u/Clowndude787

I know it’s not original, but I wanted to give my rankings and reasons. Hopefully even discuss with fellow fans!

10. Season 3 - This season really was just insanely campy, the writing wouldn’t always land, plus the acting from some of the lead actors was subpar. I hated the overdrive of the premise, which was already a bit over the top (but not awful) from the end of Season 2. I did like his manipulation of Caroline into one his co-conspirators, and I did like the introduction to “Old Chucky”. Brad Dourif was incredible in his multiple roles here and is always the star, but the shaky writing for the season and the ridiculous end sequence really ruined it.

11. Seed - Super split take, but similar issues to Season 3. I can appreciate what Mancini was trying to say and do: queer camp horror with undertones and critiques on the misogyny and exploitation in Hollywood. Some argue it would’ve been better received in the future, but I still think the constant sex jokes, over the top campiness, and shaky writing would’ve still made this movie underperform even during a time it could’ve been better appreciated. I also never cared for how much of a back seat Chucky and Tiffany took, and Glen/Glenda feel like half-backed characters.

12. Season 2 - I didn’t hate the initial premise, but this season’s pacing just felt super weird to me. Incredibly slow and also felt fragmented. The horde of Chuckies was done much better in Season 1, I did appreciate the different types of Chuckies (buff, bald), but the pacing and less than stellar background characters, plus the weirdly cardboard acting from the lead (minus Lexi) made this season feel like a bit of a drag. The exorcism scene was cool, and I did like the “end” for Andy and Kyle.

13. Child’s Play 3 - Wasted potential. I actually liked the premise of Andy becoming older, and acting as a protector. But the highly evident rushing of the script with really cheap writing and jokes, the slow and shoddy build to the climax, the underwhelming and flat secondary characters, really drag this movie down.

14. Bride - A good comeback for the series even if it falls short in some aspects. I love Chucky’s scarred design, Jennifer Tilly is always wonderful, and the kills are super creative. Plus the final act is tense and properly serious. I think the movie falls apart a bit during the second and third acts, and it being a nigh-slapstick “road trip” movie kinda takes away from it.

15. Cult of Chucky - the asylum setting is super creepy and fitting, re-introducing Andy and Kyle were nice touches, plus I really like the expansion on the voodoo aspect, plus the different types of Chuckies are funny but also maniacal. I do think it can be a bit over the top at times, with some jokes and plot points feeling a bit strange. But I love how it wraps up the movies and post-OG trilogy as well.

16. Season 1 - Although the acting can feel rough at times, I love how it brings everything together from the movies. The horde of Chuckies for the season finale was awesome, Brad & Fiona Dourif and Jennifer Tilly really shine here. I also love how Chucky was not only a weapon, but he felt calculating and manipulative here. A lot of his other movies were on a relatively small scale, but to bring a whole town/city of people to his knees and unleash hell on them was pretty cool. I do wish CLR’s lore was a bit less derivative.

17. Curse of Chucky - Wonderfully creepy return to the franchise, also with balanced camp. The expansion on Ray’s lore was great, and Nica was an amazing addition to the lore. The reveal of his scarred form was really great.

Now this next part was super difficult for me to decide, so there won’t be a #2, but 1a and 1b.

1b. Child’s Play 2 - Awesome sequel with an amazingly creepy/satisfying intro plus an epic final battle scene. I love that we see more Chucky, Andy and Kyle are great together. The only reason this would be 1b for me is the secondary characters. I don’t care for his foster parents (they kinda pissed me off lol), and I wish the movie had a bit more time. It feels too quick at a point, but man is it bombastic and so much fun.

1a The OG - Slower burn slasher with an awesome mystery in the beginning. The voodoo aspect was a nice touch, Chucky is incredibly menacing, and I appreciate how we see him change even in appearance. An absolute classic for a reason. The secondary characters felt amazing as well, which I think is something the franchise struggles with accomplishing. The opening to the ending kept you on your toes, and even the surrounding settings were incredible: beautiful Chicago apartments to the gritty depths where CLR operated and grew into the monster he became as Chucky the Killer Doll and terrorized a family.

Not solely seeing issues with animatronics in store, but anyone have personal issues with an animatronic they ordered?

I’m a 32 year old guy who is running fucking scared for his life. Ten months ago I was at the top of my world: well respected, earned money hand over fist - which I used to buy time with women, alcohol, drugs… fuck. 

I really don’t know who to turn to. Just to be as open as possible, since it doesn’t matter anymore, I’m part of La Cosa Nostra, a soldier for the Bonanno family. Yes, a soldier, a made man at 32. How’d I do it? Having a father and older brother in the life helps, and also figuring out some nice crypto scams that made the family some good fucking money. I also kept up nice appearances: nice house, a car, and a wife with a baby on the way. 

