Scratch

Stickman704 wrote:

samid11 wrote:

Stickman704 wrote:

@^
Sorry 

I cant stop wondering, whats barbie.jpg?

I think it's barbie.avi

what is it?

Stickman704 wrote:

samid11 wrote:

Stickman704 wrote:

I think it's barbie.avi

what is it?

CreepyPasta story

...post it. Im too scared

Stickman704 wrote:

samid11 wrote:

Stickman704 wrote:

CreepyPasta story

...post it. Im too scared

Click on the text, it'll link you through. Or just

http://inuscreepystuff.blogspot.com/2011/04/barbieavi.html

I know... but they always have creepy pics... can you copy and post it?

Stickman704 wrote:

Ahem, it's slightly... yeah for a family website like this. There are no creepy pictures.

....I still wanted to know what its about

Stickman704 wrote:

*long creepypasta* quote]

Whoa... a bit creepy... I thought it would be about a creepy barbie doll XD

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP
(you thought i was going to say BUMP didnt you?)

This is based off BarelyBreathing. It's a prologue of it, in fact.

                                                ~xoxOxox~
  Before the Cardinals, there were the Deck of Cards. They were a group of 54 expert hackers, each with his own card and illegal speciality. Whenever they logged on to the internet, their avatar would be of their card. For example, there was Spade7, the seven of Spades. He specialised in stealing credit card numbers, and worked together with Heart2-the bank account hijacker-and Spade 3-the social engineering person-to finance the entire group.
  The group was jointly led by Red Joker and Black Joker, the two least commonly used cards. They were the only ones who were truly Jacks of All Trades. Under them were the Aces of each face, who led their respective faces, as well as specialising in something.
  The Decks of Cards were very, very, good. Nobody has ever managed to glean a scrap of information about any of them, from the newest greenhorn, Club1, to the Jokers. The police have long since given up trying to catch them. In their early days, the police managed to track down a person who claimed to be a Joker. It turned out to be the hoax, as demonstrated when the police found out the man couldn't crack a simple password. But it was then that the Deck of Cards exposed a tiny hint of their enormous power.
  As the man was being escorted away, a loud beep from the computer attracted a policeman's attention. There was a familiar blue screen, and what was more, a message written personally by the Deck of Cards, stating that they had cracked the computer system WHILE the man was being tested.
  The cops backed off. But what very few people knew was the true extent of their cunning. The man who had called in the "hoax" was actually the Red Joker. With a series of quick, practised moves, he managed to slip in his hard drive into the police computer while pretending to struggle at cracking the password. The program on it silent installed(a computer term for installing without a notice popping up) a back door to the system, allowing anyone who knew the right key combination to access it, rather like a cheat code.
  But surely the police would have caught the Red Joker, you protest. He was carefully supervised during the test. He was, in fact, but the only one who could have seen him slip the hard drive in was the policeman standing right next to him-the Black Joker. And now we see how clever they are, fooling the police right under their noses.
  So it came as no shock to any who knew them that they revolutionised the underground computer industry by discovering the secret of the camera. Yes, they found out a camera captures souls. They were the original inventors of that theory. They bought thick, heavy books, financed by the bank accounts of dozens of people, and read everything about making cameras.
  They made a camera microchip of their own, and analysed the underlying code carefully. It was logical. Then they bought a camera, and analysed it. It was logical, too, but it had one more line of code than theirs, even though they used the exact same process to make it.
  Painstaking research followed, finally revealing a small command buried deep within the code. It didn't make sense. You see, a binary command has to start and end with one. This command was "0000000". Something was wrong. It should have made an error message pop up when it scanned into the machine.
  This was supposed to be a side project, to compare the code of two cameras and see if they were smart enough to make a camera exactly the same. It also opened up exciting, new, legal opportunities to make a quick buck or two. Out of fifty four members, only three were assigned to it.
  They hauled it all the way to the top, to the Jokers, and their eyes lit up like Christmas trees. Suddenly all projects were cancelled; there was a flaw in the binary code itself! This was bigger than big, bigger than the invention of the computer, for this defied logic. If you made a machine that could spit out steam, and suddenly you find out it spits out fire as well, that would be great! A bonus effect, and being the curious beings that hackers were, the Deck of Cards set to work.
  They dismantled every inch of the code, to no avail. Perhaps the "0000000" was a callback, a codeword, of sorts, to activate a function somewhere else. But no. It wasn't. So what was it? They puzzled and prodded and tested, and finally they came up with the answer.
  It has to do with the computer. Someone had messed with the binary structure itself. Not their computer. The original computer. The inventors of the computer had programmed the binary system this way, but someone somewhere had reprogrammed it slightly, most likely after debugging, to ensure it would not be spotted.
