fredericktrumper
fredericktrumper:

sixpenceee:

quick someone write a short horror story based on this gif

     I am certain of one thing and one thing only: I am still alive.
     Everything seems to be the same and everything is different.
     I awake at exactly 12:52 AM.  My husband is asleep beside me.  He is cold; his typical comforting warmth appears to be gone.  Maybe he’s dead.  I can’t bring myself to check.  I am unbearably, inexplicably calm.  My mind refuses to feel the fear that I know is there, directly under the thick layer of apathy that coats my consciousness like thick gray paint.  
     My eyes glance over the room, searching for something.  What something, I don’t know.  Nothing is out of place.  Nothing has moved.  Nothing had any reason to move, and yet I feel like something should have.  Something should have changed, moved, fallen, broken, but nothing has.  I am overwhelmed with the sense that nothing has ever changed and nothing ever will change.  I start to think that maybe I’m alone.  I start to think that maybe I’m not alone.  Both scare me more than I’m willing to admit.
     I can’t hear the city outside.  Perhaps it’s not there.
     I get out of bed.  I walk, not of my own accord but of some urge that I cannot and refuse to attempt to explain, down the hallway.  I stop at the door to my son’s bedroom.
     I look inside.  There is a boy asleep on the bed.  He is smallish and blonde, and he looks like my son.  He looks exactly like my son. But there is something off, something different, something I can’t put my finger on.  He doesn’t move.  Neither do I.
     I am struck by a thought that sends a chill down my spine.
     That is not my son.
     The trance breaks and suddenly everything is clearer, and the fear hits and I’m running and running and I don’t remember running to the fire escape, but here I am, and the next second something pushes me over the railing, something that looks like my son.
     I awake at exactly 12:52 AM.

Or even:     I promised myself that this would be the only time I let a houseguest stay overnight.  The woman was a friend-of-a-friend who’s car had it’s engine bust upon ignition.  My missus had agreed to let the lady stay in one of the guest rooms.
     It was only a few hours until my sleep that night was interrupted by the sluggish nudging from a pair of hands at my side.  Groggy but awake enough to be concerned, I looked over.  The lady was there, rubbing one eye lazily with her wrist.  She sniffled and said, “Your son is crying in his room; I thought you might like to know.” My heart dropped.  I shook my wife awake and then swung my legs over the side of the bed.  Snatching my phone off the nightstand I walked, quick-paced, to the other guest room.  At the closed door, I turned on the flash on my phone’s camera and began taping.  Muffled sobs could be heard within.
     By this time, both my wife and houseguest were by my side yet only my wife was confused.  I slowly opened the door, hoping not to alarm anyone.  Stepping into the room, I saw what I dreaded.  
     A boy of about nine years was on the bed, facing the wall.  He had light hair and was not dressed for sleeping.  His cries stopped and he seemed to hold his breath.
     I could only manage to say one thing.
"That’s not my son."

fredericktrumper:

sixpenceee:

quick someone write a short horror story based on this gif

     I am certain of one thing and one thing only: I am still alive.

     Everything seems to be the same and everything is different.

     I awake at exactly 12:52 AM.  My husband is asleep beside me.  He is cold; his typical comforting warmth appears to be gone.  Maybe he’s dead.  I can’t bring myself to check.  I am unbearably, inexplicably calm.  My mind refuses to feel the fear that I know is there, directly under the thick layer of apathy that coats my consciousness like thick gray paint.  

     My eyes glance over the room, searching for something.  What something, I don’t know.  Nothing is out of place.  Nothing has moved.  Nothing had any reason to move, and yet I feel like something should have.  Something should have changed, moved, fallen, broken, but nothing has.  I am overwhelmed with the sense that nothing has ever changed and nothing ever will change.  I start to think that maybe I’m alone.  I start to think that maybe I’m not alone.  Both scare me more than I’m willing to admit.

     I can’t hear the city outside.  Perhaps it’s not there.

     I get out of bed.  I walk, not of my own accord but of some urge that I cannot and refuse to attempt to explain, down the hallway.  I stop at the door to my son’s bedroom.

