forbidden knowledge can kill you
u/DarkQuarters — 8 hours ago
u/DarkQuarters
r/conspiracy r/conspiracy_commons r/UrbanMyths r/Kafka r/TripodCats r/aliens r/OliviaRodrigo r/Judaism r/OccultConspiracy r/JewishKabbalah r/horrorstories
a story i wrote to recreate an eerie experience i had
the woman sat by the window and watched the sky fail her again.
the darkness stretched over the fields in a single unbroken sheet. there were no green lights, no vroom of a descending craft, and none of the impossible geometries sliding between the stars, rewarding her and her patience. just the familiar constellations and the distant blink of a radio tower beyond the trees.
she rested her forehead against the cool glass. forty years she’d been waiting.
some people wait for god or the messiah. others wait for the return of their youth or a love that eclipsed them. others still wait for death. the woman in the bedroom waited for visitors.
every night she imagined how it would happen. it would be exactly like it was in the old church basement. the man of god who had exploited her body had the decency to at least do it by the window, so she could have something to focus on while she lost her ownership over herself. and one night, a few weeks into their private worship, as she stared unblinking at the sky, the dark clouds peeled apart. it was layered like a dream but very much real. the horizon turned emerald, and she saw the beings. they looked vaguely human, but completely their own.
she was able to leave her grandmother’s house shortly after that (a kind neighbor and a few precise questions), and her life seemed okay. she even joined the class suit when it came around five years later. the night after her rapist was sentenced to ten years in prison for the sexual abuse of seven girls, she started watching the sky. it quickly became routine. every night she would sit by the window, around midnight, waiting and watching. she knew what she was looking for. it would arrive, eventually, and when it did, she would rush into her yard in welcome while everyone else cowered inside. like her in her body, at least the way it used to be.
but the sky was a trickster and rarely played along. this night was no different. why would it be?
“tomorrow,” she said softly. it was the same promise she’d made yesterday and the day before that. and a thousand days before those.
with a sigh, she rose from the chair, ignoring her complaining knees. fifty-eight years old and still waiting for sky visitors. she tightened the sash of her robe and shuffled toward the kitchen to start the ordinary rituals that filled the space between one disappointment and the next.
the woman stopped.
the faucet was running.
water poured steadily into the sink. it wasn’t dripping or leaking. it was running.
for several seconds she simply stared.
she lived alone. she hadn’t turned it on. at least she didn’t remember turning it on? anything was possible.
she crossed the room and twisted the handle. the stream vanished and silence settled heavily around her.
“getting forgetful.” talking to herself, she found, was one of the kookier things she started doing in her fifties. she continued down the hall.
the bathroom light was on. the faucet there was running too.
the woman felt a chill attack her spine. this one she knew she hadn’t touched.
she approached the faucet slowly, looking at the mirror instead of the sink itself. her reflection was pale and uncertain. behind her stood the open door and the dark hallway beyond.
it was empty. of course it was.
the woman shut off the water.
again the house became silent. only now it felt too silent. like something had stopped breathing and was carefully holding its breath.
for a long moment, the woman remained perfectly still. just listening.
nothing moved or creaked. the old farmhouse seemed to hold itself together by sheer concentration.
finally she shook her head.
there were explanations. maybe she didn’t know what they were, but there were always explanations.
she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and applied the lavender lotion she hated but kept buying anyway because it was cheaper than the lilac one.
by the time she returned to her bedroom, she’d convinced herself she was being ridiculous. if the visitors came, it would be from the sky, not out of the faucets.
moonlight spilled through the window and striped her carpet silver.
the woman loosened her robe. and then stopped.
a man stood in the corner of her bedroom.
her heart detonated as the robe slipped through her fingers.
he was tall and broad-shouldered. he was smiling. in his hand was a knife.
the expression on his face was not confusion or fright or embarrassment. it was purpose. the expression of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and why he was there.
the woman understood immediately.
her lungs locked. every nerve screamed at her to run, but she didn’t move.
the man took a step forward, his smile growing wider. and then the woman noticed his skin. it looked green. just a faint tint in the moonlight through the window. a color that didn’t belong, and yet absolutely did.
she blinked. the greenish pallor remained. her eyes traveled upward.
the man’s head seemed longer than it should have been. unfamiliar and yet beautiful.