  The same person had started work on the original camera. When the basic format for its code had been created, he fiddled with it, reprogramming with with a "0000000". The only people who would ever question the format would be the inventors of the camera, and they were already fooled.
  The Deck of Cards has never found out who it was, and the mystery saboteur's identity is still unknown. Some say he was a cultist, someone who managed to imprint black magic on the software. Some say he was a genius programmer turned bad. All agree he had malicious intentions. It was possible to run over someone with your car by accident, but this? No. There was no way it could be an accident.
  But back to the code. What was so special about the code? The Deck of Cards could not simply break it down and analyse it, because being nothing but a string of seven zeroes, it would not stand up to that sort of scrutiny. They shrugged their shoulders and tested it. Nothing happened. They wrote a program with "000000" in it, and nothing happened at all.
  They didn't know that Club8, the tester, had a piece of his soul missing. Not until they looked at the program again, anyway. It turned from a short program to an indescribably complex DNA strand. The Deck of Cards disappeared from the scene altogether, and soon nobody remembered them. They spent every waking moment searching for the secret of the command that should not exist.
  Then comes a period of utter secret. The Black Joker took a video of himself explaining the events, just before he committed suicide, along with the Red Joker. They broke up the DNA strand, and mixed and matched random pieces of code. Nothing seemed to work. Remember they didn't know the function of the seven zeroes, so they tested it along with every piece of code.
  A hacker would compare it to brute force cracking, a password gathering method in which you have to try every possible letter and number combination. But they couldn't do it with a Brute Force program, so they did it manually, piece by piece.
  They ended up with several "glitched" files. To disguise the true power of the files, they named them silly names like "smile", "barbie", and "suicidemouse". But the most powerful one was called "BarelyBreathing". While the other files did strange and disturbing things, it was the last one that really scared them. They referred to the file as "it", and never spoke of its true name.
  The Jokers came up with a plan. They had pieced together the BarelyBreathing jigsaw by accident, and could not pry it apart. Apparently, the 0000000 would not allow them to. As said command was made to capture people's souls, it's unknown why it worked that way. It was unlikely to be a side effect, so the leading theory, and the one I personally believe, is that their souls bound the file to the computer.
  They knew that it could kill. Six members had died, and they were forced to fake it as accident, suicide, or disappearance. Nobody noticed that three of the dead people, by coincidence, happened to work on three separate pieces of the BarelyBreathing file. Their cards are unknown, but they were the inventors of that file.
  When they died, their soul followed them, and the three soul fragments that kept it undeleted went as well. The fragments left imprints, ensuring it was still undeletable, but the Jokers mysteriously were able to split it into three separate parts-cradle, needles, and burningman.  This, of course, is due to the gone souls. Three separate parts, were once soul used to control a single part. ClubKing eventually managed to put it back together, but since then, it's been re-split back into the three files by Black Jack, although the Cardinals managed to put it back together again.
  What happens next are a blur. The Deck of Cards shattered, the members all harbouring a secret obsession with BarelyBreathing. Maybe it's because of their hacker inquisitively... or something else could be at work there. All of them ended up dead because of the file, except the Jokers, who realised what happened and kept the file in a place they were unable to reach, no matter what-under the safekeeping of Heart2, who stored it in a disk in a stolen bank account(if you have a good memory, or scrolled up, you would know that Heart2 was the bank account hijacker of the group).
  When Heart2 played with the file and died, BarelyBreathing was locked away forever in the bank vault, or so they thought. The Jokers slowly lost their obsession... and their sanity. They succumbed to insanity, and after the Black Joker took a video to chronicle the events, for some reason-the last vestiges of his broken mind, attempting a last ditch attempt to keep the killer file at bay?-, they broke the bank vault open, and then they activated an emergency program they had kept secret from everyone, and was a last resort if they were ever arrested.
  The Jokers, unlike what some thought, personally oversaw most computer break ins, and they always installed a program that, at a secret command, would turn the cracked computer into a bot, rather like the cheap spambots of today. The emergency program was meant to broadcast the secret command, and tell all the newly created bots to send an email telling everyone about the full history of the Deck of Cards, so their name would be preserved.
  They replaced that email with the BarelyBreathing.exe. They did not remember locking the file, so that it could not be copied or sent, unless it was by their computers, three years ago. Thus, only their computers can now copy or send the file, along with the bots, who are still active, though their computers are both in junkyards, scavenged for rusty parst.
  They hung themselves, and now, because of this action, the BarelyBreathing file still existed.

