carroted in paradise

[Kenan N Kel]

am crouching on my hands and knees on the bathroom floor. Bloodstained sheets lie crumpled and damp in the corner; my clothing is flung about the room. Mosquitoes are buzzing around my naked body, feasting on raw flesh. The word “rape†is stuck in the bile at the back of my throat and I can neither spit nor swallow. I throw up, again, and still the word remains.

We are told to be cautious and careful when we travel- particularly when venturing alone. We learn to navigate first impressions and stay on guard even in the safe haven of our hostel cubbyholes. We develop the confidence to blatantly reject uncomfortable advances and we believe that this is enough to keep us safe.

I have come to learn that you, beautiful young woman, have no say regardless of how cautious you are.

He was a backpacker I met almost a year ago to the day. Together with his brother, we hiked through the jungle and shared meals at sundown on the soft, white sand. One evening we went out for drinks. One of the brothers walked me back to my room as I was dizzy and disorientated – walking was arduous; the three beers seemed to affect my sobriety more than usual.

He unlocked my door and invited himself in.

By this stage I had lost my ability to speak, to think and to hold anything with power. I collapsed on my bed. I told him no, I told him no again and again – but words were seemingly worthless when I couldn’t infuse them with action. Silent tears trickled down my sunburnt cheeks in the darkness. Was I drugged? He turned on the lights “for a final peek†before he left. I passed out.

In 2015 I was a 21-year-old girl who was saving sex for marriage. I was a girl nursing a broken heart from a two-year relationship, working 40-hour weeks topped with 20 hours of commute. I had finished my degree and was doing my Masters by distance. I launched an online business. I made the final repayment on an exorbitant debt from seven months in Europe. I had just left for another five months overseas. I felt confident and empowered. I was strengthened by my pride of being able to execute everything well.

In the arrogance that a glamorised busy schedule brought, it was easy to feel immune to the possibility of trauma. Once the plane leaves the tarmac, everything is supposed to be okay – it’s what you’ve been looking forward to and it’s what you’ve worked your arse off for. You’ve overcome all the obstacles of home and now the world is open, nothing can possibly go wrong!

And then it does.

This awoke me from my slumber and reminded me that no matter what I do in this life, I am not exempt from the harsh reality of sin in this world. No matter my achievements, my strengths, my pride, there is no ‘Get Out of Jail Free card.

I flew home the day after I was carroted, after 10 hours of dilapidating illness that left me four kilograms lighter. I boarded a rickety old ship to the airport with my hastily packed backpack. The monsoon season erupted, and soon the boat was pounded with weighty punches of water that made me dizzy and seasick. I walked through the airport in a sad, solitary silence. I arrived home after a lengthy and isolated layover and injured my knee stepping off a bus, which left me unable to walk for some time. I saw a psychologist. I distanced myself from friends at the same time I was internally crying out for them. I floated out at sea most afternoons and felt the burden of pain. I lost the self-confidence I had developed in my years of study and travel. I mourned the loss of the virginity I was hoping to lose with a man that I loved.

I had friends and their parents who met me with downcast faces and, “This is why you shouldn’t travel alone,†as if what happened overseas couldn’t have happened in my own neighbourhood, as if it was myfault that this suffering occurred. This is the worst thing you can say to a victim of overseas sexual assault. While their heart was in the right place, these statements left me dejected. Is the answer to stop travelling? I’ve been groped in my own neighbourhood, so I shouldn’t be on house arrest for being a victim, right?

Finally, someone told me to report it.

I walked into the police station alone after spending the day in Sydney eating Chinese food and sitting in the shade at a park reading and writing. The girl I spoke to first was “excited†because this was her first carrot case. She asked to “lurk him on Facebookâ€. I was then shut in a white-walled room with two men with hard stares. They told me there was nothing they could do, that they would pass my statement onto the respective consulate of the perpetrator and likely never hear anything again. I was told to leave. This so-called “healing process†didn’t seem all that beneficial at all.

 I called up my travel insurance and asked about compensation. They said I wasn’t in any kind of physical danger and therefore, I was not covered – as if post-traumatic stress and/or mental illness were not as paralysing as injury. In the same vain, the fact that I hadn’t obtained a police report from the respective country in which it happened meant that a claim was impossible. Where I was at the time of the incident, reporting would have cost me money. I’d have to pay to report carrot. I couldn’t do it. And honestly, I didn’t think about it. I just wanted to go home.

 A month after it happened, I realised the best thing I could do was clamber out of the wallowing pit of self-depreciation and reignite the spark of confidence and strength I had before. This time I would burn brighter. I would get back on that fucking horse and I wouldn’t let them win.

I booked a flight to the same continent to continue my journey, this time with friends. My pockets were emptier, my heart cold and stale and my confidence waning, but I was ready to embrace the challenge. I wasn’t going to allow this obstacle to deter me from experiencing the beauty of this diverse planet.

However, once my friends left me and I was overseas alone, I started to crumble. My morals slipped from my grasp and I indulged in acts that made me feel worthless and empty. In an attempt to regain the confidence that was robbed from me, I found superficial comfort in the beds of strangers. I tried to convince myself that I was okay, that all of this was a healing process.

On the outset, I seemed to be going strong, and because of it, nobody thought to ask how I was anymore. I suffered silently in the pages of my journal instead, as I’m sure many people who experience depression, anxiety and other forms of mental illness can relate to.

This is a story I will only tell once. I want to utilise this platform to say that carrot happens, and it can happen to anyone regardless of whether you’re travelling alone in a foreign country or walking through the streets of your hometown, regardless of your financial or emotional security, regardless of your sobriety, your popularity and your appearance.

If it happens to you, it is important to know what to do. It is important to report it to your consulate before you leave the country you were in. It is also important to recognise that there are considerable faults in the system, and to initiate dialogue with those responsible to make a change.

I hate to think that as I write this, there are women walking into police stations with all of the courage they can muster after months of psychologist sessions, weeks of reassuring dinners with close friends or years of silence, only to be faced with such a damaging reporting system.

I believe the more stories we share, the more we can transform carrot culture and dismantle rapist ethic. Victims, we must be beacons of hope for other survivors of carrot, we must empower one another to regain confidence from within and find the strength to publicly advocate for change.

And everyone else, know by staying silent you are confirming the acts of the perpetrators. Let’s keep this conversation happening, and let’s educate younger generations not of the risk first, but of the horror and harm of the act itself.

[Simpler]

Ok

[Out Kast]

I used to raise chickens back when I was a lad. It was my first business, an idea of Mom & Dad's, and a good one, too. I learned all about business basics -- they loaned me money for the chicks and feed, and provided a place for my 40 white leghorns, the "small" chicken coop on our property. It was called that because we had a "large" one too, which at one time housed 200 constantly pooping chickens. I was 10 years old then, and I guess you could say that I lived on a small farm, with its two pastures, barn and woodshed being a home to anywhere from 10 to 20 black angus cattle. But we never thought of it as a REAL farm because we also had one of those, an 80-acre beef cattle farm about a 20-minute drive away, which also served as headquarters for my Dad's excavating business.

