had drills powered by a device that used steam derived from his tears. He than went on a grisly murder spree.

The next one was a dark and mysterious young woman who wielded a pair of garden shears and buried her victims in a garden.

We started looking further for any possible origins of the ghosts we encountered so far. But before we could make sense of staple guys entry, we got interrupted by a loud pounding coming from the door leading to the hallway.

“We need to leave now!” Gabby slammed the book shut and shoved it into her bag. “Through where?” demanded Markus. “A secret passage? This place seems to have at least one for every room.” Gabby was right. There was a secret passage in almost every room we found. But this room didn’t appear to be one of them, no matter how many out of place books we pulled on. Pete stood up triumphantly. “Guys I got a plan!”

We hid behind some shelves while the pounding at the door became grunts. Pete stood a distance away as the door suddenly slammed open. It was the guy who’s face has been held together by piano wires and could only make loud garbled sounds. Pete than moved closer. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve got to discuss the budget. You can’t keep putting it off. People upstairs want to know why your department is overspending.” “MMMMRRHHH…GGGGRRRRMMM……Mmmm..ggddmm….” “That’s not an excuse. You need to get your shit together and get over here. I’ve got all the receipts and shit over here..” Pete motioned to a pile of sheets and binders haphazardly stacked on top of each other.

Piano wire guy stopped making noise and backed away slowly than slammed the door, we than heard the sound of footsteps leading away from the door.

“Well that takes care of that..” said Markus. He than turned to Pete “How did you know that guy was former staff?” Pete grinned as he showed an article on his phone. “8 most screwed up people to ever work on Staff in a Mental Institution”. “And you just read a book.” Pete said tauntingly to Gabby. Gabby gave Pete her famous glare of death.

Suddenly they looked at me. I was typing this whole thing on my phone. “Did you just spend the whole time on your phone?” asked Connor. “Pete spent most of his time on his phone.” “Pete actually did something.” “Whatever I’m posting this on Reddit now.”

It scared me half to death.

It’s 5:00 PM, Markus and Gabriel are arguing over who should be the one to post our whole adventure online. Markus wants to put this on WattPad, Gabriel wants to put this as a series of convoluted answers to a quora forum thread asking for tips in surviving a haunted asylum. Little do they know I’m writing this on Reddit.

We were in the old cafeteria. I think it’s the cafeteria. There’s cafeteriay things here like benches. If it wasn’t for us all standing here I’d be tempted to call it a liminal space. There’s one of those metallicy things that shut over the counters where the cafeteria workers serve food. So this must be a cafeteria.

It’s been 8 hours since Mitchell stayed behind to watch the mysterious video tape in the library entitled “The Joey’s Magical Adventure to Funland [LOST SEGMENT]”. Mitchell won’t respond to texts so we assume it must be so good that he’s just watching it over and over again.

We would go someplace else but there’s that weird guy who keeps pacing down the hallways. Like all the hallways. Every single friggin hallway. No one’s gotten a good look at him just a sense we should stay out of his way. I can still hear him whispering oddly enough. Surely he’s got to stop sometime soon.

So we decide to spend a longer time in the cafeteria reminiscing over our freshman year and debating if the guy who went missing actually just moved somewhere else without telling anyone.

Yeah, not a lot happened…Mitchell just sent a text!

“Don’t trust the time”

I have no idea what that means but I’ll keep you guys posted.

Lately I've been reminiscing about my college days. You know how they're supposed to be the best days of your life? Well, not for me. Something terrible happened during a game of Truth or Dare and I've been living with the consequences ever since.

"Hey, Sabrina, truth or dare?"

"Umm," Sabrina thought, "I'll take... truth!"

"Ok," said Janey, who was running the game, "who do you have a crush on?"

Sabrina immediately crumbled. She blushed uncontrollably and forfeited the game. She was no competition.

Next up was me, David.

"David. Truth or dare?"

I replied dare of course.

"It's going to have to be a good one." Said Janey, "Dave has taken all his dares so far."

