#guyawks

[guyawks]

Hostile Architecture

As an innovative urban planner, I was great at my job.

I knew just how to spruce up a modern city and keep it looking inviting to citizens and tourists alike. I did so mainly by keeping unsavory people out of sight and mind: namely, our city’s ghastly homeless population.

Each design proposal I drew up for the city council was more ingenious and effective than the last.

Sidewalk benches with armrests jutting through their center to prevent hobos from sleeping on them. Window ledges with spikes along them to stop hobos from begging on them. Heat exhaust grates with rippling metallic surfaces to discourage hobos from huddling there in winter. Sprinklers periodically discharging in parks to interrupt midnight hobo meetups.

“Hostile architecture is the inconspicuous solution to our homeless problem!” I’d proclaim.

The committee loved my designs, and were eager to have them eventually installed. Finally, we could keep those homeless bums from stinking up our pristine city. I didn’t care where they went, as long as it wasn’t nearby.

Satisfied with another approved proposal, I drowsily returned to my penthouse. Throwing myself back onto my luxurious bed, however, I was met with pain. Instead of hitting the soft of my mattress, I felt my back bouncing off what felt like metal bars.

I reached out and stared at the bed in disbelief. There was nothing on my linen, and yet, my fingers touched invisible metal armrests jutting through the mattress.

Thinking I must be hallucinating from tiredness, I went to my couch to sit, only to feel invisible spikes jutting into my bottom. Panicking, I tried to lay down on my carpet, but found the surface somehow invisibly curved so that I couldn’t lay straight. Now desperate, I sought refuge in my kitchen—and shrieked at the sensation of invisible freezing water spraying me from invisible sprinklers.

Everywhere I went in my apartment, I was unable to gain even a small amount of rest. I felt phantom pieces of steel poking into my skin, impossible surface areas bending my spine, icy liquid jarring me awake.

I tried booking into hotels, staying at my parents’ house, admitting myself to a hospital ward. But no matter where I went or what furniture I lay on, the terrible unseen irritants followed. Unable to get even a single night’s rest, my exhaustion grew. In mere weeks, my job was long lost.

I’m on the cusp of death when at last I see my salvation—an old wooden park bench. Unlike other furniture, I don’t feel the curse’s invisible torture here. I stretch out and fall into a restful slumber. For the first time in over a month, I sleep well. I take fleeting comfort knowing there’s a place in this hostile city where I can take shelter…

…until tomorrow, when construction begins on my city architecture proposals.

[ivshadowpod]

Hello our lovely shadows!! We’re getting ready for our 2nd episode, but we’d like to share with you where you can find us. We are available on most podcast streaming services and apps. We thank you for joining us on this journey also for all the love, feedback, and support you guys have given us. THIS IS IV SHADOW #IVShadow #Anchorfm #Spotify #ApplePodcasts #Podchaser #Podbean #Podcast #Sandiego #GuyAwks #BeastyDaddy #WhipCream #Dolphins (at Rancho Bernardo, San Diego) https://www.instagram.com/p/B6rZfETpH8I/?igshid=1ekaq37fwy1bp

[444names]