Then things got fucked up, really fucked up. My wife found out about a woman I had been seeing on the side. Well, I guess not just seeing, but living with nearly every weekend. Got her a nice apartment in the city, and helped fund some of her college education in graphic design… or whatever bullshit she’s studying. My wife found out, and ten months ago took her own life while pregnant with our son, who would have been our firstborn. I found her in her robe… she hung ourself in our bedroom. I put my hand on her belly, looking for something to say… nothing came out. Then came the funeral, then a bunch of condolences. I couldn't even look at my girlfriend, didn't want anything to do with her. I blamed her and called her a whore, a home wrecking and selfish whore, and stoped paying her rent and tuition. Don't know what ended up happening to her, and I didn't care at the time. But she wasn't the fuckin' home wrecker, and she didn't have a spouse she cheated on. Guess I did whatever made me feel better, and that's my Goddamned problem... Fuck, now I'm just rambling...

Anyway, that was all ten months ago. The next seven months were a fuckin’ spiral, and that’s when I met Gia.

Gia was a stunning woman, inside and out. Smart, sophisticated, beautiful. She was what I needed. The relationship was rocky, crazy, and just full of fuckin’ passion. But as the relationship got crazier, so did my drinking and coke use. One night, I don’t know what happened, but I was under the influence of the shit I was shoving down my nose and throat, and we stated arguing, and I lost it. I don't know how I did it, but I hurt that poor girl so fucking badly that she ended up in a coma, and three months later I still don’t know how she is... don't know if she ever woke up. Issue is, Gia is the boss’s niece. His fucking niece, his blood. 

I became a pariah immediately, and knew I wasn’t welcome anymore, especially when my own father and brother shunned me. I tried laying low and stayed with my younger brother, Al. He isn’t in this life, and I plan to leave his apartment when I can get some shit in order. Anyway, tonight I was falling asleep on his couch in his apartment when I heard a knock at the door. I shot up and got my pistol cocked, and hid behind the couch. I told Al to stay in bed. The knocks continued and got louder. Then the fucking door flew off its hinges. A man in a grey, pinstripe suit was standing there. A blue handkerchief neatly poked out of his breast pocket. His skin was pale white, his eyes were bright green, and he had this big, fucked up smile that was ear to ear. His jet black hair was slicked back super neatly.

I immediately shot at him twice. The bullet holes I left in his chest cleared up. The man looked down at his chest, still grinning and said: “Good shot, Robby! That tickled!” He walked into the apartment, and looked around. I fell back onto the couch, trembling. What the fuck was this guy wearing? How the fuck did his bullet holes clear up!?

He turned his head towards the bedroom and saw my brother standing there. He chuckled, and before I could tell my brother to run, this guy lifted his hand, and it turned into some kinda blade or some shit, and he jumped at my brother and shoved the blade between his eyes. My brother made a gurgling like sound and just dropped. The man’s arm returned to normal as he laughed, wiped the blood off, and said “Cool, isn’t it.”

“W-what the fuck are you?” I uttered out.

The man said, “A guy looking to settle a score!”

I got up and bolted out of the room. I made the mistake of looking behind me and saw this thing lunge out of the room and run along the walls on all fours, almost catching up with me. I ran into a stairwell and slid down it, almost busting my ass on the way down. As I got into the lobby, a bunch of people looked at me and started scurrying away. I heard one man calling the cops. I looked at myself in a mirror near the doorman’s desk and saw myself in my pajamas, covered in my brother’s blood and still holding the gun. I started to panic, then heard people scream. The man was behind me and threw me to the floor. I tried turning my head back as I struggled to get up, but he had me pinned down with one leg. His hands began to crack and make splintering noises as they formed into claws. He began to rip pieces of my flesh out of my back and he laughed, saying: “I GOT A BIG PAYOUT FOR THIS! I WAS TOLD TO ENJOY THIS, ROBBY!”

I was in excruciating pain, a shockwave of hurt just traveling through me every time he dug his claws in and out of my back. Things went black for a while, and I woke up in the hospital handcuffed to my bed inside a room by myself, A nurse came in to talk to me. She wore a mask, so I could only see her eyes. She sat down at the foot of the bed and said, “Hi, I’m your nurse, Joy!”. She then pulled her mask down and began to smile a wide-toothed grin. Her eyes went from blue to bright green. She began to speak, saying: “Enjoy your stay, Robby.” She kept repeating it, and her voice went from soft and feminine to deep and gravelly. She pulled out a syringe from her scrubs pocket and injected me with something that knocked me out. 

I’m back awake now. When I woke up, I had a bunch of of the hospital staff surrounding me, calling my name to wake up. I told them I didn’t want nurse Joy, and the doctor said, “There is no nurse Joy here, sir.”

They walked out after the doc said something about imaging, and told me not to move too much or I’d tear the stitching in my back. I’m gonna try and get some shut-eye, then when I’m good enough to leave I can send updates and maybe get to the fucking bottom of this. 

