Found Film My Ass

The year was 2003. It was the end of a weekend of unseasonably weather, just before Winter Break. The Jets had won and we had gone home celebrating, except for me. Why? I had just been rejected by a girl I had really liked. And I had nothing to do for the winter break, really. The one and a half weeks lied before me like a blank canvas, but I was out of paint.
That night I sulked to my computer, considered writing a annoyingly cliche creepy pasta but saved it for another day, and read a few comics before brewing some tea before bed when I heard something peculiar. The Radiator beneath my desk was making a strange tapping noise. We had moved in seven years ago, yet there were parts of the house I had never really, er, touched before. You see, sometimes I think as if wherever I touched something in all my life it left a red footprint. how awesome would it be to see the entire world like this? The school hallways crisscrossed with a web of hundreds of your footprints, or a lonely string up that mountain you climbed once or twice when you were in boy scouts. Even your own house would be practically bathed in red.
Or would it? What about the dusty places, some of which in your own house, you hadn't yet touched with your hands. Little spaces that still had not been conquered by the imaginary red ink that you make when you touch stuff. Or maybe once, maybe that one night where you were moving in. Well, I was thinking exactly that when I moved my desk aside and examined the dust-bunny-covered radiator. The noise was very faint. I tapped the radiator with my foot. It stopped. I resumed my derping.
Thirty minutes later, it began again. This time I kicked the radiator, and it stopped. A small Black tag was poking out of the end, waggling in the air that was coming out of it.
I went to bed.
That night, the temperature dropped. By 2 I was freezing, so I had to constantly get up to change the thermostat. We were getting a dramatic cold front, and it started to rain heavily outside. It was very dark, and the street lights' burgundy glow was devoured by the velvet of the wet night outside my windows.
At around 3:15 I heard it again. I awoke to find the noise extremely loud, accompanied by a sound that can be compared to cellophane wrap flapping in the wind.
Annoyed, I turned on the lights, put on my glasses, and yanked the desk aside to find something very weird.
Long strands of black tape were emerging from my radiator and were flapping around like snakes. I pulled one out, and started winding it around. It seemed like an endless deluge of this tape was pouring out of my radiator – as if the sudden change in temperature outside had triggered this massive tangled ball of black tape to unhook itself from the deepest recesses of the baseboard and emerge, making a mess. I remember wondering to myself, how could all of that tape fit in there? when my fourteen-year-old sister walked it, half-asleep.
"Whayehuh yahoohuh haaa."
"What?" I asked.
"I saih, why'd you have t'wake me uuuuuhp."
"Go back to bed, Amanda."
"What's going on?"
I showed her the mysterious black tape, whose end was yet to be discovered.
"Where did all that VHS tape come from?"
"Down there." I pointed to the radiator.
"That's weird. Turn off your lights, you woke me up."
"Sorry."
She went back to bed, I closed my door, and started winding the tape into a ball, when I noticed a paper tag on one end. Written in ballpoint ink:
Eat Me and You Will Live Forever
So, the naïve teenager I was, I went downstairs and put the ball of tape in a blender, mixed with three cups of milk, some ice cream, strawberries, and ham. I drank the whole fucking shake to the last drop.
For two months the world went by without comment. I did not talk to the girl so I wouldn't be friendzoned; I took my SAT's. I said my prayers and did my schoolwork like a good boy. But by February things were changing.
On groundhog's day I was out in the woods behind my house when I spotted something. It looked like a man from India, wearing a green flannel shirt. In his left hand was a typewriter; in his right was the leash to a German shepherd that was nailed to a tree.
"Hey!"
I ran over. "Hey you! What are you doing back here?"
The man said nothing and stepped behind a tree.
When I ran over to where he had been, he appeared on a ridgeline not an eight of a mile away, at the base of the radio tower to the north.
I turned to my right and found the bloody spot on the tree where the dog had been nailed. The nail was about ten inches long and had some fur on it. There was a large area of bloody leaves beneath the nail and there were scratch marks on the tree.
I ran up the ridge. The man disappeared, leaving his typewriter in the snow. I continued on into the dark woods, and the sun began to set, making long shadows of the bare trunks and branches.
At last I found the dog; this time nailed about six feet off the ground. It was struggling and desperately trying to breathe. The nail went directly through its trachea and into the wood, but it was somehow still alive and struggling. And, horribly, it was hanging by its neck. I wished to cease its suffering, but I could not reach the nail. And I did not have anything to cut down the tree with. So I watched it suffer.
At about five or six o'clock, the dog finally expired. When it did, something very creepy happened. Black bundles of VHS tape emerged from its mouth, nose, ears, and eye sockets, and spun toward the ground, forming a pile. Its bottom jaw fell off and masses of this black tape spewed forth into the hideous curling, bouncing heap.
When I called the police they had found that the dog's stomach had been filled with this tape. As for the Indian man, he had yet to be identified.
I was extremely terrified.
I told no one.
In school, power outages had fried the speaker system. There were no bells or announcements, and every single speaker had been destroyed. On February 18th, I froze in my seat as a grim-looking Mr. De Bile wheeled in a cart with a television set on it and a large and ample VCR on the bottom. He patted the massive black box. "Sorry kids, but according to the main office, we have to use this baby temporarily until the speaker system is fixed."
