Orbiter Devon John Infinito / @GiBi / GiBi_Devon - Spread lies for Bella, accidentally(?) doxed one of her victims, linked to many bad actors.

I hate weens so, so much.
Cowardly weens at that. He took down the video less than an hour and a half after it dropped on the Kiwi Farms, which suggests he was reading along (but without the balls to post or reach out to someone for an invite to post.) His presence in this thread in turn suggests that he knew already what Devon was about, and didn't care, deciding to suck his e-dick for clout anyway. Hopefully people are learning that associating with someone like Devon is not going to bring them good results: Dylon probably never would have debuted here, certainly not in this thread/subforum, if not for that association.
 
So now we have a vampire goth adding to the gaggle of autism. Why does this sped want Chris to review his horror fan fiction anyways? Any serious author wouldn't want to have the endorsement of the guy that can barely articulate a sentence without resorting to babbling about Sonic fan fiction. These are just grifting faggots that want to jump on the bandwagon to get more attention for their equally shit tier work. R.L Stine, called he wants his plot points, and glasses back! You fucking door knob.
 
Cowardly weens at that. He took down the video less than an hour and a half after it dropped on the Kiwi Farms, which suggests he was reading along (but without the balls to post or reach out to someone for an invite to post.) His presence in this thread in turn suggests that he knew already what Devon was about, and didn't care, deciding to suck his e-dick for clout anyway. Hopefully people are learning that associating with someone like Devon is not going to bring them good results: Dylon probably never would have debuted here, certainly not in this thread/subforum, if not for that association.
Why are people so afraid of Kiwis? We're not unreasonable, for the love of God. And we've been very gracious with everyone involved in the Bella saga if they were willing to participate meaningfully. Anyone mentioned in the Farms can easily message a mod, verify their identity and express their request to not be heavily featured if push comes to shove (maybe not lolcows, but certainly cringe orbiters have been cut a lot of slack around here). Just own your freakin' set of balls son.
 
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"I don't want to deal with kiwifarms."

:story:

A little advice for Dylon: We keep receipts you mong. Your video is out there already because the Internet doesn't forget. Either explain yourself or shut up and take your doxing standing up like a fucking man.

Also, you know you wondered what this guy's prose reads like.

Cult of the Eclipse said:
JACLYN ELLSWORTH WAS DRIVING down a lonely stretch of road, thinking any second, her runaway child could turn up. She’d been driving for the past two hours. It was after finishing her nighttime breakfast at the roadside diner and hearing about the man in the white and dark silver suit.

She was on the highway, but it was just another backroad among western Pennsylvania suburbs. Jaclyn knew the route itself went on for miles in both directions, but that didn’t matter. There was always money for another tank of gas in her checking account.

The backroads she’d been on never had streetlights, and this was no exception. Straining her eyes at the mist-coated road, she noticed the potholes were patched up. The summer rain was light but steady.
“It’d be nice if it let up,” she said. “Been like this for days.”

Jaclyn switched her wipers onto the faster of the two settings. Keeping her eyes on the road and slowing down to five below the speed limit, she reached to the console between her and the passenger’s seat.

She felt the small, half-empty paper box there and lifted the flap open. Unsheathing a Marlboro ultra-light, Jaclyn put the filter between her burgundy-painted lips. She reached again for the lighter and lit the tip. Taking the first drag, she cracked the window just to fit the cigarette through. A little rain would get inside but not enough to leave its odor on the interior.
“Did that old bat at the diner know what she was talking about?” She used careful precision to fit the end of her cigarette out the window, eyes always on her lane. “That lady said she saw him.”

None of the houses around her had their lights on. Their features were indistinguishable in the dark. The grassy space between them grew larger with every passing two-storey home. The surrounding grassy hills showed themselves empty as they were spacious.

Jaclyn investigated her rearview mirror for any cars. To anyone who’d been in the area before, she was a nuisance. There weren’t any headlights approaching. The only things behind her were the faint glow of her taillights and a never-ending pitch black.

Looking between the road and her check engine light that glared at her in a burning orange, she bit her bottom lip. Jaclyn imagined her Chevy Cobalt stalling again.
“Fantastic,” she said. “That’s what I needed.”

The road up ahead didn’t have anymore houses alongside it. It was nothing but trees and empty grassland. Once she was driving through the abandoned hills, Jaclyn held her steering wheel in a death grip.
If this pile of junk breaks down again, she thought. I’m screwed. God knows I don’t have the insurance.
She already stopped paying the bill months ago. When her eleven-year-old son brought it to her in the living room from the kitchen counter, asking what it was, she told him to just put it back.

“I’m not sure if I can pay it,” she had told him. “We can probably do without it anyway. It’s not like I’ve ever been in an accident.”

As the uncivilized darkness approached, so too did a wave of silent regret. Jaclyn realized she could’ve borrowed the money at the time, probably. With the inheritance, she would’ve been able to pay it back.
But then again, she was some ways away from home. Why bother?
It was far from the only time Jaclyn got herself lost, but one of the things she learned from the countryside was: where you had lights, you also had businesses. And from experience, just going straight was the fastest way to reach the next sign of town.

