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Selasa, 18 April 2017

Coloring Book For Five Nights At Freddy

Coloring Book For Five Nights At Freddy

chilling tales for dark nights. growing up as i did in a cozy college townin central ohio, my childhood visits to my grandmother's home in the country were alwaysa mixed blessing for me. she lived in a small, one-story home along a country road nestledamongst the farms of western ohio. while i loved visiting my grandmother, the opennessof the country and its seemingly endless fields had a way of making me feel isolated, especiallyin the autumn months. during the summer, the tall, fern-green stalks of corn and the steamysoil gave the area an inviting vibrancy that helped fill this emptiness. the fall was muchbleaker. once the crops were harvested and the leaves had fallen off of the trees, theregion took on an air of rot. that the remnants

of the harvested stalks would dry and fadeto the point where they finally resembled bleached bones did little to dispel october, i headed up with my mom and dad for a visit. of course, as someone who's alwayshad an over-active imagination, the fact that the trip to her house was intermittently dottedabandoned cemeteries did nothing to help my uneasiness. apparently family plots, theywould consist of a handful of sandstone grave markers eroding like wet sugar cubes intotangled grass. there was also the occasional ruined church amongst the stones. unfortunatelyfor me, besides these sightings and the unending farmland, there wasn't much to break up thedrive -- reading in the car has always made me sick. naturally, i was relieved when ifelt the tires shift onto the rumbling gravel

that covered my grandma's driveway.after stretching my legs from the trip i walked over to give my grandmother -- a short, blue-hairedwoman of about 70 at the time -- a hug. we followed her into the house for dinner. mygrandmother was an amazing cook and i always made sure my mom got her recipes (that wwiigeneration really knew how to throw a stick of butter into mash potatoes in a way thatwould blow your mind). there wasn't much to do at her house after dinner, so i volunteeredto burn her trash. now solidly in my tweens, i could be trusted with such responsibilitiesand took full advantage, since, like most boys that age, i fancied myself a bit of apyro-expert. as i dragged the bag of garbage out of thehouse, i noticed that it was already getting

dark and gray flannel clouds had silentlyfilled the sky. having visited the area enough to know that rain was probably coming soon,i hurriedly dragged the bag to the metal drum my grandma used for burning trash and lawnwaste. it was at the back corner of the lot, where the edges of her grass, faded and gloomywith the fall, met the ragged dirt of the fields. i threw the bag in and lit it in afew places. i watched it for a while before the rain began to come down sprinkling. decidingthat the rain would be enough to keep the fire from spreading out of control, i wentinside to the sound of rumbling thunder in the distance.knowing that it was getting late, i began to get anxious with the thought of going tobed. i never slept well at my grandma's. as

i said, i had an active imagination and evenin my secure, suburban bedroom on the second floor of our home, i frequently had nightmaresabout what could be outside my home while i was in bed. my grandmother's entire homewas a single story. what was worse was that i usually slept in the 'breezeway,' whichi later discerned wasn't strictly a breezeway, but was more of a living room space betweenthe garage and the house. it was separated from the house where my parents and grandmotherstep by a short flight of stairs and a door. there were three other doors, leading to thegarage and front and back lawns. the room also had windows on every side except whereit bordered the garage. other than the couch i slept on and a sink, there was nothing elsein the room. i always felt very alone and

isolated sleeping in there.i laid in bed for a couple of hours and listened to it rain outside. after a while, i hearda train rumble by on the track across the street from the front lawn. i got off thecouch and walked over to the window to watch it go by. it always made me uncomfortablehow flimsy those single-pane windows were -- like there was nothing separating you fromthe night. after the last car disappeared, i stood there looking out the window for abit. at this point it dawned on me that the rain had stopped. i was somewhat upset withmyself, since i had missed my best chance of having that soothing sound lull me to sleep.however, i could still hear the rumbles and flashes of a storm and hoped that it was anotherone moving in and not just the last one growing

more distant. as my eyes continued to adjust,i noticed a flicked on the grass in the right side of my vision. clearly, the fire hadn'tgone out in the back of the lawn and i went to the rear breezeway window to check on it.looking through the back window, it quickly became apparent that there had been more unburntrefuse in the drum than i had thought, and the glow of the fire was casting spots offaint orange light along the lawn and fields. the light was reaching far into the nightin that flat, dark country, and i noted with some dismay that the storm appeared to bemoving south. as i watched the faint flashes of lighting exploding on the horizon, my eyesshifted back to the fields behind my grandmother's house. there was something moving on the edgeof the light. my eyes were fairly well adjusted