the terror loosened its grip on her as a thought bloomed in her mind. finally.
emotion flooded her chest so suddenly that she almost laughed. she had been right. everyone had mocked her, including her sister, her coworkers, even the cashier by the tabloids who humored her stories.
they had all laughed. and now she was right.
the visitor watched her carefully. his smile faltered and he stopped moving.
the woman took a step toward him. the knife lifted slightly, but she barely noticed.
another step. she was close enough now to see his eyes. they looked dark, vast, ancient. surely no human eyes could look like that.
the woman felt tears gathering. “i knew it,” she whispered.
the visitor didn’t answer. could be that his language was different, or maybe speech was beneath him. “i was waiting,” she said. “but i didn’t see you arrive.”
the visitor said nothing. he didn’t need to. the woman opened her arms and crossed the final distance between them.
the knife gleamed. she was close enough that she could smell his body odor. it smelled human. for the briefest moment, some forgotten survival instinct tried to claw its way back to her surface.
then she saw the green again. and the shape of his skull. she felt forty years of hope outweigh one moment of fear.
she wrapped her arms around the stranger in her bedroom. she felt the knife press into her but it felt like a handshake. like father in the early days.
“welcome,” she said. “i knew you’d come for me.”
outside the bedroom window, the stars stayed where they’ve always been. the sky was empty, but the woman never once looked back to check.
u/DarkQuarters — 4 days ago
▲ 1 r/aliens
a story i wrote to recreate an eerie experience i had
the woman sat by the window and watched the sky fail her again.
the darkness stretched over the fields in a single unbroken sheet. there were no green lights, no vroom of a descending craft, and none of the impossible geometries sliding between the stars, rewarding her and her patience. just the familiar constellations and the distant blink of a radio tower beyond the trees.
she rested her forehead against the cool glass. forty years she’d been waiting.
some people wait for god or the messiah. others wait for the return of their youth or a love that eclipsed them. others still wait for death. the woman in the bedroom waited for visitors.
every night she imagined how it would happen. it would be exactly like it was in the old church basement. the man of god who had exploited her body had the decency to at least do it by the window, so she could have something to focus on while she lost her ownership over herself. and one night, a few weeks into their private worship, as she stared unblinking at the sky, the dark clouds peeled apart. it was layered like a dream but very much real. the horizon turned emerald, and she saw the beings. they looked vaguely human, but completely their own.
she was able to leave her grandmother’s house shortly after that (a kind neighbor and a few precise questions), and her life seemed okay. she even joined the class suit when it came around five years later. the night after her rapist was sentenced to ten years in prison for the sexual abuse of seven girls, she started watching the sky. it quickly became routine. every night she would sit by the window, around midnight, waiting and watching. she knew what she was looking for. it would arrive, eventually, and when it did, she would rush into her yard in welcome while everyone else cowered inside. like her in her body, at least the way it used to be.
but the sky was a trickster and rarely played along. this night was no different. why would it be?
“tomorrow,” she said softly. it was the same promise she’d made yesterday and the day before that. and a thousand days before those.
with a sigh, she rose from the chair, ignoring her complaining knees. fifty-eight years old and still waiting for sky visitors. she tightened the sash of her robe and shuffled toward the kitchen to start the ordinary rituals that filled the space between one disappointment and the next.
the woman stopped.
the faucet was running.
water poured steadily into the sink. it wasn’t dripping or leaking. it was running.
for several seconds she simply stared.
she lived alone. she hadn’t turned it on. at least she didn’t remember turning it on? anything was possible.
she crossed the room and twisted the handle. the stream vanished and silence settled heavily around her.
“getting forgetful.” talking to herself, she found, was one of the kookier things she started doing in her fifties. she continued down the hall.
the bathroom light was on. the faucet there was running too.
the woman felt a chill attack her spine. this one she knew she hadn’t touched.
she approached the faucet slowly, looking at the mirror instead of the sink itself. her reflection was pale and uncertain. behind her stood the open door and the dark hallway beyond.
it was empty. of course it was.
the woman shut off the water.
again the house became silent. only now it felt too silent. like something had stopped breathing and was carefully holding its breath.
for a long moment, the woman remained perfectly still. just listening.
nothing moved or creaked. the old farmhouse seemed to hold itself together by sheer concentration.
