THE KNOCKING GAME:
I have a friend at MHC who was willing to clean this up and pass it along. I’m not sure NoSleep is the right place for this story. There are no ghosts o anything like that. I just wanted to share a creepy prank someone played on me and my friends.
---
Back when I was in high school, we used to play something called the Knocking Game. We’d go out to the abandoned McAllister house after dark, shut ourselves inside, turn off all the lights, and wait. Eventually, there would be a knock at the door. The knocking would get louder and louder until somebody finally chickened out and turned on a flashlight. The knocking always stopped the moment the lights went off again.
Playing the Knocking Game was like fooling around on a Ouija board. If no one is breaking the rules, you’re not going to have a good time. It was an open secret among our Friends that whenever the Knocking Game actually “worked,” someone had recruited one of their buddies to wait outside and knock as soon as the flashlights were turned off. The locked doors gave them just enough time to hide if one of the people inside tried to catch them in the act.
So that’s why none of us were surprised when Josh didn’t mostra up. He was the one who suggested we play in the first place. We suspected he was waiting for us to start without him so he could be the one to scare us. We arrived at the rundown bungalow on the edge of the woods around 11pm. We had locked all the doors and turned out the flashlights da 11:30. The knocking began a few minuti later.
At first, we weren’t sure if there was actually someone at the door o it was just the wind blowing a albero branch against the side of the house. The longer we waited, the louder it got. Whoever was out there was practically pounding down the door da the time I got the first text from Josh.
EvcKSUf
Josh: ciao dude Im on Ritchie’s porch where te at!?!
Me: We’re at the house
Josh: te left without me?
Me: I know you’re out there knocking
Josh: STFU te alredy started !?!
Josh: Assholes
Josh: I just got off work OMW
The texting annoyed my friend Ritchie, so he turned his flashlight on and shined it in my eyes. As soon as he did, the knocking at the door stopped. I showed the texts to everyone else and they got a kick out them. We all agreed Josh was fooling around with us.
The knocking started again the moment we flipped off our flashlights. There was no crescendo this time. We could feel the person on the front porch pounding on the door, the air inside reverberating like a giant drum. It hurt my ears. I texted Josh to let him know we weren’t afraid.
YEcM70K
Me: Your arm get tired man?
Josh: Don’t come outside
Me: te here
Me: ?
I turned on the flashlight and pointed it at the door. The knocking stopped immediately, but for a moment the knob kept spinning, as if someone was twisting it from the outside. I texted Josh again.
Me: Just come in already
Me: Stop playing
Me: Im going to come out there and find te biatch
After a few minutes, we turned the lights back off and the knocking resumed, except this time it was at the back door. There was a little window at the superiore, in alto of the door covered da decaying drapes. As the knocking continued, I quietly crept over and pulled them aside. The sound died the secondo I pressed my face against the glass and peered through the window.
Josh wasn’t out there. No one was.
There were new noises coming from the basement: the screech of the cellar hatches being thrown open and the stomp of boots traveling across the dirt floor below us. Ritchie ran to the cucina and slammed shut the deadbolt on the door that led downstairs.
Ritchie was laughing while he did it. I couldn’t tell whether he was slaphappy o terrified. One of the girls switched on her flashlight. That’s when Josh finally texted back.
CVjAI4d
Josh: Keep yer lights on
Me: Yeah sure
Me: Whatever
I showed the texts to everyone. The girls thought it was funny, but Ritchie did not seem amused. He had known Josh longer than any of us. Ritchie doubted Josh had the mental fortitude to successfully operate a microwave, much less pull off a prank.
When we turned out the lights again, the knocking resumed, except this time we heard it at both the front and the back door. The pounding was frenzied, so loud we all had to cover our ears.
H1ja6ZF
Me: te douche. Cut it out
Me: I’m gonna kick your culo man
Me: You’re an evil mastermind, but I’m gonna kick your ass
Me: How many people did te get to help you?
Josh: Just the two of us.
Josh: Unlock the door.
As soon as the knocking at the back door stopped, the door to the basement began shaking violently. Its hinges tilted. A screw popped loose and spun across the cucina floor. Amy turned on her flashlight. Again, there was silence.
