The Evil Fan

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It's the middle of the night. A sudden noise awakes you. You look out the window...

It's just some drunk hobo stumbling across the streets. Nothing much.

He lands on your neighbor's trash can and lays motionless on the pile of bags.

You curse the utterly remarkable and stunning event you have just witnessed, and slowly retreat to the warm covers of your bed.

Once again, you are awoken. You quickly turn your head sideways, expecting some Micheal Myers to quickly jump from the shadows and murder your ass off.

You are greeted by nothing. Your imagination has played a nasty trick on you, and you despise it for it. You look at the time on your clock. 3:36 AM. You only have a few hours till your waking up. Once again, you begrudgingly go back to bed.

At 4:50 AM, you wake up once again. You stare at the ceiling.

What the kind of evilass, soulless monstrosity could've disturbed you now?

You pause your distorted thought and listen: A distinct squeaking sound reaches your ears.

"Are the mice humping in the walls?", you ask yourself.

A loud squeak resonates throughout the room.

You have found your culprit.

*insert cheesy lens flash here*

You jump up out of your bed in an awkward, flashy slow-motion, and confront the evil monster; your fan.


The fan does nothing, as if shocked by your epic failure of an inquisition, squeaks once again, and then turns to face you.

You are locked in combat with this devious work of evil. Your eyes are spying on it in anticipating.

It stares at your eyes, observing your soul with its one shiny bulb...

A moment passes...

You ready an attack...

You swiftly grab your closest weapon, a bedside lamp, and the fan does absolutely nothing.

You circle the object, cornering it.

The fan rocks back and forth, to and fro...

It barely moves... You can sense a sudden rise of tension... You feel a flow of air traveling through the room, carrying a malicious scent to your nostrils. It smells like horse shit.

You cough and gag at the smell, and it knows it has victory in its grasp...

It randomly flies off and attacks you! You wave your lamp around uselessly.


It's blade whacks your lamp across the room! It crashes into the door and is smashed to smithereens.

With your only method of defense and weaponry out of reach, you cower in fear. You run around the room, your mind playing a classic Scooby Doo chase theme.

It slices your beautiful hair off (you gasp at this atrocious act of evilness!), and slices your back. Blood spatters on the sheets, and you scream in agony. You fall to the floor, knowing that you won't survive the next ten minutes, and, in an amazing act of courageousness and stupidity, you leap up, and the fan decapitates you with its blade. The top of your head slowly rolls of and plops on the floor.


Written by Necrosanity‎
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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