finally she shook her head.
there were explanations. maybe she didn’t know what they were, but there were always explanations.
she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and applied the lavender lotion she hated but kept buying anyway because it was cheaper than the lilac one.
by the time she returned to her bedroom, she’d convinced herself she was being ridiculous. if the visitors came, it would be from the sky, not out of the faucets.
moonlight spilled through the window and striped her carpet silver.
the woman loosened her robe. and then stopped.
a man stood in the corner of her bedroom.
her heart detonated as the robe slipped through her fingers.
he was tall and broad-shouldered. he was smiling. in his hand was a knife.
the expression on his face was not confusion or fright or embarrassment. it was purpose. the expression of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and why he was there.
the woman understood immediately.
her lungs locked. every nerve screamed at her to run, but she didn’t move.
the man took a step forward, his smile growing wider. and then the woman noticed his skin. it looked green. just a faint tint in the moonlight through the window. a color that didn’t belong, and yet absolutely did.
she blinked. the greenish pallor remained. her eyes traveled upward.
the man’s head seemed longer than it should have been. unfamiliar and yet beautiful.
the terror loosened its grip on her as a thought bloomed in her mind. finally.
emotion flooded her chest so suddenly that she almost laughed. she had been right. everyone had mocked her, including her sister, her coworkers, even the cashier by the tabloids who humored her stories.
they had all laughed. and now she was right.
the visitor watched her carefully. his smile faltered and he stopped moving.
the woman took a step toward him. the knife lifted slightly, but she barely noticed.
another step. she was close enough now to see his eyes. they looked dark, vast, ancient. surely no human eyes could look like that.
the woman felt tears gathering. “i knew it,” she whispered.
the visitor didn’t answer. could be that his language was different, or maybe speech was beneath him. “i was waiting,” she said. “but i didn’t see you arrive.”
the visitor said nothing. he didn’t need to. the woman opened her arms and crossed the final distance between them.
the knife gleamed. she was close enough that she could smell his body odor. it smelled human. for the briefest moment, some forgotten survival instinct tried to claw its way back to her surface.
then she saw the green again. and the shape of his skull. she felt forty years of hope outweigh one moment of fear.
she wrapped her arms around the stranger in her bedroom. she felt the knife press into her but it felt like a handshake. like father in the early days.
“welcome,” she said. “i knew you’d come for me.”
outside the bedroom window, the stars stayed where they’ve always been. the sky was empty, but the woman never once looked back to check.
u/DarkQuarters — 4 days ago
▲ 6 r/OliviaRodrigo
[OC] I wrote a horror story built around lyrics from YSSPFAGSIL — a content warning going in
Hi all. I'm a horror writer and Olivia fan and a lit mag put out a call for single-sentence stories under 500 words last week, and somewhere between that prompt and having "you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love" stuck in my head on a loop, I ended up writing a piece set in the orbit of an unnamed pop star, threaded through with my favorite lines from the album.
Fair warning before anyone clicks: it's horror, and it's narrated by an unreliable, delusional stalker character — think the Eminem "Stan" / Lennon–Chapman lineage. It is not flattering to the narrator and it is not really "about" Olivia so much as about a parasocial obsession curdling into something dangerous. CW for obsession, violence, and references to abuse self-harm.
ヾ(๑╹◡╹)ﾉ🔪 i know everybody changes but i hope that we don't
If it's your thing, I'd love to hear what you think. If it's not your thing, totally fair — scroll on. 🔪
u/DarkQuarters — 11 days ago
▲ 0 r/UrbanMyths
I just wrote a sexy retelling of the classic urban legend, about a boy who falls for a girl who never takes off her green velvet necklace. Inspired by Machado's "The Husband Stitch" and the old "girl with the ribbon" tale. Would love any feedback from horror readers.
u/DarkQuarters — 2 months ago
▲ 36 r/conspiracy
Ford ran the largest antisemitic publishing operation in American history out of Dearborn in the 1920s — The Dearborn Independent, pushed through every Ford dealership, collected as The International Jew, translated into 16 languages, and admired by Hitler personally (portrait behind the desk, citation in Mein Kampf, Grand Cross of the German Eagle in 1938).
My piece is called The International Ford
u/DarkQuarters — 2 months ago