island-girl25:

diaryofthefaintofheart:

cassicucumber:

ijustwantedadragonageurl:

perfectedflaw:

butthole-spaghetti:

gracie-geek:

crazeace:

fuzzlesan:

fuckyeahspookyshit:

Last year, I spent six months participating in what I was told was a psychological experiment. I found an ad in my local paper looking for imaginative people looking to make good money, and since it was the only ad that week that I was remotely qualified for, I gave them a call and we arranged an interview.
They told me that all I would have to do is stay in a room, alone, with sensors attached to my head to read my brain activity, and while I was there I would visualize a double of myself. They called it my “tulpa.”
It seemed easy enough, and I agreed to do it as soon as they told me how much I would be paid. The next day, I began. They brought me to a simple room and gave me a bed, then attached sensors to my head and hooked them into a little black box on the table beside me. They talked me through the process of visualizing my double again, and explained that if I got bored or restless, instead of moving around, I should visualize my double moving around, or try to interact with him, and so on. The idea was to keep him with me the entire time I was in the room.
I had trouble with it for the first few days. It was more controlled than any sort of daydreaming I’d done before. I’d imagine my double for a few minutes, then grow distracted. By the fourth day, however, I could manage to keep him “present” for the entire six hours. They told me I was doing very well.
The second week, they gave me a different room with wall-mounted speakers. They told me they wanted to see if I could still keep the tulpa with me in spite of distracting stimuli. The music was discordant, ugly, unsettling, and it made the process a little more difficult, but I managed nonetheless. The next week, they played even more unsettling music, punctuated with shrieks, feedback loops, what sounded like an old school modem dialing up and guttural voices speaking some foreign language. I just laughed it off; I was a pro by then.
After about a month, I started to get bored. To liven things up, I started interacting with my doppelganger. we’d have conversations, play rock-paper-scissors, I’d imagine him juggling or break dancing, or whatever caught my fancy. I asked the researchers if my foolishness would adversely affect their study, but they encouraged me.
So, we played and communicated, and that was fun for a while…and then it got a little strange. I was telling him about my first date one day and he corrected me. I’d said my date was wearing a yellow top, and he told me it was a green one. I thought about it for a second and realized he was right. It creeped me out, and after my shift that day I talked to the researchers about it. “You’re using the thought-form to access your subconscious,” they explained. “You knew on some level that you were wrong, and you subconscious corrected yourself.”
What had been creepy was suddenly cool. I was talking to my subconscious! It took some practice, but I found that I could question my tulpa and access all sorts of memories. I could make it quote whole pages of books I’d read once, years before, or things I was taught and immediately forgot in high school. It was awesome.
That was around the time I started “calling up” my double outside of the research center. Not often, at first, but I was so used to imagining him by now that it almost seemed odd not to see him. So, whenever I was bored, I’d visualize my double. Eventually, I started doing it almost all the time. It was amusing to take him along like an invisible friend. I imagined him when I was hanging out with friends, or visiting my mom; I even brought him along on a date once. I didn’t need to speak aloud to him, so I was able to carry out conversations with him and no one was the wiser.
I know that sounds strange, but it was fun. Not only was he a walking repository of everything I knew and everything I had forgotten, he also seemed more in touch with me than I did at times. He had an uncanny grasp of the minutiae of body language that I didn’t even realize I was picking up on. For example, I thought the date I brought him along on was going badly, but he pointed out how she was laughing a little too hard at my jokes and leaning towards me as I spoke, and a bunch of other subtle clues I wasn’t consciously picking up on. I listened and let’s just say that the date went very well.
By the time I’d been at the research center for four months he was with me constantly. The researchers approached me one day after my shift and asked me if I’d stopped visualizing him. I denied it and they seemed pleased. I silently asked my double if he knew what prompted that, but he just shrugged it off. So did I.
I withdrew a little from the world at that point. I was having trouble relating to people. It seemed to me that they were so confused and unsure of themselves, while I had a manifestation of myself to confer with. It made socializing awkward. Nobody else seemed aware of the reasons behind their actions, why some things made them mad and others made them laugh. They didn’t know what moved them…but I did, or at least I could ask myself and get an answer
A friend confronted me one evening. He pounded at the door until I answered it and came in fuming and swearing up a storm. “You haven’t answered when I called you in fucking weeks, you dick!” he yelled. “What’s your fucking problem?”
I was about to apologize to him and probably would have offered to hit the bars with him that night, but my tulpa grew suddenly furious. “Hit him,” it said, and before I knew what I was doing, I had. I heard his nose break. He fell to the floor and came up swinging, and we beat each other up and down my apartment. I was more furious than I have ever been, and I was not merciful. I knocked him to the ground and gave him two savage kicks to the ribs, and that was when he fled, hunched over and sobbing.
The police were by a few minutes later, but I told them that he had been the instigator and since he wasn’t around to refute me, they let me off with a warning. My tulpa was grinning the entire time. We spent the night crowing about my victory and sneering over how badly I’d beaten my friend.
