Rukia Kurosaki

KtPT = XDD Cause you're indecisive, as though you had three brains. XP

@ Ro-kun: I out Xatu 'cause you're a detective, and Xatu is wise.

Dude, Paint it White is epic. If only it were dubbed.... Favorites: (In no special order) - America - Germany - Austria - Ukraine

I'd probably be this: -insert pokemon here- Actually, I've got no idea XD

Last year.... T T I want to go to Gamestop...

Dark chocolate with either caramel or almonds. Toblerone is an amazing candy bar, too. (But expensive T T ) Just never plain milk chocolate. Waaay too sweet.

Yellow Curry! <3333333 I also like Salmon Nigiri sushi with lots of gari. Hmm. And, Tempura Udon. Amazing!

Thanks. ^^ But was it at all scary?

Ro-kun =

*Tackles Ro-kun for supporting*

Awesome. If Sera looked like that, I'd be in the 'She's Shuu's sister' boat. Rep for you. ^^

Yeah, I posted it in "Scary Ghost Stories," but I wanted to post it separately, so I could have a poll. Here it is: I am Gregory Davis. Every night, before the sun sets, I go around the house and check on every light. I lock the front and back doors and windows, close the shutters, open every door that doesn't lead outside, and ensure that there is no dark corner or shadow. In this house, there is a closet where I keep hundreds of lightbulbs, to replace the ones that I leave on all night. There will never be more than one lightbulb out of its socket at a time, and I will never turn out the lights. Every night, I sit on the empty floor of my room. I never get up to go to the mirrorless bathroom, because He would be there, waiting in the corners. I sit against the wall in my windowless bedroom and write. I write His death, over and over, in as many ways as I can think of. But I know He will never die. I made Him immortal, gave Him life and power. The power to haunt my dreams, to hunt down my weakness. But now, I am trying to free myself. I cannot leave the house, nor do I dare open the door, except between noon and one p.m, when I have food, writing materials and lightbulbs delivered, and send off my next manuscript, full of His influence. I don't hear the rumors that I'm insane, but I know they exist. Without a phone, or any electronics, I am cut off from their world, and trapped in mine alone. No, I can't say that. Because He is here, waiting for me to slip up. Always waiting... I sit here writing this, my final book of stories, in hopes that somewhere, someone will realize that it's all real. Ever since I wrote His name in that first book, He has haunted me, waiting in every dark space to jeer at me. His shapeless black form, like smoke, was once simply an idea. His red eyes, that burn like ice, rather than fire, once only a thought. But I gave Him a name, a form, and now I am hiding in the light. If ever I were to die, He would remain, waiting where the shadows meet for another to say his name. To believe is to give the beast power, but there is no way I can disbelieve. I have seen what He can do. That first night, my fear merely a suspicion that I wrote far too late into the night and needed rest, he came up beside the bed that no longer sits in my room with its walls of white. He looked me in the eyes, silent as death, and then glanced at my wife. She was hidden, I thought, by the shadow over her side of our bed. And I, I was merely dreaming, giving my monster a shape in my dazed mind. And yet, when He shifted, He had to tread around me, His fluid and translucent form sliding at the edge if the moonlight that leaked through our window. I was within the light, but she was not. He simply moved to her side and stared until she awoke, feeling the same freezing dread that I have felt every night since then. Her beautiful eyes, brown as the earth, darted