native american names + generic male names

Abaterral Acae Adgeoshen Adolsil Agana Albec Aley Alla Alle Allous Alord Alow Alter Amer Amery Ames Ammillor Anah Analle Aniesver Anklaina Apie Aqui Aquinnant Arding Aullyman Aximber Azacke Bado Ball Bana Barl Barrite Beaklery Becirdina Berbie Berlanyah Biso Bluma Blund Bote Bougemong Brail Brashan Breen Brens Breves Briusted Bron Brond Broonguar Brori Brunkaid Buff Burth Butune Caleblo Calper Cama Camon Camyroy Cantwa Capie Cath Cathrion Caymend Chaalon Charlees Cheeteh Chicol Chir Chitt Chus Chwyla Clafie Claing Cley Clis Cliv Cocun Conet Conett Cooydon Coricatt Corse Corson Coskayu Coupe Cowlina Crimmio Croby Crowkee Culwooy Custie Dabero Dacem Dake Dasher Davisi Dayacia Dayce Decu Deell Dejohoe Dema Denahole Denard Derre Derroazes Destegam Dogal Domeence Dothun Doxen Druntiko Durddone Durego Durtino Dyaling Eard Eartz Edone Elar Elmanny Elwhanue Emese Enie Enoth Errio Etchever Ethe Ettisa Eugan Eumgay Evell Exangston Falle Fawlitt Feagan Filvine Finee Fira Fiximary Flory Flust Fols Forn Frashern Fravelly Fremy Frenso Fundruse Garripeo Geramee Ghamellon Gillm Gioudax Goad Goramerby Gorse Gourexice Gredri Gremark Guell Guyawk Hancher Hanfrad Hard Hasporne Hatath Haweroln Hawight Heartian Hintwel Hohendy Horey Horpeard Hort Hosh Hoshilf Hous Hows Hunuck Husin Ildon Immee Inett Isand Isedo Isilo Isince Jaba Jachawns Jaco Jaidlenty Janoredne Jaric Javen Jayi Jeatoby Jemecomer Jerist Jers Jete Jetootho Jodifena Johney Jonziett Jord Jorgkne Joson Juark Judisles Juma Juskang Kanie Kaquanind Kedel Kelarson Kete Kidder Kijiken Killarno Killem Kimoux Kinany Kins Kisch Klenne Knie Koadfor Kolhouta Krain Krasard Kukee Kurav Kwarrytop Lagil Lart Lawa Learley Lende Liass Lincon Lissing Liton Live Loclon Lokus Loment Lonah Lucar Lucho Madas Maetred Magee Maint Malinno Mando Mann Manyes Mard Masalan Mcger Mcgiusa Mcnappeo Merrichus Metatrard Mick Mill Ming Miné Moht Mons Mood Morleing Mosan Mountur Murk Murty Museourd Nabaslon Naids Nebed Neka Neker Nindsto Nitt Odbildree Oden Odie Omell Ornematon Orteemman Oudya Pahaisoce Paingeo Patan Pechen Peld Pelom Perochman Phetterr Phyrus Pierron Pord Pranie Pribsone Puhoon Quagley Quan Quer Quils Quingo Raing Rale Ravell Raves Rawrisy Raylophy Raynd Redbo Rede Redi Regrased Regs Remina Rese Rickuwa Riegs Ropstill Rowa Rueop Rung Runnovert Ruskarley Russoisht Ryced Salager Salbeaf Sanat Sanie Sarrend Scot Seazhoman Sesa Seson Seyan Sherbes Shercypie Shingan Shmerbigh Shon Shton Simman Sincher Sinwa Sishey Skijineeh Skuff Smal Snatchi Snath Soosece Spepher Sper Spin Sponarne Spoper Spreen Sprin Stahon Stakoatam Stalvine Stam Stapahin Sthar Stian Stie Stige Ston Sumpkin Supin Swins Taill Tainee Taird Tapay Tarsondo Tassill Teft Telolf Theandy Then Tick Tilf Tindejone Ting Tippezhot Tley Tonetby Tray Triandson Tricut Tritby Tucarn Tucasie Tuwan Upayter Vanto Viabiti Vinding Vion Virt Wahewa Walannio Waldecie Waleya Welinwer Weshe Wher Whie Whigen Whinaina Whis Whiss Whity Whiuki Wili Willoudsh Wingon Wolence Wooda Woowennie Worrick Wowellot Xaver Yala Yarty Yolon Yorday Zahl Zahney Zarcilber

[historiascortasdeterror]

Consejo

“Si sigues haciendo muecas, se te quedara la cara así para siempre.” Dijo nuestro viejo vecino con severidad.

Seguimos gritando de todas maneras, en vano, mientras él seguía cubriendo nuestros cuerpos con cemento.

Fuente Original (en Inglés): "If you kids keep pulling faces, they'll get stuck that way" lectured our old neighbour sternly. por GuyAwks

[ecotone99]

Excursions & Implosions

“Oh I know, I know! The answer’s obviously aluminum oxide—it’s elementary science.”

I beam confidently against a smattering of 6th grade jeers.

School excursions to the science center rock—if only because they’re a chance to show off my genius knowledge to my classmates. Sucks, though, that I have to pair up with lack-brained neanderthal Tim Fisher for the whole trip, on account of the buddy system.

