He always has a grin
in his face - but it’s a bloody grin, a flesh wound from ear to ear. And it
always seemed freshly cut, as if someone had stabbed the corners of his mouth
just minutes earlier. He has no hair, and more disturbingly, no eyes. It isn’t just empty sockets though, there’s just no eyes there, as if it wasn’t even
human. Just straight, hard skin where the eyes are supposed to be.
He is tall
as well, probably about 6’ 4” and very pale, white as the exposed bone of a
broken leg. His thin arms end in very long, pointy fingers with dark nails, not
painted, rotten. He dresses in dirty grey rags and if you get close enough,
you’ll be able to listen to a faint, heavy breathing.
I was 6 years old when I first saw him. Woke up at night and
there he was, at the corner of my room, long arms barely moving, the dirty
white head facing me with no eyes to see. I yelled, my parents came running in.
A monster, I said. There are no monsters, they told me. It was still there, but
they couldn’t see him.
As time went on, they started thinking I was crazy, so I
stopped talking about it. Years passed. He would go away sometimes, for a few
days, maybe weeks, but sooner or later, wherever I was, he’d appear in the
corner of the room, standing, watching. That went on for years, it’s the only
life i ever knew. The constant fear, the expectation for the day he’d finally
do something, hurt me.
But one day I discovered a local psychic in a newspaper ad.
I went to see her and, as soon as I sat down to tell my problem, he appeared. I
was scared, but she saw it. She could see him as well. That was a first. So I
asked her, and I begged her to help me. How do I get rid of him?
And she told me,
she really did.
What you must do, she
said, is tell people. Tell them how he looks. Describe it as best as you can,
really make them visualize him. They’ll imagine, and someone, someday, will get
it right. Someone will come close enough, picture just the right appearance.
That’s what lures him in. Once he’s inside your mind, he’s inside your life.
She told me that when someone picture him just right, eventually that person
will enter a room and he will be waiting there, at the corner, with his bloody
grin, and I will be free at last.
Fake gel nails for my sisters graduation. I only like stiletto/almond shaped nails on me :) I picked out this glittery topcoat because I wanted just that but the lady said I should do a color underneath so I picked black. When my nails were all done, there happened to be a group of African-American girls walk in and they gushed over them :3 The lady who did my nails liked them so much she made me literally show everyone in the salon C:
ooookay high time i spoke a bit more of who murdoc niccals is since people seem to be confused or just don’t get how complex he really is (Warning: rape, abuse, and other trigger warnings)
first of all his birth was an accident. june 6th, 1966. his father sebastian jacob niccals was a very notorious violent drunk, and pretty much had “fun” in every single possible way he could think of. the girl which was fated to become murdoc’s mother was most likely a prostitute who was not mentally stable, gave birth to him in a mental asylum called belphagor sanatorium. and that’s where he got his name from.
he was dumped in front of his father’s doorstep in a black cradle, his little tiny hand sticking out trying to reach a crow which was sitting right next to him. crows are a symbol of death and darkness, and that already pretty much summed up how he was going to turn out.