It wasn’t until the next morning, when I was checking out my black eye and cut lip in the mirror, that I remembered what had set me o ff. My double was the one who’d grown furious, not me. I’d been feeling guilty and a little ashamed, but he’d goaded me into a vicious fight with a concerned friend. He was present, of course, and knew my thoughts. “You don’t need him any more. You don’t need anyone else,” he told me; I felt my skin crawl.
I explained all this to the researchers who employed me, but they just laughed it off. “You can’t be scared of something that you’re imagining,” one told me. My double stood beside him and nodded his head, then smirked at me.
I tried to take their words to heart, but over the next few days I found myself growing more and more anxious around my tulpa, and it seemed that he was changing. He looked taller and more menacing. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I saw malice in his constant smile. No job was worth losing my mind over, I decided. If he was out of control, I’d put him down. I was so used to him at that point that visualizing him was an automatic process, so I started trying my damnedest to not visualize him. It took a few days, but it started to work somewhat. I could get rid of him for hours at a time, but every time he came back, he seemed worse. His skin seemed ashen, his teeth more pointed. He hissed and gibbered and threatened and swore. The discordant music I’d been listening to for months seemed to accompany him everywhere. Even when I was at home; I’d relax and slip up, no longer concentrating on no seeing him, and there he’d be, and that howling noise with him.
I was still visiting the research center and spending my next six hours there. I needed the money, and I thought they weren’t away that I was now not actively visualizing my tulpa. I was wrong. After my shift one day, about five and a half months in, two impressive men grabbed me and restrained me, and someone in a lab coat jabbed a hypodermic needle into me.
I woke up from my stupor back in the room, strapped into the bed, music blaring, with my doppelganger standing over me, cackling. He hardly looked human any more. His features were twisted. His eyes were sunken in their sockets and filmed over like a corpse’s. He was much taller than me, but hunched over. His hands were twisted, and his fingernails were like talons. He was, in short, fucking terrifying. I tried to will him away, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate. He giggled and tapped the IV in my arm. I thrashed in my restraints as best I could, but could hardly move at all.
“They’re pumping you full of the good shit, I think. How’s the mind? All fuzzy?” He leaned closer and closer as he spoke. I gagged; his breath smelled like spoiled meat. I tried to focus, but I couldn’t banish him.
The next few weeks were terrible. Every so often, someone in a doctor’s coat would come in and inject me with something or force-feed me a pill. They kept me dizzy and unfocused, and sometimes left me hallucinating or delusional. My thought-form was still present, constantly mocking. He interacted with, or perhaps caused, my delusions. I hallucinated that my mother was there, scolding me, and then he cut her throat and her blood showered me. It was so real that I could taste it.
The doctors never spoke to me. I begged at times, screamed, hurled invectives, demanded answers. They never spoke to me. They may have talked to my tulpa, my personal monster. I’m not sure. I was so doped and confused that it may have just been more delusion, but I remember them talking with him. I grew convinced that he was the real one and that I was the thought-form. He encouraged that line of thought at times, but mocked me at others.‘Another thing that I pray was a delusion: he could touch me. More than that, he could hurt me. He’d poke and prod at me if he felt I wasn’t paying enough attention to him. Once, he grabbed my testicles and squeezed until I told him I loved him. Another time, he slashed my forearm with one of his talons. I still have a scar; most days I can convince myself that I injured myself, and just hallucinated that he was responsible. Most days.
Then, one day, while he was telling me a story about how he was going to gut everyone I loved, starting with my sister, he paused. A querulous look crossed his face, and he reached out and touched my head. Like mother used to when I was feverish. He stayed still for a long moment and then smiled. “All thoughts are creative,” he told me, then he walked out the door.
Three hours later, I was given an injection and passed out. I awoke unrestrained. Shaking, I made my way to the door and found it unlocked I walked out into the empty hallway and then ran. I stumbled more than once, but I made it down the stairs and out into the lot behind the building. There, I collapsed, weeping like a child. I knew I had to keep moving, but I couldn’t manage it.
I got home eventually; I don’t remember how. I locked the door and shoved a dresser against it, took a long shower, and slept for a day and a half. Nobody came for me in the night, and nobody came the next day or the one after that. I twas over. I’d spent a week locked in that room, but it had felt like a century. I’d withdrawn so much from my life beforehand that nobody had even known I was missing.
The police didn’t find anything. The research center was empty when they searched it. The paper trail fell apart. The names I’d given them were aliases. Even the money I’d received was apparently untraceable.
I recovered as much as one can. I don’t leave the house much, and I have panic attacks when I do. I cry a lot. I don’t sleep much, and my nightmares are terrible. It’s over, I tell myself. I survived. I used the concentration those bastards taught me to convince myself. It works, sometimes.
Not today, though. Three days ago, I got a phone call from my mother. There’s been a tragedy. My sister’s the latest victim in a spree of killings, the police say. The perpetrator mugs his victims, then guts them.
The funeral was this afternoon. It was as lovely a service as a funeral can be, I suppose. I was a little distracted, though. All I could hear was music coming from somewhere distant. It was discordant, unsettling stuff that sounds like feedback, shrieking, and a modem dialing up. I hear it still – a little louder now.