I stammered. The girl next to me raised her hand. "Are you saying they are going to be broadcasting the morning announcements using a television?"
Mr. De Bile scoffed. "There's no other option."
I silently screamed as a loop of black VHS tape hung out of the bottom of the VCR.
"What's the matter there, Johnny?"
Ron raised his hand. "He's just got a crippling fear of VCR's."
The class broke out in a wave of clamor. I ignored it, sitting there, petrified, as the small snake of tape looped itself around the flagpole, dragging the VCR with it off the shelf. Horror of horrors, the VCR was now hanging off of the flagpole, and was inching its way up toward the ceiling. I watched as the VCR disappeared beneath a ceiling tile.
I leaned over to James. "Did you not see that?"
James started. "What."
"The VCR just scuttled into the ceiling. Please tell me you aren't blind."
James looked at me like I was a nutcase.
"Are you alright, John?"
Things began to get darker. Fuzzier. Could have sworn that stripes of static were descending through my vision as I walked the halls in school. Reality became hard to believe. Every night I endured hours of nightmares about any and all technology that was associated with the dreaded tape, and the Indian Man and his German Shepherd. Every evening I had to rest my eyes from the glare of my life going by on a screen.
By March it wouldn't stop raining, and the lights in the school were dim. As I walked the halls I realized nearly all of the classes were bathed in the hazy flicker, watching documentary films, with the lights off, and the television glaring in the darkness. When the janitors swept, they left little piles of rubbish on the floor in the corners of hallways. Originally, these were made up of dust, candy wrappers, and discarded bits of paper. But now a large part of these piles was discarded VHS tape.
Around Saint Patrick's day, Sarah called. It was the first time we had spoke in months.
"What do you want, Sarah? I thought we wouldn't talk anymore."
"John...can we talk in person?"
"Sure."
"What happened to you?" She asked as we walked in the dark town green at night. "Do you write anymore?"
"I don't know...can't stop writing clichés. It's almost as if I'm making fun of them."
"Well maybe you can turn them into something...something not so cliché,"
"That's impossible on Creepypasta."
"You changed."
"How did I change?"
"You're...darker. I like it."
"Listen, Sarah. What do you want? I thought I'm not good enough to fit into your busy schedule."
"It's spring now. Senioritis is kicking in, John. I think...I think I have enough time for a relationship. I liked you."
"Good to know."
As I turned she stepped in front of me. I looked behind her and examine a curious metal object slowly protruding itself from a tree. She bit her bottom lip.
"John. I still like you. Do you like me?"
"Yeah." I momentarily looked into her eyes.
She closed her eyes and began to lean toward me. I did the same, but I kept my eyes on that tree. A maroon shadow was slowly creeping down from the nail down the trunk.
"Sarah..." I trailed off as our faces connected, but only for a moment, as she started to cough.
The nail receded back into the trunk, and the maroon stain disappeared.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." She stopped coughing. "Sorry I kinda ruined it. I have a bit of a cold."
We sat down on the park bench and talked for a bit. The night air was very foggy and heavy. When we were about to part ways, she started to say something. She coughed a bit more. This developed into a hack, and before long she was nearly on the ground and I didn't know what to do besides patting her back.
Suddenly, a small strip of black tape emerged from her mouth.
I screamed.
The scene played out in front of me, constantly rewinding itself over and over again, until the tape of reality itself was too mangled to play again. Her body, twitching on the ground, as rolls and rolls of black, snaking tape emerged and bounced on the ground from her silently screaming mouth. After a while her faced turned blue and the tape forced itself out of her eye sockets. Her jeans were stained red by the time I bolted out of there.
On that night, Sarah had gone missing. She would not be discovered until April, her mangled corpse nailed to a tree and her stomach filled with tape.
By May I was skipping school. I was shitting bits of tape into the toilet and I had stopped eating because the food tasted like plastic. Some nights I awoke from nightmares to find that they were just looped tracks being physically drawn across my corneas. I dealt with it by going into the bathroom and wrenching feet and feet of tape out of my eyeballs.
In the kitchen I stopped opening cabinets because spirals of tape bounced into a heap whenever I opened them. Tape was hanging off of every surface – it attached itself to the ceiling fans in my house. Stacks of cardboard boxes full of this evil material filled my room. The black entity had robbed me from all enjoyment – all I did now was spend countless hours trying to rid myself of the stuff. It infected everything and anything. My parents and my sister were rotting corpses in their beds, loops of tape pouring out of their eyes and mouths agape, whirring themselves onto spinning tracks and playing out scenes of my simulated life independently on stacks of dim TVs.
By May I was done. I lit the house on fire and ran, long strands of tape dragging behind me out of my asshole, some still connected with the flaming house. Grand pillars of black smoke were now engulfing my house and yard. I ran into the woods with a camcorder in hand.
"This is what happens when you're stupid enough to follow directions." I said to the camera. I shut it off, removed the cassette, and put it in a box, burying it.
About ten years later my son scared me when he found the same wretched box in the woods behind our new home. I did not open it, but the earth had somehow formed the following letters on the cardboard box's cover:
Watch Me. Consume Me. I dare you.
Category:Trollpasta
Category:Satire
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Category:Pointless Violence
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