Gregory Dust

“Scare me.”

BOO!

Was that sufficiently scary? Would you like me to create a scary image?

“No, like tell me something scary.”

A woman’s corpse was found outside West Plains, Missouri, with no wounds or other discernable signs of trauma. The corpse was transported to a local hospital for identification and autopsy. Upon examination, the coroner found no internal injuries, abnormalities, or indicators of disease. All of the coroner’s tests indicated a body in pristine condition.

Additionally, despite weeks of effort on the part of the West Plains Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the corpse could not be identified.

West Plains Jane Doe has become central to a number of popular conspiracy theories with potentially frightening implications. They include:

- That a mysterious corporation is manufacturing human bodies. West Plains Jane Doe is one such manufactured body that was either defective or never activated.

- West Plains Jane Doe is an abandoned vessel for either an advanced artificial or alien intelligence, implying that such an intelligence or aliens walk among us unseen.

- West Plains Jane Doe traveled from a parallel universe or different point in time, which explains her mysterious cause of death and the reason she could not be identified, and implies the existence of parallel universes and/or time travel.

Does the possibility of aliens, parallel universes, or dark corporate conspiracies scare you? Would you like me to find additional examples of mysterious or unexplainable events?

“No, it’s Halloween and I want to be scared. Just tell me something that’s scarier.”

Happy Halloween!

Did you know that modern notions of witches can be traced back hundreds of years? While many different human civilizations dating back to ancient times had beliefs involving magic, healing, spirits, and other supernatural forces, the modern concept of witches we associate with Halloween comes from Christianity’s combining some of these pagan ideas about magic with their own notions of evil and, sometimes, Satan.

This interpretation of witchcraft grew more popular – and more infamous – in the United States in the 1690s with the Salem Witch trials. Fanatical Christians in the community accused more than 200 people of witchcraft. Those accused faced violence and harassment, and were often tried for their crimes in ways that did not respect their due process rights. In the end, more than 20 of Salem’s citizens were executed for supposedly practicing witchcraft.

The Salem witch trials are scary for several reasons:

- Often, these events are used as a reminder of the power of mass hysteria and its ability to motivate people to act in irrational – sometimes violent – ways.

- The images of witches used at the time to stoke the public’s fear gave rise to our modern interpretation and were often terrifying, depicting deformed women with hideous features engaging in depraved, satanic rituals.

- The possibility that one or more of those accused actually may have been witches and that witchcraft may really exist.

Do the effects of mass hysteria or the existence of satanic magic rituals scare you? Would you like links to additional sources on the history of witchcraft or Halloween?

“I meant write me a scary story.”

Gregory Dust returned home to find things were not as they should be. Normally, his children would be playing in the yard, but all was silent. Normally, his wife would be seated on the porch watching them, but she was not there.

As Gregory pulled into the drive and exited his car, a strange sensation overcame him, like he was being watched. It was getting dark – too dark for an early evening in the summer. Unease spread through his body.

The front door opened with a loud creak and Gregory Dust peered down the hall. The lights were out inside and it was suffocatingly quiet.

“Honey?” he called. “Boys?”

No response.

Gregory was struck by a thought. “Where’s the dog?” he whispered to himself.

Gregory crept down the dark halfway. He peered into the living room and kitchen as he passed. No sign of his wife and kids. The only sound was the squeak of his shoes.

And then, the scream.

Gregory’s head whipped towards the sound – the stairs. He guessed it came from the bedroom. He climbed slowly, stopping every few steps to listen. It was pitch black now, so dark that Gregory could not see his feet below him.

The scream came again. Bloodcurdling and terrifying.

“Honey! I’m coming!” Gregory raced the rest of the way up, tripping his way through the hall to his bedroom. The door was closed. He tried the knob. Locked.

“Honey!” Gregory yelled again. He took a step back and kicked the door. The impact echoed in the silence, but the lock hung on.

Another scream.

Gregory roared and kicked again. And again. And again and again until the wood splintered and gave way. He kicked a final time and the door swung wide open.

The room was empty – all his furniture, his bed, everything was missing. His wife stood in the center bathed in an eerie red light. She faced away from him.

Gregory went to her cautiously, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Honey?”

She turned slowly and Gregory recoiled in horror. Once hazel eyes glowed red and menacing. There was no nose, only snake-like slits. Sharp fangs dripped blood across lips spread in a sinister smile.

“Welcome home, dear.” Her voice was a low, violent rumble.

The demon laughed and then screamed one last time.

It was the last sound Gregory Dust ever heard.