Oh my god…
…I…
…I’m generally not into creepypastas but holy shit…

………

Holy shit what the hell did I just read


the scary part is that this is an actual thing. you can actually have a tulpa. it is a theory that slenderman among other myths are tulpas or thoughtforms (something created by collective thoughts of one or more individuals).it’s so terrifying to think of what your mind can create. 

Holy tits…

WHY IS THIS BACK

liTERALLY HORRIFIED JESUS CHRIST

WHAT THE SHIT EVEN DID I JUST READ

Oh my god….

island-girl25:

diaryofthefaintofheart:

cassicucumber:

ijustwantedadragonageurl:

perfectedflaw:

butthole-spaghetti:

gracie-geek:

crazeace:

fuzzlesan:

fuckyeahspookyshit:

Last year, I spent six months participating in what I was told was a psychological experiment. I found an ad in my local paper looking for imaginative people looking to make good money, and since it was the only ad that week that I was remotely qualified for, I gave them a call and we arranged an interview.

They told me that all I would have to do is stay in a room, alone, with sensors attached to my head to read my brain activity, and while I was there I would visualize a double of myself. They called it my “tulpa.”

It seemed easy enough, and I agreed to do it as soon as they told me how much I would be paid. The next day, I began. They brought me to a simple room and gave me a bed, then attached sensors to my head and hooked them into a little black box on the table beside me. They talked me through the process of visualizing my double again, and explained that if I got bored or restless, instead of moving around, I should visualize my double moving around, or try to interact with him, and so on. The idea was to keep him with me the entire time I was in the room.

I had trouble with it for the first few days. It was more controlled than any sort of daydreaming I’d done before. I’d imagine my double for a few minutes, then grow distracted. By the fourth day, however, I could manage to keep him “present” for the entire six hours. They told me I was doing very well.

The second week, they gave me a different room with wall-mounted speakers. They told me they wanted to see if I could still keep the tulpa with me in spite of distracting stimuli. The music was discordant, ugly, unsettling, and it made the process a little more difficult, but I managed nonetheless. The next week, they played even more unsettling music, punctuated with shrieks, feedback loops, what sounded like an old school modem dialing up and guttural voices speaking some foreign language. I just laughed it off; I was a pro by then.

After about a month, I started to get bored. To liven things up, I started interacting with my doppelganger. we’d have conversations, play rock-paper-scissors, I’d imagine him juggling or break dancing, or whatever caught my fancy. I asked the researchers if my foolishness would adversely affect their study, but they encouraged me.