From dinosaurs to volcanoes to magnets, there’s nothing in this building I haven’t seen before a billion times on Bill Nye or Neil deGrasse Tyson’s shows. Well, besides...

“What about that fenced-off exhibit over there?” I interject, pointing at the room next to ours, housing a giant glass sphere.

“Uh, that’s under construction” our 20-something tour guide shiftily answers. “Top secret stuff, staff eyes only. Now, next is the biology display, if you’ll all follow me…”.

That confirms it, I think triumphantly.

There’s obviously something big that the science center is hiding from attendees. Likely a government breakthrough in fusion energy, like a small sustainable sun. I have to get inside that exhibit before our bus arrives.

Beckoning my assigned buddy Tim over, I hop the barriers and search for a point of entry to the transparent dome. Bingo—there’s a trapdoor on the side, though it seems heavy.

“Hold this door open for me, so I can get back out afterwards” I instruct Tim. “I’m gonna find out what scientific breakthrough they’re hiding.”

“Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea to break the rules-”

“Who’s the science award winner here?!” I bark. Conceding, Tim grabs the metal trapdoor and, with effort, pries it open for me to crawl through.

Wow. The inside of this gigantic glass chamber looks straight out of a sci-fi movie. My educated guess is it’s some kind of advanced proton module. When I tell everyone about this, they’re going to think I’m an even bigger prodigy.

“Hey, Ned?!” calls Tim’s jittery voice from the other side. “My arms really hurt! I might have to let go of the door!”

Great, that doofus is gonna let the bulky trapdoor shut and leave me stuck here.

“Hold on! I just need to take some pictures...”

“Oi, what are you doing in there?!” sounds our tour guide’s voice from outside. I look up to see him standing, arms crossed, in front of the exhibit.

“Too late, mister!” I smirk. “I’ve already uncovered your boss’s secret, city-imploding reactor!”

The man sighs and massages his temples.

“Kid, there’s no hidden conspiracy. That’s just our upcoming planetarium.”

I pause, miffed at this revelation.

“Well...why is the exhibit closed to the public then?”

“We’ve had some faulty wiring on the service trapdoor” he replies. “The thing is electrified for some reason.”

Hearing a loud thump and clank behind me, I whirl around to see steam rising off Tim’s sizzling corpse.

submitted by /u/GuyAwks [link] [comments] source https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscarystories/comments/ilqkj7/excursions_implosions/ via Blogger https://ift.tt/2F4SYbG

[guyawks]

Forget Me Anniversary Not

What kind of idiot husband goes and forgets an anniversary?

And not just any anniversary. Our 10 year anniversary.

I didn’t want to have to remind Stephen about it. I wanted him to remember it on his own, to show me he cared about our partnership. But lo and behold, come morning when I kissed him goodbye for work and asked if he’d planned anything for today—he hadn’t. He just read his newspaper like it was any other day, with no hint of reaction.

Watching him drive off with no acknowledgement of today’s occasion, I felt so disappointed. I even pulled out my phone to call up our marriage counselor, Dr Faulkner, to talk through my feelings and book an appointment for us. But, just my luck, he wasn’t picking up.

So instead, I swallowed my discontent and got our two kids ready for school. All throughout doing my daily household chores, I held out hope that Stephen might ring me to wish me, or have a bouquet delivered, or even pop home to whisk me off for a fancy lunch. Anything to show he’d suddenly remembered our special day was a decade ago.

But the significance of March 2nd clearly meant nothing to him, because no such gesture came.

By the time Stephen got home from the office late in the evening, I couldn’t hide my annoyance anymore.

Not wanting to even be around him, I stormed out to my car in the garage to drive off and get some space. That’s when I heard the muffled sounds coming from the trunk. Curious, I cranked open the boot to see…Dr Faulker—bound, gagged and terrified.

“Happy anniversary, honey” purred Stephen’s loving voice from behind me.

I whirled around, my heart aflutter and a wide, joyful smile on my face.

“Oh Stephen, you did remember! What a personal touch, you shouldn’t have.”

Swooning, I ripped the gag off our helpless victim.

“Stephen, Janice…p-please let me go!” Dr Faulkner gasped in sweaty confusion. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“He’s been in there since yesterday,” Stephen informed me. “I knew you’d find your anniversary gift eventually.”

