Link to Part 1
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/s/CHXtvcEGok
I thought long and hard about if I should write anything else. Don’t get me wrong, whatever comes my way, let it come. I have no family, no friends, and if I was any closer to death’s door, I’d be sleeping on his couch.
But, it’s you kids I’ve been thinking about. I don’t know what exactly I expected when I put up what happened, maybe put a little of the fear of God into you lot, keep you away from the things that go bump in the night.
But instead, I’ve got strangers from across the world asking how they can help.
So, I want to make this more than just the ramblings of an old man. Give you some information you can use, if, heaven forbid, you find yourself on the receiving end of something that doesn’t follow God’s law.
Before I tell you about the second time I got involved with “ Mr. D”, let’s go over things that are happening today a little.
Every copy of something made like this has potential to turn rotten. Some more than others, usually older copies, or ones with some kind of historical significance.
(as for other kinds of messed up videotapes, I don’t know. I’ve had a handful of jobs that brush up against this stuff, I’m no Ghostbuster.)
They like to be around each other, if you started off collecting and got one, you’ll find yourself drawn to certain other pieces of animation or film, seemingly at random.
If you want to try and get mixed up in this, first I’d ask yourself why.
Do you want a cheap scare? Well, just watch, eventually you’ll get a few frames of something off. Probably happened already, but just slipped right by. Doing this isn’t very dangerous, unless you make it a habit. Quantity can, over time, make up for quality.
You want to see what’s really there, hiding in shadows and magnetic ribbon? Well, that’s a little harder. This is going to change your perspective on life, a lot of folks, it turns them cold. Doing this is stupid, but on the other hand it’s the only way to test the waters to see if you could look one of these things in the face. You want to do something about this century old curse? This is the first step.
Memorize the piece of media, I’m not talking grade school math test, you need to be able to quote it, to describe it nearly perfectly.
Copy it, then copy the copy. The more times you do this, the worse the quality, the easier it is for whatever is on the other side to knock on the window. The key is not to go so far as you can’t see what your looking for when it happens.
From there it’s just a matter of watch, rinse, repeat. What exactly happens? Can it hurt you? You’ll find out. If you go into this, you need to understand there are some things you won’t, or can’t know. That’s the danger, sometimes you’re just an egg, and the shit your looking for is a brick wall.
1927, and I’ll spare you the lead up this time. It was much of the same, and ended up with Myself, Sylvia, Ezekiel, Leroy, and a new man, a tall guy with thick, slicked back blond hair and a suit that cost more than my car, standing around the back of a slightly newer model of paddy wagon.
Sylvia’s arm was replaced with a dull grey steel prosthetic. Zeke, was missing the ‘Gee Whiz’ look he had on our last trip, and the contraption Leroy was wearing was sleeker, and less bulky.
We’re ready to go, Thompson stands like a school marm.
“Good to see all of you.
You’ve probably guessed by now that you’re going back to Project Mountain.
The area has been significantly, tamed, and being used to test run a few ideas Mr. D plans on unveiling to the world in the next few decades.
That being said, radio or telegraph signals are next to impossible to get in or out. Something about the magnetic field, I don’t know.
You five are to make contact with our people at the coordinates on your maps, and relay any information they have for us.
This should be simple, quick, and painless. We just wanted a few folks who knew their way around. “ The agent informs us.
“Who’s the suit? “ Leroy says, “Doesn’t look like much of a jungle explorer. “
Thompson glowers at Leroy from behind darkened glasses.
The man in the suit simply smiles.
“Very correct observation. “, The newcomer starts, “ My name is Arthur Deus. And I am Mr. D’s benefactor.
He has the vision and the money, I have the means to make things happen. One of those things is the place we will be visiting.
I want to gather some data, shake a few hands, and, well, if I’m being honest, micromanage, just a little bit. “
“Ah, so really, this is an escort mission. We are the ‘oh shit ‘ button, aren’t we Thompson. “ I say, I don’t get a response, but I know I’m right.
This time the terrible ride ends with us being lead to a nice, military style pickup.
I drive, and what I see, well.
I can’t say the place was inviting by any means, but we were driving on a road at least. The twitching, bouncing trees, were still thick on the sides of the pavement , and I could catch the odd glimpse of massive eyed, not quite natural things within the forest from time to time.