So, we played and communicated, and that was fun for a while…and then it got a little strange. I was telling him about my first date one day and he corrected me. I’d said my date was wearing a yellow top, and he told me it was a green one. I thought about it for a second and realized he was right. It creeped me out, and after my shift that day I talked to the researchers about it. “You’re using the thought-form to access your subconscious,” they explained. “You knew on some level that you were wrong, and you subconscious corrected yourself.”

What had been creepy was suddenly cool. I was talking to my subconscious! It took some practice, but I found that I could question my tulpa and access all sorts of memories. I could make it quote whole pages of books I’d read once, years before, or things I was taught and immediately forgot in high school. It was awesome.

That was around the time I started “calling up” my double outside of the research center. Not often, at first, but I was so used to imagining him by now that it almost seemed odd not to see him. So, whenever I was bored, I’d visualize my double. Eventually, I started doing it almost all the time. It was amusing to take him along like an invisible friend. I imagined him when I was hanging out with friends, or visiting my mom; I even brought him along on a date once. I didn’t need to speak aloud to him, so I was able to carry out conversations with him and no one was the wiser.

I know that sounds strange, but it was fun. Not only was he a walking repository of everything I knew and everything I had forgotten, he also seemed more in touch with me than I did at times. He had an uncanny grasp of the minutiae of body language that I didn’t even realize I was picking up on. For example, I thought the date I brought him along on was going badly, but he pointed out how she was laughing a little too hard at my jokes and leaning towards me as I spoke, and a bunch of other subtle clues I wasn’t consciously picking up on. I listened and let’s just say that the date went very well.

By the time I’d been at the research center for four months he was with me constantly. The researchers approached me one day after my shift and asked me if I’d stopped visualizing him. I denied it and they seemed pleased. I silently asked my double if he knew what prompted that, but he just shrugged it off. So did I.

I withdrew a little from the world at that point. I was having trouble relating to people. It seemed to me that they were so confused and unsure of themselves, while I had a manifestation of myself to confer with. It made socializing awkward. Nobody else seemed aware of the reasons behind their actions, why some things made them mad and others made them laugh. They didn’t know what moved them…but I did, or at least I could ask myself and get an answer

A friend confronted me one evening. He pounded at the door until I answered it and came in fuming and swearing up a storm. “You haven’t answered when I called you in fucking weeks, you dick!” he yelled. “What’s your fucking problem?”

I was about to apologize to him and probably would have offered to hit the bars with him that night, but my tulpa grew suddenly furious. “Hit him,” it said, and before I knew what I was doing, I had. I heard his nose break. He fell to the floor and came up swinging, and we beat each other up and down my apartment. I was more furious than I have ever been, and I was not merciful. I knocked him to the ground and gave him two savage kicks to the ribs, and that was when he fled, hunched over and sobbing.

The police were by a few minutes later, but I told them that he had been the instigator and since he wasn’t around to refute me, they let me off with a warning. My tulpa was grinning the entire time. We spent the night crowing about my victory and sneering over how badly I’d beaten my friend.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when I was checking out my black eye and cut lip in the mirror, that I remembered what had set me o ff. My double was the one who’d grown furious, not me. I’d been feeling guilty and a little ashamed, but he’d goaded me into a vicious fight with a concerned friend. He was present, of course, and knew my thoughts. “You don’t need him any more. You don’t need anyone else,” he told me; I felt my skin crawl.

I explained all this to the researchers who employed me, but they just laughed it off. “You can’t be scared of something that you’re imagining,” one told me. My double stood beside him and nodded his head, then smirked at me.

I tried to take their words to heart, but over the next few days I found myself growing more and more anxious around my tulpa, and it seemed that he was changing. He looked taller and more menacing. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I saw malice in his constant smile. No job was worth losing my mind over, I decided. If he was out of control, I’d put him down. I was so used to him at that point that visualizing him was an automatic process, so I started trying my damnedest to not visualize him. It took a few days, but it started to work somewhat. I could get rid of him for hours at a time, but every time he came back, he seemed worse. His skin seemed ashen, his teeth more pointed. He hissed and gibbered and threatened and swore. The discordant music I’d been listening to for months seemed to accompany him everywhere. Even when I was at home; I’d relax and slip up, no longer concentrating on no seeing him, and there he’d be, and that howling noise with him.

