theme by pouretrebelle

(Source: grav3yardgirl)

(Source: tarfireandblood)

I’d had them ever since I was a kid.

I can remember being incredibly self-conscious about them, hiding them in my pockets under books and bags. The kids at school never said anything to my face, but I knew they were laughing behind my back.

I remember asking my parents to take me to the doctor, to get them checked out. The growths on my hands seemed to be the elephant in the room back then, since they’d just say I was fine and change the subject. But I knew better.

I had tried to remove them as a child, but without avail. Scissors, knives, potatoe peelers; trying to cut or scrape them off was always a lost cause because I couldn’t continue once the pain kicked in.

But today was different. It’s amazing how numb you can get with a couple of tourniquettes and a bottle of Jack Daniels. I was originally planning to use a sharp knife, but figured that trying to slice through the tough flesh of the growths would be too arduous in my drunken state. I opted for the slightly more technological plan B.

I had to hurry though. I was already pretty light-headed and was starting to feel dizzy. My hands and forearms, nearly blue from the lack of circulation, couldn’t wait much longer either. The whirring of the blender helped to put me in a sort of trance—ready to do what I had wanted to do since I first looked down at my strange deformities.

I shoved my left hand in first. The immediate sensation of sharp blades slicing through flesh was jarring, but I was surprised at how well the alcohol was working—I expected it to hurt more. I could hear the sharp metal churning and cutting, working perfectly as planned. I pressed my hand down harder. All those bad memories, all of the embarrasment—all of those horrible things were now nothing more than a thick red pulp.

Breaking from the feelings of ectsasy, I pulled out before the blades hit knuckle. I smiled, taking a good look at my new hand. As for the growths—well, five down, and five to go.

Black Dahlia. What a nice smile..

Black Dahlia. What a nice smile..

Anonymous asked:
That last picture you posted, with the child and the woman, do you know what that was from?

I’m not sure on the details, but I think it may have been a house murder. I’ll look for it!

haunted-girl:

(via m0m0ko)(via m0m0ko-deactivated20100206)

Aw, the middle picture. Their hands are almost clasped. ):

haunted-girl:

(via m0m0ko)

(via m0m0ko-deactivated20100206)

Aw, the middle picture. Their hands are almost clasped. ):

laurenedge:

this is literally the most intense thing i have ever watched and/or heard.

A young girl walking home from school found a small pile of Polaroid photos lying in the gutter. There were twenty in all, neatly wrapped in a rubber band. She picked them up, and as she walked she started to browse. The first photo was that of a ghostly white man on a black background, standing just far enough away from the camera that she couldn’t make out his features.

The girl slid the photo to the back of the stack and looked at the next one. The photo was of the same man now standing a bit closer.

The girl flipped through the next several photos quickly. With each one the man in the picture came a bit closer and his features were a bit clearer.

Turning the last corner to her house, the girl noticed that the man in the photos seems to be looking at her even when she moved the stack from side to side. It frightened her, but she kept flipping them over, one by one.

By the nineteenth picture, the man was so close his face completely filled the frame. His expression was the most horrifying the girl had ever seen. Walking up the driveway, she turned to the last photo.

This time, instead of an image, there were two words: “Close enough.”

Hearing a scream outside their house, the girl’s brother rushed to the door and opened it. All he saw was a pile of photographs lying on the doorstep. The top one looked like an extremely pale version of his sister, but she was standing too far back for him to be sure.