There is a sense of dread in the truck, all of us back somewhere we never wanted to go again.
Now this is the point where I’m sure you are asking yourself, “Yes Ethan, you dumb bastard, you didn’t want to go back, so why did you? “, and I don’t blame you. Hindsight being 20/20 and all, I should have ran as far away from Thompson as fast as I could.
But, (and I’m sure you are as sick of hearing this as I was at your age) things, they were different back then. I want to be clear, I don’t mean better. I lost too many friends for too many mundane, stupid preventable reasons to say that. But, yeah, different.
Going through trauma, well that didn’t mean anything other than you got out the other end. You didn’t talk about it, you jammed shit down and you got through your day. And working, well, shit job equals better money, way of the world for everyone but the Hursts and Rockafellers.
In the distance we see what is unmistakably an amusement park. The gates were styled like a medieval castle, with false perspective mountains on either side.
I’m the first to laugh.
“Willie world? “ I snicker, the strung nerves in the truck let go and we all begin to laugh.
A cloud passes over Art’s face, but in a moment he’s smiling, taking the jab in good fun.
“A, working title if you will. “ He says.
“I’d hope so, unless it’s a tallywacker museum. “ Leroy replies.
“ That I’d pay to see. “ Sylvia says.
I’m going to save you some time again , the place we enter is much like the place you’re expecting. About a quarter of the size, maybe a little less. It has most of what you’d expect, though a lot of things are mock up’s, or stand ins for future expansions.
Folks are working and using the amenities , the first thing I notice is they’re all adults.
“Staffed entirely by people like yourself who were willing to take a little risk. Used by the same, all employees, free to leave of their own free will.
You seem like the sort that’d ask. “ Art says, I don’t outright hate him, but I can’t say I approve of his attitude.
The second thing I notice makes me ready the rifle I demanded for this trip down memory lane.
I can tell, at a glance, they are at least related to the things we saw on the boats. But each seems to be configured in a unique way, no 2 quite sharing the same features.
They’re stuffed into oversized suits, some partially, some fully encased in plush heads, feet and friendly looking costumes.
Each is attended by two people.
One carries a thick-handled two-pronged spear like device, wires and bolts attached to it. The other seems to be taking notes.
I become enthralled with a tall, canine looking thing, it’s exposed legs are yellow skinned with thin, black fur. A worn vest is stapled to it, and it wears, a massive, goofy looking cartoon dog head. It waves and dances at the passers by, but suddenly, as if hit by a fit or seizure, it’s posture changes, it hunches and starts to run at a couple enjoying a set of Italian ices.
But before it can get far, it’s handler jabs it with the device , I don’t see blood, or any sign of damage, but the thing hits the ground face first, and the handler drags it away by the feet. A slight woman with a military style haircut following them writing furiously.
“Still working out a few issues, as you can see, but in time, we will manage to find out how to make best use of the… locals. “ Art adds to the horrifying scene.
I can’t say I wasn’t afraid. The seven foot creatures being… trained? Around me, set me on edge worse than any Hun sniper ever could.
That being said, what was going on seemed, strange, dangerous, for sure. But, I wasn’t seeing the kind of evil, torture laden shitstorm I was expecting. It was more Coal mine than war crime.
“You four, spend the next twenty four hours as you wish. There is plenty to see and do, let me know how everything is, where we can improve, be honest, I’m looking for data, not to have my ass kissed. “ Art says, Walking down a street lined with cheap faux cobblestones, and store fronts both real and decorative.
“How does everyone feel about Arthur? “ Zeke says, as we take in the sights.
“Fop” Sylvia says.
“Creepy” Leroy adds.
“Putz. “ I chime in.
Zeke looks like he wants to say something but then only adds, “ You guys are probably right. I think this place is giving me the heebie-jeebies. “
I don’t judge Zeke for the statement, the more we see of this place, the more the combination of family friendly and demonic entity becomes apparent.
The people are all pale and sickly, as if this place takes some kind of toll on the human body. The creatures, for all their leather skinned, lesion infested horror, seem beaten and tortured.