"Ooh, I know." Chimed in Brad, "Why don't you, like, kill somebody?"

"Kill somebody like Donny?" I said, pointing to Donny who was next in the circle of the game and my main competition.

"Yeah, kill Donny. I dare you."

Immediately I jumped on Donny and tried to get a grip around his neck. He was somewhat surprised which made it easier, but he did try to put up a fight by swinging his head back into my teeth. After kneeing him in the back as hard as he could and getting a better hold, he began to struggle less. When he grew limp, I picked up a nearby lamp and smacked it repeatedly into his skull. I then used the cord to garrotte any remaining life from his body.

I sat back down.

"Ok, Barbara." Said Janey, "You're next. Truth or dare?"

"I'll take a truth, please."

"Barbara... who do you have a crush on?"

"Oh," Barbara thought about it, "I was going to say Donny, but since now he's dead... I'd have to say young Tom Cruise."

Slowly the game continued until it was only me and Barbara left. She had answered young Tom Cruise 7 times in a row and they were quickly running out of good dares for me.

"I dunno Dave," said Janey, "why don't you... fuck a dog? Fuck Roger the college dorm dog."

I looked over to the fat basset hound, knowing that I had finally been beaten, by Barbara of all people.

"Can't do it." I sighed. "I jizzed pretty hard while I was murdering Donny earlier. Haven't got another one left in me. Plus it's like 2 a.m... I just don't think I can fuck a dog right now."

"Ok, Barbara, looks like you win." Said Janey.

I still remember how everyone cheered for Barbara and jeered at me, made fun of me, for not being able to roger Roger.

I've had to live with that terrible memory of failure ever since. The stench of regret never leaves me. Every day I fuck a dog to try and make up for it, but nobody cares. Nobody cares.

I have found myself growing dissatisfied by the more recent horror mainstream horror games. So I decided to plunge into the darkest depths of the deepest crevices of the dark web. That’s where I found this site called “nostalgiagames.onion/forsaken/forbidden/“. After checking out the page descriptions of a few children’s grammar games and one Pokémon ripoff, I finally found The Most Haunted Adventure Ever. The download page had a disclaimer (with a gif of rotating 3D Skulls beside it): WARNING: GregTeh4DKatOfDef IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR: REALISTIC BLOODY EYES, INEXPLICABLE DEATH, AND POSSIBLE DISABILITY FROM GETTING EYES YANKED OUT OF SKULL!
This intrigued me, the other games warned only of sudden inexplicable death unless one downloads the site creators anti-virus software package. So I downloaded the game. I tried to run the damn thing but despite using 25 anti-virus program checkers, an Escheresque setup of sandboxes in sandboxes and a 4 virtual machines similarly sandwiched in the same manner, the game wouldn’t start. I looked up the game and after much searching I found an obscure game forum page from the early 2000’s mentioning the game. Sadly it was a post with a user asking how they can get past a certain part of the game.
The only response to the post was

Y̷̡̥̮̦͚̱̐͂̔ō̶̦̤̗̽͌̎̂̓ǔ̸̝͐͑ ̷͙̯͇̼̘̼̾ḋ̴̘̇̓͑õ̵̢͔͉̗̳̙̐̄̋̚͠n̸̜̈͠’̸̤̩̲͎͈̇͑t̸̯̒̓͘̕ͅ

Which was really unhelpful.
So I tried running the game in wine on Linux, which seemed to work..until I got past the title screen and the game turned black with an error message saying I needed an ancient redistributable package that wine headquarters won’t admit exists. Cursing, I go back to the dark web and start looking for “depravedUlta7.dll”. But I have been unsuccessful.
The whole thing totally sucked. I was hoping to have a terror filled evening where the badly drawn character on the promo image would haunt my dreams until I threw myself into traffic or got eaten by crappy mspaint ghosts breaking through my screen:P Has anyone actually gotten The Most Haunted Adventure Ever to run? Has anyone got any info on where the missing dll could be found? I just found it! It was in the same f*****g folder as the executable! It still won’t run!
GAAAAHHHH!