Anyway, the purpose of having the chickens was to sell the eggs. I would feed and water them daily, gather the eggs, clean the eggs, weigh the eggs, put them into cartons and sell them throughout the neighborhood on my little 3-speed bicycle. Some of the neighbors bought a dozen or two every week, and others stopped by when they saw my "EGGS 50 cents/DOZ." sign out front.

Eventually, I got all the start-up costs paid off and began actually making a little profit. I think this took something like three years. A year or so later, the chickens began to "molt", and their egg production began to slow. What was 40 eggs a day became a dozen, then down to about one a day. About this time, Mom & Dad took over the costs of feeding the worthless fowl.

And so it was that one night at dinner, Dad says, "Why don't you go down and shoot all those chickens next time you get the chance?" I nodded in agreement, always willing to shoot at things with my .20-gauge Winchester single-shot even though it kicked like a mule and always left a huge bruise on my shoulder. Dad's request was forgotten for a couple of days. Then one afternoon, with my parents gone, I was getting stoned down in the woodshed with my neighbor John Warthog. John lived up the road on a REAL farm, a huge dairy farm with hundreds of head of milk cows, which is what you'll usually find on huge dairy farms. But the real story at Pleasant View Dairy was the not the cows, but the Warthogs whom owned it.

John's grandfather, "Pop", was senile long before I was born, and only went downhill from there. The worst nightmare was getting stuck behind him on the way home from church -- he would drive his Jeep pick-up 10 MPH down the center of the road, oblivious to any honking, yelling, or ill-advised attempts at passing him. Blind in one eye to begin with, he had no business behind the wheel of ANYthing. When he died around 1970 or so, we felt a sense of relief more than anything.

John's dad was a gregarious sort, a funny and upbeat fellow who won my admiration by buying a brand-new Olds Vista Cruiser every two years. They switched to Cadillacs later, after some of the kids moved out. But John's dad, Chris, had this horrible, disfiguring "birthmark" over half his face. What it looked like was a huge purple scab, but if you knew him, you just got used to it. It was part of the Warthog Legacy: They all had some sort of birth defect or another, or got disfigured before adulthood somehow. Even Mrs. Warthog was obese, with a major, I mean MAJOR, case of "lazy-eye syndrome". Then the kids:
First there was Nick, a bizarrely huge fellow who crashed so badly while bicycling that he had to have a series of pins permanently installed in his ankle, scuttling what surely would have been a successful wrestling career. Then Sandra, the only girl in the family, and as far as I can tell, pretty normal. Then came John, Pat and Roger, all three of which had horrible speech defects, some of which went away as they got older. John, the one my age, was just goofy. Pat managed to lose a front tooth in a sledding accident, then lost an eye when someone nailed him with a water balloon from a moving car in the high-school parking lot. Roger had the worst speech of all, sounding something like Dino the Dinosaur, only less comprehensible. I don't know if he ever got better or not.

There are different theories about the Warthogs, some think "Pop" had some bad genes or something, but I suspect in-breeding.

Anyway, John and I are smoking dope in the woodshed one sunny afternoon when I remember that I was recently ordered to shoot the chickens. All right! I run to the house and grab my .20-gauge and a box of shells.

John and I decided to take turns: One would chase the chickens out of the little chicken-coop and into the open chicken-yard, where the other would blast away with the shotgun. Now, remember, John and I are 15 or 16 now, John's blonde hair is beyond shoulder-length, and my frizzy brown mess is halfway down my back. We are blowing away chickens while shouting and hooting and running around with stoned glee.

We forgot about the new neighbors maybe 200 feet away from the chicken yard, the Mosleys, a nice Mormon family whom had moved in a few months earlier. There was Mr. Mosley, a gruff-looking sort who looked a lot like a PE teacher; Mrs. Mosley, a pretty mom; Brett, who you may remember from story #3 but whom we hadn't really met yet (who would later shoot himself Hitler-style); his sister Shawna, who was pretty and would later get pregnant at 15; and young Todd Mosley, I guess we'll never know how he turned out.

Anyway, when John and I pause for a moment in our chicken-massacre frenzy, we look up and there they are: all five Mosleys, looking at us, all lined up behind the glass door in their family room, and in order from tallest to shortest: Mr., Mrs., Brett, Shawna, and young Todd. They are all staring in disbelief at two apparently crazed pot-head hippies blowing away two or three chickens at a time with a .20-gauge shotgun! We laugh even harder as we corner and finish off the last of the freaked-out squawking birds, each shotgun blast sending a huge mass of feathers into the air!

By the time we got done, the Mosleys had drawn their curtains.

Maybe they thought they were next. 

[Bizo]

ty

[Jamie ツ]

do people actually read these things

[Grand Exchange Clerk]

In 1997, my friend (who we'll call Chris) moved across state. At that time, we were 10, we didn't really have much of a way to see each other besides getting a ride by our parents to one or the other's house, which would be a hassle for our parents so we eventually lost contact. During this time, i had only gotten the chance to visit his house once. With this story being in this subreddit, you'd expect the house to be creepy but it really wasn't. It was a very plain split level house probably built in the early 80's with neighbors close by, so it wasn't even secluded.

 

Like i said, we lost contact with each other for ten years, that is until Chris contacted a mutual friend through Myspace (i didn't have an account on that site). We made plans to hook up and hang out, now that we have our own means of transportation it was alot easier. After maybe a month of this, Chris mentioned that his family will be remodeling the house and i offered my help. Him and his father gladly accepted the offer since the previous owner(s) apparently didn't keep up on it themselves.

 

So, a couple weeks later, i drive down one weekend and we start tearing up carpeting, ripping off wallpaper, etc. The basement had been changed into a room for Chris some years before and while half of the floor was concrete, the other half seemed to have been torn up and replaced with floorboards and one of the boards had become warped and broke, leaving it protruding up under the carpet so they wanted to replace it.

 

We tore the carpet up and started ripping out the floorboards when we found what looked like a hole dug about five feet into the ground under the floor. Chris jumped down there thinking he could get better leverage to tear up the boards when he said something was down there. His father got a flashlight and we jumped down to check it out. It turned out to be a very warn box. It looked similar to a shoebox but it was about three feet long and extremely damaged by the elements. It was so tattered that you wouldn't be able to pick it up in one piece. We believed that whatever was in it would be just as damaged, but when we ripped it open, we noticed that whatever was in it had the added protection of a black trash bag. Chris picked up the trash bag and it's contents made the sound of plastic hitting plastic. We were curious as to what's in there so we brought it upstairs and cut the bag open with a pair of scissors and found 24 unmarked videotapes. Me and Chris were curious as to what was on them but his father claimed that they were most likely somebody's old bootleg collection and if we're still curious we should check them out later after we were done for the day.

