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One paragraph of horror.

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If you're familiar with two sentence horror stories, this is the same concept. The only difference is you get a bit more length to work with. Now let's all work together to not get any sleep tonight.

"Reality has a well-known liberal bias." -Stephen Colbert.

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These work best if you start with an example so that people can follow it.

 

Go ahead and I'll follow you :P

''Almost everything–all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure–these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.'' - Steve Jobs

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This thread has too much potential to waste.

 

Two back up teams consisting of four people each came the next day. The combed the entire basement over, finding no sign of Andrew’s body or any of the equipment Frank carried down. The crew left with no conclusive evidence anything unusual had happened, but they all reported to feel slightly ill and shaken. Two days later when the power came back on, a problem arose with one of the hot water tanks. During service, a large armoured metal door was discovered hidden out of view behind it. This door does not show up on any blueprints.

I see everything.

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The teams were called back the next day, but when they got to the water tank, the door had disappeared. Perplexed, the serviceman took out his smartphone - he had taken a picture of the door after finding it missing in the blueprint. The door, however, was missing from the picture too, the off-white wall giving no indication of a door ever being present. All but one team member - Brian - dimissed the serviceman for wasting their time.

I USED TO DREAM ABOUT NUCLEAR WAR

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Brian had investigated the area as thoroughly as possible that night, with the aid of the serviceman who was still shaken up by the fact that the door had simply... vanished. Brian knew that a body simply could not go missing, it had to be SOMEWHERE. So did this door. Staring at the empty wall, Brian watched, examined every little detail, even looked around for any sort of projection device that could have made it LOOK like there was a door there. But there was nothing. The night went on, and the sounds of the machinery around him became somewhat... maddening. Dripping water, pattering against the concrete floor. The mechanisms that pulled and twisted echoed around the room, and Brian even found himself able to hear the buzzing of the lights above him. 2am, tired and stressed, Brian was about to call it a night. He looked over to the serviceman, told him of his much needed sleep, then glanced over to the empty wall... to find the door.

"Ross, this is nothing. WHAT YOU NEED to be playing is S***flinger 5000." - Ross Scott talking about himself.

-------

PM me if you have any questions or concerns! :D

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His jaw dropped. His head suddenly felt very light, and he felt like he was going to faint. Brian kept staring at the door, expecting to realise that what he was seeing wasn't really there, that his eyes only needed to adjust, but the door stayed. When he heard the surprised gasp of the serviceman next to him he knew that what he saw was real. Impossible, but somehow real. The investigator slowly got up and made a few steps toward the mysterious door. He hesitantly stretched out his arm and carefully touched it, and to his further surprise the metal was slightly warm. Even at this point he still wasn't sure if he should believe what he was seeing. As he glanced down he saw something else that made his heart skip a beat: a small trail of what appeared to be dried blood, underneath the door. He snapped his head around to face the serviceman, who was looking rather pale, and told him to call the others.

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The team swiftly assembled, despite having been roused from an apparent lull. An unannounced sense of "eight bells and all's well" had been allowed to reign, given the prior assumption that the matter with the door had been settled. Whatever contentment and apathy the operatives had managed to muster evaporated like forced optimism in the face of cold remorseless reality. Brian made cursory acknowledgements, checked all that needed accounting for with his team, but that dried blood beneath the door held some other part of his attention fast. It was the baser part of his mind, adamant that whatever the answer to the doors sudden and sullied reappearance wasn't something he needed to know. Shouldn't know.

When close friends speak ill of close friends

they pass their abuse from ear to ear

in dying whispers -

even now, when prayers are no longer prayed.

What sounds like violent coughing

turns out to be laughter.

Shuntarō Tanikawa

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