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149734 No.27   [] []

Hey, what's going on y'all? How about a small story or some useful advice from your old Uncle Davy?

>> No.28   [] []

I might as well entertain myself. Telling stories amuses me, even if I'm not sure anyone's listening.
It happened a very long time ago, when my main occupation was work on a farm for a man named… let’s just call him Tom. Yes, I once was a regular farmhand and hardly anything more than that. Back then I lived a simple life and my interests amounted to doing my job fast and hitting a bar or two afterwards. But such were my humble beginnings. I had yet to become a prominent drug dealer, writer, musician, scientist, killer and a porn star... Anyway, Tom needed a few extra people to harvest his crops so he hired three new workers - some fellows from a nearby village. Can’t say I got to know them well since everyone was too busy to talk. All in all everything ran smoothly, boring even, if not for the one paranoid old-time worker who became increasingly suspicious of the newcomers. Though being afraid of a change was deeply rooted in his nature and it wasn’t uncommon to see him behave in a weird way, it seemed like he took his antics on another level of absurdity. Things he had been telling us so far sounded relatively harmless, as he didn’t try to actively “pursue his dreams” so to speak, but everything changed, slowly but surely. He started to look, simply put, a bit out of his mind. Other workers began to grow increasingly aware of his frequent hysterics and overall moodiness. He almost scared the newcomers away with one of his outbursts, when he demanded to somehow purge them from the land. Spectators of the incident swore he looked like he was about to leap on those poor rookies like a wild animal. As for me, I remember once finding him lurking behind the corner of an old barn, muttering to himself in a couple of different voices – really unsettling. And it only got worse. Through the course of the one of his night walks, his new habit, he tried to scribble some symbols on a worker’s skin with a knife laced with an unknown substance. He was stopped in time, but the episode seriously marred the workers’ sleep and caused even more distress. Men weren’t even sure if he was awake or not when he attempted the deed due to his odd state. Aside from that, though nobody on the farm was overly superstitious, everyone agreed that his self-made wards against “evil presence” he strewed all over the farm were really unnerving. These “wards”, how he liked to call them, consisted of small animal parts, pieces of wood, rope and other garbage found in large quantities around the area. Rumors were that he could dive right into a garbage pile if he believed that there is something valuable for his obscure purposes in it. Finally, Tom yielded to staff’s complaints and freed Decaying Prophet (that was this weirdo’s new found title, his “true” name as he put it) from his duties. But it turned out our seer didn’t intend to leave the farm and its vicinities anytime soon...

>> No.29   []

Uncle Davy, there's this girl I like but I can't work up the courage to tell her. What should I do?

>> No.30   []

Just go out there and slap dat ass, son! Show her you're the man!

>> No.31   []

Maybe you should consider knowing more about her first. People for the most part are stupid and feeble creatures devoid of any depth of a thought. I bet she's not as good as you think she is.

>> No.32   []

Like just, you know... Go with the flow man...

>> No.33   []

Go on.

>> No.35   []

After a few days workers decided that Prophet had left the farm for good. One fellow even said he saw the lunatic in the village, working for some old man. It was a sensible thing to do – no reason to stick around if you have nothing to gain, especially when people are ready to shoot on your sight. But that was the problem, this choice appeared all too normal for such a loony and I didn’t believe we should let our guard down. We had three dogs that looked after the farm, but I was sure they wouldn’t have raised an alarm if Prophet decided to come back. Clearly the dogs weren’t trained to treat him like an intruder; therefore I suggested we take the duty in our hands. Sadly, the workers chose to ignore the obvious signs of Prophet’s presence which weren’t ceased to appear after his departure. They would rather forget about their trouble and get back to work. Nobody was willing to take any extra precautions. But your Uncle Davy wasn’t a slacker even back then. I knew something was amiss. I could feel it, if you will. One night when I was taking a walk around the farm to make sure everything was in order I noticed a faint glow near an old barn where our food supplies were stored. I strode to the building; there were three scarecrow-like totems which formed a triangle around the barn. Apparently they had been lit on fire prior to my arrival, but since then almost burned to the ground. Only the totem I saw at first still flickered with dying flames, allowing me to take a closer look at it. While the frame of the sculpture was almost completely destroyed, I could easily identify it as the ill-famed “ward”. Even in its state the figure looked like a lot of effort was put into it. Animal skins, tree branches, strands of different clothes and plants were woven into its body in ways that made the structure seem incredibly convoluted. The ward looked like it had been carefully shaped to be a part of some strange ritual. Its head was pierced with a knife and the ground beneath it was covered with patterns possibly drawn with a sharp stick; blood was splattered over the writings, intersecting with their lines and curves. Examining the barn itself more closely, I discovered that the wall near each ward was also covered with these strange hieroglyphs which I couldn’t decipher. While I was still squinting trying to find a pattern among the symbols suddenly I became aware of a noise coming from inside of the barn. I didn’t move a muscle for a minute, until I was sure I wasn’t imagining things. With my ear against the wall I could hear weird low humming sound, something like a wind or a vibration. The more I listened the clearer I could make out something else buried underneath – practically inaudible whisper, which came and went, sending shivers down my spine. Cautiously I tried to open the barn’s door, but it was tightly shut. I didn’t have a key. I turned away from a barn and started towards the building where workers slept. The feeling of being chased wasn’t leaving me, but I didn’t allow myself to panic. Soon enough everybody was gathered around the barn. Strangely, the things I witnessed were no longer so evident. Wards turned into the piles of rubbish and symbols somehow blended into the surface. For anyone seeing the writings for the first time they must’ve appeared no more than a play of imagination, light and texture. Still, workers felt uneasy when old Tom stepped forward to open the door with one hand on his trusty revolver. For a few seconds he was looking into the barn people stood utterly motionless, the air was full of a sense of an imminent danger. Finally, Tom turned to us, shrugged and grumbled: “No one’s in there.”