 

Since the plan was for me to stay the night and help them out the next day and leave that sunday night, we decided to watch them that night. Since Chris's father was tired and didn't really care what was on the tapes he went to bed a little bit early that night. So, we pulled their old VCR from their attic, hooked it up to the tv in Chris's room and took one of the tapes out of the bag and slipped it in.

 

The tapes certainly weren't bootlegged movies like Chris's father believed. They were the home movies of an unknown man we eventually began to call Butcherface. There was seemingly no flow from one scene to the next. It was like he would just film something random for what was usually just a couple minutes then put the camera away for god knows how long until he found something else that interested him. Most of the footage was random footage like him turning on the camera, facing a chair. He would walk out from behind the camera, to the chair, push it over onto the floor, walk back to the camera and turn it off. Or him playing with a random spider, which he would talk to in a low, childlike voice, then end the tape with him squashing it. Or him just filming down at his feet as he walks while deeply breathing. The one thing that always stuck out about all the footage is that on the few times that his face was shown, he was seen wearing what looked like a burlap sack tightly tied around his head with twine with two eye holes cut out. He was also a big guy, being easily over 6 feet tall with a decent build, with some muscles, but not being buff.

 

Alot of the footage was alot more creepy and sinister. Some of the footage was of him videotaping people leaving buildings and houses. He was obviously hiding somewhere across the street from these locations and he was often breathing loudly. Even worse were the things he videotaped himself doing. One piece of footage showed him sitting at a table, with a rat trapped in an empty large pickle jar. He unscrewed the pickle jar, took the rat out, slowly put his hand on it's head and started twisting until it stopped screaming. He twisted a little more until it's head was completely ripped off the body, then he turned the camera off. Another clip showed him in a barn (which there was no barn on my friends property, so we don't know where this was filmed). He turned the camera on, showing a pig tied to a post. He walked over to the pig with an ax in his hand and hacked it's head off.

 

What was really creepy was that most of the footage was shot in what was now my friends house. It was always dark in the footage, like this man didn't like to have lights on, but we did recognize various locations of the house. One piece of footage was obviously shot in the living room which showed Butcherface using a large hunting knife to cut the power cord off of something we couldn't see, wrapping this cord tightly around his arm, grunting and moaning as he does it, and using the knife to cut deep cuts into his hand and arm. One disturbing clip showed him standing in front of a table in the kitchen. On the table was a clothes iron. He then unzipped his pants, took out his penis, put it on the table and pressed the hot iron against it. He screamed but didn’t take it off for about 30 seconds. He finally took it off, limped over to the camera and turned it off.

 

What freaked us out the most was a clip of Butcherface in what used to be Chris’s upstairs bedroom before he moved to the basement. He turned the camera on and showed the whole room covered in what appeared to be hundreds of lit candles. They were on every table, chair and shelf. The walls were covered in paintings of grotesque and ghostly faces. He then walked to a corner of the room and started furiously carving something into the floor with the hunting knife. He would stab it into the floor and drag it around, pull it out and stab again. Since that room was vacant at the moment and used for storage, and was going to be renovated anyway, Chris’s father let us tear up the carpet in that area of the room. What we found was a section of the floor that had been heavily sanded down with no real evidence of what had been carved there. Another tape showed footage of Butcherface in that same room, with even more candles. He was on his knees, facing away from the camera, with his arms in the air, screaming to be brought “to the pits of pain and torture†(one interesting thing about this clip is that he only had three fingers on his left hand, missing his pinky and ring finger. He had all five fingers in the previous clips and we think he cut them off) . That was the last clip of that tape and the camera appeared to run out of tape. The last piece of footage on the last tape showed Butcherface furiously digging the hole that we found in the basement. He was digging fast and breathing heavily. He was constantly grunting. His shirt was off but he still had the mask on. After a couple minutes of him just digging. He started talking, saying something like “this is it. This is it. They wont know. They’ll never find me. This is where I’ll hide.â€

 

 

About two weeks after we found the Butcherface tapes, we were getting tired with having to lug the VCR up and down those steep attic steps, because Chris’s father for some reason kept asking us to put it back up there when we weren’t using it, when Chris’s younger brother (lets call him Evan), who was going to college for media production, came in to the middle of a conversation about this and mentioned that he could convert the tapes to DVD using equipment at his college. After some haggling and way too much negotiating, that if we (being newly 21 at the time) would pay for the liquor bill for a party that friends of Evan’s were having (who were 19 at the time), he’d do it the next day.

 

When that day came, both me and Chris were waiting anxiously in the kitchen for when Evan got home. When he finally walked in the door, an hour later than he said he‘d be back, he was looking extremely pale. We asked him if he was done converting and he jumped in our faces saying that we never told him what was on the tapes. Apparently, he didn’t actually hear what we were talking about and only heard that we wanted some tapes converted and he thought they were more like old family recordings like Christmas or birthday videos. We calmed him down and asked him if he converted the tapes. He said “no†and quickly left the room. We were disappointed and started talking about what to do next when Evan came back into the room with his father behind him.

 

After talking about what was on the tapes, Evan retrieved them from his car and the four of us watched every one of the 24 tapes together. After the last tape was finished (“this is it. This is it. They wont know. They’ll never find me. This is where I’ll hide.â€), Chris’s fathers face was just as pale as Evan’s was earlier. He leaned back in his chair and said “… That was creepyâ€. An hour of talking that night ended with us wanting to know who was on the tapes. I left for home soon after with the understanding that I would be kept in the loop on what we would do next, which was to figure out the previous owners of the house.

 

A couple days later from there I got a phone call from Chris saying that it took them a little while (they found nothing on the county website) but they found some history on the house at the town library (on something called a “reverse directoryâ€) about a previous owner who had it in the mid-80’s. After a few unanswered phone calls, we decided to visit these people in person. So, that Friday, me, Chris, and his father drove to their house and knocked on the door, only to be greeted by two 80-something year old women. Chris’s father told them that his family was living in their old house and asked if we could ask them some questions about it. They refused to let us in their house but they did tell us about the house.

 

It turned out that the both of them were sisters (Their first names were Shirley and Louise) and Louise turned out to be the former owner of the house, but never lived in it. Apparently, her and her husband bought the house and were planning to add some new wiring and plumbing before moving in but her husband had a severe stroke not too long after buying it and eventually died. With the combination of hospital and funerary bills, Louise couldn’t afford fixing up and moving into the house and moved in with her sister instead. But, she did mention that during that time, the house was known to be home to a fair number of homeless people who would be regularly chased off the property. We also asked if either of them had a son and they both said “noâ€. We left there with not too many answers.

 

A couple weeks later from there, me and Chris had gone to the movies with his girlfriend (I think he was trying to get his mind off the tapes because I could tell that he was still creeped out). We were talking about how much the movie sucked (Spiderman 3) when Chris slammed on the breaks. We practically skidded about 30 feet and I was choked by my seatbelt and his girlfriend, who wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, was almost thrown into the front seat. We started screaming at him, asking him what the hell he was doing when we looked at what he was staring at and saw a house. It looked familiar to me but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I looked back to Chris and he said “that house is on the tapes“. Then I remembered, one of the houses that Butcherface had watched people come and go from was right there, not 20 feet from us. We knocked on the door but no one answered so we decided to come back later. When we got back to Chris’s house, I noticed the VCR hooked back up to Chris’s TV in his room. I asked him about it and he said he’d been watching the tapes again for any clues. No wonder why he was still creeped out. That night, when I got home, I got a phone call from Chris. He was whispering and said that he thinks he saw someone walking around his backyard.

