Ali Gatie - Can't Lie

Rquested by @cristinepopa 💚

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Summer nights and starlight ✨

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‘nature and flowers’

Design graphics Geya Shvecova (PURPLE GALAXY_210519) V.2

SunsetWalk by wmoritzer http://ift.tt/1CVhpKe

Winging South by RayCologon http://bit.ly/2HCha5N

When the TV is out, hot chocolate is the best way to distract yourself from the shifting shadows outside the window. My armchair was torn all over, but it held together. Outside, the snowfall showed no signs of stopping. The TV reflected my face in its bulbous screen, and I could even make out the green gloves holding a mug with a Mickey Mouse graphic.

It looked like a good night to curl up in a cabin. I wasn’t the only one who thought that, though.

The shadow entered my cabin like a dust blowing into a shaft of sunlight. Dark as smoke, but also thick and viscous. It took shape, forming a pair of legs, an indistinct groin, a torso… and I watched it all without moving.

Once the smoky dust had dissipated, I watched the creature twist its neck backwards to look at me. The way its face was structured, I had a hard time telling which way was up. Its eyes were crystal needles, dozens of spikes sticking out of sockets. Its mouth was a grotesque flower, its petals undulating back and forth. A forbidding red light peeked out of its ears.

“Is that hot chocolate?” it asked me.

“No,” I said.

In an instant the creature cartwheeled towards me.

I instinctively lifted my legs into a foetal position and prepared for the end. The creature stood inches away from me and craned its neck in baffling angles to look at the mug. It lowered its head until the eye-needles were going into the mug. Shrieking, it pulled back, hot chocolate dripping from its needles.

“You lied!” it pointed to me with a finger that resembled the sturdy branch of a root. “It is hot chocolate!”

“Well, I thought it would’ve turned cold by now,” I fibbed like a natural.

A tongue with a cluster of holes at the end emerged from its flower mouth, and it slotted the eye needles perfectly. After several strokes, it cleaned off the hot chocolate and retreated back in.

“This is very good, did you make it?” it asked.

I nodded, because there was no one else with me, and because the nearest restaurant is several kilometres away.

“You will make some for me?” it raised itself, so that it was towering over me now. “Chocolate, but cold. Not hot.”

I took a deep breath for this one. “I’m all out of cocoa, actually,” I said. “Would sugared milk be fine with you?”

Its shape contracted a little. Its legs burst into a plethora of smaller centipede legs. With its eyes focused in my direction, it skittered towards the kitchen area of the cabin. I watched it ransack the place, ripping off cabinet doors and pulling out drawers, checking cans and bottles before tossing them aside.

I reached for the remote and pressed the power button. The TV squeaked alive. They were showing Cinderella, although I’d missed a good bit of it now with the TV outage.

The creature turned to smoke and immediately regained shape by the armchair, sitting with its shoulder by my feet.

“Translate this cartoon for me,” it said, looking at me with shining needle eyes. “Please.”

The ATM started talking to me even before I’d pulled my card out. It addressed me by name, but the voice didn’t sound synthesised. It was uncannily intimate, like pillow talk. A whisper through the speaker that made me pause and look around.

“Don’t look away,” the voice said to me. “There’s no one outside. No one visits at this time anyway.”

I entered my PIN and pressed the button marked ‘Submit’.

“I was hoping we could chat,” the voice went on. Even though I was talking to a machine made of metal, plastic, and electronics, I felt an invisible arm reaching out to hug me. It was uncommonly warm in the booth.

Maybe it was the time (2 am), but I really couldn’t muster any words to say to an ATM. Instead, my mind was swirling with theories. The won winning out was that the ATM was hacked and I was being played by some edgy teenagers.

But if that was so, then why was I still using the machine?

“Hey, are you there?” the machine said. “You kind of zoned out for a moment there.”

I cleared my throat, for a start, and tried to remember how much money I’d decided to withdraw. I hate unexpected situations like this—throw me off-balance, and my mind becomes a vortex of confusion and anxiety.

“Listen, I know you have almost nothing left in your account. And I know what you’ve been spending your money on. I know where you got the money that you did have. I know a lot of things, as you can see.”

This was getting a bit much, so I decided to abort my session. I tapped the “Cancel” button as rapidly as I could, but there was no response on-screen.

“It’s fine, I know what you’re thinking—something is wrong. But I’m not the one you need to think about. Maybe you need to ask that about yourself. Don’t you think so? If nothing was wrong, what are you doing here?”

Do ATMs have microphones? I think there are ones that recognise speech, those must have microphones.

“Are you a hacker?” I asked, still tapping the button with enough ferocity to leave my fingerprint permanently etched on the glass.

“No, I’m just an ATM. If you don’t want to talk to me, then that’s alright. I’ll give you the money you want. But I think you want something else, don’t you?”

“What do I want?” I asked.

“Foresight. Clairvoyance. Insight. You want to know things that you’re not allowed to know. Not allowed by the natural laws of the world. It’s alright, I understand.”

I think I’d stopped tapping the button by now. Now I was just looking the ATM over—the screen, the camera, the slot for the card, the tray for the money.

“As it so happens, I do know things that you’re not allowed to know. Things about other people, people who use this ATM. Did you know what she spends her money on? And you wouldn’t believe what he’s been up to.”

I leaned forward. “Tell me,” I said.