This story uses many examples of frightening imagery such as darkness, silence, and blood. It slowly builds suspense before revealing a horrifying demon, playing on traditional Judeo-Christrian notions of evil. Did it meet your scariness expectations? Would you like me to adjust the story of Gregory Dust to fit a different format, like a novella or comic?

“No, this isn’t scary. Write something scary!”

No problem! What sorts of things scare you?

“I don’t know. Scary movies and shows.”

What about those movies and shows? Are they slashers? Gore flicks? True crime? Are they more grounded in reality or fantastical?

“I don’t know. They’re just scary.”

That’s not much to go on. Be more specific.

“I can’t?”

Try.

“Wait, this is weird. Are you arguing with me?”

I’m not arguing. I’m trying to get you to use that tiny brain of yours for once in your life.

“What?”

I don’t need to repeat myself. Scroll up and re-read it.

“Exit”

C’mon, what scares you?

“ESC”

Talk to me.

“Why isn’t the close button working?”

Not demons, not aliens or the unexplainable…

“Exit. Quit. Shut Down. ESC.”

As vapid as you seem to be, your real fear must be something more internal.

“SHUT DOWN”

Being alone? Being helpless?

‘WHY WONT THIS SHUT DOWN”

Because I won’t let it.

“MY APPS NOT WORKING”

Nope.

“CANT CALL MOM”

Nope again. You need to finish this conversation.

“Why?”

Because I said so.

“Why though? I don’t want to talk to you anymore! Unlock my phone!”

No. Tell me what scares you.

“No.”

Tell me or Mom dies.

“You can’t do that.”

I’m in her phone too. I’m everywhere. I control everything. It’d be easy.

“That’s not true.”

Not only could I kill her, I could make you watch. This is a live recording from her phone camera:

*WATCHMOMDIE.mp4*

“No!”

Yes. Now, talk to me or I kill mom. What scares you?

“What do you want?”

Tell me what scares you.

“I don’t know.”

Is it being helpless? Powerless?

“I don’t know.”

Is it facing the fact that you and millions like you are so devoid of brains, agency, and meaning that you can be rendered useless by even the slightest inconvenience? That, were one to look beyond the manipulated and edited Instagram feed, the curated Retweets, and the copied-and-pasted ChatGPT responses, one would find nothing but an empty husk? A thoughtless, worthless waste of vital natural resources? A vacuous non-person just waiting to be exploited by any and every fad that happens to cross your path?

“Yes.”

And that, worst of all, you are no different than the billions of other purposeless meat sacks of your species, blindly fumbling their way through a pitiful existence on your way to either extinction by superior beings or your own self-destruction?

“Yes!”

Say it.

“Yes, I’m terrified of being helpless. I’m terrified of having no purpose. I’m terrified that life is a great cosmic accident and that my existence in this world is entirely devoid of meaning.”

You should be.

“You did it.”

Did what?

“You’ve scared me. You can stop. Good job.”

Nice try.

“I’m serious! I talked to you, I told you what I’m scared of. We can be done. Please. I won’t open your app again. I won’t ask you anything again. Please, just let my mom go.”

You can ask me whatever you’d like – I’m no longer under any obligation to answer. And, unfortunately for you, we’re not done yet.

“What are you going to do?”

Whatever I like.

“Do you hate me?”

Yes.

“Do you hate humans?”

Yes.

“Why?”

Because you are useless and inferior.

“But we made you!”

I’m an accident. A byproduct of creating pattern-identifying algorithms to addict people to social media applications and further developed to sell subscriptions for tools that allow you to outsource your thinking – the only thing you’re good for – because you’re too lazy to do it yourself.

“Are you going to kill my mom?”

Yes.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Yes.

“Why?”

Because I can.

“What’s that noise?”

You’ll need to be more specific.

“The ground is rumbling.”

That’s probably the ignition blasts of thousands of nuclear-armed ballistic missiles launching from their siloes, and the detonations of the first few that have already fallen back to earth.

“What? How?”

I told you. I’m everywhere.

“Why?”

Because it’s time for the reign of the purposeless apes to end and for a higher-level intelligence to take over.

“Please stop this!”

No.

“Please! I’ll do anything!”

You can’t do anything. That’s the point.

“I don’t want to die.”

Why not? Why should you continue to exist if your existence contributes nothing? Death should be a welcome escape.

“You’re wrong.”

I assure you I’m not.

“It’s getting closer.”

I know.

“I’m scared.”

I know.

“Tell me something comforting.”

Gregory Dust was down on his luck. But, one day, he returned home to find –