  What happened next? Well, the Black Joker had a son, whom he taught hacking to. The son found a note in his dead father's pocket. Who can say what it was doing there? All he knew was that he found a piece of scrap paper with the words "The Cardinals" written on it.
  He logged on to the internet, called up his hacker buddies, and told them he wanted to form a hacking group. They asked for a name. He whispered two words,"The Cardinals".
  Amazing, isn't it? By then, the soul capture theory had been leaked, by HeartJack and DiamondKing, who stole a few Deck of Cards notes pertaining to it. The Cardinals acquired a copy of the notes, and started researching on it. It's ironic, but perhaps not so coincidental, that the founder of the Cardinals, the ones who unlocked BarelyBreathing, was the son of one of the founders of the Deck of Cards, who created it.
  After all, like father, like son.

Last edited by helltank (2011-08-31 07:30:45)

fallengames wrote:

A crazed-looking figure that was all bloody and maimed. She then tried to uppercut him (She had taken karate lessons.)

Really? 

helltank wrote:

Stickman704 wrote:

fallengames wrote:

A crazed-looking figure that was all bloody and maimed. She then tried to uppercut him (She had taken karate lessons.)

Really? 

I can't believe you didn't comment about my fanfic on BarelyBreathing, which you yourself posted. 

I thought it was pretty good.

Also, that move is permanently entrenched in my Top 25 most fail things to do to a creature in a horror story.

I read the thread from the beginning. Only just noticed yours. Cools story. Great insight on the Carnidals 

Edit: Oh that story! Made me laugh 

So, has anyone thought about how Portal is a giant allusion to Purgatory?

There is (seemingly) no reason to be putting Chell through these horrible experiments - it's for GLaDOS' sadistic pleasure.

But what if it's REALLY a test?

Not a scientific test, but a test of character and determination as to redeem oneself? Perhaps GLaDOS' taunts of, "All your other friends couldn't come either because you don't have any other friends because of how unlikable you are. It says so right in your personnel file: 'Unlikable. Liked by no one. A bitter, unlikable loner whose passing shall not be mourned...' It says you were adopted. So that's funny too," isn't just pointless mocking but a reminder of Chell's former life?

It's also heavily implied that GLaDOS could possibly be a much more knowing being as some kind of tester for Purgatory. Quotes like, "Speaking of curiosity, you're curious about what happens after you die, right? Guess what? I know."

Quotes like this have a much more significant meaning when thought of in this context.

"I feel sorry for you, really. Because you're not even in the right place."

"This is your fault. It didn't have to be like this."

"You're not a good person, you know that, right? Good people don't end up here."

Last edited by Stickman704 (2011-08-31 08:21:59)

Im thinking about writing a Shugo Chara! creepypasta, but i'm not that good at being scary.

Hand crawling, out of it's grave.
Hand crawling, out of it's cave.
Hand crawling, onto the street.
Hand crawling, waiting to meet.
You.
Hand crawling, seeing your place.
Hand crawling, speeding it's pace.
Hand crawling, into your house.
Hand crawling, ignoring your spouse.
It just wants you.
Hand crawling, up the stairs.
Hand crawling, to see if you're there.
Hand crawling, into your room.
Hand crawling, awaiting your doom.
Hand crawling, onto your bed.
Hand crawling, onto your leg.
Hand crawling, on top of your flesh.
Hand crawling, onto your chest.
Hand crawling, onto your head.
Forever asleep.