I wanted to unlock the door and let Josh in, but for some reason I felt nervous. This wasn’t like him. Any moment I expected to hear him breakdown and start laughing. We all did.
But there was nothing. My phone buzzed. Ritchie screamed. None of us made fun of him. I checked the screen.
Josh: Okay, the game is over. te can let me in now.
Me: Which door are te at?
Me: So I can let te in
Josh: I’m at the front door.
Josh: Turn out the lights and let me in.
We stood in silence until the crying started. At first, we weren’t sure it was Josh, but eventually we heard him begging, pleading for us to come outside and help. He detto he was sorry he was late. He detto he had tried to warn us. He detto he wanted us to shut off our lights and open the door so he could come in.
Instead, we all sat in a cerchio on the floor of the living room with our backs pressed together and our bloodshot eyes peering into the darkness. We took turns with the flashlights. Every time the beam began to dim, the successivo person to the right would take over with their own flashlight. All the while, my phone kept buzzing.
Every message was from Josh, although I couldn’t hear him outside anymore. I should have just turned the phone off. Each text detto the same thing.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
As soon as the sun came up, we unlocked the front door and ran. Josh wasn’t there, and we weren’t going to waste time looking for him. I got home just before my mom woke up.
Josh wasn’t at school the successivo Monday either. That was nothing out of the ordinary. What was strange was the fact that he didn’t answer his phone.
When Ritchie and I went to his house to check in on him a few days later, no one answered the doorbell. His parents’ cars were missing, and there were several newspapers piled up on the front porch.
Amy detto she saw him successivo mese when her family was driving up to her grandparents’ for Easter. He was walking down the sidewalk, alone, stumbling slowly like a drunk. Amy asked her father to stop and cerchio around, but Josh was gone da the time they returned.
Soon after, one of our teachers told us Josh had been transferred to a therapeutic boarding school, and that his family had moved away to be closer to him. She detto Josh had been struggling for some time, but the faculty had kept it a secret out of respect.
Eventually, Josh started responding to Ritchie’s emails. He was cagey. He denied knowledge of anything that happened the night we played the Knocking Game. He was polite, but distant, and refused to give anything but the most perfunctory details about his new life. Ritchie asked him if any of the rest of us could talk to him, but Josh declined. He added that he just got a new phone, so if we received any texts from his old number, we should just ignore them.
The rest of us graduated in the spring. As far as I know, none of us have talked to Josh since then. I hear about him occasionally through mutual friends, people who claim to have seen him around but never end up talking to him.
My Friends and I got together to watch a movie during the first Thanksgiving Break home from college. After the others fell asleep and the credits rolled, I received a message from Josh’s “old” number. I wonder what kind of sick cucciolo he had to be to dredge that all up again. I didn’t bother telling my friends. It would have just scared them.
I took a screenshot of those two sentences, the last words that Josh ever detto to me.
Josh: There’s a lupo at the door…
Josh: Let me in.
------------------------------------------------------------------
AUTOPILOT:
Have te ever forgotten your phone?
When did te realize you’d forgotten it? I’m guessing te didn’t just schiaffo, smack your forehead and exclaim ‘damn’ apropos of nothing. The realization probably didn’t dawn on te spontaneously. più likely, te reached for your phone, pawing open your pocket o handbag, and were momentarily confused da it not being there. Then te did a mental recap of the morning’s events.
Shit.
In my case, my phone’s alarm woke me up as normal but I realized the battery was lower than I expected. It was a new phone and it had this annoying habit of leaving applications running that drain the battery overnight. So, I put it on to charge while I showered instead of into my bag like normal. It was a momentary slip from the routine but that was all it took. Once in the shower, my brain got back into ‘the routine’ it follows every morning and that was it.
Forgotten.