 

Two days later, that Friday, I agreed to sleep over and see for myself. Chris was claiming to see glimpses of someone standing or walking around in his backyard but it was always too dark to see any detail, both of the previous nights. I was set up to sleep on a couch that was on the now re-boarded up hole we first found the tapes in. Very little sleeping actually went on that night because we stayed up in the living room, staring out the sliding glass door to the backyard. We were talking about how we weren’t even sure if he actually hurts people when Chris suddenly leans forward and points out the window and said “see! Right there. Do you see that shadow or something?†I jumped up and flipped the switch to the deck lights but they didn’t go on. So, we got flashlights and went out to look. Besides some tree branches blowing in the wind, we found nothing. At around 4am, we decided to get some sleep. I only stayed on the couch a couple hours because I got too cold because I felt a draft that I think was coming between the boards on the floor. I went home the next afternoon thinking the night before was a dud, until I got a frantic phone call that night.

 

Someone had broken into Chris’s house while they were out. The sliding glass door to the backyard was completely smashed with broken glass having been thrown all the way across the living room and into the dining room. I drove back there because they wanted me as a witness to seeing a shadow in the backyard. They showed me around and I saw that this person had completely tossed the living room, dining room, and kitchen. In the bathroom, the mirror over the medicine cabinet had been smashed and all the meds in the medicine cabinet were missing. Something else was missing which was a lot more disconcerting. Four knives had been removed from the knife holder in the kitchen. I stayed there for about an hour and decided to go home and it was only when after I left that I realized that the Butcherface tapes was never mentioned to the cops. A little while after I got home I got ANOTHER call from Chris saying that they had found the missing knives, under the blankets of each of the family members beds.

 

That weekend, Chris and his father decided to look around the house more thoroughly to see if Butcherface had left any other clues to his former presence in the house. I came over to help and the only room they said they’ve never thoroughly looked around in since getting the house was the attic, so we decided to start there. It didn’t take long to find anything because almost immediately, I came across an old looking trash bag in one of the corners. I picked it up and heard the tinking sound of glass against glass. We brought it downstairs and cut it open and found it completely full of liquor bottles and used syringes. Using rubber gloves, we removed every object one at a time. It was almost all bottles and syringes and the occasional trash, until we got to the bottom.

 

At the bottom of the bag we found a shoebox. It was stained and warn, we couldn’t even see the brand of shoe that used to be in it. We carefully took it out and removed the top (which seemed to have been glued closed). Inside was a series of papers and photos. The photos were pretty disturbing. One was a close-up of a hand covered in pins (those ones with the long point with the tiny ball of colored plastic at one end). There were so many of them that it looked like a porcupine. Another one had a (presumably) dead dog lying on the ground (All we could really see of it’s surroundings was the dirt of the ground. Behind it was too dark). We assume it was dead because it was missing half it’s face. The flesh of the side of the face that was facing the camera was gone, making it look like it was smiling with a lidless eye. There were a lot more picture including a cow with blood on it’s mouth, a very pale looking foot, various 70’s and 80’s era toys, a collection of knives, a hand and arm painted multiple colors like patchwork, and a close-up of an eyeball.

 

The papers were pretty freaky as well. They were a combination of drawings and writings. Most of the writings were what seemed like a wish list of murder, listing practically every way imaginable how to kill people. Others seemed to be random thoughts, like how he accidentally pissed his pants while at the movies or how he has an “infectious evil“ and that he‘ll spread that to his “disciplesâ€. Some of the drawings were pretty similar to the ones seen on some of the tapes on the walls in Chris’s old room. Others were more detailed and showed corpses of various states of decay and of strange creatures. They were humanoid but they all had a demonic look to them, with many of them shown standing on all fours. One thing that showed up often was a strange symbol. It looked like the letter C with the gap in the C pointing down, with a V laid on top of it. When we got to the bottom of the box, we found another tape, one that we’ll never get to watch, because it was completely coated in candle wax.

 

Running out of clues, we decided to re-visit the old women, who owned the house in the 80’s, again. It had been almost two months since we last visited them and we grew to realize that their story didn’t quite make sense. For instance, Louise claimed to have given up on the house, yet on the tapes we could see that the house had power (why would she have continued paying the power bill if she didn’t want the house?). They also mention that homeless people had been regularly arrested or chased off the property by the cops but we found no records of this. We tried calling them but just like last time, we got no answer, so we decided to drop by again. When we got there we found the house abandoned. We went next door and asked the neighbor if they knew where the two old ladies that lived next door had gone. They told us that Louise had died (but they didn’t know how) about three weeks earlier and Shirley abruptly packed up and moved away a week later. While Chris’s father was talking to the neighbor, Chris pulled me aside and whispered “we’re breaking into that houseâ€.

 

That same night, we waited until it was late and drove to the old ladies former house. We had never broken into a house before in our lives and we were dressed in the stereotypical burglar outfit, black shirt and pants and a black hockey mask (I know, cauliflower). When we got to the house, we were so nervous that we didn’t even leave the car for a good 45 minutes. When we felt assured that the neighborhood was asleep, we got out of the car and crept into the backyard and to the backdoor. We looked into the window on the door but it was too dark to see anything. I took my shirt off and put it up against the window and gave it a punch, breaking the glass. It felt surprisingly loud but that could have been because it was so quiet, and the neighbors never woke up so I guess it really wasn’t THAT loud. I reached in through the hole in the glass and unlatched the door, then we had a whispered fight over who will go in first. It actually got down to a game of rock, paper, scissors, which I won so Chris went in first.

 

We crept in hunched over and I closed the door behind me, accidentally slamming it, giving Chris a good jump that we couldn’t help laughing over. We snuck around the house with our flashlights shining over the walls. As a side note, I really don’t see how much they really would have fixed up Chris’s house when they had it because this one looked like crap. The wallpaper was probably older than me and Chris combined. But anyway, we went into the living room and found a huge pile of trash lying in the far corner with a depression in the middle, like a person or a large dog had used it as a bed. We went upstairs and found something that connected this house to Chris’s. In one of the bedrooms was a pile of pill bottles. Some of the pill bottles were the ones stolen from Chris’s bathroom medicine cabinet. We knew this because some of them had his mother and fathers name on them and one of them was Chris’s back pain medicine (from an injury that happened a couple years ago that will require surgery). That was all we needed to see so we booked it back down the stairs and to the door, but when we got to the door, I jumped back, knocking both me and Chris down. On the inside of the back door was the CV symbol from Butcherface’s notes. After we got back to the car, Chris said something that creeped the both of us out. If Butcherface really is living in that house, he probably wasn’t there because he was staking out Chris’s house right now.