to me and back to the monster, and she appeared to wonder whether we were sharing a nightmare. If I had known who He was, I would have pulled her away, far from his gaze. But I was in a dream, and nothing can hurt you when you're dreaming... or so I believed. He watched as her fear took over and she froze, her breath quickening until I thought her lungs would burst. Captivted by His horror, I was unable to move, to make a sound, to wake up. Sandra's eyes, no longer sparkling, changed slowly. Her pupils stretched across the iris, enveloping all the color they had held. But then the blackness glazed over both her eyes entirely, and I was horrified by her transformation as it continued. Her soft, pale hands twitched and became gnarled, arthritic claws, and her rosy cheeks became grey and sunken. Her hair morphed from its golden straw appearance and became matted and colorless, as black as the night, as he was. She turned to me, her mouth wide open in a silent scream of terror, and began to disappear. First, her feet and hands, then her legs, arms, waist, and torso. The last thing to vanish was the image branded on my mind: Her face, distorted in mortal fear, slowly disappeared, her eyes staring into mine until every last bit of her was gone. When I broke from the sight, He was gone. Since that day, not a single living creature has been allowed to cross the threshold of my house. I hear sounds of life from outside, birds, children, insects, but at night, everything changes. The chorus of crickets chirp a macabre tune, relentlessly repeating the same eerie chords, drilling it so far into my mind that the sound of it drowns out the beautiful music of the day. I hear that song always, and always, it reminds me that He is there. Thunder and pounding rain tell me when there is a storm, but flashes of lightning are never allowed to become visible. The shadows they cast would be enough to give Him a chance. There is a storm going on now, the thunder harassing my eardrums, but a welcome break from the haunting melody that repeats itself in my head. My backup generator is always on, as I will never allow the light to disappear. But the hum of the machine stops, and yet I don't dare move from where I sit, pressed against the wall, shaking as I nearly always do. When I was a child, and read a story that frightened me, I would duck under the covers to escape imaginary monsters. But that is just what He wants. That darkness is now a sanctuary for the hunter. The hunted have no haven but light. My bedroom door is the only one I keep closed, in the admittedly silly belief that the door separates me from Him. The thunder rumbles again, and I sit patiently, waiting for the night to end so that I may fix the backup tomorrow. I have no clock, but as the lights flicker momentarily, I know it is midnight... His time... I sit there, shivering uncontrollably, as every beautiful light fades and I am plunged into darkness. My eyes are helplessly drawn to the crack between the door and its frame, where a silken, cloudy shadow moved. Red light that roots me to the spot appears within the darkness, and I let out a scream, my final words written on this paper, even as I am sure of my demise. Tomorrow, my house will be discovered empty, and this paper will be found on the floor beside where I am no longer. I can only hope to transfer a portion of this torment away from me. I feel my wife's presence even now, and I know that rather than die, I will be trapped behind His leering, , icy, red eyes for eternity, plagued with his existence for all of time. And so, with these final sentences as He draws near, I give Him to whomever may read this. I wouldn't turn off that light, as now you know, His name is Faer.

