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The rustling of fallen leaves caught underfoot, or in a gust of wind, is typically considered a pleasant sound. The same could be said for raindrops pattering on the ground, although most people would prefer that with a roof over their heads. I used to think such noises were soothing, too, but after living in the Walden boardinghouse, I am overwhelmed with a sense of primal dread when I hear those sounds, or any similar tones. My friends thought my anxieties and high-strung behavior were the results of my time in France. Shellshock, they called it. While their speculation was understandable, I experienced a different kind of horror shortly after I moved to Brooklyn.

After living like a near-tramp for two years, I managed to scrounge enough money together for a small apartment. It was far in distance and in quality from my childhood home in Long Island, but I had aspirations of living on my own before I had to enlist.

The Walden Building’s exterior was faded and shabby; a dull brownstone with black, skeletal-looking fire escapes and window panes. The interior was well-kept and fairly clean. The landlord, a taciturn Russian named Orlovsky, had clear rules for keeping the place in order, but he was friendly enough when I assured him that I would not cause any trouble while I lived here.

Before going to the main office to negotiate the lease, Orlovsky’s wife, a thin brunette named Yelena, gave me a short tour of the apartment. The domicile in question was small, not for the claustrophobic type, but reasonably priced for its size. I inspected each room, careful to see if the couple was not hiding a broken-down hovel behind a coat of paint. Compared to the time I spent in a bombed-out Hell and ramshackle lodgings, I could easily call the rooms decent.

Since my new home was on the ground floor, that made it easier for me to make my way to work in the teeming, urban labyrinth known as New York City. My employment as a bus mechanic paid enough to cover the apartment rent, in addition to a small number of other bills. Either way, I was determined to keep my job; there was no way I intended to spend a week on the streets again.

I realized why Apartment 115’s rent was cheaper than expected on the first night I moved in. There seemed to be an enormous boiler— judging by the litany of clanking and grinding—beneath my kitchen, growling deep down in a rusted basement.  

I scowled, placing the pillow over my head to block out the noise. That didn’t do any good, as the machine steadily raged on. I switched positions several times, although tossing and turning just tangled the sheets. I groaned in frustration, facing the vent set near the ceiling. I glared at it for a few minutes, as if it were an accomplice to the noisy boiler beneath me. It was rather childish on my part, but something in the vent caught my attention. Something was moving behind the metal strips; it was too large to be a rat, and my stomach lurched at the idea of roaches or other vermin. I made a mental note to purchase some lye just in case.

I slowly stood up and crept over to the vent, peering inside. Nothing. I strained my ears, picking up a rustling noise deep within the narrow, metal tunnel. Great. I sighed; that’s another problem already. Orlovsky would be getting an earful tomorrow morning.

“I’m deeply disappointed at the fact that neither you nor your wife told me about the boiler problem,” I spoke, arms crossed as I sat on the opposite side of the superintendent’s desk.

Orlovsky ran one hand through his thinning brown hair, sighing in a flustered manner. “My sincere apologies, Mr. Sowell. The boiler hasn’t had any issues in months. Routine maintenance reports for that time have shown nothing out of the ordinary.”

“And the vermin?”

“Vermin?” Orlovsky repeated, blinking at me in surprise. “You saw something in your apartment?”

“Yes. I saw it in the vent,” I said. “I wasn’t sure if it was a rat or a cockroach; it ran before I got a good look at it.”

“I’ll get you some lye when we’re finished talking. Sometimes, vermin like rats and insects manage to get into the building, but it’s usually restricted to the lower levels.”

“Like the ground floor,” I said flatly.

“Y-yes,” Orlovsky mumbled. “Look, the issues with your ventilation will be fixed, and I’ll investigate the boiler problem.”

“I stood up, straightening my jumpsuit. “As they should be. But I have to leave for work now. I’ll be stopping by in the evening, though.”

The garage did nothing to brighten my mood. The buses and the permeating smell of oil and rust were all too reminiscent of my image of the deficient boiler beneath my new room. Amidst the bulky machines and skeletal metal above me, it felt as if I was working in an immense, mechanical whale. This particular thought planted a feeling of uneasiness in my mind, but I eventually dismissed it as part of my frustration. I focused my attention on maintaining the bus engines, and I slowly grew more rational as I thought and acted from a mechanic’s perspective.