I hate to have literal sympathy for the devil here, but Art, or his men have found ways to control and herd them. I see violence, a person testing the park having a rouge, duck-themed, half dressed thing bit a plate sized chunk out of them, as an example. But these are put down with vigor and brutality.
I don’t feel safe, none of us do, but I’m just as worried about Art’s cronies as the dancing, screaming things they have a tenuous hold on.
We find a bar pretty quickly, and from there, well, we do what soldiers do when presented with downtime and hooch. And while my companions won’t ever get their names on a monument, to me they are every bit as much of a soldier as the men standing beside me in Germany were.
We attract a bit of attention, I’m expecting some kind of strange, hive mind mob, or maybe just good old fashioned mistrust of strangers, but the folks, for all their off-putting looks and random minor wounds, seemed happy to have some new people around.
We talked and drank, and I found myself sharing a strange sense of comradery with the workers. Each had a story or two about a run in with the things that live in this place. Each had survived, stayed and made a good living doing it.
Zeke was the first to stumble off to a half finished hotel room, his eyes clouded with spirits. Next was Leroy, though the man wasn’t pounding them back as hard as the rest of us. The last of my companions to call it a night was Sylvia, still looking stone sober despite matching me drink for drink.
I was left with a handful of employees, well past sloshed, but for the first time in a long while connecting with folks.
“You still feel it? “ asks Anthony, a short, dark haired man.
I know what he means, but I wave a hand at him dismissively.
“You do don’t you? That dime sized tingle deep in the back of your mind. “ Anthony grins as he fills two water glasses halfway with whiskey.
“A little, I guess. Don’t really like to think about what it means. “ I reply, after a long pause and a long drink.
Anthony looks around a little nervously, and motions for me to leave the bar.
I know I’m not breaking any new ground here, but hooch doesn’t make for the best decisions. I join Anthony as he walks down a long, dark street. Shadows from half finished buildings and flickering lightbulbs making me antsy.
“Just have to be careful of who’s listening Ethan.
See, some of us, want to know what that feeling is. And We’ve figured out a way how. “ Anthony says.
I feel the other shoe dropping, these guys must be some kind of resistance, this place can’t be what it seems.
“I knew it. No one that goes around doing things like this… is on the up and up. “ I reply, following Anthony down a dark alley.
“You’re right there chum, Arthur, he wants to enslave the Residents, he tortures them, mutilates them. He wants slaves for his friend’s little cartoon empire. “ Anthony opens a thick metal door at the end of the alley.
He closes it as we walk in, and it takes me a moment to adjust to the dim light. Once I do though what I see makes every instinct I have scream at me to run.
The ratlike thing from before sits in the center of the room, on a throne seemingly made from the same material as it’s barge.
It looks tired, groggy, and almost, hazy, like it’s not quite there.
To it’s left and right, sitting atop mounds of offal and gore were 3 others. 3 lesser terrors flanking their king.
My mind starts to put two and two together, and I think to the creatures performing in the streets. Each of the abominations in front of me seemed to be a mold or archetype. The lanky, rotten hound, the lurching, screaming duck, and another rat, it’s torn, faded skirt making me think it’s supposed to be female.
The people milling about this meeting hall butcher shop hybrid were crazed and mutilated. Engaged in acts with the entities that were either lewd, torturous, or both. My stomach churns. The humans come away from their sinful trysts bleeding and bruised.
Then, I feel it, that small tingle at the back of my mind turns to a faint whisper. I listen for a second, and nothing on earth could get me to repeat what I heard.
“Arthur wants to bring the Residents back as slaves, drag these Gods to the mortal realm in shackles. But you can hear them too, can’t you Ethan?
Look upon the miracle! “ Anthony preaches, “ somewhere in his labs, Arthur has scientists trying to desecrate our God, yet still, here he sits. He is here, no absentee father from an Abrahamic fable. He, nor his disciples held fast to mortal laws like time and space.
Ethan, brother, you can help us. You can be one of the Residents chosen. “
I’m so disgusted I want to plug the lot of these demon bothering idiots. But stone cold sober, even without the living embodiment of sin right in front of me, two dozen people, close quarters, with a long gun and pistol. Well, I’m a soldier, not some kind of pulp novel hero.
Discretion is the better part of valor.