This wasn’t just me being clumsy, as I later researched; this is a recognized brain function. Your brain doesn’t work just on one level, it works on many. Like, when you’re walking somewhere, te think about your destination and avoiding hazards, but te don’t need to think about keeping your legs moving properly. If te did, the entire world would turn into one massive hilarious QWOP cosplay. I wasn’t thinking about regulating my breathing, I was thinking whether I should grab a coffee on the drive to work (I did). I wasn’t thinking about moving my breakfast through my intestines, I was wondering whether I’d finish on time to pick up my daughter Emily from the nursery after work o get stuck with another late fee. This is the thing; there’s a level of your brain that just deals with routine, so that the rest of the brain can think about other things.
Think about it. Think about your last commute. What do te actually remember? Probably little, if anything. Most common journeys blur into one, and recalling any one in particular is scientifically proven to be difficult. Do something often enough and it becomes routine. Keep doing it and it stops being processed da the thinking bit of the brain and gets relegated to a part of the brain dedicated to dealing with routine. Your brain keeps doing it, without te thinking about it. Soon, te think about your route to work as much as te do keeping your legs moving when te walk.
Most people call it autopilot. But there’s danger there. If te have a break in your routine, your ability to remember and account for the break is only as good as your ability to stop your brain going into routine mode. My ability to remember my phone being on the counter is only as reliable as my ability to stop my brain entering ‘morning routine mode’ which would dictate that my phone is actually in my bag. But I didn’t stop my brain entering routine mode. I got in the doccia as normal. Routine started. Exception forgotten.
Autopilot engaged.
My brain was back in the routine. I showered, I shaved, the radio forecasted amazing weather, I gave Emily her breakfast and loaded her into the car (she was so adorable that morning, she complained about the ‘bad sun’ in the morning blinding her, saying it stopped her having a little sleep on the way to nursery) and left. That was the routine. It didn’t matter that my phone was on the counter, charging silently. My brain was in the routine and in the routine my phone was in my bag. This is why I forgot my phone. Not clumsiness. Not negligence. Nothing più my brain entering routine mode and over-writing the exception.
Autopilot engaged.
I left for work. It’s a swelteringly hot giorno already. The bad sun had been burning since before my traitorously absent phone woke me. The steering wheel was burning hot to the touch when I sat down. I think I heard Emily shift over behind my driver’s sede, sedile to get out of the glare. But I got to work. inviato the report. Attended the morning meeting. It’s not until I took a quick coffee break and reached for my phone that the illusion shattered. I did a mental restep. I remembered the dying battery. I remembered putting it on to charge. I remembered leaving it there.
My phone was on the counter.
Autopilot disengaged.
Again, there lies the danger. Until te have that moment, the moment te reach for your phone and shatter the illusion, that part of the brain is still in routine mode. It has no reason to domanda the facts of the routine; that’s why it’s a routine. The act of repetition. It’s not as if anyone could say ‘why didn’t te remember your phone? Didn’t it occur to you? How could te forget? te must be negligent’; this is to miss the point. My brain was telling me the routine was completed as normal, despite the fact that it wasn’t. It wasn’t that I forgot my phone. According to my brain, according to the routine, my phone was in my bag. Why would I think to domanda it? Why would I check? Why would I suddenly remember, out of nowhere, that my phone was on the counter?
My brain was wired into the routine and the routine was that my phone was in my bag.
The giorno continued to bake. The morning haze gave way to the relentless fever heat of the afternoon. Tarmac bubbled. The direct beams of heat threatened to crack the pavement. People swapped coffees for iced smoothies. Jackets discarded, sleeves rolled up, ties loosened, brows mopped. The parks slowly filled with sunbathers and BBQ’s. Window frames threatened to warp. The thermometer continued to swell. Thank fuck the offices were air-conditioned.
But, as ever, the furnace of the giorno gave way to a più fresco, dispositivo di raffreddamento evening. Another day, another dollar. Still cursing myself for forgetting my phone, I drove home. The day's heat had baked the inside of the car, releasing a horrible smell from somewhere. When I arrived on the driveway, the stones crunching comfortingly under my tires, my wife greeted me at the door.
“Where’s Emily?”
Fuck.
As if the phone wasn’t bad enough. After everything I’d left Emily at the fucking nursery after all. I immediately sped back to the nursery. I got to the door and started practicing my excuses, wondering vainly if I could charm my way out of a late fee. I saw a piece of paper stuck to the door.