I was relieved to see the lye-dusted bread placed in the vent when I returned to the Walden building that evening, and I wrote a letter of thanks to Orlovsky for his promptness.

The next few days passed by without any incidents regarding the boiler or the vermin, and I was beginning to think that was the end of the matter. On the fifth night, however, that didn’t last. At about 5:30 A.M., I was violently jerked awake by a cataclysmic explosion, followed by a horrid series of gears grinding against each other. I felt my heart-rate spike as my insides lurched. It was difficult to breathe as I staggered to my feet, under the false belief that I was still in St. Mihiel. I reached blindly for the bathroom, stumbling through the narrow door as I felt bile rising in my throat. I wretched into the toilet for several minutes, gasping weakly so air could enter my lungs again.

That noise . . . God, what a hellish sound. In my desperate attempt to reach consciousness, I thought the floor was collapsing, or a cluster of mines had detonated. The shellshock was getting worse for me. This wasn’t the first time I had an episode like this. It usually happened at night, where I was left alone with my thoughts and an unnerving awareness of my own mortality.

As far as I’m concerned, war is a veritable hell on Earth, and the one I had to fight in was nothing short of unnatural torture. After three months in the trenches, the U.S. army was involved in an offensive to breach the Germans’ line— a blast of shrapnel ravaged my left hip and part of my back. The supplies dangling from my jacket and belt shielded the rest of my body, only leaving heavy scarring, second degree burns, and a temporary limp. . . . I wish I could say the same for the others in my platoon, but most of my comrades did not return to the States alive. In some cases, their bodies would never be recovered. The battlefield they caught in became their grave. I still see them in my nightmares, fatally shot, asphyxiating on gas clouds, obliterated by land mines. Other soldiers died from malnutrition and infected wounds, while some committed suicide instead of facing a slow, painful death from various trench sicknesses.

I could still hear my frantic heartbeat even as the boiler groaned ceaselessly beneath my apartment. I grit my teeth, furious at the ruined machine for dragging memories from my worst days back to the front of my mind.

I lay back down, still caught between lucidity and semi-consciousness. I do not remember staying awake much longer, but I spent the rest of the night in a fitful sleep, vulnerable yet restless as I curled in on myself— attempting to hide from the threatening imagery that passed for dreams in my troubled mind.

The sound of pouring rain roused me awake, in addition to a potent stench of rot and soaked dirt. I wrinkled my nose in response before heading to the window. The streets outside, while smelling of rain, did not carry the distinct scent in my room. I turned around, narrowing my eyes at the vent. I did not need to approach it to confirm what I already knew, so I decided to pay Orlovsky another visit.

Nine other tenants were standing outside the landlord’s office when I arrived, apparently to complain about the same problem. Orlovsky relented when he saw us, and I offered my help in fixing the boiler and ventilation system. After my grievance, I visited Frank Sullivan, a friend from the bus garage who maintained boilers and certain types of generators. We came back within the hour, waiting for Orlovsky to retrieve the basement keys.

The basement entrance was in the corner of the Walden Boardinghouse, and from the looks of things, I guessed that the area was as large as the ground floor. I tried the lights, but the landing stayed dark.

“Dammit, the lights are dead; probably a blown fuse,” Orlovsky said, switching on his torch and moving to the front of our group.

We headed downstairs, entering a dust-coated basement. All of our torches were on, and the lights revealed a jumble of old crates and a shelf stacked with forgotten tools, chemicals, and paint cans. The fuse box was in the far left corner, in addition to a slightly worn-down boiler a few feet away.

“What? How could it make so much noise . . . ?” I muttered, perplexed. In contrast to the Morlock factory my imagination fancied, the sight seemed completely ordinary.

“It can’t be . . . it just can’t . . .” I shook my head as I approached the machine.

Sullivan got the lights working again, filling the basement with a dim, amber glow. He walked over to me, shrugging. “I know what you mean. From what you told me about this thing, I figured that it was ready to explode,” he said.