Back in 1962, Thalidomide - the drug that devastated countless families - was taken off the market after the outcry from the general public became overbearing. How does the saying go? Oh yeah, regulations are written in blood. Now, what the fuck am I talking about this for? Well, most of the children had become accounted for in some way: raised at home, adopted, institutionalized, or unfortunately perished due to their congenital defects. Now, realize that I said most, not all - most.

In 1972, an orphanage on the northern shore of Long Island had burnt down, with the fire taking all of its records in the blaze. One thing is known, though: it was home to one of the few thalidomide babies born in New York State, and his body was never recovered from the wreckage. Now, a body not being discovered was VERY unfortunately par for the course for a situation like this: the orphanage wasn’t just for orphans, it was for orphans with deformities and mental illnesses. Home for what those back in the day viewed as the “dregs of society”. So who was REALLY looking for them?

I am. Specifically, for this thalidomide boy. There’s something special, alleged about him. The final worker who survived working at that orphanage, one of the few workers who escaped the blaze, claimed they housed a “faceless thalidomide baby”. No one believed her, but I do. So, I sat down with her for an interview at her house. It was an old, raised ranch style home with antique furniture and no electronics in the home besides an analog television, not even cable. The ticking of the large grandfather clock took over the quietness that loomed within the home as she thought of answer.

“Miss Rosenthal,” I said, “you can take your time. But I have to know, how the hell did this happen?”

Miss Rosenthal put her hand up and said, “I’m… I’m thinking! I don’t know how he became faceless… but he survived. A tracheostomy was performed to help him breathe, along with giving him a G-tube… He thrived, but was put down by so much staff… I worked in that place because I felt for those children. They were neglected and abused by EVERYONE: from their parents who gave them up, to the staff at the orphanage. I couldn’t stand to see it, but I was one person…”

Miss Rosenthal began to tear up, so I pushed the tissue box closer to her. She sniffled a bit and wiped her eyes, then continued: “I don’t know how, but it was as if he could ‘see’. I know he could hear, he had ears… but no eyes, obviously. How the hell could a boy like him see? Three days before the fire, he took a piece of blank paper from the stack I was holding and drew, using black crayon, some kind of angel… a winged creature. And he pointed to where his eyes would be if he was born with them. Then… the fire. I caught him with a box of matches. He set the fire and then carried me out of there. He was ten years old, strong as a bull, and was able to carry me out. He spared me.”

“You showed him kindness… mercy. Treated him like a human,” I said, writing notes down on my pad. Miss Rosenthal nodded as she looked down at the table, both regretful and defeated. She rubbed her eyes and stood up, beckoning me to leave. Before I left, I asked: “Have you ever seen him again?”

Miss Rosenthal said, “His name is William… Billy I called him. The only place he knew as home is where you may find him. He wasn’t there for years, but I get news from some people around that neighborhood. I used to live near there. Some of the people, they know me, I have friends there that still live there after all these years. The rubble has recently been cleaned, and they’re building a school there. He’s been seen at a distance at night. But please, don’t go. He’s a very angry man…”

I thanked Miss Rosenthal, reassured her, and was on my way. Of course I went looking for him. Every night for a two weeks I went to the build site and waited for hours, one time waiting till the sun came up. I’d sit on the same folding chair for hours, sometimes seeing a mirage in the distance, causing me to grip the edge of the seat so hard my knuckles would turn white, and my heart would pound into my throat. But then I’d see it was nothing, a fat fucking waste of another night.

Then when I would nearly quit, I saw him. Sitting at the building site on a Thursday at 11 pm, he came crawling from what looked like a makeshift tunnel. I could vaguely see his featureless face: he had hair, ears, a chin, but where his eyes, nose, and mouth would be was just a shapeless slate of skin. He put on a baseball cap, fastened his sweater, and began to walk around. I stayed in my seat and lifted up my phone to try and get a photo, turning off the flash as to not disturb or alert him. But before I could even pick my phone all the way up, I saw him turn around and make a run for me. I got up, nearly falling over the chair, and just ran, leaving the chair and my bag of food behind. I sprinted like I never had before, but it wasn’t any use. His feet slammed on the ground with every stride like thunder, and he caught up next to me in seconds. He reached out his hand and grabbed me by my neck, throwing me down on the ground. He flipped me over and slammed his fist onto my face.

I woke up in what seemed to be an abandoned rail station. There was the sound of dripping of water in the distance, random creaking noises, and the smell of mold and smoke. Looking around, I saw rotting walls and rusted pipes. A light came in from an adjacent room. I tried moving but realized I was chained to a wall. I started shaking the chains and screaming as I struggled. It was no use, I couldn’t get out. A shadow looked at the entrance, followed by its owner: The Faceless Man.

I looked at him and said: “W-William?”

A voice echoed in my head: “SHE TOLD YOU THE NAME.”

I winced in pain. Fuck, FUCK! It felt like someone cracked me upside the head with a fucking hammer. My nose dripped blood.