“Due to vandalism overnight, please use side door. Today only.”
Overnight? What? The door was fine this morni-
I froze. My knees shook.
Vandals. A change in the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
I hadn’t been here this morning.
My phone was on the counter.
I’d driven past because I was drinking my coffee. I’d not dropped off Emily.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d moved her seat. I hadn’t seen her in the mirror.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d fallen asleep out of the bad sun. She didn’t speak when I drove past her nursery.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d changed the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d changed the routine and I’d forgotten to drop her off.
My phone was on the counter.
Nine hours. That car. That baking sun. No air. No water. No power. No help. That heat. A steering wheel too hot to touch.
That smell.
I walked to the car door. Numb. Shock.
I opened the door.
My phone was on the counter and my daughter was dead.
Autopilot disengaged.
I have a friend at MHC who was willing to clean this up and pass it along. I’m not sure NoSleep is the right place for this story. There are no ghosts o anything like that. I just wanted to share a creepy prank someone played on me and my friends.
---
Back when I was in high school, we used to play something called the Knocking Game. We’d go out to the abandoned McAllister house after dark, shut ourselves inside, turn off all the lights, and wait. Eventually, there would be a knock at the door. The knocking would get louder and louder until somebody finally chickened out and turned on a flashlight. The knocking always stopped the moment the lights went off again.
Playing the Knocking Game was like fooling around on a Ouija board. If no one is breaking the rules, you’re not going to have a good time. It was an open secret among our Friends that whenever the Knocking Game actually “worked,” someone had recruited one of their buddies to wait outside and knock as soon as the flashlights were turned off. The locked doors gave them just enough time to hide if one of the people inside tried to catch them in the act.
So that’s why none of us were surprised when Josh didn’t mostra up. He was the one who suggested we play in the first place. We suspected he was waiting for us to start without him so he could be the one to scare us. We arrived at the rundown bungalow on the edge of the woods around 11pm. We had locked all the doors and turned out the flashlights da 11:30. The knocking began a few minuti later.
At first, we weren’t sure if there was actually someone at the door o it was just the wind blowing a albero branch against the side of the house. The longer we waited, the louder it got. Whoever was out there was practically pounding down the door da the time I got the first text from Josh.
EvcKSUf
Josh: ciao dude Im on Ritchie’s porch where te at!?!
Me: We’re at the house
Josh: te left without me?
Me: I know you’re out there knocking
Josh: STFU te alredy started !?!
Josh: Assholes
Josh: I just got off work OMW
The texting annoyed my friend Ritchie, so he turned his flashlight on and shined it in my eyes. As soon as he did, the knocking at the door stopped. I showed the texts to everyone else and they got a kick out them. We all agreed Josh was fooling around with us.
The knocking started again the moment we flipped off our flashlights. There was no crescendo this time. We could feel the person on the front porch pounding on the door, the air inside reverberating like a giant drum. It hurt my ears. I texted Josh to let him know we weren’t afraid.
YEcM70K
Me: Your arm get tired man?
Josh: Don’t come outside
Me: te here
Me: ?
I turned on the flashlight and pointed it at the door. The knocking stopped immediately, but for a moment the knob kept spinning, as if someone was twisting it from the outside. I texted Josh again.
Me: Just come in already
Me: Stop playing
Me: Im going to come out there and find te biatch
After a few minutes, we turned the lights back off and the knocking resumed, except this time it was at the back door. There was a little window at the superiore, in alto of the door covered da decaying drapes. As the knocking continued, I quietly crept over and pulled them aside. The sound died the secondo I pressed my face against the glass and peered through the window.
Josh wasn’t out there. No one was.
There were new noises coming from the basement: the screech of the cellar hatches being thrown open and the stomp of boots traveling across the dirt floor below us. Ritchie ran to the cucina and slammed shut the deadbolt on the door that led downstairs.
Ritchie was laughing while he did it. I couldn’t tell whether he was slaphappy o terrified. One of the girls switched on her flashlight. That’s when Josh finally texted back.