I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t understand it.” I looked around further, checking for another door handle. After moving the rickety shelf, I spotted a forgotten hatch in the floor. “Hey, Orlovsky, where does this lead to?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “I think it’s been sealed off for years, before I became the superintendent . . . To be honest, I haven’t been able to get it open. I have no idea what’s down there.

I squatted down, gripping the handle with both hands. I stood up swiftly, feeling strain burning in my limbs. “Hah . . . hang on . . . I can feel it budging . . . nnnhh . . . a little,” I grunted, releasing my grip after a minute. “. . . Can either of you find a crowbar or something?”

Orlovsky searched the old tool shelf, eventually finding what I needed.

“Thanks. I’ll try it now.” I adjusted the end under the latch, putting all of my weight onto the crowbar. After several minutes of forcing it, the hatch finally opened. It seemed to have been jammed by rust.

“Whatever’s wrong with the boiler has to be down this ladder,” Sullivan stated. “There’s just something . . . off about that smell, though. It’s a lot worse than mold.”

I had already started climbing down. “I don’t care what it is; let’s just see what’s wrong first.”

The room we ended up in was no larger than five feet wide. Sullivan found a door opposite the ladder, getting it open with some difficulty. The next room was much larger, though it was pitch black now, and the unusual smell was stronger than ever.  As we moved forward, I noticed that the dark walls ahead of me seemed to move in my line of sight, slow and subtle like a living creature.

A large, distinguishable shape came into view, and I moved a bit faster. A thick, organic-looking film of some kind had grown in and around the ruined boiler, in the corners of the walls, and inside of the empty storage crates, spilling out in clumps. I looked down to see dozens of rat corpses littering the floor, along with glistening pieces of debris I could not identify.

A skittering noise startled me, and the three of us focused our attention on the boiler. To our shock and revulsion, several large insects crawled out. They were roughly the size of my hand, and their spiked legs were bent in an aggressive stance. Small, hook-like pincers clicked angrily, the immutable chattering filling the sub-basement. Dozens became hundred until the floor itself seemed to writhe in time with the swarm. Their claws squeaked and cracked against the grimy concrete, and for a moment, I feel my heartbeat skipping. I can see innumerable eyes glinting in the dark, black beads without compassion.

One of my companions seized a large piece of stone that had crumbled off part of the wall, hurling it in the swarm’s direction. As the stone hit, they all shrieked and jolted across the floor, writhing in confusion and anger. Orlovsky bolted towards the fuse box off to the left, the torch beam dancing erratically as he attempted to get the lights on.

As soon as we saw it properly, I had to be restrained from running back to the ladder. The ruined boiler stood against the far wall, a macabre fixture amongst the roving swarm. If I hadn’t known what the machine was beforehand, I would not have recognized it. A filmy ichor covered the area, thick and repulsive. I stared at the aberration for several tense seconds as a flurry of smaller larvae oozed out. With mounting horror, I realized that it was an egg sac, and these twisted organisms were awaiting another generation.

I shouted at Orlovsky and Sullivan to run upstairs, acting on the demand myself as I sprinted out of the hellhole nest. From the corner of my eye, I saw Sullivan tossing a lit match into the broken boiler. The egg sac immediately went up in flames, with the swarm letting out a collective screech as they skittered around in a frenzy.

Sullivan pulled us through the doorway, slamming it shut as hard as he could. “Get a fire extinguisher. Now!” he snapped, waving at the ladder. Orlovsky climbed up immediately, the sound of his quick footfalls fading. We watched the door with apprehension, sensing the blaze on the other side. It crossed both of our minds that there would be nothing we could do if the door protecting us was burnt down.

I jumped when I heard the clang of the fire extinguisher hitting the concrete, grabbing it within the next second. Sullivan opened the door wide enough for the nozzle to fit through, and I cleared a path before covering the rest of the sub-basement.

The room now had the stench of burnt waste in addition to the now faint smell of rot, earth, and dead rats. I stepped forward carefully, afraid to even take a breath in fear of attracting any remaining creatures. The boiler’s metal shell was charred and blackened, while the egg sac had become a flaking ruin. I stared at the site for a few more minutes, keeping my eyes and ears alert for anything moving in the corners, or behind me. Finding nothing else, I turned and headed for the ladder.