>> No.36   []

It's getting interesting.

>> No.37   []

The rest of the night had passed quietly. At the morning, when all troubled conversations between workers had died, I was still lying awake on my bunk, thinking about my next step. My colleagues, despite or because of their nervousness weren’t ready for any sort of action. They were good enough fellows, but not very quick on their feet. Only a few bothered to ask me about what I saw and frankly, they didn’t look eager to investigate the matter. Telling my story about the accident, I omitted some of the more unsettling details, such as blood-covered symbols and sounds coming from the seemingly empty barn. There was no need to scare people into awareness, since I actually decided to look into it myself. Therefore what I needed was not a trembling hand of another fearful farmer, but rather some firepower, since all I had was my hunting knife. It wasn’t a mystery that Tom had plenty of guns at his disposal. He was also a very strict, stern, old-fashioned, practical man; that suited my purposes just fine. Shortly after that morning I talked to him about the accident and offered my services as a night watchman for a symbolic price. All I needed was a firearm and maybe a dog so I could catch trespassers and raise alarm quickly. As I put it, what could’ve happened? The madman could’ve easily set the barn on fire. We were lucky he was preoccupied with his nonsensical rituals. These arguments were reasonable enough for Tom and he approved of the idea, though not without a dispute about my somewhat young age and trustworthiness. He gave me an old shotgun with several boxes of shells and told all workers that I was assigned to guard their sleep. I was excited to do some target-practice, but first I had to conduct a small experiment I had in mind. To check if the food from the barn wasn’t poisoned I fed my ration to one of the dogs. You can guess that wasn’t the nicest pup. However, the dog seemed absolutely unaffected by meal and farmers didn’t show any signs of illness either… But even with all that in mind, I couldn’t touch the food, so when the night came I was starving. "At least it helps me to stay awake", I thought, shivering in the cold wind. Now I have to say, I’ve never been easily scared, but that moonless night on the farm, with the remains of the wards, the ritual signs written on the walls, blood, which soaked into the earth under my feet and memories still fresh in my mind, gave me the creeps. I started to regret my decision to put the dogs away for the time being. Surely, they made a lot of noise, but the silence seemed much more ominous in comparison. With some time to think, I started to doubt the barn was really empty the other night. There must’ve been… Something. Anything at all. I knew I heard it, whatever it was. Was I really attentive when I entered the barn the previous night? Must be something I missed... After nearly an hour of indecisiveness I just had to check the barn. I had to know for sure. I gathered my courage, approached the door and tried to listen as closely as I could. Everything was quiet. This time I had the keys Tom gave me, so I was determined to get inside. I opened the door and lighted a kerosene lamp which hanged from a nail near the entrance. The air inside was warm, stale and unpleasant. Once again I felt a sense of upcoming danger. With each step I glanced back and forth, ready to shoot. At first I haven’t felt anything. But then, when I was at the middle of the building simultaneously I heard a faint noise and saw something moving in a big sack to the right. Immediately I pointed my gun at it, took a few steps back and shouted “Who’s there!?” Half a minute passed with no reply. I shouted again “Show yourself or I’ll shoot!” and received no answer. Finally, I couldn’t wait no more. I shot the sack. The blood sprayed all over the building, making me shudder with revulsion. Suddenly the barn was full of movement: the sack was filled with big black maggot-like insects with numerous legs. They writhed on the floor, spilling putrid substance from their bloated bodies and clawed at the air, trying to get away from the light. Their foul smell and squishy sounds they made were utterly repulsive. It was only worsened by their formidable size. I’ve seen parasites before, but I couldn’t identify these monstrosities. I was about to walk out of the barn when something occurred to me. Stricken with a terrible thought, I rushed to farmers’ dormitory…

>> No.49   []

How much longer are you gonna keep thestory unfinished?

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