The voice was quieter, softer now: “You aren’t used to it. My bad. But she told you. Rosenthal.”

“H-how the fuck are you doing this?” I asked him.

“The angel imbued me with sight and this power. I am chosen to bring forth retribution against humans.”

“Retribution? That’s…”

William got right in my face. I could see the hole where his trach was… I could hear the air moving in and out of it as he got in my face.

The voice continued in my head: “Crazy? Was that the word you wanted to say? How crazy am I. I and many others get deformed from a medication. A medication that the company lied to save their ass, and to save the Nazi prick who made the fucking thing. And if I’m so crazy, HOW DO I HAVE NO EYES BUT SEE? HOW DO YOU HEAR ME?”

My nose bled more, and I passed out from the pain… the thunder in my head.

After an unknown amount of time I woke up. I looked down and saw dried blood on my shoes, and smelled the wet copper smell of my blood. William walked into the room, carrying someone over his shoulder. It was Miss Rosenthal. He threw her body down on the concrete floor, a groan of pain emanated from her bruised mouth.

“Wh-what the fuck?” I said groggily, using all my energy to push the words out.

The voice in my head came in again, this time in a hushed tone: “She gave my life away as a fucking sensationalist story piece… turned me into an urban legend… a fetish for your shitty journalism career.”

“H-how do you kn-know?” I asked.

“I watch all that I can. I should’ve never saved her. You’re all the fucking same. ALL OF YOU!”

The thunder rattled my head from the inside out. I winced in pain and shouted for him to stop. He laughed. I could hear him laughing in my head. As he laughed, he picked up Miss Rosenthal and twisted her neck. The audible snap and the quick pooling of blood at the base of her neck made me vomit all over my shirt. He kept fucking laughing.

“Swift judgement. But for you, you took a while. So let’s make sure your punishment, your judgement, does too.”

He grabbed my arm and yanked. I cried out in pain, but asked, “WHY? How do you know it’s not a demon fooling you. She told me it didn’t look like an angel!”

William slapped me and grabbed my neck. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” his voice boomed in my head.

He grabbed my left arm and yanked and twisted it. I screamed and cried in pain, but he didn’t stop. The laughing began in my head again. Then my arm came off. My vision began to go blurry as blood poured from the socket where my arm was. He threw my arm on the floor and went to the other one. Just as he began yanking, I heard footsteps.

“The screaming’s in here!”

A group of armed SWAT officers came running into the room. William turned around. One of the officers screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!?”. William jumped up and pounced on the officer. They raised their guns and opened fire on William. Then it was over. As William’s body fell limp, full of bullet holes and torn flesh, my world went dark.

I woke up in the hospital after being unconscious for three days. Supposedly I needed a blood transfusion, tetanus shot, and so much more. I looked to my left and the absence of my arm crushed me as I realized just how real this all was.

My three year long search had ended. I had the story, the police to back it up… but it didn’t mean anything anymore. William was right, all people saw was a sensationalist story, but overlooked the dark nature of humanity. A boy was wronged, deformed by a drug… a drug that the company that made it denied the detrimental effects of. The drug made by a eugenicist, a Nazi.

We’re all fucked up and maybe deserved some sort of retribution. Maybe William wasn’t just a victim, but a reflection of our base nature: a sad, twisted, angry species hellbent on revenge and power.

Or maybe it’s none of that. I don’t know. All I know is that I need sleep, and a new fucking job.

From the time I started high school to now, my life has been full of fuckups and awful decisions. This led me down a path to where I am now, scared for my fucking life with nowhere to turn. Since I have no one else to go to, so I’m posting here.

My current “situation” arose from shit that started four months ago, when my cousin threatened to kick me out of the house. No one else wanted to take me in, and I don’t have a steady job because no one wants to hire a high school drop out with a history of addiction, so I can’t rent or buy a place. I was lucky this cousin took me in, but that gravy train fucking ended due to his bitchy girlfriend wanting me to leave. I got into a big argument with him, so I packed what shit I had and took the bus to a local Starbucks. I got a small hot coffee and sat down at a wobbly table that I needed to uncomfortably put my foot against to keep it stable.

Finally settling in, I took a sip of the coffee and nearly spit it out as I burnt my fucking tongue. Great. I slammed my coffee down and slouched forward in my chair, not knowing what the fuck was my next move aside from basically living on the streets. With my eyes shut and my head slumped down, I heard the nearby scraping of a chair. I looked up, and a man in a suit had sat down across from me, his hands clasped together on the table, and his posture impeccable. He showed a white, toothy grin that I swear to God could be an advert for some fucking toothpaste. What the fuck did he want with me? 

“Can I help you?” I asked, confused.

The man chuckled and inspected his polished fingernails. Still looking at his fingernails, he said: “No, but I can help you! You look down on your luck… you have your belongings in that trash bag, you also look so downtrodden.”

I took a sip of my coffee, which thankfully cooled down a bit, and I said “Fuck off, I don’t need charity.”