I did not stay long enough to learn the ultimate fate of the Walden boardinghouse, although I was fairly sure that it was evacuated and eventually condemned. I’m currently living with my older brother, who moved to the city for a job in construction. He listened to my story with earnest fascination, curious as to how the swarm was able to breed and survive. I could not answer, as speculation always yielded to fear whenever I thought about the encounter. And my terror mounts even higher whenever a whisper of air or rustling leaves reaches my ears. All that came to mind were the crawling abominations in the dark, waiting for their brood.
Beneath the Machine

I'm glad that I managed to cough this up before 2014 ended! =P

I loved writing this one, though. Thankfully, I actually finished it within the span of two months.

Oh, by the way, this story takes place in 1921, while a "torch" can be another name for a flashlight.

Please critique this piece as honestly as you can (plain insults won't help). What do you like, and what can I improve with? I think I can do much better. Should I add anything, fix up the style, etc.? ...How can I make it scarier?

"Beneath the Machine" story, scenario, & characters (c) :iconcosmic--chaos:
  • Mood: Sadness
  • Listening to: Spring- Rammstein
  • Reading: Revival by Stephen King
I'm sorry that I've been gone for over two weeks. And I'm still heartbroken over Cookie's death. :(

The days following January 1st have either been miserable, or a blur for me.…

Let me tell you, having a nervous breakdown is fucking awful. Also, the physical problems of clinical depression (officially known as major depressive disorder) is either sleeping too much or too little. During one of my irritable spells, I hardly get 5 hours of sleep a night, but in an extremely depressed state, I have been sleeping for an abnormally long time. During the times I was barely awake, I just felt like a damn zombie. ...honestly, I didn't even want to be conscious. I didn't want to feel anything.

...I miss Christmas time; I had such a great day, then (along with Christmas Eve)…

I'm shocked that it's been two weeks since Cookie died. My house doesn't feel the same without her; it really doesn't :(

I want to thank everyone for your sympathies, though. I really appreciated it.

Now that I've slowly returned to a small semblance of what can be called normalcy, there's still so much I have to do. First of all, my inbox is out of control. I remember when I had less than 2000 things to check in there- good times. Oy :facepalm:

I don't know why I've become so lazy and distracted over the past two years. It feels like I leave everything unresolved and unfinished... I HATE it.

Also, I saw this today and I felt some of my neurons shrivel up and die. But not before I tore this putz a linguistic new one!

 Russiaphobia by ZexyZakura

...for FUCK's sake! :icongermanyfacepalmplz:
In Memory of Cookie by Cosmic--Chaos
In Memory of Cookie
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My precious dog died on Monday, and I wanted to post a small tribute to her.

I think that this was taken in early 2013, and there will be many more photographs of her posted in the future.

It's interesting, though. The morning after she died, my town got about two inches of snow. I'm sure that she would've liked it.

...I love you, Cookie.
  • Mood: Anguish
God dammit, I loved this dog. There was no one else like her. Cookie was one of the best things in my life...

No one and nothing will replace her. She was truly one of a kind to my family and I.

It's like a hole has been punched in my heart. Our house... it's going to feel so empty now.

My grandmother died in January and now we lost Cookie, too. It’s so heartbreaking, and I can’t stop crying.

We knew something was terribly wrong when Cookie laid down in the kitchen corner when Mom brought dinner home on Sunday night. Cookie didn’t even look up at it, even when she got a bit of it.

We took turns watching her. I kept trying to encourage her to eat, but she always turned it down.

I never saw her do that, not in the ten & a half years she lived with us.

When Cookie drank from her water bowl, after two hours, I was so excited and I was praising her. ...And yet she still didn’t touch her food.

Later that night, she moved into the living room, then Mom’s room.

It was worse when she didn’t even react to me when I tried to walk her in the morning. No matter what, I could NOT get her to stand up.

Mom came home from work early, and we had to carry Cookie out to the car so she could go to the veterinarian's office.

After Cookie was x-rayed, the vet said that there was some kind of harmful mass on her spleen.

...We had no choice but to put her down. Otherwise, it was likely that she would eventually start hemorrhaging until she died.

I’ve been crying all night.

Oh, Cookie, I’m so sorry. I wish you didn’t have to leave us.

...2015 has been utter shit for me.