She fell into a small coughing fit, seeing her tank was only a third the way full. Sliding her cigarette out the window, she could feel her throat starting to get chilled and raw. As Jaclyn closed her window, the car slowed down.
The Chevy decelerated by five miles an hour, whistled as it kicked, and went back up to speed again. She turned on the radio, drowning out the light whistle in an instant with WDVE. The sound of Black Hole Sun took her mind off the engine.
A dot of hot pink twinkled at the horizon. It was piercing through the dark like red-hot metal in butter. It caught Jaclyn’s eyes, and the needle on the speedometer crept up to sixty-five.

As if uttering a prayer, she said, “Please let me make it. Please just let me make it.”

}The shard of pink grew and turned into a mass of warm fuchsia and yellow light. It shattered its way through the mist, taking a clearer shape. The yellow expanded, reducing the hot pink to a mere outline.

A rectangle with a white outline and yellow illegible letters expanded from its right side. As Jaclyn slowed down, she could see the building and dimmed lights emanating from the windows.

She groaned, and said, “Thank God.”

Jaclyn pulled into a small parking lot underneath the bright neon sign. She looked up at it and the building. Hit by a flash of guilt, she let out a sigh and rolled her eyes.

“Am I really stopping here?

Opening her glove compartment, Jaclyn pulled out a napkin. Her fixation returned to the neon, cursive lettering along the windows. She brushed the napkin across her lips, gently enough not to leave too much lipstick.
It was something she did out of habit, when the temptation to get a taste came back from the shadows. At this point, the idea of her glove compartment not having any napkins was unthinkable. She saw them as a crucifix to ward off the desire. And in most cases, it worked.

There wasn’t any Juicy Fruit in the car, so it had to work.

“It’s okay,” she told herself, looking in the rearview mirror. “I can control myself now. And maybe someone else knows where he is.”

Turning the radio off, she adjusted her straight brown bangs away from her face. Jaclyn looked around in the car and realized it was the one time she forgot an umbrella.
Not a big deal, she thought. It’s just a little rain.

“I don’t need to buy anything,” she said. “I’m just stopping by. And if the Chevy breaks down, I can go somewhere for shelter.”

Gazing up at the sign above her, it felt like the devil himself was beckoning her. It didn’t need more than a single word burning from that neon display. That was enough to invite her into a place with the world’s greatest pleasure.

Jaclyn looked at the time on her car’s digital clock. Eleven-thirty. It was late, but the place had to have been open.

“I won’t be long,” she said, as if speaking to another person. “I mean it. I really mean it now.”

The sign above displayed a smiling, yellow cartoon duck with a white sailor hat, holding a tall glass mug of foaming beer, all within a hot pink outline. On its right was a sign that read, Happy Duck Tavern. The windows of the aged brick building had neon lettering that spelled out Coors Light and Yuengling.

But if that sign only had a single word, she still would’ve been sold on the deal: tavern.

“It never fails,” Jaclyn said, getting out of the car. “If there’s one thing you can count on, every bar in Pennsylvania has Yuengling.”

The fact that she’d found another one of these bars in the region didn’t surprise her. But at the same time, the idea of any establishment like this being a chain throughout the country was a novelty of its own.

Locking the Chevy and stuffing the keys in her pocket, she sprinted to the door and walked inside. As she opened the door, it hit and rang a small bell just above. The sound of the touchscreen-operated jukebox in the opposite corner was second to that of the bell.

The piano intro of Miles Davis’ Blue in Green emanated from the machine and filled the room. It gave the bar itself a quality of being welcome—being able to come inside from the rain no matter what caused it to fall in the first place.

The tavern itself was layered in crimson light emanating from the ceiling. It gave Jaclyn and the rest of the bar-goers an impression of having blood-red skin. The bartender, a petite blonde woman in her early twenties with green eyes, slim-fit jeans and a black tee-shirt that had an Invader Zim design across the chest turned to her.

Jaclyn thought the bartender was too pretty, mostly because of her freckled face and slim features. Even though she was wearing jeans herself, it made her want to cover her thighs with another layer of clothing.

The cellulite there and on her upper arms felt like an alien parasite, draining her whenever she looked in a bathroom mirror. She was already wearing a jacket with fake fur along the edges. Yet an instinct made her pull it closed even tighter, as if the bartender could see. She felt it was the curse of being a woman her age, something one couldn’t help.

Whenever she looked in the mirrors at home, it felt as if decades passed her by in a matter of days. Not long ago, she was a woman of twenty, the world looking like a playground of freedom and no consequences. But just yesterday, youth had left her like a fickle partner would and she’d turned forty.

Joining the bartender, the customers gave Jaclyn a curious but unfeeling expression. A second of staring, and the bartender went to pouring into two shot glasses. The first with butterscotch Schnapps. The other with orange juice. As the girl poured, her customers went back to their drinks and conversations.

The sight of an Irish breakfast made Jaclyn salivate. If canned beer didn’t do the trick, she thought a shot was a great way to take the edge off when she couldn’t make rent on time, when her ex-husband threatened to get the police involved again—

When her son locked himself in his room.