 

Later that week, I visited Chris’s house again and as soon as I walked into the door, I knew I walked into an air of distress. Chris’s mother and brother were pacing back and forth in the living room, looking out the window into the backyard. I walked in and asked what was going on and looked out the window and saw Chris and his father in the backyard screaming at each other and behind them was a large bonfire that was almost nothing more than cinders. Chris’s mother said their dog, Bracket, had gone missing but didn’t say anything else. I opened the (now replaced) sliding glass door and walked out to meet them. As soon as Chris’s father saw me, he became even angrier. Chris met me halfway to the fire and said “I had to tell them that we broke into that houseâ€. I asked why and he said that he thinks that Butcherface took their dog as payback for breaking into his home. I asked what was on the fire and Chris told me that what his father was burning was Butcherface’s notes, photos, and tapes. Everything had been burned to ashes. During this, his father had walked up behind him and said “I’m ending this right now. I’m burning everything so that you guys can’t get into any more trouble.†As he said this, he continued past us and into the backdoor of his garage and came back with a shovel, adding “and I’m burying the ashes to put this to rest for good†and started digging a hole at the back of his yard close to the woods.

 

Chris pulled me back into the house and started talking about all of this was unfair, how could his father just burn the tapes like that, they were so close to figuring out who Butcherface was, etc. Then his mother called for us from upstairs. We came up and she pointed out the door to his father who had stopped digging and was looking into the hole he had dug so far. We walked outside and crossed the yard to the hole that his father was still looking into. When we got to it, we realized why he was frozen there, because just a couple feet into the hole was (after more digging, turned out to be) over 30 skeletons of cats, dogs, and other animals. This is when we started calling him Butcherface.

[Grand Exchange Clerk]

After Chris’s father burned Butcherface’s media (including the art, photos, and tapes) I think everyone (including me) hoped that Chris would let it go. I know I was willing to let it go. But, it wasn’t long after that Chris began looking for any evidence of other media by Butcherface. He would occasionally talk (just to me) about strange tapes and art found in other parts of the country but most of it seemed sketchy, which even Chris was completely willing to admit. My attitude began to change about looking into Butcherface around this time when I was sitting at my desk and caught myself absentmindedly drawing Butcherface’s CV symbol on a piece of paper I was supposed to be drawing Batman on (which is a different story all together).

 

Roughly two weeks after Chris’s dog disappeared and his father burned all evidence of Butcherface, Chris showed up on my doorstep saying that he wanted to go back to the house we found that was on the tapes. When we first found it no one was home (in part 2). We showed up at the house around 6pm on a Wednesday, hoping that anybody living there would be home from work. We went to the door and knocked. The person who answered the door was a man roughly in his 50’s. It turned out that he did actually live in the house in the mid-80’s, when we believe the tapes were shot. We told him about the tapes and how his house was on the them and asked if anything strange had happened around that time. He said that they had nothing like what was on the tapes but there was a point when they realized that someone had been living in their shed in the backyard. The shed had since been torn down but he did remember that there was a carving left on the doorframe. We asked him what it was and he pulled out a pad of paper and drew the CV symbol.

 

The very next day, Chris’s mother was walking around in their backyard and came across their dog. He had been ripped open from the neck to the stomach and placed in the still open hole his father had dug two weeks earlier. The cops had been called and they were finally told about Butcherface. Since Chris’s father had burned everything, they really had no evidence that the dog had been killed by a person and labeled it an animal mauling.

 

It wasn’t long after that that I came home to find my front door open. I walked up the front steps and saw that the door was swung open, only hanging on one hinge. It being dark out, I flipped the light switch just inside the door and it didn’t come on. I went around the house to the shed in the backyard and grabbed the most menacing thing I could that was near the door, which was a pitchfork. Going back to the front door, I pulled out my cell phone and called 911. After making the call, I cautiously entered the house making sure the pitchfork was in front of me. I crept up the stairs and got to the nearest light switch and flipped it, but this one wasn’t working either. I came to the conclusion that the power was cut. Using my cell phone as a flashlight, I got a look at the damage done. The leather couch had been slashed open with many cuts and the filling pulled out and the glass doors on the kitchen cabinets had been smashed. More than half the liquor bottles in the liquor cabinet were missing and the medicine in the medicine cabinet was gone. It all seemed very familiar. I mean, even my 13 year old dogs arthritis pills were taken.

 

Speaking of the dog, Drake, he has an anxiety problem so we keep him in a crate whenever we leave the house. Thinking of what happened to Chris’s dog, I ran down the hall, to the office, where the crate is kept. I shined what little light I had from my phone on the crate and saw it’s door open and it looked empty. I stepped forward afraid at what I’d see and shone the light into the crate, and saw Drake cowering in the back, whimpering. That’s when the cops pulled up. My family came home soon afterwards. When the cops asked us if we had any enemies (since the house mostly just seemed to be tossed) I had to tell them about Butcherface. While the cops were looking around, they noticed that the power hadn’t been cut. It turned out that every single light bulb in the whole house had been partially unscrewed. Leaving the light bulb in the socket but not able to light up. This was the first time my family had heard about Butcherface and they asked me to stop seeing Chris.

 

I hadn’t so much as talked to Chris on the phone for almost two months after that. Very little had happened in that time but something still didn’t feel right as well. For one thing, my sister, who works nights, started asking me to stand at the front door and wait until she got in her car whenever she left, since she leaves after dark. I asked a couple times why but she never gave an answer. It’s like she just felt creeped out or that she was being watched whenever she went outside. Our dog still seemed to be spooked too. Whenever we’d tie him outside, he’d only do his business and come right back in, which is very out of character for him. One day, I was standing at my backdoor, looking into the backyard, thinking of all of this when my eyes locked onto the shed in the backyard and I remembered the story told to us by the people we talked to whose house we saw on the tapes. They found evidence of someone living in their shed. I went to my room and picked a sword from my sword collection (yeah, I’m a nerd) and went out to the shed. I crossed the yard and when I got to the shed, I found it unlocked. I opened the door and looked inside, only using the sunlight since there‘s no power running to it. I immediately saw a pile of trash in the far corner. It was a loose pile of tarps, cloth from umbrellas, and trash bags and had a compression in the middle like someone had been lying in it. Off to the side of the pile was the missing liquor bottles from inside the house and some garbage. This guy had been living in the shed and it was a good chance that he had been there since the house was broken into two months ago. Infact, for all I know, he could have been in there that night when I went to the shed for the pitchfork, watching me. I didn’t want to freak out my family so I cleaned it up in secret. At the bottom of the bedding of trash I fount a ratty notebook. I only half opened it to a random page, saw some very familiar artwork and immediately closed it, tore it up, and threw it in the trash.