I was still visiting the research center and spending my next six hours there. I needed the money, and I thought they weren’t away that I was now not actively visualizing my tulpa. I was wrong. After my shift one day, about five and a half months in, two impressive men grabbed me and restrained me, and someone in a lab coat jabbed a hypodermic needle into me.

I woke up from my stupor back in the room, strapped into the bed, music blaring, with my doppelganger standing over me, cackling. He hardly looked human any more. His features were twisted. His eyes were sunken in their sockets and filmed over like a corpse’s. He was much taller than me, but hunched over. His hands were twisted, and his fingernails were like talons. He was, in short, fucking terrifying. I tried to will him away, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate. He giggled and tapped the IV in my arm. I thrashed in my restraints as best I could, but could hardly move at all.

“They’re pumping you full of the good shit, I think. How’s the mind? All fuzzy?” He leaned closer and closer as he spoke. I gagged; his breath smelled like spoiled meat. I tried to focus, but I couldn’t banish him.

The next few weeks were terrible. Every so often, someone in a doctor’s coat would come in and inject me with something or force-feed me a pill. They kept me dizzy and unfocused, and sometimes left me hallucinating or delusional. My thought-form was still present, constantly mocking. He interacted with, or perhaps caused, my delusions. I hallucinated that my mother was there, scolding me, and then he cut her throat and her blood showered me. It was so real that I could taste it.

The doctors never spoke to me. I begged at times, screamed, hurled invectives, demanded answers. They never spoke to me. They may have talked to my tulpa, my personal monster. I’m not sure. I was so doped and confused that it may have just been more delusion, but I remember them talking with him. I grew convinced that he was the real one and that I was the thought-form. He encouraged that line of thought at times, but mocked me at others.

Another thing that I pray was a delusion: he could touch me. More than that, he could hurt me. He’d poke and prod at me if he felt I wasn’t paying enough attention to him. Once, he grabbed my testicles and squeezed until I told him I loved him. Another time, he slashed my forearm with one of his talons. I still have a scar; most days I can convince myself that I injured myself, and just hallucinated that he was responsible. Most days.

Then, one day, while he was telling me a story about how he was going to gut everyone I loved, starting with my sister, he paused. A querulous look crossed his face, and he reached out and touched my head. Like mother used to when I was feverish. He stayed still for a long moment and then smiled. “All thoughts are creative,” he told me, then he walked out the door.

Three hours later, I was given an injection and passed out. I awoke unrestrained. Shaking, I made my way to the door and found it unlocked I walked out into the empty hallway and then ran. I stumbled more than once, but I made it down the stairs and out into the lot behind the building. There, I collapsed, weeping like a child. I knew I had to keep moving, but I couldn’t manage it.

I got home eventually; I don’t remember how. I locked the door and shoved a dresser against it, took a long shower, and slept for a day and a half. Nobody came for me in the night, and nobody came the next day or the one after that. I twas over. I’d spent a week locked in that room, but it had felt like a century. I’d withdrawn so much from my life beforehand that nobody had even known I was missing.

The police didn’t find anything. The research center was empty when they searched it. The paper trail fell apart. The names I’d given them were aliases. Even the money I’d received was apparently untraceable.

I recovered as much as one can. I don’t leave the house much, and I have panic attacks when I do. I cry a lot. I don’t sleep much, and my nightmares are terrible. It’s over, I tell myself. I survived. I used the concentration those bastards taught me to convince myself. It works, sometimes.

Not today, though. Three days ago, I got a phone call from my mother. There’s been a tragedy. My sister’s the latest victim in a spree of killings, the police say. The perpetrator mugs his victims, then guts them.

The funeral was this afternoon. It was as lovely a service as a funeral can be, I suppose. I was a little distracted, though. All I could hear was music coming from somewhere distant. It was discordant, unsettling stuff that sounds like feedback, shrieking, and a modem dialing up. I hear it still – a little louder now.

Oh my god…

…I…

…I’m generally not into creepypastas but holy shit…

………

Holy shit what the hell did I just read

image

the scary part is that this is an actual thing. you can actually have a tulpa. it is a theory that slenderman among other myths are tulpas or thoughtforms (something created by collective thoughts of one or more individuals).
it’s so terrifying to think of what your mind can create.
 