She sat on one of the bar stools, next to a man in a black leather coat and Pirates baseball cap that covered his dark shaggy hair. While he was rubbing his rugged cheeks and chin, Jaclyn noticed this man had to have been the only other person without a drink.

Even the bartender had made herself a raspberry kiss. The girl would take a sip between looking at the customers for any body language that they wanted another drink. Come to think of it, Jaclyn couldn’t tell if she was drinking age. The rest of her body conveyed that she was ripe for college, but the face said otherwise.

She’s got the face of a high school kid, Jaclyn thought. But all younger people are like that, I guess. They haven’t spent their whole lives drinking and smoking.

“Hi,” the bartender said to her with a perky voice, but a neutral expression. “Did you need help with something?”

A lot of things, Jaclyn wanted to say. “Could I just get a glass of water?” she asked with a smile.

The bartender cocked her eyebrow, but got a fresh glass, scooped ice cubes into it, and filled it with water. She put a coaster in front of Jaclyn and stuck the glass on top. After another quick look around, she took another sip of her raspberry kiss.

Keep it up, girl, and you might end up like me. “What’s the charge?”

Another fast cock of the eyebrow, and the bartender answered, “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Jaclyn looked at the jukebox again as the song finished. On her second glance, she recognized the machine’s specific model. It had the unforgettable Eclipse logo with the C styled to look like a crescent in the top-right corner. That was the brand she’d seen in every retailer that carried electronics.

Eclipse was most smartphones, home computers, business hardware and software, and from what Jaclyn had seen, it even had a hand in the video game industry. It didn’t have a total stranglehold over gaming from what she noticed but had a way of creeping its way across the shelves.

“Good God,” she once remarked in an electronics store in her shopping district. “One day, Charles might even gonna outdo Nintendo.”

The machine in the corner opposite the entrance had been something she read about on the news over her phone. It had the appearance of an innocent jukebox—playing music was just an installment available to the buyer.

The Eclipse Tracker was a machine to keep records of inventory and profits and make accurate predictions of supply to invest in without manual input. She stared at it as if it’d try to take her wallet the moment she turned away.

Somehow, Jaclyn thought. That hunk of metal knows what people are paying as they pay without the bartender telling it.

The model was one of the first of its kind, prehistoric by today’s standards. She imagined it was something not many people cared to read about. This Tracker was something business outlets raved about for being more efficient and cheaper than its competitors. Not only that, but for being able to download additional hardware components over the Eclipse online store as well.

Somehow, the machine physically adjusted with each purchase. She’d only seen demonstrations over videos on the internet and swore it gave her a heart attack.

Jaclyn felt her heart leap to her throat at seeing one of these things build itself a new USB drive, or even obsolete parts like disc drives after the transaction went through. But she supposed that’s why the company’s owner, Anthony Charles, must’ve been filthy rich.

“Innovative and nostalgic at the same time,” one reviewer had said. “The backwards compatibility is phenomenal. Perfect for any entrepreneur who wants to use both old and new tech. Almost its own home computer. All that’s missing is office and gaming capabilities.”

As the song changed to Chet Baker’s cover of Sultry Eve, Jaclyn winced at the idea of even the cash in her purse being monitored. At least with surveillance cameras, they had an eye she could see. She knew what was watching her. Now that wasn’t the case anymore. The mechanical eyes could watch people through a one-way window.

She looked just past the bar itself, where bottles of Smirnoff were being held. The slow dance of the piano and Chet Baker’s moaning trumpet fixated her eyes to the labels. Jaclyn not only conceived how late it was, but the feeling of not having slept for days crept into her body.

She drank half of her water and her eyes began to droop. Her shoulders sank as she slouched against the bar.

Jaclyn jumped as a raspy voice spoke into her ear, “Just water?”

She turned and stared, holding her breath. But after seeing who it was, she let her breath go. It was the man with the Pirates cap, giving a friendly smile to her and lighting a cigarette. He took a drag and stuck out his hand.

“Just joking. Name’s Randy,” the man said.

“Jaclyn,” she replied, shaking his hand with a soft, nervous grip.

“You feeling alright? Maybe you could use a little more water.”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“It’s just that you were dozing off and saying something about Corey.” Randy took another drag, blew the smoke away from them and asked, “Who’s Corey?”
 
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“Good God,” she once remarked in an electronics store in her shopping district. “One day, Charles might even gonna outdo Nintendo.”
You know the ween had to sneak in a reference to video games in there. Too bad it isn't Sonic :(
also can't even do proper syntax and sentence structure smh
 
I’m a retard, sorry, but just to make sure, this isn’t the same ween from the “Barb went home” thread that drove by and took pics? This is a second, clearly the more moronic one, correct?
This dude is not me. He did literally everything I avoided doing. I have no clue what he was thinking recording himself there and promoting his own shit. Clearly logic is not something he's used to
 
The reply button for Spookybones has gone AWOL on me, but I must say:

I'm no professional author, but I have a pretty high rep on Literotica, FuckBunnyAuthors and FuckMyD6IsStuckInMyAsshole and that prose doesn't read all that well. It reads like the first draft of my community-praised Lusty Lesbian Lycans series; which I take immense pride in - save for the Werebear of Stalingrad, that was dogshit and even I know it.
 