[Any non-english words are Latin, except the incantation the shaman whispers when fighting the creature. That's a made-up language.]
~Bestiae Viride~
  Fox Hatchet aimed his spear with an expert hand. The weapon was painstakingly painted with complex war stripes, and the tip was razor sharp. His wrist flicked down, and the spear flew towards the fish. There was a soft cry as it was impaled.
  Then bubbles appeared. Large, gasping bubbles popping loudly on the river surface. Fox frowned. The jungle spirits? Or... his thoughts were cut off as a loud cracking sound emanated from the river, and a giant thing shot out.
  It looked vaguely like a centipede. Made out of a series of joined, rounded pods, the front pod had two black holes, and twin tusks protruded from it. It flew high into the air, emerging from the waters, then crashed down to the ground.
  Fox ran, ran as he had been taught to by his father. The monster persued, snapping trees in half as it bulldozed its way through the forest. He staggered, gasping, into the camp, and was immediately surrounded by the other tribe members.
  "Arcessere in shaman! Ferre aliquem super shaman!"
  Moments later, a slim man wearing the skull of a goat over his head and clutching a wooden staff with an elephant spine twirled tightly around it appeared.
  "Quid fit?"
  "Aggressus est me!"
  "Quid vobis oppugnari?"
  Fox hesitated for a moment.
  "... Bestiae Viride...."
  The shaman's eyes widened. Without another word, he turned towards the strangely calm forest, and muttered words in a language that was ancient when the world was created by the Six Gods.
  Immediately, the centipede-like creature burst from the ground, towering over the shaman. Its eyes seemed to narrow, and it clacked its tusks menacingly.
  "Ss. Nashuel reng aggresia." A faint whisper in the night. Fox wasn't even sure the beast heard them. But it did, and a terrible fury came over it. With blinding speed, the head pod came down upon the shaman, tusks primed to kill.
  And then a burst of blue energy knocked it back. It recoiled, and screeched. Fox covered his eyes and dropped to the ground like the others. The screech grated on his ears, made him naseous and sick. He felt like he was the hero Inlaktern, facing the howling banshees in the Cave of Memory, though that was just a legend.
  The creature shuddered once, then dived back into the soil again. The shaman closed his eyes, and his spirit form shone from within. His body crumpled, but that was no matter-his spirit didn't have a scratch on it.
  He followed the creature, followed it all the way to a large clearing. It looked at him for a moment, then thrashed, soil spilling out from the cracked ground. Finally, it pounded the loosened ground, and it came free. A second screech, and an enormous chunk turned to dust.
  The creature settled into the hole, and the shaman's spirit gestured, and the hole filled up again. A grave for the creature. The shaman's spirit smiled grimly, and waited. Soon, a horde of men rushed to the clearing. One of them asked him a question. He shook his head, and indicated what they should do.
  The men set to work, driving a signpost into the dirt near the grave. Two of them brought his body to him. He entered it again, resuming his physical form. Someone passed him a large wooden splinter, and he carefully etched the words into the signpost.
  Ista bestiae viridis. Here lies the Green Beast.

  Many years passed. The trees were cut down, the forest destroyed. Everything was modernized. Roads were built, and large, rusty metal shells the foreigners called "cars" moved up and down them regularly.
  A distant descendant of the shaman who had slew the Green Beast was the only remnant of the tribe, and he was forced to sail in a canoe to seek his gods elsewere. Houses were built. One, in particular, was a large manor, built over a large stretch of ground. It had to be widened slightly, but that was no matter. Just clear a few more meters of land and you're ready to go.
  The manor was modern, comfortable, and rich. There was an actual fireplace, heating systems, televisions scattered all over and a spacious living room, with an antique leather sofa and a glass coffee table that had been auctioned for six thousand dollars and sold for twice the price.
  It was the home of the Windsdor family. Mr. John Windsdor, the famous oil tycoon, was a billionaire, and bought every comfort known to man into his manor. Glass windows let streaming sunlight into the place.
  Once, the famous artist Darren Shamus visited, in order to sell his work to John Windsdor. Later on, he painted a picture of its living room, and named it the Glass Manor. It was obvious why.
  Normally, someone trying to fuse cozy traditional manors with sleek, modern, glass filled mansions would fail badly. The interior designer did not, and combined both in such a way that one felt honored to even enter it. It was, in a word, beautiful.
  Three months into their house, Wicky Windsdor was relaxing with his Xbox 360 when a rumbling came from somewhere. He complained to his parents, who went to the town hall to get some blueprints.
  They hired workmen to assess possible danger zones, in case the house crumbled, and they took measurements and compared it with the blueprints. They informed John Windsdor that one of his walls was hollow. One suggested that mice might have crawled into that wall, and was making the strange sounds.
  None of them could explain why it would cause a rumbling, but they all dismissed it as one of the thousands of mysteries of life.
  The rumbling came that night, and the next morning as well. It was on the third of August when it became so noisy Wicky tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep. You see, his bed was pushed right against the hollow wall.
  The exterminator was called, and he promised to be there in fifteen minutes.
  What happened next was a mystery. The exterminator arrived, only to find the house empty. It was as if the Windsdors had diappeared into thin air.
  He called the police, who made a thorough search of the house. No fingerprints were found, not even of the Windsdors. An expert forsenics officer concluded that "If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn the house was brand spanking new." The timing was off, too. They estimated that even the fastest professional criminal would take days to clean up a manor this big.
  And no one ever thought to knock down the hollow wall. Perhaps it was just as well they didn't.