“Anniversary?!” yelped Dr Faulkner. “I-isn’t your wedding anniversary in November!?”

To this, we just laughed, plunging our knives into him repeatedly—like we had with so many innocents before.

What better way to celebrate the anniversary of the first time we murdered someone?

[guyawks]

Wrong Place at the Right Time

The man who killed my brother is free.

That’s why I’m driving to a house on the other side of town. Because I plan to kill him tonight.

While I speed my white van down the road towards its destination, I reflect on the monster who slaughtered my innocent younger brother years ago.

It was a simple case of mistaken identity. That evil thug Ramon Florez mistook Eddie for one of his gang targets. Snatched him right out of his car, tied him up and tortured him to death for hours without mercy. All because poor, grad student Eddie was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

My brother never fucking hurt anyone. He was studying to be a veterinarian for God’s sake.

He’s not like me. I’m very capable of doling out karma to those who’ve wronged me. And I’m willing to lose everything for it.

Which brings me back to why I’m causing Ramon’s own painful death this evening. With Ramon out of prison on parole, I’ve been handed the perfect opportunity to do so. I won’t waste it.

The GPS on my windshield informs me that I’ve arrived at the entered address. Nodding to my associate, we step out of our vehicle and approach the doorstep of the unassuming house. The surrounding neighbourhood reminds me of my childhood memories with Eddie, the future he’ll never have.

I ring the doorbell.

Ramon is in for a world of pain. He’ll be dead within the hour.

The front door slowly opens to reveal a confused old man in pajamas.

“Good evening, sir” I explain. “We’re paramedics responding to a call for medical aid from a Mr Ramon Florez for cardiac arrest”.

The elderly man looks more confused as he observes my uniform, my fellow paramedic and the ambulance we drove here in.

“Uh, sorry, you must be mistaken” he replies. “No one lives here by that name—I didn’t call an ambulance.”

My partner turns to me in disbelief.

“Turner, did you put the wrong address in?!” scolds Ashlee. “Christ, we’ll never make it there in time!”

Immediately, she races back to the ambulance. I just stand and smile.

When the emergency call came in today that Ramon Florez was suffering a heart attack, and I was the dispatched first responder, I knew exactly what I’d do.

He killed the wrong person, so I’ll save the wrong person.

[guyawks]

“Here’s your ticket” says the stern parking inspector as he hands the slip of paper to me.

I thank him profusely for handing me back my winning lottery ticket that I’d accidentally dropped.

[guyawks]

Die and Dash

This evening’s blind date might be the best one I’ve been on.

I dig into my decadent ganache dessert while making eyes at my handsome date sitting across from me.

Unlike the stuffy, boring workaholics I’ve dated before, Allan is an all-American, roguish stud. Not only has he kept me giggling all night, but he picked the perfect fancy restaurant for a first date.

“How was everything?” asks our waiter, appearing at our table.

“Everything was delicious, especially the Bourguignon” I beam. “Please give my compliments to the chef.”

“Oh, Chef Dupont will be most pleased to hear that” the waiter replies. “He is an artisan French chef who has toiled for years to perfect that dish.”

With that, he whisks away the remaining dishes, leaving me and my handsome date to chat.

“So, beautiful lady, what do you feel like doing for the rest of the night?” asks Allan, stroking my hand.

“Surprise me” I laugh back.

He thinks for a moment, flashes a playful grin and responds.

“Let’s skip outta here—without paying the bill.”

I pause, contemplating his crazy suggestion. I’ve never dined and dashed before. But I can’t resist the boyish mischief in his hazel eyes. Here’s the wildcard I’ve always fantasized about dating.

“Screw it, let’s go” I nod.

Steeling up our courage, we quickly make a break for the exit. In a flurry of footsteps, we’re through the tables, out the doors and into the parking lot. I can’t believe I’m doing this and yet I feel more thrilled than I have in years.

That criminal high, however, crashes when Allan goes to unlock his car.

“Fuck!” he curses while fumbling in his empty pockets. “I must have dropped my car keys back in the restaurant!”

“Hey, those two didn’t pay! Get back here!” echoes the voice of our waiter.

“We’ve gotta lay low until they stop searching!” Allan whispers as we duck behind the car, terrified.

He scans the back of the building and points to a door.