The reply button for Spookybones has gone AWOL on me
I'm guessing Null is changing something under the hood, random reply buttons are vanishing for me too. I'm pretty impressed this site works between the constant DDOS and the merge .... and our shitty posts.


The prose reads like this guy started as a dungeons and dragons game master. And he looks like one too.
He should pay homage to the farm imo, an apology could go a long way.
 
The prose reads like this guy started as a dungeons and dragons game master. And he looks like one too.
He should pay homage to the farm imo, an apology could go a long way.
I've seen D&D campaigns run on forums for ten+ years and they're 100% better than this... This sounds like the prose for a knock-off D&D Kickstarter page.
 
Also, you know you wondered what this guy's prose reads like.
:story:

This guy's writing is just begging for a good sporking.

Taking the first drag, she cracked the window just to fit the cigarette through. A little rain would get inside but not enough to leave its odor on the interior.

Because that's the last thing you want, the odor of rain in your car.

Beta readers, pal. Use them. And not your mom.
 
:story:

This guy's writing is just begging for a good sporking.



Because that's the last thing you want, the odor of rain in your car.

Beta readers, pal. Use them. And not your mom.
More literature
Doll House said:
Doll House
Horror Fiction
I didn’t think I’d end up sitting in my childhood bedroom like this. I’ve been sitting opposite the door, with the bed and dresser drawers blocking it.

There’s no telling if I can survive tonight. The only other way out is through the window. A set of sheets is still on the twin bed, but not enough for a makeshift rope down three storeys. It’s something I’d try as a kid, and learn from getting a broken ankle.

Even when the fall was just a single floor, it wasn’t one of my better ideas.

And what about Hazel? She isn’t here with me, but at this point? There’s nothing I can do. It’s not because I’m a coward. It’s because of our separation in the house.

Even though our family had a strong history of heart problems, nobody could’ve been prepared for our father’s cardiac arrest. Nobody was ready to lose him.

The small legion of suited businessmen attending his funeral kept themselves together, never splitting apart. Throughout the service and even at the dinner Hazel and I hosted, they shared the look of a little boy who lost his parents in a massive department store.

The group gave a minute-long speech at both. They reminisced about his entrepreneurship and how it was the foundation of their software careers.

As they spoke, we were all waiting for them to ask, “Without him, what do we do now?”

The question never came, but Hazel and I felt it from the looks on their faces just the same. I didn’t have the chance to work with him myself. Software development was never my passion. But the fact that he built a tank strong enough to compete with Adobe alone had my respect.

And if he didn’t? He wouldn’t have been less of a foundation to me. It was his guiding hand that taught me the value of hard work. His wisdom was what taught me to be a man, and even begin business ventures of my own. It was also the lifestyle he constructed for us that proved what enough passion and hard work could do.

That luxurious lifestyle showed me the strength a widower could have—and what my sister Sophie would see in a different light. If he could provide that for his family, why not me? Why couldn’t I do it too?

As a teenager, I’d have to hang my head in shame at not understanding code. On the other hand, I discovered my real talent was elsewhere. The minute I was flipping through technical manuals, that’s what put me at home.

It led to a short time in trade school before completing an apprenticeship, and the proud moment of going into business for myself. Customers were few at first and I couldn’t help thinking it was all for naught. After going out to dinner with one of them several times though, I first met Hazel.

She and I hit it off with a shared off-color sense of humor. But it was after sharing a few songs of drunk, off-key karaoke that I started to notice how enchanting her warm smile was. It was only a matter of time until we began dating, moved in together years down the road and married.

Profits hadn’t grown a whole lot since. We could just get by with only pennies to save at the end of every month. Once we announced the baby on the way, dad’s business even managed to take a dive. Despite the bit of grim news, we managed to keep our chins up. In a way, he could’ve been a foundation of my new family too.

By then, my older sister Sophie and I were both pushing thirty, and after dad’s wallet got thinner, she was harder to take care of. He didn’t tell us outright, but we could tell by the tone of his voice over the phone.

A new favorite saying of hers was: “What do you mean we don’t have that kind of money? We always had that kind of money before.”

Hazel thought Sophie grew so comfortable with that lifestyle, it was why she never bothered to pursue anything for a career—or even leave the house.

I thought it must’ve been tough doing nothing at all, except collecting those porcelain dolls of hers. Even as a young adult about to go to trade school, I’d see her carry one of them as if it were her child.

Whatever doll she paired herself with for the moment always suited her well. It could’ve been the pale skin, or the black smooth hair and short bangs that reflected the overhead light. It may have been the overall thin build—

No, it was their eyes.

Sophie’s eyes were always wide, with large dark irises that blended in with the pupils. We were all sure her natural eye color was a deep brown, but nobody could really say. It was rare that any of us even saw her blink. The only times I did were when one of her thick eyelashes loosened itself.

Her eyes always had a way of matching those of the doll she cradled in her arms. But out of the collection that spanned across every wall in her bedroom, there was one she favored the most. Hazel thought it was too late for her to find a man and have a child of her own.

I always smiled and agreed, but in the pit of my stomach, it wasn’t the case. Of all the porcelain dolls, she held one around the estate the most. It was one whose complexion, hair, and deep black eyes were identical to hers.