CVjAI4d
Josh: Keep yer lights on
Me: Yeah sure
Me: Whatever
I showed the texts to everyone. The girls thought it was funny, but Ritchie did not seem amused. He had known Josh longer than any of us. Ritchie doubted Josh had the mental fortitude to successfully operate a microwave, much less pull off a prank.
When we turned out the lights again, the knocking resumed, except this time we heard it at both the front and the back door. The pounding was frenzied, so loud we all had to cover our ears.
H1ja6ZF
Me: te douche. Cut it out
Me: I’m gonna kick your culo man
Me: You’re an evil mastermind, but I’m gonna kick your ass
Me: How many people did te get to help you?
Josh: Just the two of us.
Josh: Unlock the door.
As soon as the knocking at the back door stopped, the door to the basement began shaking violently. Its hinges tilted. A screw popped loose and spun across the cucina floor. Amy turned on her flashlight. Again, there was silence.
I wanted to unlock the door and let Josh in, but for some reason I felt nervous. This wasn’t like him. Any moment I expected to hear him breakdown and start laughing. We all did.
But there was nothing. My phone buzzed. Ritchie screamed. None of us made fun of him. I checked the screen.
Josh: Okay, the game is over. te can let me in now.
Me: Which door are te at?
Me: So I can let te in
Josh: I’m at the front door.
Josh: Turn out the lights and let me in.
We stood in silence until the crying started. At first, we weren’t sure it was Josh, but eventually we heard him begging, pleading for us to come outside and help. He detto he was sorry he was late. He detto he had tried to warn us. He detto he wanted us to shut off our lights and open the door so he could come in.
Instead, we all sat in a cerchio on the floor of the living room with our backs pressed together and our bloodshot eyes peering into the darkness. We took turns with the flashlights. Every time the beam began to dim, the successivo person to the right would take over with their own flashlight. All the while, my phone kept buzzing.
Every message was from Josh, although I couldn’t hear him outside anymore. I should have just turned the phone off. Each text detto the same thing.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
Josh: Let me in.
As soon as the sun came up, we unlocked the front door and ran. Josh wasn’t there, and we weren’t going to waste time looking for him. I got home just before my mom woke up.
Josh wasn’t at school the successivo Monday either. That was nothing out of the ordinary. What was strange was the fact that he didn’t answer his phone.
When Ritchie and I went to his house to check in on him a few days later, no one answered the doorbell. His parents’ cars were missing, and there were several newspapers piled up on the front porch.
Amy detto she saw him successivo mese when her family was driving up to her grandparents’ for Easter. He was walking down the sidewalk, alone, stumbling slowly like a drunk. Amy asked her father to stop and cerchio around, but Josh was gone da the time they returned.
Soon after, one of our teachers told us Josh had been transferred to a therapeutic boarding school, and that his family had moved away to be closer to him. She detto Josh had been struggling for some time, but the faculty had kept it a secret out of respect.
Eventually, Josh started responding to Ritchie’s emails. He was cagey. He denied knowledge of anything that happened the night we played the Knocking Game. He was polite, but distant, and refused to give anything but the most perfunctory details about his new life. Ritchie asked him if any of the rest of us could talk to him, but Josh declined. He added that he just got a new phone, so if we received any texts from his old number, we should just ignore them.
The rest of us graduated in the spring. As far as I know, none of us have talked to Josh since then. I hear about him occasionally through mutual friends, people who claim to have seen him around but never end up talking to him.
My Friends and I got together to watch a movie during the first Thanksgiving Break home from college. After the others fell asleep and the credits rolled, I received a message from Josh’s “old” number. I wonder what kind of sick cucciolo he had to be to dredge that all up again. I didn’t bother telling my friends. It would have just scared them.
I took a screenshot of those two sentences, the last words that Josh ever detto to me.
Josh: There’s a lupo at the door…
Josh: Let me in.
------------------------------------------------------------------
AUTOPILOT:
Have te ever forgotten your phone?
When did te realize you’d forgotten it? I’m guessing te didn’t just schiaffo, smack your forehead and exclaim ‘damn’ apropos of nothing. The realization probably didn’t dawn on te spontaneously. più likely, te reached for your phone, pawing open your pocket o handbag, and were momentarily confused da it not being there. Then te did a mental recap of the morning’s events.