Holy tits…

WHY IS THIS BACK

liTERALLY HORRIFIED JESUS CHRIST

WHAT THE SHIT EVEN DID I JUST READ

Oh my god….

(via finaldelta)

164,646 notes

thesoundofbeingtorn:

ilovett:

celebiii:

the-grudge-girl:

Answer Man
The Answer Man is an urban legend about a game that is played by kids in Japan. They say the game can invoke an evil spirit that will answer any question given to it.
You need:
Ten people who each own a cell phone
Step 1: Gather ten people in a loose circle. Each person must have the cell phone number of the person to their left.


Step 2: On the count of three, each person presses the call button to contact the person on their left 


Step 3: Everyone puts their phone to their ear and listens
Because everyone is calling each other at the same time, all of the phones should be busy and nobody should receive an answer.

However, one person will find that their call is mysteriously answered and they will hear a voice on the other end of the line.

This is the Answer Man.

When you are on the phone with the Answer Man, you can ask him anything. He will answer whatever questions you choose to ask him. However, after he gives you your answer, he will have a question for you. They say that if you answer his questions incorrectly or are unable to give an answer, a large gnarled hand will appear from the phone and tear off a piece of your body.

OH MY GOD

WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF GAME IS THIS??

Speaker phone time for this shit~

thesoundofbeingtorn:

ilovett:

celebiii:

the-grudge-girl:

Answer Man

The Answer Man is an urban legend about a game that is played by kids in Japan. They say the game can invoke an evil spirit that will answer any question given to it.

You need:

  • Ten people who each own a cell phone
Step 1: Gather ten people in a loose circle. Each person must have the cell phone number of the person to their left.
Step 2: On the count of three, each person presses the call button to contact the person on their left 
Step 3: Everyone puts their phone to their ear and listens


Because everyone is calling each other at the same time, all of the phones should be busy and nobody should receive an answer.

However, one person will find that their call is mysteriously answered and they will hear a voice on the other end of the line.
This is the Answer Man.
When you are on the phone with the Answer Man, you can ask him anything. He will answer whatever questions you choose to ask him. However, after he gives you your answer, he will have a question for you. They say that if you answer his questions incorrectly or are unable to give an answer, a large gnarled hand will appear from the phone and tear off a piece of your body.

OH MY GOD

WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF GAME IS THIS??

Speaker phone time for this shit~

(via alexiussana)

116,464 notes

best-of-funny:

visiblemonster:

could they have picked a creepier name for this color.

X

best-of-funny:

visiblemonster:

could they have picked a creepier name for this color.

X

(Source: visiblemonster-archive, via best-of-funny)

211,898 notes

hotbiochemist:

dressedinslowmotion:

Abandoned farm home outside of town. There were 8 cars left there (The blue one pictured has a pitch fork in the windshield). There was still toilet paper in the bathroom, and pictures littered the counter. The basement wall had caved in and I couldn’t really go down there. All the mirrors and windows were broken, everything was left there. I have no idea what happened.

man nosiness like this is what gets niggas killed in movies you saw help carved into the fucking wall and still kept nancy drewing your little ass around that demon portal

(via flamingold2)

385,891 notes

What's the creepiest thing your young child has said to you?

Genuine creepy stuff in there. *shudder*

To make it up, there’s some hilarious ones too.

My daughter is four and has taken to telling nonsensical knock-knock jokes (e.g. “Why did the Mama cross the road? Because her arms were noodles!”). One day she busts this one out:

Why did the butt cross the road?

Because it had a plug in it!

I have never felt so many conflicting emotions about my child.

3 notes

Trying to just watch a playthrough of Iamscared so I won’t be as scared… it’s still pretty freaky. TvT; This game creates files that says “hello” and messes with your computer, acting like a living digital entity. Still watching this, white face is playing tag with the player for now.