I suffered a nervous breakdown earlier this week, starting with a New Year's Eve fight in a continuation of this:…

I did not sleep for two days. I could barely think straight, and the muscles in the left side of my face wouldn't stop spasming. It's like bugs crawling under my skin, driving me fucking crazy. The sinuses in my head felt like nails being hammered into my skull, and I couldn’t move without limping.

I was barely coherent, alternating between moving around like a zombie or losing my temper over any stupid little thing. The fights with my family got worse, to the point where Mom threatened to take me to the psychiatric ward.

I’m just an angry, useless, lonely, unhappy person. And I hate myself for all the stupid, awful things I've done over the course of my life, and how I can never fix them.

It’s hard to describe just how utterly fucking worthless, hopeless, and miserable I feel right now.

My only consolation to this is that Cookie lived through Christmas, and we had a great time. At least she didn't die in June, like we initially feared... And at least she didn’t spend her last days in utter agony.
Many of our friends and family members expressed their sympathies, which was so nice. They know how much we loved her...

Rest in Peace, Cookie. I love you and I miss you.
July 17, 2004--January 5, 2015

Cookie by Cosmic--Chaos Cookie from last Christmas by Cosmic--Chaos
Don't want to hear it by Cosmic--Chaos
Cookie with a flower by Cosmic--Chaos
Cookie with a sad-guilty face by Cosmic--Chaos Cookie 4 by Cosmic--Chaos
Cookie eating a treat by Cosmic--Chaos Look at that face by Cosmic--Chaos
Cookie, October 2014 by Cosmic--Chaos Christmas Cookie by Cosmic--Chaos

Give an animal your heart and they will never break it for as long as they live...

  • Mood: Sadness
  • Listening to: Spring- Rammstein
  • Reading: Revival by Stephen King
I'm sorry that I've been gone for over two weeks. And I'm still heartbroken over Cookie's death. :(

The days following January 1st have either been miserable, or a blur for me.…

Let me tell you, having a nervous breakdown is fucking awful. Also, the physical problems of clinical depression (officially known as major depressive disorder) is either sleeping too much or too little. During one of my irritable spells, I hardly get 5 hours of sleep a night, but in an extremely depressed state, I have been sleeping for an abnormally long time. During the times I was barely awake, I just felt like a damn zombie. ...honestly, I didn't even want to be conscious. I didn't want to feel anything.

...I miss Christmas time; I had such a great day, then (along with Christmas Eve)…

I'm shocked that it's been two weeks since Cookie died. My house doesn't feel the same without her; it really doesn't :(

I want to thank everyone for your sympathies, though. I really appreciated it.

Now that I've slowly returned to a small semblance of what can be called normalcy, there's still so much I have to do. First of all, my inbox is out of control. I remember when I had less than 2000 things to check in there- good times. Oy :facepalm:

I don't know why I've become so lazy and distracted over the past two years. It feels like I leave everything unresolved and unfinished... I HATE it.

Also, I saw this today and I felt some of my neurons shrivel up and die. But not before I tore this putz a linguistic new one!

 Russiaphobia by ZexyZakura

...for FUCK's sake! :icongermanyfacepalmplz:


Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States
Twitter Account:
E-MAIL: Just send me a note on this site!
PSN Card:

Operating Systems: :iconhal9000plz: :iconshodanplz::iconportal2gladosplz:

Current Residence: Weird New Jersey!
Favorite genre of music: Industrial, Gothic Rock, Aggrotech, EBM, Electronic, Darkwave, Rock, Metal
Favorite gaming platforms: PS2, PS3, PC, GameCube, Wii, Nintendo 64, Gameboy Advance
MP3 player of choice: iPod Nano
Shell of choice: Bowser spiky!
Wallpaper of choice: Anything spooky or sci-fi
Favorite cartoon character: Courage the Cowardly Dog, Dr. Franken Stein, Light Yagami, Ryuk, Invader Zim, Dib, Miss Bitters, The Simpsons cast, Futurama cast, Gin, Kyoushiro, the SWAT Kats, Road Rovers, Thundercats, Hetalia cast, Eren Jager, Hanji Zoe

Personal Quote: "I'm not afraid of crime; I just hate it."