“There! Quick, we’ll hide in there!”

Together, we crouch our way through the parking lot and fling ourselves against the door. Thankfully, it’s unlocked. Inside, I wait in the darkness, listening to see if the waiter has found us.

Suddenly, the lights flicker on.

I find myself standing in an empty kitchen. Next to me is Allan—and I’m confused to see he’s put on a chef’s hat and jacket.

“I, Chef Dupont, thank you for your compliments” he reveals, now speaking in a French accent. “I prepared your Bourguignon this afternoon before our ‘date’.”

Shocked, I attempt opening the door but find it’s locked behind me.

“See, Seema, I go to great lengths to source the finest ingredients for my restaurant,” Dupont continues ominously, beginning to sharpen two cooking knives.

“And your flesh will be perfect for tomorrow’s Bourguignon.”

[guyawks]

Stoically, my cousins and I lifted our grandfather’s coffin and carried it through the funeral home.

With all the merchandise moved into his mortuary business, my grandfather thanked us profusely for helping out.

[guyawks]

"Knock knock." "Who's there?" "Six words."

[guyawks]

Waste Not, Warrant Not

Knock knock.

I slightly open the door to my family’s house, enough to see a kind-looking woman with bunned hair and a notepad.

“Hi” she greets me warmly. “My name is Joan. I’m here from Child Protective Services. Are you Tara Lambert?”

“Y-yeah” I awkwardly answer, slouching in my pajamas as she observes our rundown home’s exterior.

“Is your mother—Tammy—here? I need to speak to her.”

“Yeah, sh-she’s here but…she sorta c-can’t come to the door easily.”

“Can I come inside then?”

Shyly, I unlatch the security latch and pull the door wide open. The social worker’s professional expression slips momentarily as she registers the state inside our hovel.

Everywhere around me in the hallway, living room, kitchen, bathroom and bedrooms, is a mountain of junk items. Old boxes, food containers, crumpled magazines, broken appliances, dirty clothing—you name it, piled up on every surface.

“Who’s here, Tara?” Mama snaps, her morbidly obese frame stirring in her chair as we sift over to her.

“Hi Tammy. I’m from CPS. I have a warrant from the Department of Social Services to conduct an investigation of your family’s living conditions.”

“Get outta mah house now! Ain’t nothing to assess, mah daughter’s happy!”

“Ma’am, I can already see this environment is entirely unsuitable for raising a teenager,” states Joan. “It’s not hygienic.”

“You deaf? I said you needa get out now or-”

Before she can finish speaking, a gurgling screech reverberates through the waist-high trash around us.

Immediately, Joan is violently pulled into the heap.

“Oh God!” Joan shrieks. “Help! Something’s got my leg!”

She continues screaming, to no avail, as second and third tentacles emerge from the sea of clutter and latch onto her. With a sickening rip, Joan is torn limb from limb. Only once they’ve consumed her body do the brown tentacles retreat, like an octopus returning to a trench.

While my mama weeps for Joan, my face barely registers the carnage.

“You’re welcome” I tell Mama, tossing my phone across the garbage. “That anonymous tip I left with CPS brought a case worker to the house immediately. Talk about fast food.”

A look of horrified realisation spreads throughout Mama’s rounded face.

“You…you shouldn’t ave done that. She was a good person…you didn’t needa feed her to it.”

“The monster was born out of your hoarding, Mama” I hiss. “The sheer filth in here literally created it. If I don’t keep luring people here for it to eat, it’s gonna eat the fattest, most useless thing it can find—you.”

I shoot my mother a withering glare and she blanches, shameful.

“I just…don’t want you killin’ people, Tara.”

Leaving, I glance at the bloodied remains of the social worker on the trash mound, her notebook an addition to the junk.

“Well, Mama—someone has to clean up your mess.”

[guyawks]

Biting into my sandwich, I disgustedly spat out a gold ring and wondered where it came from.

My question was soon answered when I bit into the other sandwich half and spat out a severed finger.

[guyawks]

When life gives sand, make glass.

[guyawks]

The monkey chases the weasel…POP!

[guyawks]

It’s long been my dream to go on my favourite podcast where they share wild stories from their lives.

The more aggressively I stalk and terrorise the hosts, the more I’m sure to be mentioned.