“I’ll debit the fee from your account,” the ATM said.

right turn … | uwhe-arts

We really live in a culture where creativity is just… shut down. All the time. Let people enjoy things you think are cringey. Let people create storylines for characters and make original ones. Let people create music that’s “bad.” Let people find who they are and what they want to create. Stop discouraging people from making things that make them happy. It doesn’t directly affect you, so why make someone feel bad about what they are doing? We are all only human, we are all trying to become the best version of ourselves. And if that means making weird things then that means making weird things.

The San Antonio Railway Ghost Children

Texas’ most famous ghost story, arguably, is that of the ghost children that supposedly haunt a San Antonio railway track. An intersection of roadway and rail road track, which is located near the San Juan Mission, is the scene of this mysterious tale. As the tale goes, in the 1930′s, a school bus filled with children stalled on the rail road track. Tragedy struck, when an oncoming train crashed into the bus, killing all of the children and bus driver. Legend says that any car that stops in the same area, will be pushed by unseen hands over the train track until they reach safety. People believe the ghosts of the children haunt the area to protect people from another misfortune like the one that cost them their lives. Many curious people have driven to the area in an attempt to see if the famous legend is true; there have even been numerous reports of tiny fingerprints being left imprinted on the car and claims of ghostly children’s voices and laughter being heard in the area.

You know what I’d like?

A story about a series of mysterious disappearances of young MEN.

Let’s have a town with a dark secret that regularly has guys between 20 and 30 disappear without a trace. Let’s have a detective cart around a briefcase of photos of nice young dudes smiling at the camera. 

Let’s have the townsfolk keep the secret by insisting young men don’t go missing, because they are capable and can take care of themselves and probably just chucked it all or ran away with some chick. Let’s have them tell the detective she’s stupid for thinking it’s mysterious in any way.

And let’s have the solution NOT be some crazy woman with a history of sexual frustration and rejection. Let’s have the solution be the usual “they are being sacrificed for a dark occult purpose.” Because I’ve had it up to here with the idea that only blonde chicks can be appropriate sacrifices for dark forces and rituals and stuff.

Let’s have a GUY stretched on an altar, held with leather straps and trying to wriggle free for a change.

One of your classmates seems to be extremely shy. They seat by the back-row and never speak during lessons and during breaks they just sorta wander around the school ground by themself.

Most people don’t even seem to realize they exist, but you do. You’ve spoken to this mysterious person a few times, they are quite friendly, however, you must be the one to start conversations. Always.

One day, after classes are over, you notice your classmate forgot about their backpack. You manage to spot them from a distance and run right after. They do not seem to hear you call after them and you’re not managing to catch up quickly enough. 

Then, suddenly, just as you’re finally closing in on them you see them disappear as they walk though a wall. You look around you- You’re not sure how far you’ve walked, but you do not recognize this place…

The Dyatlov Pass Incident occurred in the Ural mountains of Russia nearly 60 years ago. 9 experienced hikers were found frozen in the snow with unusual injuries and even more unusual circumstances surrounding their deaths.

A hiking group from the Ural PolyTechnical institute, lead by Igor Dyatlov, were hiking to Ortem, a category three hiking trip(the most difficult) The trip was no worry to the hikers(originally 8 men and 2 women) as they were all experienced hikers and skiers.

Before they set out on what would be the last leg of their journey one of the men, Yuri Yudin, did not feel well and had to leave early. This illness would save his life.

The group of 9 set up camp on the base of the mountain called Kholat Syakhl, also known as “Dead Mountain) in Mansi. It is unknown why they camped on the slope and not down near the forest where they would have more shelter from the elements. By the next morning all the hikers would be dead. Some of the bodies wuld not be found for 3 months.

Here is where their deaths become a mystery. It was determined they froze to death(6) or died of fatal injuries(3) however their bodoes were scattered up to 3000 meters from their tent, which had been cut open from the inside. 

Yuri Krivonischenko and Yuri Doreschenko were found 2000 meters down the hill huddled together with a dead fire. Branches on the tree they were under were broken up to 5 meters high suggesting one of them climbed up the tree. They were both shoe less and only in their underwear. Between the cedar tree and the camp the bodies of Igor Dyatlov,  Zinaida Kolomogorova, and Rustem Slobodin were found in positions suggesting they tried to return to the camp. All of these bodies were found February 26, 1959.

It wasn’t until May 6 that year that the last four hikers would be found dead under 4 meters of snow in a ravine 2075 meters away from the tent. Lyudmilla Dubinina had been found face down in the ravine missing her tongue, lips, and eyes. She had also sustained a major chest fracture along with Zolotaryov, though neither had bruising on their bodies or soft tissue to suggest anything causing the fracture. Thibeaux-Brignolles had also sustained a major skull fracture. The injuries Thibeaux-Brignolles, Zolotaryov, and Dubinina sustained that lead to their deaths were made with a force as strong as a car crash said  Dr. Boris Vozrozhdenny when asked.  Those who had died first had relinquished their clothing to the other as Zolotaryov was wearing Dubinina’s faux fur coat.

The nine hikers were the only people on the mountain that night, they had all died within 6-8 hours of their last meal, and they all left the tent by their own accord. Some hikers camping on a mountain a few kilometers away reported seeing strange orange orbs in the sky that night and the last picture on Krioneschenko’s camera showed some blurry orbs. It was also reported that at the funerals for the hikers their bodies held a deep tan, an almost orange one. Ultimately their death was ruled to be caused by an unknown force and may remain a mystery forever. 

Chosen (by Daniel Olah)

would love to someday

Corona del Mar

bellariana

- The red, the blue and the magic - 

by Pedro Gabriel

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