TRAITS: Intelligent, reclusive, creative, studious, geeky, painfully honest, obsessive, uptight, reliable, high strung, cynical, impulsive, stubborn, rigid, quick tempered, audacious

LIKES: Reading, drawing, writing stories, video games, creativity, freedom, honesty, debating, psychology, mythology, history, philosophy, astronomy & cosmology, biology, space and ocean exploration, the paranormal/ supernatural, ghost hunting, Goth stuff, anthros, cyberpunk, steampunk, animals, cartoons, anime & manga, computers, comics, food, basketball, creepy paintings, capital punishment, when I'm allowed to drive, charitable and hardworking people that succeed honestly and help others with their success, open minded people, coming up with a great idea at 2 or 3 AM when I can’t sleep, huge snowstorms, awesome fan fiction, bizarre unnatural looking creatures, beating the odds, getting mail

HATES: Crime, greed, exploitation, lies, authoritarianism, communism, anarchism, extremism, hypocrisy, corruption, nihilism, sadists, bullies, pollution, oppression, censorship, propaganda/ Genocide, eugenics, racism, discrimination- they’re all on the same scale of evil/ Social Darwinism, Slash, Yaoi & Yuri, "Guro", writer's block, failure, boredom, math, humidity, lazy people, smoking, imperfection, sleep, sunburn, teen "drama" shows, mannequins, loud people, pop music/ Whoever thinks that (awful) ends justify the violent, often exploitative, clandestine, and underhanded means/ People who get rich dishonestly, by committing crimes, and/or exploiting others/ Whoever hunts for sport, and when they don’t use any other parts of the dead animal for ethical means/ People who have a delusion that they’re above it all, and think that people who have different views are stupid.

...OK, enough about that.

FAVORITE WRITERS: H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, Edward Gorey, Stephen King, J. K. Rowling, Fyodor Dostoevsky, S. Anski, Dante Alighieri, Virgil, John Milton, Voltaire, George Orwell, Erich Fromm, Arthur Koestler, Aldous Huxley, Franz Kafka, Clive Barker, H. G. Wells, August Derleth, Frank Belknap Long, Frank Herbert, Joseph Conrad, Jules Verne, Jim Kjelgaard, Joseph Heller, Anton Chekhov, Mikhail Bulgakov, Dmitry Glukhovsky, Andrey Platonov, Leo Tolstoi, Vaclav Havel, Karel Čapek, Hermann Hesse, Ralph Ellison, James Baldwin, Kenneth Oppel, Bill Watterson, Robert A. Heinlein, John Shirley, Ambrose Bierce, C.S. Lewis, Anne Rice, James Frazer, Bram Stoker, Shirley Jackson, William Gibson, John Shirley, Michael Crichton, Jacques Derrida, T. S. Eliot, Ambrose Bierce, A. Lee Martinez, Roald Dahl, Bill Willingham, and all the writers of my favorite manga series (mentioned below).

FAVORITE ARTISTS: M. C. Escher, Zdzislaw Beksinski, Sidney Sime, Edward Gorey, Stephen Gammell, Jhonen Vasquez, Tim Burton, H. R. Giger, Otto Dix, Todd McFarlane, Yoshihiro Takahashi, Takeshi Obata, Bill Watterson, Salvador Dali, Hieronymus Bosch, Al Hirschfeld, Francis Bacon, Pieter Bruegel the Elder, Giorgio de Chirico, Bill Willingham

FAVORITE VIDEO GAMES: Mario series, Crash Bandicoot series, Star Fox series, Donkey Kong series, Ratchet & Clank series, Silent Hill series, Half-Life series, American McGee’s Alice, Alice: Madness Returns, Bioshock series, System Shock (1 & 2), Portal (1 & 2), Left 4 Dead (1 & 2), Dead Space series, Oddworld series, Amnesia: The Dark Descent, Resident Evil series, Haunting Ground, Dishonored, Devil May Cry series, inFamous series, The Wolf Among Us