Edit: Ah. That’s it for that video. I hear white face still visits the player from time to time though. Outside of the game and unbidden.

egbertkid:

vriskca:

medicsglasses:

anindiegamereviewblog:

Imscared - A Pixelated Nightmareby Ivan Zanotti
Imscared is much more an experience than a game. In Imscared, you interact with an entity that apparently lives as data, therefore, the data can do things on your computer, such as create files, open it’s .exe file, open images in your browser, or close itself. Throughout the game, the entity (as we know as ‘White Face’) speaks to you through different means. We mostly interact in White Face’s world, one that it seems to have created itself (?), and during our interaction White Face chooses to let us see things at different times, learn things that it needs us to know, and interact with us seemingly out of desire for communication with another person.
The game becomes more terrifying as you progress, but also your feelings about White Face begin to change (it’s hard not to comment on anything!)
I have seen the game featured on many ‘top freeware’ or ‘indie horror’ game lists of 2012 and it’s very deserving of it’s title. Imscared is tough to explain, it’s a game that you just have to play, and you can only play it once.
‘The sound predicts its arrival’
Overall: 5/5
Download here

YOU KNOW WHAT I’LL TELL YOU ABOUT THIS FUCKIN GAME
I DOWNLOADED THIS AND HALFWAY THROUGH I GOT TOO FUCKIN SCARED TO PLAY IT SO I HIT ESCAPE AND TRIED TO GET OUT OF THE GAME
AND IT WOULDN’T LET ME LEAVE
I RESTARTED MY COMPUTER AND THE GAME WAS STILL THERE
I HAD TO TAKE THE FUCKIN BATTERY OUT OF MY COMPUTER TO GET IT TO GO AWAY
AND THEN WHEN I STARTED THE COMPUTER BACK UP IT TRIED TO REINSTALL ITSELF

it sounds like a fucking virus

It’s not a virus, but it sure is fucking scary. I’m pretty sure I’m never going to play this game on my own laptop for my own sanity.

egbertkid:

vriskca:

medicsglasses:

anindiegamereviewblog:

Imscared - A Pixelated Nightmare
by Ivan Zanotti


Imscared is much more an experience than a game. In Imscared, you interact with an entity that apparently lives as data, therefore, the data can do things on your computer, such as create files, open it’s .exe file, open images in your browser, or close itself. Throughout the game, the entity (as we know as ‘White Face’) speaks to you through different means. We mostly interact in White Face’s world, one that it seems to have created itself (?), and during our interaction White Face chooses to let us see things at different times, learn things that it needs us to know, and interact with us seemingly out of desire for communication with another person.

The game becomes more terrifying as you progress, but also your feelings about White Face begin to change (it’s hard not to comment on anything!)

I have seen the game featured on many ‘top freeware’ or ‘indie horror’ game lists of 2012 and it’s very deserving of it’s title. Imscared is tough to explain, it’s a game that you just have to play, and you can only play it once.

‘The sound predicts its arrival’

Overall: 5/5

Download here

YOU KNOW WHAT I’LL TELL YOU ABOUT THIS FUCKIN GAME

I DOWNLOADED THIS AND HALFWAY THROUGH I GOT TOO FUCKIN SCARED TO PLAY IT SO I HIT ESCAPE AND TRIED TO GET OUT OF THE GAME

AND IT WOULDN’T LET ME LEAVE

I RESTARTED MY COMPUTER AND THE GAME WAS STILL THERE

I HAD TO TAKE THE FUCKIN BATTERY OUT OF MY COMPUTER TO GET IT TO GO AWAY

AND THEN WHEN I STARTED THE COMPUTER BACK UP IT TRIED TO REINSTALL ITSELF

it sounds like a fucking virus

It’s not a virus, but it sure is fucking scary. I’m pretty sure I’m never going to play this game on my own laptop for my own sanity.

(via kiryuujoshua)

15,235 notes

trisaratopsies:

peculiaraura:

itscandidlycaratempurl:

Friendly reminder this show was filmed in front of a live studio audience in one take.

And that all sitcom laugh tracks are taken from this show because the laughter was so sincere.

So that would mean that some of the people laughing on laugh tracks are dead? I’m listening to the laughter of dead people? 

(via rockerfox999)

519,771 notes

Playing Hide and Seek by Yourself (Hitori Kakurenbo)

the-jokers-rose:

365daysofhorror:

So, there was an anon who asked what I thought of Hitori Kakurenbo earlier today. While I’m still waiting to find out if they meant the movie or the game, I realized some people might not even know what the game is. It is, hands down, the creepiest shit I’ve ever heard of.