The man didn’t budge nor flinch. He just kept smiling and said: “It’s not charity, you’d be doing my bosses and I a favor. To cut to the chase, I supervise at a medical clinic. I need a janitor. It has benefits and pays $37.50 an hour. You want it or not?”

I agreed to it, and the next morning at 7 a.m., I went to the address he gave me. It was a small, brick building with no awning, no sign, and no windows save for the glass door. The glass door itself was a bit clouded and grimy; guess that was my first task. I pushed the door open, which creaked so loud that I thought my fucking ear drums would pop and stepped into the place. It smelled like ammonia and damp, old clothes. Not the most pleasant smell, but I’m sure I’d get used to it. As I stepped past the entrance area, I could see a small receptionist’s desk with an old woman sitting behind it. The desk itself and the wall it was connected to was white at one point, but was now a light yellow with scuff marks all around it. The woman behind the desk told me to wait. As I stood behind the desk and waited, the flickering fluorescent lights hummed loudly above me, and gave the already grimy looking interior an even more lifeless look. The woman came back with my uniform, ID badge, and keys. She told me to meet my supervisor in the office past the patient rooms. As I passed by each of the seven patient rooms, I looked in and saw the same thing: an examination table with cracked, peeling pleather; a rusty, metal cabinet full of old medical supplies, a sink, and large, rusted metal doors.

I got to the supervisor’s office and knocked on his door. He opened the door, and the inside of his office looked nicer than the rest of this clinic: fuzzy, carpeted floor, a beautiful antique desk, and non-humming lights. The fucking hum was driving me nuts, more than that fucking smell, but I guess I’d get used to both… maybe even have to fix whatever caused them. 

“I’m glad you took the offer and came promptly at seven as instructed, a good first impression! Continue the good work and you can get a nice pay raise sooner. Now, you have a lot of work to do, and I will give you a list of your daily tasks and even things you must fix. You good with your hands?”

“I mean… I guess… I have done some construction work,” I uttered out.

The supervisor patted my shoulder and said, “You’ll learn! Now, the rules:
One: Punch in everyday at 8 am, an hour before the doctors, nurses, and patients come in.

Two: Do not punch out before 6 pm.

Three: when the doctor and patients get here, you are not to say a single word to ANY of them for ANY reason. I don’t give a shit what the circumstances are, you do not break that rule.

Four: You do not go into any of the patient’s rooms until you are explicitly told to. They are exclusively women, and do not want to be intruded upon by men.

Five: Those metal doors inside the patient rooms are to never be opened.

Do you understand these rules?”

I nodded. The supervisor smiled, said some shit about a good work ethic, handed me a to-do list, and I began my tasks. Things were fine for the first four months; I fixed up and replaced many of the lights so that fucking humming went away. I corrected some mold problems and replaced some dry wall that was water damaged, so now the musty smell also went away. I was doing pretty well and had even saved up enough money for an apartment not too far from work. Then I broke the rules.

Yesterday morning at 9 I bumped into the doctor, Dr. Billman. He was a tall, arrogant piece of shit with sharp features. He always had such a disgusted, angry look about him. He muttered something about me being “bottom of the barrel”, so I told him to go fuck himself. My fucking bullshit ego. He scoffed and took a patient into one of the rooms. Usually people cry in pain, sometimes yell, but I always thought it was normal, until I heard a bunch of babies crying. it was soft and muffled, but I swear I could hear it. I don’t know what came over me, but I started jiggling the door handle, and I heard Dr. Billman yell “FUCK OFF!”. I used my key to get in, and as I pushed open the door, I saw patient in a gown on the observation table, with her feet on stirrups. The sound of crying babies grew so loud. I stepped closer to the patient, she was unconscious and had a ton of blood spilling out of her. This was much more blood than I had ever seen or needed to clean up. I shook her, wanting to try and wake her, but it wasn’t any use. Feeling dizzy and seeing double, I needed to sit, but my adrenaline kicked in and I got into fight or flight mode when I heard Billman scream.

I looked up and saw him running at me with a boxcutter, his white coat full of blood. I jumped out of the way before he could swing at me. I pushed the metal cabinet cart towards him with all my strength and knocked him back. As I stood back up, the sound of crying babies became prevalent again. The rusty metal door that is in every room was open. Before I could walk towards it, I heard Billman getting back up. I turned around and kicked the boxcutter from his hands, then punched him square in the jaw, knocking him out. I winced back in pain and nursed my hand for a bit. I then turned my focus to the cart and pushed it in front of the entrance door. After that, I slowly began to approach the metal door; the room behind it was dark and smelled musty. I could see a dimly lit stairwell in the farthest corner of the room. Against my better judgement, I descended down the stairs, the crying became louder, near-deafening. I was nauseous from how loud and overwhelming it was, but I kept going; I don’t fucking know why, but I kept fucking going.