to the night at this point and i graduallymade it out: it was the form of a woman dancing in the field. her movements weren't frantic-- they were closer to the way a ballerina moves: slowly dipping the torso, lifting theleg gracefully, bowing the arms over her head, and so on. i stood there, petrified in silence.her mere presence and peculiar movement would have been enough to frighten me. however,a distant flash of lighting consumed the entire field in a moment of pale white light, revealingthat she was also completely naked. my hands gripped the windowsill. she slowlydanced along the edges of the fire's orange light, never stepping more than a foot oran arm directly into it. it made me even more uncomfortable when i noticed that she wasfacing the house and appeared to be closer

than she was when i first saw her. there hadonly been the one lightning flash to illuminate the entire field, so it was difficult to tellat first, but as she drew nearer to the window from which i was watching, i began to realizethat her skin was incredibly wrinkled. despite the grace and effortlessness of her movements,her skin appeared to be ancient as it sagged off of her limbs. gradually, she quit edgingaround the borders of the light and reversed her dance movements back into the darkness.i pulled myself away from the window and buried my face in the couch. i spent the rest ofthe night trying to convince myself that it was a trick of shadows.i didn't get a wink of sleep that night i and crashed around 6 or 7 am when the suncame up. even though i hadn't called for them

the night before, my family knew how hardit was for me to sleep at my grandmother's and let me sleep in for a while. i was eventuallywoken up by my father, who informed me that my grandma's ladder was broken and we wouldneed to go borrow one from my uncle harley (who was actually my great uncle, though inever referred to him as such). i smiled and rolled off the couch. i always enjoyed seeingmy uncle harley and was quick to get ready to go despite my lack of sleep.i recall being quiet on the ride over to harley's farm. looking out onto the fields, i realizedeven if footprints had been left by the woman in the wet dirt, they would be nearly impossibleto find in such a large field with so much debris left over from the harvest. undecidedas to whether that made me feel better or

worse, i continued to watch the ruins of thecornstalks fly by along the roadside until the buildings of my uncle's farm began tocome into view. my uncle harley was a pig farmer and to thisday it makes me smile when people invoke the profession derisively. my uncle was a successfulbusinessman and farmer, owning a large factory-style farm. though he didn't do any of the processingon site, he did own several large feed silos next to the long, metal barns which held thepig pens. my uncle was a self-made man and veteran of both wwii and korea, and remindedme a bit of clint eastwood. the man was tall and powerful, even in his advanced age. anddespite his stoic demeanor, he had surprisingly sharp sense of humor. i could see him wavingto us as we turned into his driveway.

as i got out of the car, i noticed how strongthe stench of the pigs was. it was a smell i was used to, and the surrounding area fairlypermeated of it, along with the other scents that colored the air in farm country. i actuallygrew to be somewhat fond of the smell from a distance, as weird as that sounds, but itwas overpowering up close. i flashed my uncle a smile but covered my nose with my shirtas soon as he and my dad turned away from me towards the work shed where my uncle kepthis ladders. i went over to a tire swing handing from atree on the opposite side of his house and, more importantly, upwind of the barns. whenmy uncle came back around the house with my dad carrying the ladder under one arm, i wasstanding on the swing, with one foot in the

tire and my hands grasping the rope connectingit to the tree. "you keep swinging around like that, you're just going to stir up thesmell," he yelled to me as i hopped off the swing. i was mildly embarrassed that he hadkeyed in on my distaste for the smell, but felt better when he conceded that the rainhad made it worse than usual. we stayed a bit after picking up the ladder,but my dad wanted to get back to my grandma's before dark. we were only going to be therefor the weekend and he wanted to make sure we finished the work. when we got back, mydad had me hold the ladder as he scooped brown muck out of the gutter. i was so lost in thoughtlooking out into the fields that i nearly dropped the ladder after a piece of the muckfalling shocked me back to reality. i was

only able to offer a feeble apology afterwardas my mind was still on the previous night and the faded orange on the horizon that indicatedthat night was coming. not wanting to give my parents a reason todoubt my maturity (or sanity), i didn't tell them about the night before. the reward formy bravery was another night in the breezeway. unlike the night before, this one was completelycloudless, with a bright moon casting pale rays through the windows. i didn't figurei was in for much sleep and just laid on my back in the couch, staring at the ceiling.i could hardly believe it when i heard the grandfather clock's 'westminster chimes' fromacross the house, followed by the bells denoting the hour. how clearly those low tones madetheir way through the air made me realize