I even asked Dad if it was custom-made to look like her, as if it were a substitute for a flesh-and-blood playmate. He gave me a perplexed look, an amused but uneasy grin and shook his head.

“No,” he told me. “We found that one just as it is.”

Even now, I found that hard to believe. After sneaking into her room and taking closer looks at it, the story sounded like too much of a coincidence. Not only were the eyes, hair and complexion the same, but the doll also had the same pattern of greyish freckles on her cheeks.

Being stared at by the one doll alone was bad enough. Whenever Sophie carried it around, it had a habit of facing in my direction. Wherever I’d be in the house, no matter which angle it watched from, the eyes had a way of following me about.

Just before starting trade school, I asked Sophie, “Why do you always face that doll toward me?”

She turned and gave a blank stare before a little smile twisted on her face. “Don’t be silly,” she said and giggled. “I don’t make Sophie do that. She does as she pleases.”

As my sister spoke, the doll was facing away from me. It was a moment of peace before I strained my eyes shut and cleared my throat.

The second I opened them; Sophie wasn’t speaking. She was just standing there, watching, as if waiting for her cue to act. The doll she named after herself had already been slumped over her shoulder like an infant about to be burped.

But now—the little Sophie’s head was turned to face up at the ceiling, its frozen eyes glaring down at mine. I didn’t even know a porcelain doll’s head could pivot like that.

She stood there in place, both sets of eyes on me. A moment passed before she walked back to her bedroom. I could even hear her close the door and lock it from the inside.

After tiptoeing and pressing my ear against the door, I could hear a string of quiet whispers. Most of it was her. I could say that much. A little bit didn’t sound like it though. I’ve never heard her do voices before. She was never one to try to be funny, but it sounded like was a smaller voice speaking back to her.

The little Sophie alone was enough reason to avoid that bedroom, but there were occasions where it couldn’t be done. Stepping in there made me feel surrounded by a hundred pairs of dim, lifeless eyes.

I wasn’t sure if my sister arranged this on purpose, but *every—time—*they were always staring straight at me. The way each doll sat in place with its hands folded in its lap was like it’d been waiting for an intruder.

Their bodies hadn’t been facing me. They were all positioned against the walls and corners to create a perfect shoulder-to-shoulder arrangement. Yet their heads were turned enough for their motionless eyes to peer toward the bedroom door.

The doll in the far corner caught my attention more than the others at first. It had to have been the most unique of them all, since Sophie never cradled it in her arms. Despite having all the features and proportions of a small child, it was the size of a full-grown adult. It resembled a redheaded, freckled boy with a red and white striped shirt and denim shorts.

Sophie had addressed the rest of her collection by name as she carried them around the house. There was only one she mentioned in addition to whichever doll was in her care at that moment. She always referred to this other doll as their “brother”—this had to have been the one Sophie named “Big Boy.”

Big Boy’s face stood out from the others though. Its eyes were larger—they protruded more, casting blacker shadows on their undersides, as if there were deep bags hiding underneath. The lips were jutting outward and etched into a sharper, icy scowl.

At first, it looked as if its cheek was decorated with cobwebs. With a closer look though, I noticed it was a web of tiny cracks. I never found out what, but it looked like a failed blow to the head.

The expression on its face made me picture it standing upright and lumbering toward me. Once it stopped, the doll would’ve been just taller than me.

The last time I reluctantly went in there to clean Sophie’s laundry, the collection was arranged in the same way—with one exception. At the foot of the empty bed was her little doppelganger, wearing a dark blue dress with a black spiral pattern and matching ebony shoes that reflected the overhead lights.

As I was about to turn away, the lights dimmed, but glistened off the doppelganger’s eyes. There was a slight, burning glow radiating off its glassy corneas.

Carrying the load and turning away from the doll, my body stiffened. The failing lights made it tough to tell, but it looked like the other porcelain creatures turned toward me. Their heads were pivoted just enough for their dead eyes to keep staring.

It could’ve been a trick of the lights, but the look on Big Boy’s face was different than before. The grimace on its face had deepened, the eyes holding a black hatred behind the glass and paint.

I had to summon my courage just to hurry out and close the door behind me. Keeping my eye on it the whole way downstairs. On the way down, there was a gentle banging noise, as if the bedroom door was shuddering from the inside.

How Sophie managed to get her doppelganger’s outfits to match her own was always a mystery. Throughout the miserable time I lived with her, there was never a package in the mail with her name. Not to mention, she never left the estate to do her own clothes shopping.

I never considered myself a social butterfly, but it didn’t stop me from leaving the house. Even when it came to simple errands, getting Sophie to get out of that bedroom was worse than pulling teeth. The closer we came to getting her outside, the more we heard her warm remarks.

“And I think you’ll find it interesting that one of the narrower kitchen knives is missing,” she once said with a conniving smile.

The look on her face as she told me that made my heart stop. My skin grew cold and I could feel the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. I took a step back, keeping my eyes on her still figure at first—but turned and dashed to the kitchen. Along the way, traces of her shrill giggle echoed down the halls.