I got down to the bottom step and saw 6 other staircases, presumably from the other 6 rooms. I then looked forward and saw a large, seemingly unending, dimly lit room. As I walked in, I saw overturned bassinets, broken cribs, empty bottles, and even pacifiers strewn along the floor. As I kept looking around, I even saw tiny footprints of dried blood along the floor. The crying got louder as I approached a large, almost cavern-like opening to the right side of this large room. 

As I approached the next room, the crying became deafening. It echoed through the cavern, bouncing off concrete until I felt dizzy and couldn't tell where it was coming from. I kept close to the wall as I approached the entrance. Once I rounded the corner, I peaked my head in and saw rows of metal cribs stretching throughout the dimly lit space. I realized every single crib held a baby. There was a group of men in masks in there, some feeding babies bottles of formula, and others picking them up, as if they were inspecting them. One of the men was standing near a van, holding what looked like an AK. I saw another one of the men inspect a clipboard attached to a crib, then pick the baby in that crib up, and put it in a lidless box, then slide it into the back of the van. As he had picked up the child, I got a better glimpse: the child looked thin, underfed; I could see this baby’s ribs from where I stood. This baby was also incredibly pale, and I could see there were multiple brown and yellow stains on the surface that the baby had been lying down on. What sick shit did I fucking stumble into?

 “They look sick. They gonna make it?” asked one of the men.

The man with the AK responded, “They usually do. Like ninety-five percent of the time. The people that buy them got better ways to care for them before they go onto… fulfill their purpose.”

The other man paused and said: “Do I wanna know the purpose?”

The man with the AK chuckled and said: “Lotta purposes, main one bein' experiments. Lotta money in this shit. But look, I don’t care enough. I just get paid to haul ‘em, and you get paid to pack ‘em.”

As my initial fear had subsided and I wasn’t frozen like a deer in headlights, I tried moving in closer, and ducked behind a support beam. One of the men saw me and yelled, and they came running after me. As I tried getting back to the stairs, a large man had blocked me. He took his mask off and revealed his grotesque, misshapen face. A grimace had formed along his ghastly face, which revealed jagged, misshapen, yellowed teeth, and bright red lips that were covered in saliva. The man picked me up and threw me against a wall. The wind got knocked out of me, but I mustered all my strength and fear to make me stand back up as quickly as I could. I don’t know what the fuck this thing was, but it wasn’t human. The skin that I could see on him was a pale yellow, with dark blue - almost purple - veins. The large man charged at me, but I jumped out of the way and ran back up the same flight of stairs. I heard him scream and pound his feet up the stairs. As I got back into the patient room, I took the metal cart and pushed it towards the stairs, then down, hitting him and knocking him back. As he fell back onto the floor, I could see his neck snap back. I wanted to make sure he was dead, and I watched as his arms twitched… then suddenly stop. I could hear the other masked men yelling, then heard them ascend up the stairs. I closed the metal door behind me, but I’m sure this was only temporary as there were other exits and entrances. 

As I left the room, I sprinted to the maintenance closet to grab my backpack and possibly find a weapon. As I looked for one, I heard a gunshot. How the fuck did they find me already? I climbed out the window and landed behind the building, which was fenced off behind iron gates, Another wondrous decision I've made. I saw my supervisor standing in front of three pregnant women who were on their knees, crying and pleading in foreign language. One of the women was already dead. My supervisor shot another one between the eyes, and I watched her body fall, lifeless, and land on the floor as it twitched.

I screamed in horror and tackled down my supervisor. As I struggled to grab the gun from him, he began to taunt me,

“The little drug addict finally found a backbone. But just as he always does, he broke the fucking rules, and he ruined my FUCKING BUSINESS!”

I grabbed my supervisor’s head and dug my thumbs into his eyes as he screamed in pain. I then grabbed the gun and shot him.

I don’t fully remember what happened after that, as I was in complete shock. I’ve been brought to pretty low points of my life and forced to do shit I never wanted… but I have never taken another life. I somehow ended up in some motel on the other side of town. I can’t sleep, and I don’t know who to turn to. No one is answering my calls, and I get scared at any car that ends up in the parking lot.

Whatever I uncovered needs to be exposed, but who knows how far this shit really goes, how high up it goes. And worst of all, who the fuck is going to believe the unemployed ex-junkie?

I’m a 27 year old mother to two children. A woman who grew up in the Midwest in a middle class, normal family. Two loving parents who didn’t divorce, an older brother who was super supportive and my best friend, and I did well enough in school to get a good job. I met my husband at our job, and we had our two beautiful boys. We have a lovely house with a swimming pool. Everything seems perfect, a picture-perfect family. 

But I have Munchausen’s Syndrome. It’s fucking awful and I’d never wish it on anyone else. I need it… I need the sympathy, I need people to understand… I am sick. I try to push my kids to show what they have, doctors always turn us away. Turn ME away. I’m a good mother, but I need people to see it, to see how I’m treating my own illness, my kids’ illnesses! We’re sick, young and sick. My first boy is three years old, the second is 14 months. I’d never want them hurt… but they’re sick, sick with the same illness I have. An illness that creeps up on me and stops me from doing anything. Like a black, creeping poison that I feel in my stomach, and it travels into my bones. It hides from my blood work, it hides in my children. 

