World Record Attempt Fatality Laughter Extract V

World Record Attempt Fatality Laughter Extract V

A Story by Brett Hernan
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Listen to me reading this aloud here, if you wish: https://soundgasm.net/u/bretthernan/World-Record-Attempt-Fatality-Laughter-2

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   She noticed that the lights were still on and the curtains were not drawn. I walked in and instantly felt cold along with a strangely heavy anxiety. I made the phone call. No answer. I've been sitting on the couch and it is just getting worse with every minute. I feel like I'm being watched and I just have an overall impending sense of dread. I had headphones in, so I took them off and stayed quiet and listened and two minutes later, another three knocks directly outside my bedroom door. Occasionally, I’ll hear footsteps or running around the house when I’m alone, and only when I’m alone. The mirror faces the back door. I searched the apartment to make sure no one was there. Cars skidded from a falling bridge as the earthquake thundered through the earth. I looked at the empty spaces in the mirror on the floor. Never got the chance. Knocking to ask for something before leaving.

   Thirty seconds later the eggs were cold. The strange white box then receded back into the valley. I don’t reply within a certain time. As I turned on the lights I felt a breath behind my ear, whispering my name. I remembered then it was noon, so I was indeed alone. I quickly looked to see if I would see somebody there, but there was no one. Within maybe ten seconds I heard three soft knocks on the front door and I immediately knew something was odd about it. When I was a child I was an innocent child dancing in the garage at midnight until out of nowhere I saw a man. I looked outside and I noticed a moving toy figure or something.

   Describing telekinesis amongst blue growing cherries on stands of trees in rarely visited orchards, sometime round September 23rd 1830, in the same way a leprechaun remains hidden. Powdered bone dust was all that then remained. We'd never been there.
On a Tuesdayish type of Saturday afternoon, reminiscent of a kind of carpet drive toward the space beyond the inevitably arrived at, and passed through, bean-bag hills. One orange licorice and the other of purest Blackpool Rock velveteen fabric disappearing into a black, heard but not seen, crashing sea at night. Comments of course have been disabled. She told the caller she had reached a wrong number, later recalling the woman's 'weird laugh'.

   That was before the arrival of squirting fur. Those tattoos were symbols of poverty, blurred out of focus on stretched and sagging flesh drawn with a dried and flay ended felt tip into wounds made with a can opener and broken beer bottle hieroglyph in a lost language from an era of once reigning local thug, ended long ago in shallow grave, car, cell and unexpected impact. I asked for a light and tried to hear the conversation. There do not exist scientific tools such that can be used to measure this phenomenon. This is primarily because the existence of a spiritual dimension isn't considered a scientific question. Exactly how could one quantify the existence of a spiritual realm? What tools could be used and exactly how do we calibrate these in the first place to work effectively?

   In that unnamed town, after a night of blood, we left to search the haunted seas. Somehow your invitation was lost in the mail. The lizard had the spider by the esophagus, causing a flurry as the littlest kid spilled his bag of marbles.

   In order to obtain any substantial amount of magic youth dust, it would be necessary to hunt and trap as many lighthouse spiders as possible. It being winter, the expedition brought provisions for a month...



© 2020 Brett Hernan


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Added on December 26, 2018
Last Updated on January 4, 2020

Author

Brett Hernan
Brett Hernan

Hobart, Tasmania, Australia



About
Low-resolution sample only. Born 1968. All of the images accompanying each of these written works are my own. (Except that one of the guy putting a flower into a soldier's rifle barrel!) more..

Writing