Digging through the kitchen cutlery, I peered over my shoulder. I never saw unexpected company, but even my own eyes couldn’t convince me. The meat cleaver, chef’s knife and bread knife were there. I started to think she was just bluffing to lock herself back in her room.

But I realized she wasn’t kidding. The long, narrow carver knife was missing. Dad and I had the strongest habit of putting any utensil in its rightful place, and it wasn’t misplaced anywhere in the kitchen.

A lump was caught in my throat when I tried to speak to her. “Sophie?”

No answer.

My arms shivered as I started to walk toward the staircase again. “Sophie?”

A soft but high-pitched noise emanated from her bedroom. It was the sound of her taunting giggle.

I stopped at the foot of the stairs and called, “Sophie?”

“You’re never going to find it, silly brother—until I decide—until it’s too late.”

Taking slow steps back without making a sound, I kept watching the door. Her voice died down. I thought she had enough.

“That’s right,” she croaked at me. “Run with your tail between your legs, little brother. For now, it’s a warning.”

It wasn’t any better when one of us tried to get her take care of the house. The threats always rang from within her bedroom whenever I suggested she take a step toward independence. Until I left for school and then a business and home of my own, the only way for her weight to be pulled is if Dad or I did it. Whenever he wasn’t too busy for work and stayed home, it was tolerable. Short fantasies of my hands squeezing her throat tickled me, but I kept my mouth shut around her.

She must’ve noticed the anger in my face at some point—because when it was just me, Sophie brandished her own kind of Hell. She never asked me to help her with anything around the house. Sophie demanded it in shrieks loud enough to tear into my eardrums.

I don’t know why I gave in and complied. It had to have been a way to just make the noise stop. Of course, I could’ve said no. That option came to mind every single time Dad asked me for favors with cleaning the three-storey house.

But I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Knowing how busy he was getting his business back off the ground again, Dad needed the help.

If there were painkillers in my pocket, it was doable enough. Still, I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. There were countless times where I showed her how to clean as a suggestion, but the response was either nothing or her brandishing matches and lighter fluid.

I couldn’t tell if she’d do it or not. She never struck a match, but her cold wide-eyed stare said how tantalizing the idea was.

The threats built up enough to send me into a white flash of panic in different parts of the house whenever I’d hear her shrieks. My heart would lock inside my throat. The sheer sound would coat my lungs in thick frost.

Throughout my entire life, I’ve never had trouble with anxiety. Even when it came to going through trade school and taking all the risks in starting a business, I was nervous at times, sure—but it was never anything close to this. Nothing compared to the idea that I’d find a knife sticking out the back of my neck or my clothes catching fire when I let my guard down.

I could only imagine how much worse it was for Dad. He wasn’t the one visiting. He kept on living with her until the eventual cardiac arrest. Whether or not she knew about being the heiress to the house, savings and the other assets was another question.

I couldn’t help my suspicions when the law firm informed all of us. She was never much of a sister—or a daughter for that matter. The only times Sophie bothered to interact with him was when she demanded for something. The thought that the eldest would inherit everything first wasn’t unusual, but she couldn’t have known that for sure.

Yet the grin that twisted across her face radiated the kind of confidence that said otherwise. That night, I asked myself a lot of questions. It was hard to believe why she’d act that way. From the way Dad bounced back in the end, there would’ve been enough money to stay comfortable for years to come without having to lift a finger.

I didn’t want to think such a thing of my own sister, but it began to add up. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how she saw our father.

No matter how hard someone tries, people can still turn out horrible anyway.

While he was the foundation of the person I became, Sophie only looked at him as a piggy bank. If it wasn’t for her, he would’ve still been around. It was Sophie’s fault.

Yet she got everything. House. Money. The share of the company.

And what did my wife and I get? The hollow feeling eating at my gut. Debt. A child on the way, with no way to afford another mouth to feed. Paying the bills every month alone was a blessing for us.

Throughout the night, I was tossing and turning. I couldn’t believe the idea I was considering. At first, it was just a fleeting thought. Then it sprouted and became a real possibility. The more I thought about the outcome, the more it became a real solution. It was all simple too. I’d drive to the estate under the guise of picking her up to get the money, and then—

I would kill Sophie.

It wouldn’t be too expensive. Everything I needed was somewhere on the online market. It was just a matter of looking in the right places.

There wasn’t a good reason not to go through with it. That woman—if I could even call her that—was just a burden of everyone around her. The real reason why Dad and I started cleaning up after her was how she scared off any help who came into the house. I wasn’t the only one being threatened.

She never bothered with any friends or a job either. Nobody would’ve noticed her being gone.

And it would’ve made taking care of my family a lot easier. The money was enough to make us comfortable, pay for our child’s tuition in full and then some. There would’ve even been enough to start a new business and fund it for years if our kid wanted to go down that path.

After the deed was done, I’d use a few of my connections to get a hold of a woodchipper. There was more than enough space in the basement to get that part of the job done without being seen.

The most important part of it would be done with a cement mixer. Once the evidence was coated in cement, it’d just need to be broken into little pieces. From there? It would be a matter of selling or getting rid of the gravel. If there wasn’t a buyer, I just needed to find a lake or a river—

And spend the evening skipping stones.