how silent the night had been and let me knowthat it was already two in the morning. the drowsy formation of this thought was shatteredby another sound, a faint sound: rustling from outside.the noise sent a chill down my spine and i immediately snapped up to see that the windowover the sink was cracked open. my mom or grandma must've opened it for ventilationduring the day. doing my best not to look out the window and to stay beneath the window-lineabove which someone could see me, i rolled off the couch and hugged closely the my fingers crept up the wall, over the sill, and onto the window, i heard anotherrustle, louder, from the back yard. out of my peripheral vision i saw movement and felta tear of frustration and fear trace down

my cheek. i pulled the window shut and, asi did so, looked out the window to my left into the back yard. the woman was there, standingnot 15 feet from the house and staring at me through the window.i was frozen, partly out of fear and partly out of a hope she didn't see me. after all,i was closing a window on nearly the opposite side of the room in the dead of night. herbody was facing away from me, and the skin on her back was hanging like melted wax. herhead was turned looking over her left shoulder to face the house, to face me. her arms werespread out at away from her body, and her palms were aimed in my direction. with thesame grace that she had displayed the night before, she pivoted her body on one foot,turning to face the rear window. she slowly

moved towards the house, her movements illuminatedthe moonlight. it was then that i realized yet another horrible thing about this woman:her skin wasn't just baggy -- it was jointed. she looked like a ragdoll that had been sewntogether. it seemed like it was being held together from shedding in sections. the mooncast shadows over eye sockets which didn't quiet seem to fit her face. as she crept closer,i noticed her lips looked thin and cracked and her breasts were dry and shriveled. slowlyshe placed her hands on the frame of the window and i made out the glint of two eyes in theshadows of those ill-shaped sockets. they were peering right at me, with an intensitythat cut right through the space between us. the shock of her looking into the house wasenough to turn the squeaks caught in my throat

into screams. i flopped onto the floor andscrambled backwards against the front door. i could hear my parents stirring in the houseand as their footsteps approached, the woman tilted her head back. her face appeared tostretch into a howl, but it didn't seem like she could move her lips very far apart. icouldn't hear if she made a sound. she pirouetted and disappeared back into the night. i threwup into my lap as my parents came into the room.the next morning, my parents didn't prod me to talk about what i had seen. i explainedit to them in jabbering fashion the night before as they helped me clean up. eventually,i fell asleep with my mom sitting up next to me. i had had a handful of night terrorswhen i was younger and my parents chalked

up my experience to that category. i saidnothing to dispute this. even though i didn't believe it, i hoped that i really had hada night terror and that maybe that would explain what i had dad offered to let me stay at my grandmother's as he returned the ladder he had borrowedfrom my uncle. because i didn't want my family to worry about my state, i insisted on accompanyinghim. besides, i figured getting out would help calm me down. however, as we drove, iimagined her behind every tree we passed, lurking in every drainage ditch. for the mostpart, i just laid back with my seat reclined staring into nothing until we got to the the time we got there, i was feeling a bit better. still, i decided to stay in thecar as my dad went with my uncle to return

the ladder to its shed -- i didn't need thesmell of those pigs upsetting my stomach further. as i was trying to put my thoughts elsewhere,i glanced into the rearview mirror and saw another vehicle coming down the was a pickup. it pulled passed me towards the barn. as my uncle and dad came aroundthe house, the truck stopped and the driver got out. i was relieved that my uncle didn'tappear concerned, but he did have a stern look on his face. he made a couple of stepstowards the pickup and pointed the driver to the barn. the driver then walked over thebarn, slid the door to the side, and picked up the leash to a pig that had been tied toone of the pens. as he led the pig towards the pickup, my uncleand father kept walking towards the car. i

opened the door to say hi."that's teddy," my uncle said. "he has a small farm, maybe a dozen pigs. usually, don't sellsingle hogs and sows. started doing it a while ago to help him get started and now it seemslike he's coming by once every few weeks." "what's his problem?" my dad uncle laughed: "with the pigs or with everything else? not sure, in any case. he eats some,tries to breed others, i suppose. i don't talk with him much, just sell him a pig everynow and then. he says he butchers his own meat."my dad looked over in the man's direction: "is he trying to be self-sufficient?""i guess. i try not to talk to him too much. goddamnit, ted!"i looked away from my uncle and dad to see

