October 31, 2000
Everything Editor Logs
Ancient corpses risen from the dead! | Futuristic horrors from the moons of Saturn!
I don't mind saying it. We were there for thrills. Belief in the supernatural was the furthest thing from our minds.
So we get into the old gypsy's tent -- that's me, Cyndi, Ryan, Robbie, and the Fish -- and say we wanna have a seance. She doesn't say a thing. She just points us into these chairs around a table. We sit down, stiffling giggles. We're all drunk.
She tells us that we all have to join hands. No problem with Cyndi. Big problem with Robbie, who sweats like a pig all the damn time. But we do it.
The gypsy sits at the table, closes her eyes, and starts mumbling something we can't understand. I figured she's putting on a show. Probably just as drunk as us, ya know?
So she's mumbling along, and I'm getting really bored. We got another case in the truck, and Cyndi's really a lot drunker than she should be -- and there's this loud knock on the table. Everybody jumps, then giggles again.
Then there's another knock, then another. Loud, too. Like a coupla gunshots. I'm dying to find out how the gypsy's doing it. I start to look under the table when the Fish makes this loud, choking gasp, and Cyndi and Robbie both squeeze my hands hard. The gypsy's head is lolled back like her neck's broken. Her eyes and mouth are wide open. And there's this... stuff... coming out of her mouth and her nose and even her eyes. Like snot except that it looks like cotton, too. And it floats. And I hear Ryan whisper "Nodegel!" And his voice is hoarse and he's staring like his eyes are gonna come out of his head.
The stuff, the ectoplasm, the nodegel, whatever it is -- it floats out of the gypsy. There's so damn much of it, coming out in little bubbly squirts. The stuff oozes out and floats up into a big mass hovering over the table, rotating in the air. I don't know why we're all sitting there watching it, 'cause I want to get the hell out. Now. Fast. But I sit there and watch. We all sit there and watch and we're all squeezing so hard, it's like we're trying to break each other's fingers.
All the stuff coming out of the gypsy is bad enough, just floating there, but then it kinda bunches itself together, and this face forms right in the middle of it -- floats into the center like it's a drowning man coming up for air -- comes together into a face and it looks at us, I swear to God, it looks at us and smiles and I can see into its eyes and its eyes are like pools of blood and I can see stars in there and blood and blackness and blood, and Ryan starts screaming "Zifter! Zifter! ZIFTER!" and we all drop our hands and run out of the tent and we run and run and we can't stop running because I can't stop seeing its eyes and we run and we run and we--
Dismembered with a Chainsaw: stienman's writeup in October 30, 2000. It was blank -- blank like the faces of the dead...
Sent Mysterious Psychic Message: to stienman suggesting he move his writeup in rasberry to the correctly-spelled raspberry. There has not yet been a response, and soon enough, the sun will set...
Sacrificed to Dark Gods: Saige's "Marked for Destruction" note in rasberry. Without penalty. It was old... ancient... crumbling to dust in its mouldering tomb...
Exorcised: writeups by cantsin and tres equis in but tres equis, don't let me harsh on your good fun. They were babbling to each other about something from the primeval E1 days in a strange language that only they could understand. The wind was rising...
Drained of Blood: IvyNeko's writeup in purr. Total Content: "What cats do." That's not all that cats do. No, not at all. Look outside -- you see all those glowing green eyes? Creeping closer to the house, closer, closer, closer...
Buried Alive: several writeups in I'm not Mr. Miyagi. IvyNeko says she isn't. Andarin says he is and adds a bunch of silliness with only one word unlinked. Fustflum says he isn't, with no links at all. Then Mighty Cthulhu rose from his eternal crypt at R'yleh and devoured them all...
Sent to the Showers at the Bates Motel: bheistein's writeup in soccer-mom. By user request after the writeup was moved to the less-hyphenated soccer mom. Isn't it nicer when you ask me to kill? Isn't it nicer when the knife slides in and finally sets you free? Don't worry, my pet, it'll all be over soon...
Users Buried with a Stake in their Hearts: sex. While there is always sex in the morgue, there is no longer a user named "sex".