Once I did, the only thing left to do would be visiting the house time and again. It wouldn’t just serve to maintain the property. Visits also made a great cover. If any neighbors cared enough to butt in, they’d assume I was there to see Sophie.

So, I wasn’t nervous driving back up to the property this morning. On the way, my face felt a strange cold crawling down it like a patient spider, inspecting the fly caught in its web. It didn’t occur until arriving at the house that I was smiling.

As I pulled up into the driveway, one hand went into my pocket, fondling the small package secured in plastic wrap. It was the ticket to our better life, and one that should’ve gone undetected. Gripping the tiny package only reminded me of another advantage: how Sophie enjoyed dry wine.

I grabbed the new bottle waiting on the back seats and led Hazel to the front door. She had no idea what I was planning. I knew she would’ve stopped me. Her feelings on Sophie weren’t anything more than a simple disliking, but that’s because I didn’t tell her the whole story.

I never told my wife about just how my sister treated people, only that she didn’t bother to take care of herself. Hazel already had a look of pure worry anytime I came back from that house but assumed Sophie would still “grow out of it.” Hazel saw the undeniable panic etched into my own face. If she’d the entire picture, it wouldn’t have done her any good. She wasn’t the type to holster any true hatred or a grudge, and I didn’t want to make this her first.

On the way up the front steps, I gripped her hand. We weren’t sure if the pregnancy threw off her walking that much, but I wasn’t about to take any risks with our child. I didn’t want her coming to the house at all, but Hazel insisted.

She gave her warm smile, assuring that a friend would cheer Sophie up and give her a step in the right direction. I couldn’t explain why it was a bad idea without revealing my sister’s colorful promises. I just figured if I could keep them apart long enough, it wouldn’t have been a problem.

After the meat of my plan was through, I’d tell Hazel that Sophie was too sick to come out. Then we’d drive and get the money on her behalf.

When we got inside, I told my wife to sit on one of the couches in the living room. It was better for her to relax in the living room, avoiding any possible strain. Moving upstairs, I could hear my gentle footsteps echo up the corridor.

Any other time, Sophie would’ve immediately known I was inside. But today, she didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell if she was asleep, but part of me didn’t care to find out.

“Sophie?” I called in an optimistic voice. “Are you awake? It’ll be time to go soon.”

She hadn’t answered, but that didn’t matter. There was a still a job left to do in the kitchen.

I set the wine on the counter and took a corkscrew from one of the drawers beneath. There was a glorious pop of the cork, but no pouring of the glass yet. I dug a hand through my pocket with a cold grin, producing the plastic package.

Peeling it opened, I removed the little cyanide capsule. I couldn’t help examining the thing with a giddy curiosity. It was the first time I’ve ever seen one in person and thought how delicious that such a tiny thing could do something with such magnitude.

Going through the same drawer, I found the white marble mortar and pestle. It was a strange tool but proved useful in our cooking endeavors before. But it was even more useful with crushing the capsule into a powder finer than desert sand.

I had to be careful and quiet—any noise could’ve startled Sophie. Glancing toward the staircase turned my blood cold.

After taking one of the numerous wine glasses above the kitchen sink, I scraped the pill dust out of the mortar. Since wine has a certain amount of sediment in it anyway, the cyanide looked easy to hide.

Whatever didn’t already dissolve—Sophie would swirl around the glass and let fade into the rest of the liquid. Then drink it down like the needed dose of medicine it was.

I gazed at the staircase again with a tingling chill creeping along my bones. Grabbing the wine glass, I made my way to the third floor where both of our bedrooms were. The quivering squeak was even louder than on the other stairs.

“Sophie?” I called again. “I brought a bottle of your favorite. If you come out, I have a glass.”

At the top of the stairs, I had to restrain myself from laughing. I knocked on the door and saw the knob jiggle in place.

My voice was reduced to a mutter. “Sophie, are you awake?”

The second before I could knock on the door again, it swung open as if from a gust of wind. The door banged as it hit against the wall, and I stared into her big, frozen eyes. It’d be the last time I’d have to see that glassy, unblinking menace. Yet a massive wave of reluctance swept over me. There wasn’t remorse, but it still felt like a bad idea.

In the end, it was remembering the better life we would’ve had that set me back on course. She was the one looking up at me, but I still felt myself shrink in her presence.

I offered the glass, saying with a pleased tone, “How about we do our business when you finish your glass? We’ll be ready. No rush.”

The door wasn’t open wide enough to see much of her collection. My sister’s little doppelganger wasn’t in sight. She had to have been hiding somewhere in the dimmed overhead light, sitting on the foot of my sister’s bed like a ceramic gargoyle.

Straight ahead in the dead of gray-orange light were the heavy eyes of Big Boy. His vengeful face was semi-veiled in shadow, eyes reflecting the overhead like twilight in the night. Big Boy’s eyes were stuck on my own as if he saw what I had done.

Sophie looked at the glass, took a gentle smell without moving, fixed her eyes back on me, and took her drink. She touched it to her lips, stepped back and pushed the door closed in my face.