“Tony, buddy, I’ve never been the kind of guy to question another man’s faith. But can’t go biting the hand that feeds me.
Best of luck for you, and your friends. And, for that matter, tell the big fella there, thanks for not killing me. But, I need to be getting on my way. “ My tone is firm, but not confrontational.
I begin to back away, and I don’t like the look in Anthony’s eyes. What I like even less is, the misshapen rodent like thing turning towards me.
It feels like a fish hook in my brain, a feeling strong enough to be an urge, that tells me to go to it. To look upon the only true evidence of the divine I’ve ever seen.
I resist it, I keep walking backwards, if looks could kill, I’d be dead ten times over, but no one in the little slice of hell comes at me.
I beat feet back to the hotel, and have no luck in waking any of my companions, even less sleeping. I drink coffee and stare at the door to my room rifle in hand, till Leroy comes knocking around 8am.
He looks nearly as tired as I do.
“Didn’t sleep? “ I say, as we walk out of the hotel.
“I get paid by the second of footage. I’m looking to make enough that next time they ask me to come back, I can say no. “ Leroy replies.
“Smarter man than I am, Leroy. “ I say, looking around. I’m paranoid, I can’t tell if the looks we are getting are curiosity, or people keeping an eye on us.
I begin to try and tell Leroy about last night, but a man passes with a deep gash under one eye. One of the people from the… event? Last night. And I stay silent.
Sylvia joins us, though we have to hunt down Zeke. About a half kilometer into the living forest, armed with nothing more than a scowl and a notepad. I figure this would be the best opportunity to update everyone on the cult.
“Then Art’s little dance with the devil is over. We leave now. “ Sylvia says, exasperated. She goes through a bag, and I notice that the dull grey prosthesis, actually has a bit of grip and mobility.
“I’m of the same mind. If these freaks have a plan, I can’t see a better time to do it then when the big 6 is in town. “ I agree.
It’s about eleven in the morning by the time we get back to the half finished park. We spend nearly an hour trying to find some sign of Art, but no dice. Either people don’t know, or seem wary to be telling people what the boss is up to.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere. “ Leroy says, aiming his contraption at a passing creature, one of the tall, loping, dog like things, dressed as a judge or maybe an old maid. The costume is too torn and stained to tell.
An idea strikes me as the spear wielding handler walks by.
“Private! “ I exclaim, my voice cutting through the piped in music and general din of machine and monster, “ General Ethan Benson, USMC. Name rank and serial number. “ I demand, lying about my rank but doing a damn fine impression.
“Private Montauk, “ He says, snapping to me, I’ll leave his serial number out of this, lots of nosey folks online.
“We need to know the location of the primary asset of our mission. “ I shout, not giving the man time to think, “ One Arthur Deus, is this something you can assist… “
A loud chime from a massive clock in the middle of the park begins, cutting me off.
At first I don’t know what happened, my vision suddenly obscured. But then I feel heat and liquid running down my face, look to my hands, soaked in blood.
The man in front of me, the part time private, part time demon wrangler, clutches his throat, a long, thin dagger protruding from it. A lanky man with burn marks and a missing eye standing behind him tears the weapon brutally free.
In an instant the street erupts into violence. Gunfire can be heard, a significant portion of the employees devoted to freeing the creatures from their yokes.
The cultist in front of me grins, his teeth filed and pointed, he waves his dagger, heedless of the iron on my side, or the rifle on my back.
All around me is a warzone, but all my focus is on this one man. He’ll be to me before I unsling my rifle, even before I draw my pistol, or knife. Being well armed is good and all, but you never want to have to draw on someone with a weapon ready.
“That was no friend of mine, all I’m interested in is getting out. Whatever you’re doing is between you and God. Yours or mine. “ I say, slowly backing toward Sylvia and the others.
The man grins, then smiles, the, of all things, skips away, singing “ W-i-l-l-i-e, m-o-u-s-e” in a off kilter shriek.
A five foot, dripping, rat like thing dressed as a construction worker runs by, chasing an employee with a blood dripping wrench.
“If we go back without Art, they are going to be passing out lead aspirin. “ I say, glumly.
No one disagrees.
I ready my rifle.