     I look inside.  There is a boy asleep on the bed.  He is smallish and blonde, and he looks like my son.  He looks exactly like my son. But there is something off, something different, something I can’t put my finger on.  He doesn’t move.  Neither do I.

     I am struck by a thought that sends a chill down my spine.

     That is not my son.

     The trance breaks and suddenly everything is clearer, and the fear hits and I’m running and running and I don’t remember running to the fire escape, but here I am, and the next second something pushes me over the railing, something that looks like my son.

     I awake at exactly 12:52 AM.

Or even:
     I promised myself that this would be the only time I let a houseguest stay overnight.  The woman was a friend-of-a-friend who’s car had it’s engine bust upon ignition.  My missus had agreed to let the lady stay in one of the guest rooms.

     It was only a few hours until my sleep that night was interrupted by the sluggish nudging from a pair of hands at my side.  Groggy but awake enough to be concerned, I looked over.  The lady was there, rubbing one eye lazily with her wrist.  She sniffled and said, “Your son is crying in his room; I thought you might like to know.” My heart dropped.  I shook my wife awake and then swung my legs over the side of the bed.  Snatching my phone off the nightstand I walked, quick-paced, to the other guest room.  At the closed door, I turned on the flash on my phone’s camera and began taping.  Muffled sobs could be heard within.

     By this time, both my wife and houseguest were by my side yet only my wife was confused.  I slowly opened the door, hoping not to alarm anyone.  Stepping into the room, I saw what I dreaded.  

     A boy of about nine years was on the bed, facing the wall.  He had light hair and was not dressed for sleeping.  His cries stopped and he seemed to hold his breath.

     I could only manage to say one thing.

"That’s not my son."

worstfriends-forever

In case anyone is having a bad night:

heythereclifford:

radiolightning:

Here is the fudgiest brownie in a mug recipe I’ve found

Here are some fun sites

Here is a master post of Adventure Time episodes and comics

Here is a master post of movies including Disney and Studio Ghibli

Here is a master post of other master posts to TV shows and movies

*tucks you in with fuzzy blanket* *pats your head*

You’ll be okay, friend <3

i will reblog this everytime it shows up because any of my followers could have a bad night right now

w7he

knightingail:

jordanleeemerson:

cheftier:

metallikato:

nuggles:

when you find a shirt you really like and wear it a couple times and it starts doing

the thing

image

These are called pills. You can remove them with a shaving razor. Be gentle with delicate fabrics!

image

image

image

image

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS A++ INFORMATION TUMBLR USER METALLIKATO

Whoa, cool!

THIS TECHNIQUE HAS SAVED SOME OF MY COSPLAYS NO LIE
KEEP THIS POST IT WILL SAVE YOUR LIFE

caffine-addict
antares-nova:

babygoatsandfriends:

goats-4-everyone:

babygoatsandfriends:

marthaachloe:

WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT YOU ABUSIVE ANIMAL THE PUPPIES HAVE DONE NOTHING TO YOU WHAT THE HELL 


This is actually the way baby goats socialize and create bonds with their want to be friends. :) The poor thing just wants a friend. The puppies are the abusive ones neglecting it of friendship with their misunderstanding of the mysterious world of goats and their social behaviors.

=)

In the goat’s mind: ”hello furry sausages let’s be friends okay”
In the puppies’ minds: “jeSUS CHRIST WHAT THE HELL”


The mysterious world of goats

antares-nova:

babygoatsandfriends:

goats-4-everyone:

babygoatsandfriends:

marthaachloe:

WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT YOU ABUSIVE ANIMAL THE PUPPIES HAVE DONE NOTHING TO YOU WHAT THE HELL 

This is actually the way baby goats socialize and create bonds with their want to be friends. :) The poor thing just wants a friend. The puppies are the abusive ones neglecting it of friendship with their misunderstanding of the mysterious world of goats and their social behaviors.

=)

In the goat’s mind: ”hello furry sausages let’s be friends okay”

In the puppies’ minds: “jeSUS CHRIST WHAT THE HELL”

The mysterious world of goats