One step back and it was time to play the waiting game. I titled my head down and stared at the door with a patient, ambitious grin. Whenever the cyanide kicked in, it brought on the very ailment that took our father. The moment confirming it all was when a dull thud hit the floor in her room. From there, a chilling silence seeped out into the corridor.

I turned away with a deep satisfaction. This was the moment the rest of our lives should’ve started. As I walked, the sound of my footsteps was louder than ever before.

Approaching the staircase though, I heard the doorknob click. Then a small, gentle creak. I turned, seeing Sophie’s bedroom door ajar.

Straining my eyes, a small window to her limp body lying on the bedroom floor was clear enough. The temptation occurred but calling out to her wasn’t necessary.

Parts of the house were old and needed to be replaced. Sophie having been the so-called “caretaker” wasn’t a help at all. A doorknob or a lock was bound to fail with enough use.

Going down the stairs to the second floor, an explosion of winter cold exploded through the house like a homemade bomb. I wrapped my arms around each other for a grasp at warmth, stopping in my tracks. Seeing my breath right in front of me, I shut my eyes tight.

The heating had its shifts in temperature at times, but only by a few degrees. It was never anything like this.

A wind of gentle unintelligible whispers circled around me. The sound was that of a cabal of small murmuring children. It just lasted for a second or two, and a long pause followed. I opened my eyes and looked around for the source but didn’t see anything.

A shrill, ear-cutting scream shook throughout the entire house.

As I bolted down to the second floor, my path led me into the kitchen by design. On the counters were a dozen of the dolls. Their heads were facing me with a collective grimace. The lips were crackled from within.

Their glass eyes were sunken in, the porcelain around them morphed into deep, hollow sockets. The pupils were dilated, consuming nearly the entire irises.

Their complexions were pure bone. Little bits of their paint were chipped away, leaving parts of their faces bare. The cheeks were hollow as the eyes, cheekbones protruding enough to look like they’d crack through the exteriors.

But in each of their laps, one of the kitchen knives was snug and secure beneath their still hands.

How could they have left Sophie’s room!? It made no sense! I just saw them sitting in her bedroom— Unless, the minute I looked away— No, that wasn’t possible. It wasn’t physically possible!

I ran faster through the kitchen and down the stairs to the first floor. That sound—it was Hazel! There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind.

The instant I stopped at the foot of the stairway, my body froze. My heart was spasming as it rose up into my throat.

My wife lay on her stomach, motionless. The handle of the carver knife stuck out of her back. The blade was completely submerged. Fresh blood still seeped through her dress, making its way to the floor. The natural color was still in Hazel’s skin, as if she’d stand upright again. Her hair was like someone grabbed her by the back of the scalp and bashed her face straight against the wooden floor.

Sitting on top of her back was Sophie’s little doppelganger. She didn’t have any of the features of the dolls from the kitchen. This gargoyle just had one I hardly ever saw on my own sister. Her porcelain look-alike had a closed, wide smile etched and curled across her face.

Like a fool, I rushed to the door. No matter how hard I tried, there was no moving any of the locks. It was as if they were fused in place. All the while, I kept my eyes on that dark-haired thing.

Moving to the windows, I tried pushing them open, but the locks on those were just as impossible. Picking up an old wooden chair next to it, I bashed it against the window itself. I didn’t want to crawl through broken glass, but there wasn’t another way out down there.

Yet despite using all my strength, the glass didn’t have a scratch. It didn’t stop me at first. I gave the window a few more swings and noticed the chair coming apart. The thing already falling to pieces, I dropped them and saw the glass was left the same.

Moving to the steps, I kept my eyes on it until having to go up. Going through the second floor again, the legion of ceramic guardians sitting on the counters were gone. Their knives had disappeared with them.

There were no windows or emergency exits on the second floor. It was an idea I brought up to Dad before, but he refused every time. He insisted it was just unnecessary.

The only spot was back on the third floor, to block myself off from the rest of the house. After locking my bedroom door on my way in, I performed a search throughout the room. Somehow, I didn’t have any company.

For safe measure, I dragged both my childhood twin bed and dresser drawers to block off the way in—

And just sat here since, desperate to keep warm.

There was no way the authorities would’ve believed my story. If I reported a thing to them, they would’ve seen the knife in Hazel’s back and made me the prime suspect. I’d have been found guilty and sentenced to the chair.

It was a matter of waiting before I heard a sizeable container spilling over in Sophie’s room. I couldn’t say what it was or where it trailed off to. The smell of thick smoke and burning wood and linen began to seep into my room.

The doorknob burned my hand at the touch, and the smell was far stronger at the door. Seeing the black cloud creep inside, I turned to the window. It was already unlocked and slid open with an unusual ease.

The door slowly forced its way open, pushing the furniture out of the way. I saw the legion of short-statured shadows out the door. Several of them were holding up the shapes of sharpened blades, the giant among them standing in front, blocking the hall.

God forbid I break my neck from trying the window. Not knowing if I can make it, my one way out of here—is to jump!

Cult of the Eclipse

Chapter 1 above
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
https://www.removeddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/h8ms07/cult_of_the_eclipse_chapter_665/
Chapter 7 appears to be a lost document
Chapter 8
 
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