FAVORITE BANDS: Disturbed, Metallica, Grendel, Funker Vogt, Evanescence, Voltaire, The Misfits, Device, Iron Maiden, Rammstein, Feindflug, Depeche Mode, Lacuna Coil, The Sisters of Mercy, London After Midnight, The Cruxshadows, Anders Manga, Nine Inch Nails, Tactical Sekt, Aesthetic Perfection, Suicide Commando, VNV Nation, God Module, Front Line Assembly, KMFDM, :wumpscut:, The Cure, Gorillaz, Joy Division, My Chemical Romance, Hawthorne Heights, Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Black Sabbath, KISS, Theatre of Hate, I Am Ghost, Die Sektor, Skinny Puppy, 45 Grave

Favorite Movies: 9, Akira, Felidae, Black Swan, In the Mouth of Madness, Freaks, Metropolis, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, M, Sweeney Todd, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride, The Crow, Repo! The Genetic Opera, Cube, A Clockwork Orange, Dr. Strangelove, Pacific Rim, BeetleJuice, Death Becomes Her, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Little Shop of Horrors, Event Horizon, Alien series, Blade Runner, Megamind, Dark City, Chinatown, Videodrome, eXistenZ, Shivers, District 9, Alice in Wonderland (any version), Spirited Away, Castle in the Sky, My Neighbor Totoro, Princess Mononoke, Fritz the Cat, 8 Mile, From Dusk Till Dawn, Dog Soldiers, Hellraiser, Friday the 13th (first 3), The Shining, The Fearless Vampire Killers, The Matrix Trilogy, Eraserhead, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, The Lion King trilogy, Balto, All Dogs Go To Heaven, Anastasia, Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, Edward Scissorhands, Orphan, The Godfather trilogy, The Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal, Red Dragon, The Pirates of the Caribbean series, Star Wars series, Indiana Jones series, Rocky series, The Terminator series, nearly every other 2D animated movie, lots of classic black-and-white horror flicks, and anything with zombies.

Favorite TV shows: Courage the Cowardly Dog, The Simpsons, Futurama, The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack, Rocko’s Modern Life, SWAT Kats, Road Rovers, Talespin, Thundercats, Dexter’s Laboratory, The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy, Invader Zim, Danny Phantom, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Spongebob Squarepants, Family Guy, South Park, American Dad, The Addams Family, Reaper, The X-Files, Supernatural, The Twilight Zone, Hannibal (2013), River Monsters, Cosmos

Favorite Film-makers: Tim Burton, Roger Corman, Stanley Kubrick, David Cronenberg, George A. Romero, Clive Barker, Roman Polanski, David Lynch, John Carpenter, Wes Craven, Ridley Scott, Hayao Miyazaki, George Lucas, Stephen Spielberg, Akira Kurosawa, Shinya Tsukomoto, Takashi Miike

Favorite Anime/ Manga: Ginga Nagareboshi Gin, Ginga Densetsu Weed, Death Note, Soul Eater, Wolf’s Rain, Hellsing, Franken Fran, Hetalia, Wolf Guy: Wolfen Crest, Bio-Meat: Nectar, Bokurano, Attack on Titan/Shinkgeki no Kyojin,

Favorite Comics: Nil: A Land Beyond Belief, Blacksad, Fables, The Crow, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, Squee, Spawn, Doktor Sleepless, Calvin & Hobbes, Garfield, Bone, Fritz the Cat, The Astounding Wolf-Man, The Walking Dead, From Hell, V For Vendetta, Girl Genius, Lackadaisy,

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curtsibling Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Professional Digital Artist
Why the heck am I not watching you?
My tremendous apologies, madome!
Cosmic--Chaos Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Why, thank you ^^
UntamedRayne Featured By Owner Jan 6, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fave on I Want :D
DX17 Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank You Favorite 1 Speech Bubble - Beemote Thank You Favorite 2 Speech Bubble - Beemote  Heart free avatar 
DarkZoneGraphics Featured By Owner Dec 10, 2014  Professional Traditional Artist
pahanda Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you sooooo much for the nice comment and the fav :hug:
thewolfcreek Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
Thank you for the fav...
LillianEvill Featured By Owner Nov 15, 2014
Thanks for the faves! Boogie! 
B4LD3R Featured By Owner Nov 14, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thanks for the favourite ;)
Ryvienna Featured By Owner Nov 14, 2014  Student General Artist
Thanks for the fav, I hope you join my Coloring contest!!
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