My first boy had sniffles, the illness has now crept through him. I took him to the hospital, and the nurses looked at me as if I was crazy. I’m not crazy, there’s SOMETHING THERE! I want to scream, throttle the nurse’s fucking throat! I try telling them it’s genetic, it’s in me, too. But nothing. Sent to the waiting room. I take my poor child outside and hold his nose and mouth closed… this will get him the attention he needs. He tries pushing me off, but he NEEDS this… I fucking need this. He goes limp, his lips slightly blue after a couple minutes. I rush him in. The nurses who scoffed are now running around me, taking my child, hooking him up to machines. He needed this. 

It’s been a couple hours. My child, I’m told, is fine, but they want him under observation. He’s not fucking fine, he’s fucking sick and they won’t notice. I tell them my worries, my issues. A security guard comes in and interrupts me, pulls the nurse and doctor outside. I’M FUCKING TALKING! 

A woman comes in, a nurse’s aid, and sits down with me… she watches me, a distance in her eyes. She’s judging me, she doesn’t see the illness in me. My husband comes in on schedule and switches with me. As I’m out the door, security tries to stop me, but I run out to my car and floor it. I make it home in record time, and go inside and see my baby, relieving my neighbor from watching him. I can tell he’s sick, and no one believes me. If it’s hereditary, both boys need to have it, need to exhibit what we all have. 

Fuck this MEDICAL MAFIA! Fucking thoughts racing through my head. I run up to my baby’s room and wake him up, he could die in his sleep. I twist his arms, he shrieks in pain. The disease showing itself, this will get him what he needs, what I need, what WE all need. His arms start to get red, red and swollen. It’s not enough. I run to the kitchen then back up, carrying Saran Wrap. I wrap it around my baby’s head, covering his nose and mouth. The cries become muffled, then stop as my baby flails. I hear the door open, my husband is screaming. He comes into the room and pushes me away. The Saran Wrap tears as my husband is screaming. Sirens blare outside, my husband is crying and holding my baby, our sick baby. He never fucking understood. 

The police come in and talk to me while they cuff me. But it doesn’t matter, we still need help. 

Three years ago on Christmas morning, my parents got me a GoPro. For the first couple weeks of having it, I mounted it to my bike helmet and recorded some stunts at the park. I’d post it to YouTube, where I might get ten views each video, knowing it was mainly my cousins, brother, and a couple friends seeing them. One day my best friend, Jack, came up to me and showed me some videos that some channels would post where they’d use their GoPro or other types of cameras to walk around in abandoned buildings. Urban Exploring channels. This piqued my interest immediately.

Three years later, my friends and I had over 100 thousand subscribers on our shared channel, and we had explored so many abandoned properties across our state. The farthest one we went to was seven hours across the state: an abandoned house that looked kinda like a castle. Things had been going well till we decided to explore a fucking church.

I woke up late this morning, my head still hurting from the party last night. My mother texted me that her and my dad would be going out to see my aunt. My brother went to work. Walking into the kitchen, I liked to my left and snatched a box of cereal, eating it dry from the box. My phone buzzed, and I saw the text from Jack, saying that we should explore the abandoned church in downtown.

“No. I was raised Catholic” I texted.

“So was I. Can be a first for the channel” replied Jack.

“No!” I quickly texted back.

Jack’s speech bubble briefly popped up, then went away. I put my phone down, only to pick it up and read this text from Jack: “Pussy”. I tossed my phone aside, put the cereal down, and took a swig from the milk gallon in the fridge. I washed up, changed, then sat down and turned on the television. My phone buzzed again, and it was Jack:

“You’re not a pussy, but come on man.”

“That church closed cuz of some weird shit!” I texted, getting annoyed.

“Rumors bro. Let’s go to the mayor and ask him himself.”

I stared at my phone. All of this for a fucking YouTube video. “Jack, fuck off.”

“Dude he isn’t doing anything, anyway. Let’s go and ask!”

I had a whole, annoyed speech I was typing out. But to put this shit to rest, I typed: “Fine, be here by 11. I’ll drive us.”

Jack came promptly at 11, probably the first instance that he was ever on time for something, and we drove to city hall and asked to speak with the mayor. The woman told us to wait, and that he’d be free at 12.

We sat down in the waiting room, and Jack looked at me and said, “Small town perks, I guess. What mayor in those big ol’ cities would have time for us, huh?”

I looked at Jack, angry, and said “All of this for a fucking video.”

Forty minutes passed, and we got called into the office. We greeted the mayor and thanked him for taking the time to talk to us.

“Oh, of course I can make time for two local internet celebrities. Now, what can I help ya with?”