Shit.
In my case, my phone’s alarm woke me up as normal but I realized the battery was lower than I expected. It was a new phone and it had this annoying habit of leaving applications running that drain the battery overnight. So, I put it on to charge while I showered instead of into my bag like normal. It was a momentary slip from the routine but that was all it took. Once in the shower, my brain got back into ‘the routine’ it follows every morning and that was it.
Forgotten.
This wasn’t just me being clumsy, as I later researched; this is a recognized brain function. Your brain doesn’t work just on one level, it works on many. Like, when you’re walking somewhere, te think about your destination and avoiding hazards, but te don’t need to think about keeping your legs moving properly. If te did, the entire world would turn into one massive hilarious QWOP cosplay. I wasn’t thinking about regulating my breathing, I was thinking whether I should grab a coffee on the drive to work (I did). I wasn’t thinking about moving my breakfast through my intestines, I was wondering whether I’d finish on time to pick up my daughter Emily from the nursery after work o get stuck with another late fee. This is the thing; there’s a level of your brain that just deals with routine, so that the rest of the brain can think about other things.
Think about it. Think about your last commute. What do te actually remember? Probably little, if anything. Most common journeys blur into one, and recalling any one in particular is scientifically proven to be difficult. Do something often enough and it becomes routine. Keep doing it and it stops being processed da the thinking bit of the brain and gets relegated to a part of the brain dedicated to dealing with routine. Your brain keeps doing it, without te thinking about it. Soon, te think about your route to work as much as te do keeping your legs moving when te walk.
Most people call it autopilot. But there’s danger there. If te have a break in your routine, your ability to remember and account for the break is only as good as your ability to stop your brain going into routine mode. My ability to remember my phone being on the counter is only as reliable as my ability to stop my brain entering ‘morning routine mode’ which would dictate that my phone is actually in my bag. But I didn’t stop my brain entering routine mode. I got in the doccia as normal. Routine started. Exception forgotten.
Autopilot engaged.
My brain was back in the routine. I showered, I shaved, the radio forecasted amazing weather, I gave Emily her breakfast and loaded her into the car (she was so adorable that morning, she complained about the ‘bad sun’ in the morning blinding her, saying it stopped her having a little sleep on the way to nursery) and left. That was the routine. It didn’t matter that my phone was on the counter, charging silently. My brain was in the routine and in the routine my phone was in my bag. This is why I forgot my phone. Not clumsiness. Not negligence. Nothing più my brain entering routine mode and over-writing the exception.
Autopilot engaged.
I left for work. It’s a swelteringly hot giorno already. The bad sun had been burning since before my traitorously absent phone woke me. The steering wheel was burning hot to the touch when I sat down. I think I heard Emily shift over behind my driver’s sede, sedile to get out of the glare. But I got to work. inviato the report. Attended the morning meeting. It’s not until I took a quick coffee break and reached for my phone that the illusion shattered. I did a mental restep. I remembered the dying battery. I remembered putting it on to charge. I remembered leaving it there.
My phone was on the counter.
Autopilot disengaged.
Again, there lies the danger. Until te have that moment, the moment te reach for your phone and shatter the illusion, that part of the brain is still in routine mode. It has no reason to domanda the facts of the routine; that’s why it’s a routine. The act of repetition. It’s not as if anyone could say ‘why didn’t te remember your phone? Didn’t it occur to you? How could te forget? te must be negligent’; this is to miss the point. My brain was telling me the routine was completed as normal, despite the fact that it wasn’t. It wasn’t that I forgot my phone. According to my brain, according to the routine, my phone was in my bag. Why would I think to domanda it? Why would I check? Why would I suddenly remember, out of nowhere, that my phone was on the counter?
My brain was wired into the routine and the routine was that my phone was in my bag.
The giorno continued to bake. The morning haze gave way to the relentless fever heat of the afternoon. Tarmac bubbled. The direct beams of heat threatened to crack the pavement. People swapped coffees for iced smoothies. Jackets discarded, sleeves rolled up, ties loosened, brows mopped. The parks slowly filled with sunbathers and BBQ’s. Window frames threatened to warp. The thermometer continued to swell. Thank fuck the offices were air-conditioned.