the man opening the hog's throat with a longknife. he had his arm around its side as its legs kicked around like it was being electrocuted.i couldn't believe how much blood spilled out of its neck and onto the ground."didn't i tell you not to do that here?!" the man smiled weirdly at my uncle, and thenslung the pig's limp body into the bed of the truck. it was amazing how effortlesslyhe did it -- the hog must've weighed a few hundred pounds. he pulled a tarp over thebody before he closed the tailgate. the man turned and got into the driver-side of thecar. blood was dripping onto the ground from under the uncle sighed and looked at the ground, visibly pissed: "he doesn't have a propertrailer to move them around so sometimes he

does that here to make it easier." smilingup at me he added: "or sometimes he hogties them!"i laughed. even though it wasn't a great joke (or even a joke at all, really, since i'msure that's exactly what he did), the way my uncle said it put a smile on my face. hepinched the bridge of his nose as the pickup drove by and waved with his other hand withoutlooking at the man. the man barely looked at us, but i caught a glimpse of his eyesthat made me shiver. we left for home fairly soon after gettingback to my grandmother's, which was fine with me. i loved her, but i was ready to get outof there. i slept the whole ride home, and tried to put the whole experience out of mindas best as i could. for years after that,

i visited my grandma's without incident. onone particular visit, i picked up the local paper while i was in town. on the front pagewas the face of the man i had seen at the farm that day -- teddy. the memory of thatstory and the realization that came with it chills me even now as i recollect it.the man, who was apparently named teddy warden, had been in a car accident in his pickup.he was speeding through a stop sign on a country road in the early morning when a semi crushedin the passenger side of his truck. the pickup was sent spinning across the intersectionand flipped into a drainage ditch. by the time the driver of the semi got out to checkon the other vehicle, warden had already crawled out of the cab and was tearing across thefield. perplexed, the driver continued towards

the flipped pickup, then fled back to hissemi to call for help. the tarp was draped out of the bed of the pickup, fully uncoveringits spilled contents: corpses and the parts corpses were scattered into the mud.later that day, the sheriff's office (with backup from a larger, nearby city's policedepartment) showed up at the man's house. they reported an overpowering stench fromoutside the building. opening the garage, they found the butchered and rotting skeletonsof hogs. one hog was hanging upside-down, field dressed like a deer. they noted thatit appeared as if he was slaughtering them and feeding them to the other pigs, as putrefyinghog meat was found in the feed troughs. it was a matter they were forced to investigatein some detail after the horror they discovered

inside.the officers were met by an intensified smell inside the house. the building was completelyunlit and i can only imagine how horrible it was for them to comb that house. the sourceof the smell wasn't the pigs, or at least, wasn't just the pigs. hanging from the wallswere remnants of human bodies, in various stages of decomposition. they weren't justhung on the wall as trophies, either. the paper likely spared many of the details, butnoted that there were several overturned skulls that appeared to be used as bowls. when theofficers entered warden's room, they found him rocking in his bed, hands at his side.he had skulls on the bedposts. the floor was apparently littered with the remains of corpses,and even though he made no reported attempt

to resist arrest, it was apparently difficultto get warden out through the darkness and clutter. warden only howled as they removedhim from the house. the writer noted that his home's distance from the road and warden'sknown habit of transporting butchered animals in his truck had kept the signs of his activitieshidden. as of the date of that paper's printing, thoseinvolved had discerned that the body parts had come from at least 38 separate individuals,though they were still in the process of sorting and identifying the remains. initially, thisconfused investigators. such a high number of disappearances would have been noticedin such a small town. however, the answers to their questions quickly became apparentthrough examination of the corpses and interviews

with warden. many of the bodies were ancient,nearly fully decomposed. the investigators surmised that they had been stolen from graves,a conclusion that was later confirmed by warden. while a few were identified as thefts frommore recent burials, the majority of the bodies had been stolen from the abandoned cemeteriesthat sit by the country roads, the disturbed earth obscured by the long grass. they willlikely never discover the identities of many of these older corpses.though the thought of warden quietly absconding in the dead of night to an abandoned graveyardand stealing the long-decomposing bodies interred therein is certainly chilling to me, the mostunsettling part of the story involves how they found warden in his house before theyarrested him. when the officers discovered

warden in his bed, he was lying next to a"woman suit," carefully sewn together from the skin of the fresher corpses he had exhumed.through interviews, the police had discovered that warden would wear the suit and prowlthe fields at night, using the seclusion afforded by the darkness and remoteness to live outhis fantasy. the realization washed over me. all those years ago, i had seen him. he andi, alone in the darkness, separated by a flimsy window and a little bit of space.

Coloring Book For Five Nights At Freddy