Write a scary story in two sentences

You find a unlabeled CD, and decide to pop it in your video player.
It's a sex tape of Phil and Jeff the Killer.

You find an unlabeled CD, and decide to pop it into your video player.

It is inexplicably, somehow, yet another Kids Bop album- and it will never stop playing.

The rain of gunfire and thunder of explosions shatter your sleep. Your body jerks awake, and you realize the War will never leave you in peace.

This is actually fucking awesome.
 
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You agree to petsit for your friend's vacation.
Too late, you find out that their pets are these fuckers... :
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...and all you can do is violently sing to yourself "WHY MUST I CRY?!!?".

FTFY
 
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Phil approaches from the dim hallway, wanting to hug you, and, apparently, touch you in your special place.

He has gone all out; even combed the ratnest he calls his hair, and as he approaches you, pinning you against the wall, he asks for a kiss.
 
After Phil makes contact, your lips shudder in pain, alight with unspeakable agony from the pure filth of his lips; as you ponder how this can be, you notice his mouth is still open, revealing the ecological trainwreck of his mouth - the rotting, broken teeth, the hideous overbite, and when your sense of smell returns, you ponder, terrified, how you are capable of smelling so much rancidness at once.

All of it seems to only add to the miasma of disgust that surrounds your attacker - from the drool trickling from his mouth to the stained, greasy bristling hair atop his head, you realize the true horror has only just begun as you feel him rubbing and prodding against your leg, grateful that as terrified as you are, you cannot see what it is he's trying to do.
 
After Phil makes contact, your lips shudder in pain, alight with unspeakable agony from the pure filth of his lips; as you ponder how this can be, you notice his mouth is still open, revealing the ecological trainwreck of his mouth - the rotting, broken teeth, the hideous overbite, and when your sense of smell returns, you ponder, terrified, how you are capable of smelling so much rancidness at once.

All of it seems to only add to the miasma of disgust that surrounds your attacker - from the drool trickling from his mouth to the stained, greasy bristling hair atop his head, you realize the true horror has only just begun as you feel him rubbing and prodding against your leg, grateful that as terrified as you are, you cannot see what it is he's trying to do.
You either need to become a professional writer, or be committed. I'm not sure which.
 
I wake up to a beautiful day, feeling the gentle breeze hit my face, seeing the wisteria bloom in the distance, the sun shining with a radiant shine, hearing the Myna birds chirp and seeing the clear azure-blue sky, and I wonder to myself "How can this day go wrong?"
I than checked the calendar and found out it's "Daddy Rape Day."
 
After two days and a lot of heavy drinking, I returned to this thread.

I threatened to write more of the terrifying Phil story that I am equally-terrified over, as a nameless party on this website brought up that someone else this website possibly masturbated to it. :jace:
 
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