But, as ever, the furnace of the giorno gave way to a più fresco, dispositivo di raffreddamento evening. Another day, another dollar. Still cursing myself for forgetting my phone, I drove home. The day's heat had baked the inside of the car, releasing a horrible smell from somewhere. When I arrived on the driveway, the stones crunching comfortingly under my tires, my wife greeted me at the door.
“Where’s Emily?”
Fuck.
As if the phone wasn’t bad enough. After everything I’d left Emily at the fucking nursery after all. I immediately sped back to the nursery. I got to the door and started practicing my excuses, wondering vainly if I could charm my way out of a late fee. I saw a piece of paper stuck to the door.
“Due to vandalism overnight, please use side door. Today only.”
Overnight? What? The door was fine this morni-
I froze. My knees shook.
Vandals. A change in the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
I hadn’t been here this morning.
My phone was on the counter.
I’d driven past because I was drinking my coffee. I’d not dropped off Emily.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d moved her seat. I hadn’t seen her in the mirror.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d fallen asleep out of the bad sun. She didn’t speak when I drove past her nursery.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d changed the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
She’d changed the routine and I’d forgotten to drop her off.
My phone was on the counter.
Nine hours. That car. That baking sun. No air. No water. No power. No help. That heat. A steering wheel too hot to touch.
That smell.
I walked to the car door. Numb. Shock.
I opened the door.
My phone was on the counter and my daughter was dead.
Autopilot disengaged.
#5: MADONNA:
Not much to say..
#4: MILEY CYRUS:
I never liked her myself.
But did "respect" her once..
But it's fair to say.
She Lost that privilege..
#3: LADY GAGA:
Se probably still is, I don't know.. It's been many many years since I cared about Lady Gaga.
But her song Just Dance was once a token of my childhood, so I should at least mention her under this list..
Putting her as MAYBE still hot, but who hell could tell under all that max up and bizarre hair styles.
At least with Katy Perry te can tell she's still pretty hot, even under all those stupid outfits and shit..
#2: LINDSEY LOHAN:
A perfectv example of how once innocent people can become FUCKED UP..
#1: BRITTNEY SPEARS:
She use too be so friggin hot,
WHAT HAPPENED!?
No wait..
We KNOW what happened.
She went bold.
And took too many drugs.
Nobody cares about her anymore.
Though at least her voice is still pretty.
Unless the grand theft auto song was written BEFORE her rampage..
Not much to say..
#4: MILEY CYRUS:
I never liked her myself.
But did "respect" her once..
But it's fair to say.
She Lost that privilege..
#3: LADY GAGA:
Se probably still is, I don't know.. It's been many many years since I cared about Lady Gaga.
But her song Just Dance was once a token of my childhood, so I should at least mention her under this list..
Putting her as MAYBE still hot, but who hell could tell under all that max up and bizarre hair styles.
At least with Katy Perry te can tell she's still pretty hot, even under all those stupid outfits and shit..
#2: LINDSEY LOHAN:
A perfectv example of how once innocent people can become FUCKED UP..
#1: BRITTNEY SPEARS:
She use too be so friggin hot,
WHAT HAPPENED!?
No wait..
We KNOW what happened.
She went bold.
And took too many drugs.
Nobody cares about her anymore.
Though at least her voice is still pretty.
Unless the grand theft auto song was written BEFORE her rampage..
Robotnik: Snooping as usual I see! Pingas!
It was a wonderful giorno in Canterlot, until some ponies started panicking.
Con: What's going on?
P: Discord is back, and he's murdering più ponies!
Con: I'll stop him!
Discord: Keep it up! Everypony in this town must die!
Korean ponies: Affirmative! *kill each other*
Discord: Don't kill each other! Only kill the ones that live here.
Con: *shoots Discord*
Discord: te really think that pistol of yours will work?
Con: I shot te in the arm! Why aren't te bleeding?
Discord: Because, I'm invincible!
Con: *takes away invincibility* Not anymore.
Discord:...