Did you ever play the game Bloody Mary, where you stand in front of the mirror in the dark and say “Bloody Mary” three times? Hitori Kakurenbo is Japan’s more horrifying version.

Here’s how you play. If you die, it’s not my fault.

You need:

  • A stuffed animal that has both arms and legs
  • Rice
  • Fingernail clippings (yours)
  • A knife, shard of glass, or some sharp instrument
  • A needle with a long piece of red thread
  • A cup of salt water or Japanese sake
  • A bathtub
  • Someplace to hide
  • A prepared will, because you’re going to die

First, name your stuffed animal. Let’s call our hypothetical teddy bear “Mister Squish”. Cut open Mister Squish and remove all of his stuffing. Replace it with the rice and your fingernail clippings. Make sure he is stuffed up good then sew him back up. Use the needle and red thread. It’s important that you use a long piece of thread so you can wrap the excess around his fuzzy, adorable body like some sort of furry bondage.

At 3am, take Mister Squish into your bathroom. Fill the tub with water. Hold Mister Squish in both hands and say out loud “For the first game, I’m (your name here) going to be it.” Say this three times then drop Mister Squish in the water.

Now, run around your house, turning off all the lights as you go. All of em, even that Spongebob Squarepants nightlight you have that you think I don’t know about but I do. You can keep your TV on but only if it’s tuned to a static-filled station. If you’re really a fan of The Ring, now is your chance to die just like in the movie!

Got all the lights off? Good. Close your eyes and count to ten. When you’re finished, open your eyes and grab the knife (or whatever sharp instrument you picked) and go back to the bathroom. Out loud, announce “I found Mister Squish!” Grab your soggy teddy and stab the shit out of him with the knife/scissors/glass/etc.

Congratulations! You won that round.

Note: The word for “it” in Japanese hide & seek or tag is “oni”  - which means “devil”. This makes the next part of the game all the more terrifying.

Next, say “Now Mister Squish is it.” (AKA “Now Mister Squish is the Devil.”) Leave the still-impaled (this is very important) bear in the bathroom, either in the water or on the floor. Quickly (the instructions specifically say quickly) run out of the room. “Hide Quietly.” (Again, the instructions specify ‘quietly’.) Wherever you hide (closets are a good recommendation), make sure you have your glass of salt water or sake with you. Seriously. Don’t forget this. Just don’t.

Let’s say you pull and R Kelly and you’re hiding in the closet. (Dare I say you are “trapped” in the closet?) Stay there, listening and waiting. For what, you ask? All sorts of crazy shit, apparently. People have reported sounds (footsteps, voices and things being moved), horrible smells, changes in temperature, and having the TV suddenly switch off or the volume change dramatically. Some reported the sensation of being touched or pulled on, others said that their household pets freaked out (cowered or cried out). Whatever happens, stay hidden for as long as you can or until sunrise.

Ready for this shit to be over with? The ending ritual is extremely important. You can’t just hop out of the closet at sunrise and announce that you’ve won. Let’s say it’s still dark, something has freaked you out and you want to end the game. Take as much salt water (or sake) in your mouth as you can, holding it there while you return to the bathroom. Don’t assume Mister Squish will be where you left him. There have been people who find either him or the knife moved or missing entirely. Keep searching until you find Mister Squish. And, contrary to what guys usually say, DON’T SWALLOW! Hold that salty water in your mouth until you get that bear.

Once you find Mister Squish, spit the salt water (sake) all over him and tell him three times, “I won!”

That almost always ends the game… but you can never be too sure. As a final precaution, it is imperative you burn the stuffed animal you used. Even though the game is over, people have posted that they’ve become ill, gotten into some kind of accident, or continued to feel the presence of someone or something.

Oh, and another note of warning - DO NOT PLAY WHILE SOMEONE ELSE IS IN THE HOUSE. There is the possibility that they will be “found” instead of you. And something terrible will happen to them. You must be alone in the house when you play.

So there you go. If you want to die tonight, here is a delightful game just for you. Thanks, Japan!

Welp, I guess I’ll have to make an Ura Ukyou plush if I ever decide to play this.

14,224 notes

dean-laughingalone-withpie:

this is actually incredibly unsettling 

(Source: oldblogarchive, via minawakitten)

13,948 notes