“Do you have anything that could help? “ Zeke asks Sylvia.
She smiles.
“These are not God’s, these are shadows. I have plenty of candles. “ Sylvia says, patting her bag.
Leroy folds up the camera, either having enough footage, or realizing that any more wouldn’t be worth the distraction.
Our search for Mr. Moneybags takes us on a trip through every type of horror you could think of.
Some, were at a distance, brutal, ritualistic killings, bodies strung up from plywood storefronts, demons screeching in forbidden tongues while committing acts never thought of by man.
But others were mad scrambles chased by one of these animal themed horrors. Sylvia trying trinkets, balms, oils, and ashes, while I tried to find some place on the creature it’d feel a bullet.
We take refuge in a shop, the dozens of grinning, plastic dolls, around us, all themed after that vile rat make me want to burn the place to the ground.
I’ve got one magazine left, another two for the pistol, then it’s going to be trying to fight these things with a trench knife and a prayer.
“This fucker is on his own. “ Leroy blurts out, “ I’d rather get a bullet in the back of my head, than get killed by one of these things. “
I’m about to agree, when, like a God Damned ghost, he comes out of a back corner of the establishment.
“And what, ‘fucker’ would that be? “ Arthur says, no ill will in his tone.
Leroy looks shocked and stumbles on a reply.
I don’t.
“What the hell is this? You running some kind of cult, some kind of body funnel for these things? “ I say, rage beginning to take ahold of me. My hand is on my pistol.
There is a look in Art’s eyes, something, off, something wrong, and, old.
“No Ethan. The cult is not my doing, what it is, is a consequence, the cost of doing business you could say.
Our goal, is to see how much mundane effort we can replace with divine intervention. More work the Residents put in, more profit on investment.
So, for our first iteration, we let them have a fairly direct role and influence. But looks like we overshot the mark a little bit.
But that’s why pencils have erasers, right? “ Art looks briefly at the pistol and shakes his head.
“These people are dying! “ Sylvia says, “ Don’t you care! “
“They did the same thing that you did, they signed a contract. Then, they let their friends brew up a cult under their noses, and now they are reaping the consequences.
But it’s all data. Next round, we replace Willie with another prince, one a little younger, a little easier to control. We keep it at a farther distance, put a little more brick and mortar, a little less hocus pocus.
But at the moment, you folks, still have a job to do. “ Art explains.
I’ve made a lot of sacrifices for the greater good, but getting art out of that hellscape, it wasn’t one of them.
Resistance crumbles, what we walk through is a one sided slaughter. Cultists dressed in cartoonish motley swarm around twisted avatars of evil and corporate branding. This isn’t the death I’ve seen in war, this is the kind of slaughter last seen when plate mail and longswords were high technology.
Fires rage and chants bellow from the park as we push the 6 cylinder engine of the truck to it’s limit. Even the trees around us seem infused with vigor and malice. I swerve to avoid, grasping, branches, and fearless, rubbery animals trying to throw themselves in front of the automobile.
All the while, Art sits in the back, serene, calm.
We did our job, got our pay, and when it was all over, I was taken aside.
“Don’t think I’ll forget this Ethan. See, things are changing. Wars, media, information, the world, no, the universe is on the cusp of a total shift. You will be remembered, we will always have work for someone as dedicated as yourself. “ Art says.
“Buddy, this palooka, you’re never seeing again. “ I lie.
When I look at now it unfolded, I can’t help but wonder, how much of The residents they ended up using when they finally brought “Willie World” to the public. How many of those mascots are things torn from another realm of existence, how many of those songs contain hints of the void, enough to keep people coming back without knowing why.
What I’m saying is, it’s not just those old cartoons you need to worry about. This taint, this infection is in everything they touch. Sure, the farther back you go, the more potent it gets, but if you think they suddenly saw the light, we’ll, you haven’t been paying attention.
Let me know in the comments if you’ve seen anything like this, in the movies, in the parks, or the cartoons.
As far as hearing from me again? Well, I’m not the type of guy to retread the same ground too many times, but I think I have one, maybe two more stories that could help you all navigate this world of the corporate being entwined with the paranormal.
Tell me down below if you might want to hear about a friend of mine.
Peter the Sailor man.