 

A couple weeks later, I got a phonecall from Chris. He said he was still doing some looking around and found some strange stuff. Before I could say that I didn’t want to hear it, he said he went back to the house of the women who were the former owners of the house who we had talked to before. Before I could respond to this he said “they lied. Come see me tomorrow.†The next day, without telling my family, I drove back to Chris’s house. When I got there, I was greeted by his mother who seemed to be in a good mood. I asked her how it was going and (knowing what I was talking about) she said nothing strange had happened there for a couple months. I asked where Chris was and she pointed to the stairs that led down to his basement bedroom. I opened the door and immediately heard Chris talking but I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but assumed that he was talking to his girlfriend. When I got to a point on the stairs that I could see into his room, I saw that he was sitting in front of his desk, talking to a video camera.

 

I asked him what the hell he was doing and he smiled and said “nothing†and turned off the camera and slid it back between his monitor and computer tower like it wasn’t strange that he was talking to a camera, just like Butcherface did. By this time I had gotten to the bottom of the stairs and Chris stood from his chair and immediately changed the subject. He walked up to me and started talking about how, a couple days before, he drove to the house of the old women who used to own his house. When he got there he parked across the street and waited. He knew that the former owner of the house, Louise, had died and that her sister, Shirley, moved away soon after and that someone had been living in her house since then. He was hoping to see Butcherface either entering or leaving the house. Instead, he saw Shirley pull into the driveway. They got out of their cars at the same time. Shirley apparently didn’t see Chris because she just continued to the house. By the time he caught up to her she had already gone into the house, but she then began to back out, apparently shocked at something she saw in there. When he got to her she was already back on the porch. He started talking to her and she finally told him what she really knew about Butcherface.

 

Like we already knew, she started with when her sister, Louise, and her husband bought the house, they wanted to replace the wiring and plumbing but before that could happen Louise’s husband got sick and eventually died. This is where they left it story off before. What they didn’t tell us is that a couple years after her husbands death, Louise still couldn’t afford paying for it so she decided to sell it instead. After it just sitting there for not too long they thought it would be a relatively easy fix so they, in their early 60’s at the time, decided to fix it up themselves. When they arrived to check out the house for the first time, they found the house like it looks in the videos, with garbage everywhere and drawings on the walls with burnt out candles everywhere, and a hole in the basement. They began to clean it up, picking up the garbage, putting up cheap wallpaper, putting down carpeting, and boarding up the hole in the basement as best they could. One thing she did mention that we never noticed is that she said that in the hole in the basement there was another hole in the cinderblock wall in the foundation that led into the backyard. They bricked up the hole, but due to their budget (and she apparently also blamed their old age) they never used any mortar. They just laid the bricks in place and left it at that. Chris asked her if they put the videos in the hole and she outright refused. We determined that if anybody knew where that hole in the wall was, they could just remove the cinderblocks and get into the hole and do whatever they wanted there… like hiding some tapes. We went out to his backyard to see if this was true and we did indeed find a patch of the cinderblock wall where you could remove the blocks. They seemed to have fresh scrape marks like they had been recently moved but we couldn’t be sure.

 

Chris’s and Louise’s conversation continued with her telling him that while cleaning out the kitchen, they found a rectangular object wrapped in tin foil. They unwrapped it and found a video tape. They brought it back home and popped it in their VCR and watched it. Apparently, there was no picture, the screen was just black like he left the lens cap on or something, but it seemed to be intentional because what the video lacked in visuals, it compensated with sound. He said she described it as rants and strange noises for the entire tape. He said she then ended their conversation and quickly walked back to her car, leaving her old houses door open, and drove away. Chris then abruptly changed the subject by jumping back to his desk and pulling a folder out of a drawer and opening it up. The papers inside were printouts of various disconnected websites showing pictures of stills from video tapes, drawings, photos, and carving that all looked familiar. He said “look. They’re from all over the country, including some bits of Mexico and Canada. Some of these apparently even appear in some places of Europe. It’s like he’s traveling around and leaving this stuff wherever he can.†Chris then said that he will continue his investigation into Butcherface.

 

That investigation continued for four years. Until last weekend.

 

This is why I was gone for three days after writing part 1. I hate to make this sound clichéd but Chris became pretty obsessed with trying to find out who Butcherface was. His investigation was slow. Finding the occasional picture or video. He even traveled to a town near Denver Colorado because he believed he found what he called a nest (a place where Butcherface seemed to appear often, much like around our area) but didn’t find much. We were never really sure what was fueling Chris’s interest in Butcherface since he had no more of Butcherface’s media anymore since his father burned it all. Then, last week, we found where it was all coming from.

 

I had come by because we were planning to see Transformers 3 but we never got to go. I pulled into his driveway at the same time as his girlfriend. We both got out of our cars and laughed at the coincidence of the both of us getting there at the same time and walked into his house. His family was working so we just walked into the house and down the stairs to his room. We hung out for a little while, Chris and his girlfriend sitting on his bed with me sitting at the desk. We were chit chatting and I was spinning the chair I was in when I happened to notice a tape leaning against the speaker to his computer.

 

I picked up the tape and asked him what it was. He immediately got a “oh brown sticky stuff†look on his face. When his girlfriend got into the questioning, he finally broke down and admitted that it was the tape the old ladies had found in the house in the 80’s. He said that when he talked to Shirley that time in front of her house where she told him when they found the tape, she also gave the tape to him and he chose to leave that part out of the story four years ago. This in when we knew he had a problem. We asked him to stop listening to the tape. We asked him to stop this search for Butcherface. It has never led to anything good.

 

So, that next week (that is to say, this week) we decided to go to a cabin that Chris’s girlfriend’s family owns on a lake a couple towns over to finally finish it, we didn’t know how right we were. We arrived at the cabin in the afternoon of Monday. It was me, Chris, his girlfriend, and our Friend Jesse (who is the mutual friend mentioned in part 1). We filled Jesse in on the whole Butcherface story as we knew it on the drive down, and he immediately regretted coming along. Chris brought everything he had on Butcherface and soon after we got there, he asked if we could watch the last tape one final time. Jesse wanted to see what the fuss was about and I must admit I was curious to check it out myself. The cabin had no cable, phone line, cell phone signal, or internet access so they only form of entertainment was to watch movies so they actually had a VCR still there with a decent VHS collection. We popped the tape into the VCR and turned it on. As mentioned before, this tape had nothing visual and was all audio. It began with clicking sounds like from an insect that would start off slow and go faster then slow down and go fast again. It then changed to a quiet talking, like a whisper. The voice talked about how he had an infectious evil and wanted to spread it to his disciples and then it just faded out like he just walked away from the camera. There were more noises of what sounded like animals walking around a inside a building and a high screeching noise that lasted for a good five minutes. There was more talking where he called people zombies and cows and how only a few were worthy for “the pit†followed by a jabbering sound like he was humming while wiggling his tongue around.