Jack looked at me, as if he was unsure what to say. This was all his fuckin’ idea. I rolled my eyes and started: “Well, sir, we wanted to know about the church downtown. Why’d it close?”

The mayor laughed and twiddled his thumbs. “Well, I’m sure you guys heard tons of rumors… but it’s a boring reason. Just some permits expiring!”

Jack said “C’mon, we’re not dumb little kids! Permits, really?”

The mayor, with the smile fading from his face, said: “Yeah, really. Is this all you wanted?”

Jack looked at me, then back at the mayor, and blurted out: “Yeah, kinda…”

We were sent on our way after a stern lecture about wasting professional people’s time and trespassing. Whole mood shift after calling us local celebrities. Anyway, none of this deterred Jack, and it also started to amp me up. The mayor was rude, this was our YouTube channel, and the fucking place was abandoned. We wore the right gear, didn’t vandalize anything, and thought it’d be interesting. Who the fuck were we really hurting?

The next weekend, Sunday to be exact, Jack wanted to go to the church. Our other two friends backed out, saying they had things to do, and didn’t wanna touch the creepy place. I called bullshit, but still this didn’t deter me. Jack and I met in front of the Church at 12 am Sunday morning. The doors were chained shut, but one of the windows were broken. Not wanting to be cut by broken glass and God knows what else, we broke a little more of it and snuck through the bottom frame. As we landed a few feet down on the ground, we looked around and saw busted up pews, broken statues of the saints, and ripped up Bibles.

As we walked in a little further, a faint, red light was emanating from the altar. Ten robed figures walked to the altar. One of them stood at the front of the group and began talking, his voice booming and echoing throughout the dusty church:

“INTRUDERS!”

I tapped my friend Jack and tried pulling him away, but he wouldn’t budge, like a fucking deer in headlights. Two of the robed figures came running at us and pinned us down. Their brown robes scratched against my skin as I tried struggling out, but the men began punching down on us, making me weak. My vision got blurry for a bit, and I stopped. The man who pointed us out came into the light, his robe was bright red. I guess this was the leader of whatever this shit was. He reached down to my chest and ripped the GoPro off of the attachment I had around my chest, then slammed it on the floor and crushed it with his foot.

As I lay down on the floor feeling lightheaded, I looked over at Jack. His eyes were closed and his nose was bleeding. The two robed men picked us up and carried us down some stairs into a dimly lit basement, then they threw us on the floor. The man in the red robe, followed by the rest of them, beckoned one of the men to come forward. The red robed man pulled the man’s brown robe off, exposing not only his face but his upper body. His right arm had a tattoo of an eye within a pentagram with a sword going through it.

“M-mayor?” I slurred, still feeling lightheaded from the punches.

The man in the red robe stepped forward and smacked me, leaving a stinging, burning feeling on my cheek. He then stepped back and said “Your indiscretion will be costly. You told us these two visited your office inquiring about this church, but you scared them off. I assume your sternness and the efficacy of your tirade were overstated, yes?”

The mayor, with tears streaming down his face nodded. The man in the red robe snapped his fingers, and one of the other men ran to a cabinet and pulled out a handle with short, sharp, metal chains attached to it. The man with the red robe grabbed it and turned to the mayor, who was on his knees.

“The members of The Group of the Holy Sword dedicated their lives to fight against the debauchery this country is facing. Free will has allowed Satan to perverse our people, poison our children, and allow un-holiness to become prevalent. Awful, third-world garbage pushed as normalcy, as virtue!”

What the fuck was this man talking about? We stumbled upon a fucking cult, with the mayor being a part of it. I don’t know how if I’ll survive this.

“Self-flagellation isn’t enough for your misdeed, ‘Mister Mayor’,” continued the red robed man. He lifted up the whip in his hand and struck the mayor, the steel spikes and chains cutting the mayor’s skin, causing blood and bits of skin to splatter on the floor. The mayor screamed in agony and arched his back. The red robed man lifted his arm again and struck the mayor multiple times, with the fourth strike getting caught in the mayor’s back. As the red robe man pulled the spikes out of the mayor’s back, more blood splattered along the floor. The mayor’s scream went silent as he passed out. The red robed man dropped the chains, and two of the robed men picked up the mayor and carried him off.

As the red robed man had his back to us, Jack looked at me and winked. He stood up and punched one of the robed men, knocking him back. I pushed the other one off of me and we made a run for the stairs. I made the mistake of looking back, and saw the red robed man pull a gun out and begin chasing us.

“Run all you can, but we know you!” shouted the man. “We know you and your families. You’ve made a mistake coming here!” The man screamed over the shot of his gun, with the bullet whizzing over our heads, causing a ringing in our ears. “We’ve grown to infect your local politics and will continue to grow!” Another shot rang out, and Jack fell forward, a hole leaked blood from the back of his chest.

The exit came into view, and I ran into the night. My new life began, all over a fucking video.