So cute. He smiles like a cat. ^^

I just wrote this one. Hope you guys like it. I am Gregory Davis. Every night, before the sun sets, I go around the house and check on every light. I lock the front and back doors and windows, close the shutters, open every door that doesn't lead outside, and ensure that there is no dark corner or shadow. In this house, there is a closet where I keep hundreds of lightbulbs, to replace the ones that I leave on all night. There will never be more than one lightbulb out of its socket at a time, and I will never turn out the lights. Every night, I sit on the empty floor of my room. I never get up to go to the mirrorless bathroom, because He would be there, waiting in the corners. I sit against the wall in my windowless bedroom and write. I write His death, over and over, in as many ways as I can think of. But I know He will never die. I made him immortal, gave him life and power. The power to haunt my dreams, to hunt down my weakness. But now, I am trying to free myself. I cannot leave the house, nor do I dare open the door, except between noon and one p.m, when I have food, writing materials and lightbulbs delivered, and send off my next manuscript, full of His influence. I don't hear the rumors that I'm insane, but I know they exist. Without a phone, or any electronics, I am cut off from their world, and trapped in mine alone. No, I can't say that. Because He is here, waiting for me to slip up. Always waiting... I sit here writing this, my final book of stories, in hopes that somewhere, someone will realize that it's all real. Ever since I wrote His name in that first book, He has haunted me, waiting in every dark space to jeer at me. His shapeless black form, like smoke, was once simply an idea. His red eyes, that burn like ice, rather than fire, once only a thought. But I gave Him a name, a form, and now I am hiding in the light. If ever I were to die, He would remain, waiting were the shadows meet for another to say his name. To believe is to give the beast power, but there is no way I can disbelieve. I have seen what He can do. That first night, my fear merely a suspicion that I wrote far too late into the night and needed rest, he came up beside the bed that no longer sits in my room with its walls of white. He looked me in the eyes, silent as death, and then glanced at my wife. She was hidden, I thought, by the shadow over her side of our bed. And I, I was merely dreaming, giving my monster a shape in my dazed mind. And yet, when He shifted, He had to tread around me, His fluid and translucent form sliding at the edge if the moonlight that leaked through our window. I was within the light, but she was not. He simply moved to her side and stared until she awoke, feeling the same freezing dread that I have felt every night since then. Her beautiful eyes, brown as the earth, darted to me and back to the monster, and she appeared to wonder whether we were sharing a nightmare. If I had known who He was, I would have pulled her away, far from his gaze. But I was in a dream, and nothing can hurt you when you're dreaming... or so I believed. He watched as her fear took over and she froze, her breath quickening until I thought her lungs would burst. Captivted by His horror, I was unable to move, to make a sound, to wake up. Sandra's eyes, no longer sparkling, changed slowly. Her pupils stretched across the iris, enveloping all the color they had held. But then the blackness glazed over both her eyes entirely, and I was horrified by her transformation as it continued. Her soft, pale hands twitched and became gnarled, arthritic claws, and her rosy cheeks became grey and sunken. Her hair morphed from its golden straw appearance and became matted and colorless, as black as the night, as he was. She turned to me, her mouth wide open in a silent scream of terror, and began to disappear. First, her feet and hands, then her legs, arms, waist, and torso. The last thing to vanish was the image branded on my mind: Her face, distorted in mortal fear, slowly disappeared, her eyes staring into mine until every last bit of her was gone. When I broke from the sight, He was gone. Since that day, not a single living creature has been allowed to cross the threshold of my house. I hear sounds of life from outside, birds, children, insects, but at night, everything changes. The chorus of crickets chirp a macabre tune, relentlessly repeating the same eerie chords, drilling it so far into my mind that the sound of it drowns out the beautiful music of the day. I hear that song always, and always, it reminds me that He is there. Thunder and pounding rain tell me when there is a storm, but flashes of lightning are never allowed to become visible. The shadows they cast would be enough to give Him a chance. There is a storm going on now, the thunder harassing my eardrums, but a welcome break from the haunting melody that repeats itself in my head. My backup generator is always on, as I will never allow the light to disappear. But the hum of the machine stops, and yet I don't dare move from where I sit, pressed against the wall, shaking as I nearly always do. When I was a child, and read a story that frightened me, I would duck under the covers to escape imaginary monsters. But that is just what He wants. That darkness is now a sanctuary for the hunter. The hunted have no haven but light. My bedroom door is the only one I keep closed, in the admittedly silly belief that the door separates me from Him. The thunder rumbles again, and I sit patiently, waiting for the night to end so that I may fix the backup tomorrow. I have no clock, but as the lights flicker momentarily, I know it is midnight... His time... I sit there, shivering uncontrollably, as every beautiful light fades and I am plunged into darkness. My eyes are helplessly drawn to the crack between the door and its frame, where a silken, cloudy shadow moved. Red light that roots me to the spot appears within the darkness, and I let out a scream, my final words written on this paper, even as I am sure of my demise. Tomorrow, my house will be discovered empty, and this paper will be found on the floor beside where I am no longer. I can only hope to transfer a portion of this torment away from me. I feel my wife's presence even now, and I know that rather than die, I will be trapped behind His leering, , icy, red eyes for eternity, plagued with his existence for all of time. And so, with these final sentences as He draws near, I give Him to whomever may read this. I wouldn't turn off that light, as now you know, His name is Faer.

*Awesomesauce Poke*