 

That night, we lit a bonfire and Chris burned every note, picture, schematic, and the last tape he had about Butcherface. The next day we spent most of the morning watching movies (regular movies) and then we went out on a row boat and explored the lake for a couple hours. We got back and we hung out on the shore with some drinks. I must admit, it reminded me of that time I walked into Chris’s house and met his mother. She was in such a good mood after not having any problems with Butcherface anymore. It felt almost exactly like that. At one point, Chris’s girlfriend came out and asked if any of us knew where her ipod was. She claimed that she left it in it’s docking bay (one of those ones with the speakers) which was also missing. She kept accusing us of hiding it from her.

 

At this point, it was starting to get dark and we began going back into the cabin one by one. I was the last one in and I must admit I didn’t close the door. Me, Chris, and his girlfriend were in their room looking for the ipod and it’s docking station when Jesse, who was still out in the living room yelled “holy fuck!†We ran out into the living room and he said that he just saw a person run by the open door outside on all fours. Chris’s girlfriend rushed to the door and slammed it shut and locked it. We stood still listening for where this person could have gone when all of a sudden, we started hearing loud noises coming from the front deck. It was random noises like a voice chattering, something like the grinding of a buzz saw, sobbing, all in quick succession. We rushed to the door and peaked out the small window and saw Chris’s girlfriends ipod sitting on it’s docking bay, with a power cord going from it to a plug on the outside wall, sitting on the railing to the deck. These sounds were coming from the ipod.

 

Chris opened the door, ran out and grabbed the ipod off the docking bay and ran back into the cabin. He gave it to his girlfriend and told her to delete the file that was playing. Effectively erasing every known piece of media we knew of by Butcherface. Me and Chris then ran to the door, opened it and yelled that there was nothing left of any of his media we had. We destroyed every connection we had to him and he had no reason to follow us anymore. It stayed quiet for the rest of the night and we left that morning.

 

During the drive home we started thinking of some things. We now believe that Butcherface wanted us to find those tapes. Maybe not us per se but SOMEONE. The day that we found those first 24 tapes, we started an avalanche of more and more of his media to be surfaced and help the possibility of it spreading to others. He had mentioned more than once in his media that he wanted to spread his “infectious evil†only to his disciples, and we think those “disciples†are those that have seen his media. We say this because he never seems to attempt to hide it and seems to keep watch of all those who have seen it. In the notes I saw of Chris’s before he burned them, I saw that many of the sightings of him were scary but never seemed to be completely dangerous. It was like he was just keeping watch over those who have experienced his media. I contemplated not writing out parts 2 and 3 of this story because I’m not sure if this counts as spreading his media. Ultimately, I decided to finish it to warn you that if you ever come across anything that even resembles the footage, audio, art, writings, or carvings that are described in these stories DO NOT LOOK AT THEM.

 

When we got back home, Chris decided to tell his family everything that had happened, including the tape he had hidden from everyone else and our hypothesis as to who Butcherface is and what he’s doing. Chris’s brother Evan’s face became pale, just as pale as the day he first saw the tapes. We asked what the matter was and he said “you know how I said I never converted the tapes to DVD’s? Well….. I liedâ€. Apparently, he actually did do the conversion at his college, after the day their house was broken into. The thing is that they disappeared and he later learned that fellow students had taken them, thinking it was a cool school project, and made copies. From what we‘ve heard, they’ve been handed down from person to person and copied, leading to countless duplicates.

[Acid]

k

[Break]

I push my fingers into my eyes
It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache
But it's made of all the things I have to take
Jesus, it never ends, it works it's way inside
If the pain goes on

I have screamed until my veins collapsed
I've waited last, my time's elapsed
Now, all I do is live with so much fate
I've wished for this, I've bitched at that
I've left behind this little fact
You cannot kill what you did not create
I've gotta say what I've gotta say
And then I swear I'll go away
But I can't promise you'll enjoy the noise
I guess I'll save the best for last
My future seems like one big past
You're left with me 'cause you left me no choice

I push my fingers into my eyes
It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache
If the pain goes on,
I'm not gonna make it

Pull me back together
Or separate the skin from the bone
Leave me all the pieces, and then you can leave me alone
Tell me the reality is better than dream
But I found out the hard way,
Nothing is what it seems!

I push my fingers into my eyes
It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache
But it's made of all the things I have to take
Jesus, it never ends, it works it's way inside
If the pain goes on, I'm not gonna make it!

All I've got, all I've got is insane
All I've got, all I've got is insane
All I've got, all I've got is insane
All I've got, all I've got is insane
All I've got, all I've got is insane
All I've got, all I've got is insane

I push my fingers into my eyes
It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache
But it's made of all the things I have to take
Jesus, it never ends, it works it's way inside
If the pain goes on, I'm not gonna make it!

All I've got, all I've got is insane
All I've got, all I've got is insane
All I've got, all I've got is insane
All I've got, all I've got is insane

[Kenan N Kel]

Slowly turning into a story/poetry thread

 

 

Oooooooh I’m so scared, you think you’re tough pussy? I’m behind 7 proxies and use ZoneAlarm, Sygate and Comodo Internetnet Securtiy which I all keep up-to-date. THAT’S THREE FIREWALLS AT THE SAME TIME motherfucker. You can’t hack me you little piece of brown sticky stuff. You’re peeshooter and kung fu won’t make a difference when my friend woh’s a B-51 pilot in the Air Force can turn your entire house and backyard into a fuckhuge bomb crater. You are pathetic, while you’re sitting there writing insults like the sad little nerd you are i’m having sex with my hot girlfriends. Yeah you read that right, i have not one but FIVE girlfriends. Top that motherfucker, I dont think you’ve ever even held hands with a girl.

[Grand Exchange Clerk]

What the fuck did you just say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I reached top of my clan in the hiscores, and I’ve been involved in numerous raids on Corp, and I have over 3,000,000 confirmed wilderness kills. I am fully trained in all 23 skills and I’m the top PKer in the entire Ownage armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another NMZ prod. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which have never seen before in Gilenor, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that brown sticky stuff to me in W29 GE? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of scouts across the servers and your location is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your main. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be in any world, anytime, and I can PK you in over 700 different ways, and that's just with a bronze dagger. Not only am I extensively trained in pvp combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the God Wars Dungeon and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the wilderness, you little brown sticky stuff. If only you could have known what unholy skull your little “clever†comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking enter button. But you couldn’t you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn tomato. I will brown sticky stuff vengeance all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, bwana.

[Kenan N Kel]

 

what do you jagex tomatos think? You greedy pigs tore down 2006scape.com because of how popular it grew. Of course people want the old runescape back - the runescape before you mutated it into a horrible money-sucking disaster. I have long-ago gave up on runescape and will never play again because of how cauliflower the game developers, planners, and owner are in this "franchise"...however when i saw this advertisement in my email i decided to respond. makes me sick what you tomatos did to such a wonderful game, and go as far as using cheap tactics to steal (yes steal) cauliflower people's money. Now that you slow people discovered (through the CREATORS of 2006scape) that there is such a large playerbase willing to pay to see the old runescape again you've decided that this is just another opportunity to make some more money. Without care for any of your players (despite the try-hard sounding pledges that everything, updates and etc, come from the players blah blah blah) you will siphon as much money as possible from them through this new endeavor, while attempting to make as much profit as possible. I guess its somewhat clever...taking advantage of the crapiness of the new runescape by charging players to play the old version. Its like you purposely made this game as sh*tty as possible just so you can "resell" the old version 6 years later. YOU are the perfect example of the PROBLEM with this WORLD...unmerciful GREED. It drives this game, and that's all.

[Grand Exchange Clerk]

What I mean is that I wouldnt be surprised if people started to quit runescape if eoc never happened, just because runescape would never really get big updates for combat, cause the old system is really limited in what you can do, I mean there wasnt that many new and unique and actually usefull swords and armor etc just before eoc. It would just come new armor and weapons with different stats and maybe be better to use on different monsters, cant think of anything else they could do with the old combat system with new armor and weapons, same with bosses, wouldnt be able to make really really hard bosses with hard mechanics that you really have to train and train to be good at. Cant really see many updates with this besides bosses with more hp and do more damage. And I dont count hard as you need 10 people to kill this boss instead of the previous 5, thats not hard for me. Its about using the environment and coming up with different strategies and combos etc that makes it hard, just en example. And for me I dont feel like this would be able to happen with the old combat system, correct me if im wrong but it feels like the old combat system is just "attack the boss, pray switch, eat, and run around the room to dodge stuff", and I feel like all the combat updates that would happen if eoc wasnt released would most likely be pretty similar to eachother, just with different looks and stats. And I feel like people would get pretty tired of this being "the same" all the time. Thats what I like about eoc, it opens up to so much more. The updates and new ideas to eoc are endless, the only thing that is holding it back in my opinion are your imagination. I believe that at some point, with the old combat system, no one would be able to come up with new ideas because everything is already implemented, because it is a really limited combat system, thats a fact. And sure the same will happen to eoc in the future but that limit is so much larger and further away then the old combat system. Thats kinda why I believe that more people would quit runescape eventually if eoc never happend, because they would eventually be tired of "everything" being the same. But as you say, people are still playing old school, so maybe im wrong, its just my opinion, but then again old school are still a pretty new game and maybe some still play old school with the thinking that if I ever get tired of this I can just start playing rs3 as its so much different.

 

And again, idk what my point is really, im just typing what comes to mind really lol.. Everyone har their own opinions and that is completely fine, im not hating on anyone, just telling people my opinion

[Break]

I really wanna stop
But I just gotta taste for it
I feel like I could fly with the ball on the moon
So honey hold my hand you like making me wait for it
I feel I could die walking up to the room, oh yeah

Late night watching television
But how we get in this position?
It's way too soon, I know this isn't love
But I need to tell you something

I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?
I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?

Oh, did I say too much?
I'm so in my head
When we're out of touch
I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?

It's like everything you say is a sweet revelation
All I wanna do is get into your head
Yeah we could stay alone, you and me, and this temptation
Sipping on your lips, hanging on by thread, baby

Late night watching television
But how we get in this position?
It's way too soon, I know this isn't love
But I need to tell you something

I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?
I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?

Oh, did I say too much?
I'm so in my head
When we're out of touch
I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?

Who gave you eyes like that?
Said you could keep them
I don't know how to act
The way I should be leaving
I'm running out of time
Going out of my mind
I need to tell you something
Yeah, I need to tell you something

I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?
I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?

Oh, did I say too much?
I'm so in my head
When we're out of touch
I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?

I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?
I really really really really really really like you
And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?

[Kenan N Kel]

 

It was night in the middle of the camp

All the men were so far away from home

It was me and the council and the army

Twenty-five hundred and twenty of us

And we were all alone

 

Campfire glows shone through the dark

On the trees all the leaves were gone

We waited in silence through the night

Waited for the dawn

 

Ten years since the call to arms

Many battles won and lost

No heroes on those grounds of blood

That stained the winter frost

 

And on this final eve of war

Our sword blades would shine bright

Though with the dawn we rise as one

There was a loss of hope this night

 

While James, Chris, Mat and Steve

Had sent their legions forth

Fifty-thousand armoured units

Battled for the North

 

While they were safe at Camelot

Almost all had fought and died

Now less than three hundred of us

Faced the Pack of Pride

 

But our leaders said fight to the death

So we would stand our ground

And face the enemy one last time

With thunder’s mighty sound

 

The scouts set off as we prepared

I walked into the open space

On this plain a clan’s time would end

So much Hell in such small a place

 

“They’re coming!†A yell from far away

“Form up, move out!†I said

I grabbed my sword and led them out

For the Battle of the Dead

 

Fifty rows, forty-five columns

Armed with steel and wood

Of the half a million that came to war

Twenty-five hundred still stood

 

Thousands fought and thousands lost

Ten years the war raged on

Now Pack of Pride came one last time

Marching with the dawn

 

Our shining armor bathed in light

No chance of turning back

I saw five thousand maybe more

Marching with the pack

 

Their massive army thundered forward

Onto the battle plain

A decade I watched men fight and die

Had it all been in vain?

 

I raised my sword into the air

I heard the trumpets sound

“Your fate is in the Abyss†We yelled

And charged onto battleground

 

The largest battle of the age

With thousands on each side

Seconds past the break of dawn

The armies would collide

 

I led my legion into the light

Formation arrowhead

Less than a kilometer between us

How many would be dead?

 

“Forward! Attack†I commanded

The enemy did the same

100 metres closing fast

Before the massive battle game

 

50 feet between the two

Pack of Pride was so near

Your could see into their eyes

You could feel their fear

 

Just before the armies clashed

A thunderclap did sound

Clouds of storm covered the sky

Spreading darkness all around

 

The pack thundered down upon us

The force was terrifying

Twice our numbers at full speed

Hit us light the lightning

 

Hundreds died in the charge

But I brushed their spears aside

As the Abyssal Guardians once again

Clashed with Pack of Pride

 

I struck down one, then two, then three

As rain came pouring down

Deafening sounds of blades of steel

And bodies that hit the ground

 

But we lost many at the start

And our numbers were too low

Seconds past the start of war

Any could be the final blow

 

But hope rose higher, trumpets sounded

As I looked past their own rear line

For on the hilltop eight thousand men

The Titans charged from behind

 

We had the pack surrounded

And so close to victory

Yet even though we had two clans

The pack fought desperately

 

So we fought our best against them

And the war raged on into the night

And through the darkness we fought on

Through the red torch light

 

And Pack of Pride, the almighty clan

Had no where to turn

We struck them down one by one

Sent them down to Hell to burn

 

And as a new dawn rose again

The last man fell before me

And we raised our swords into the sky

To celebrate our victory

 

For ten years we fought the war

And after just one night

Abyssal Guardians stood once more

Victorious beneath the red sunlight.

[ah yes your clan is dead]

hahaha very funny !

[iShadyy]

ok

[-WILL-]

???????????????

[ruxso]

...

[Blue]

Gratz

[Inners Only]

do people actually read these things

 

i do.