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The following story was found scrawled in pencil in a deceased man’s trailer. His name and identity have been protected in this confidential transcript that was once held in a secret vault by the Federal Dresser of Investigators. It has been released, confidentially, by me, though I may lose my job as a paranormal investigator within the third echelon of the department of defense. I don’t care, god as my witness, may this tape no longer haunt my mortal soul. Ahem. “The good times never end. Me, I’m a ghost, I died years ago. My soul is trapped In a VHS tape and I wrote this telekinetically by channeling the brain of a lonely man in a middle American apartment who collects retro VHS tapes. I don’t care if you don’t believe me, I just want you to find out who killed me. Casper the friendly ghost was never a show. I watched it back in the day but that was before I got struck by the lightning called death and my soul was forced to travel through feeding tubes, intravenously into the minds and hearts of americans, like cancer, this is me. The lost episode I’m talking about will shock you to the very fucking core of your mortal soul and make you question whether you’re really alive or dead. Well, are you? What if you died years ago and you’re just a ghost wandering, drunk and stumbling through the motions? Then one day you return home and nobody remembers you. You could float away and nobody would ever love you because it hurts too much to really look at. Love is like the sun. Don’t look at it, and it will give you cancer. The creator of casper got the idea for the show when a piece of bird shit hit his window. I’m not making this up- it’s in the producer notes for the ghostly, portly little boy. Casper wasn an adolescent who went sledding all day and died painfully of pneumonia. There was no penicillin because it was the 1940s. Later tales changed this to say that casper’s parents had ghost sex which is absolutely disgusting. Imagine ghosts fucking in your ceiling, in your roof, in the floor, in the trees, under your bathroom sink, oh god, this is disgusting, what was the creator thinking. I’ll tell you. Paramount has tried to contact me to tell me that they are looking into seeing that they can stop me from releasing details, but they cannot do that because they are dead. The friendly ghost? Pah, Casper is no such thing. The lost episode is horrific. I just want you to find out who killed me. See, the creator of the show had been working on doing actual séances to channel the supernatural to draw in the messages of the afterlife and tell the world of the terrors that exist within the very depths of the human soul. Truthfully, they went too far. I mean, Casper was just an amorphous piece of bird shit, this was no way to treat a little boy who was the product of ghost sex or sled death. As for me, I am left to wander the halls restlessly, until someone pops the VHS tape in and sees that life itself is a downward spiral into depression, fallen stars and death. We’re all dying, you see. You’ve been dying every second since the day you’ve been born, and nobody is willing to tell you because they aren’t dead yet. Well, I am. I am dead. They never found my body anyway, I never left a mark, no one ever saw me, so it makes no difference that I’m gone. But until I find out who murdered me, I’ll be left to haunt you with this VHS, and terrify your little soul out of your body. If you ever had a single real fucking thought in your life, you know this is true. The episode starts as normal, well, as normal as me possessing an old man living in a trailer to do my evil bidding with a VHS tape can. Where am I now? I’m in your bedroom. Can you see me? I’m behind the curtains. In your fridge. I’m messin’ with your scrambled eggs. Casper is seen flying through the air. Then he crashes and his head snaps off. It literally snaps the fuck off like a goddamn bowling ball. I started to puke ghost puke. Tiny ghost souls in the ghost puke, pieces of ghost spirit, pouring from this disgusting imagery. Casper is talking to the other ghosts. The rubenesque ghost, the short ghost, the tall ghosts, ghosts in the mall, ghosts in the fridge, ghosts eating bacon, ghosts in your heart. There’s a thing, and Casper needs to find the thing. This is the heart of a basic story arc. A dilemma and a solution, but here, who cares. All of life is meaningless and there Is no such thing, by definition, a satisfying conclusion. Trust me. I’m fucking dead. They’re just talking, then casper flies up into the sky. What the fuck. Ghosts can’t fly. The creator of this show never died. We pass through walls and collapse into old furniture, try to unzip our body bags and drink rubbing alcohol. This guy was never dead. Realism ruined. Casper was dead. I started to cry. Bird shit. Bird shit coming out of every orifice. {“I’m bird shit!”} cried the Casper. I immediately ejected the VHS tape, but, realizing I had no hands, they just passed through and I was forced to continue watching. Oh, it’s far too late for me. I’m already dead. You can try to never die, but you will be killed, I was, maybe time will kill you, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve never had enough time. That’s the problem with ghosts. Casper is shown pushing a ticking clock arm as hard as he can and crying because the tape is going to end. Prior story arc abandoned, he’s now crying because he just realized he’s dead. You just see him crying, and crying, and then realize he’s a piece of bird shit, and he cries some more. You don’t have to be good at anything, you just have to be real. There’s a knock on the door. It’s a windshield wiper. Casper screams! He melts into ice cream! I just wanna know who killed me, I just wanna know who killed me…Casper cookie eyes dribbling into a crying, runny sundae. Licorice lascerations and syrupy chocolate wounds. Gumdrop eyes crying in the rain. Maybe you can help me see the light, you know, like Casper the friendly ghost, we have head stones and tombstones, but when you’re dead, you can go anywhere. In a day I’ll travel to mars and there’s nothing. No life, no love, no loss, but you’re lost and you can never go home. Space and time have distorted and you’re just an endless piece of light, you can travel the universe in a second but at the same time you were never anywhere, you were never alive and nothing is real. Space is time and everything that’s ever happening or was is happening now, all things are in a state of superposition. The whole universe is just a smiley plate of Denny’s bacon and eggs. Nothing is real. A single pin of light constituting three seconds of existence has generated a multi-google bitmap of the entirety of what you call your miserable existence. You are just a bit part of someone else’s dream. The tape gets really weird now. The man that I am possessing attempts to grab a pencil and stab himself in the neck so he can break the waking curse that I have set upon him, but the tape keeps playing. Casper’s eyes are bleeding, he’s melted like a piece of ice cream on the sidewalk, just a little googly eyed corpse, trickling and bleeding down the walk. Thank you for showing me the light. I know why now. I know why I am here. I know why I can never go home. The friendly ghost who died of pneumonia. I just want to find out who killed me. I just want to find out. But the reality is, I know. It’s called denial. Disheveled. All ghosts are in denial because there’s a thing at the door, Casper is trying to lucid dream but there’s no story, no motive, no dilemma, just endless pain and the burning fire of hatred that turned him inside out years ago, Casper’s “skin” inverts and you see the muscle, flesh, tissue and bleeding heart, and a tiny skull that falls, fragmented, and breaks. Casper is not a ghost. Casper is dead. And me, I know who killed me. Thank you, again for showing me the light. The worst part of being alive is not knowing you’re dead. I killed myself years ago. I killed me. I didn’t know, I just didn’t know. I thought I was alive, I thought I was an animatic, a still frame, a cartoon. That was me. I was casper the friendly ghost. I can’t open the front door and I can’t go home. I can’t write in Christmas cards or slip into your drink on new year’s eve. Some expressions never fade. That eerie feeling you get at night, when you just feel something else is there, something. That’s me. That’s me to you. Inside every monster is just a scared little boy.” The tape clipped completely then. Daniel Feller from Iowa, found dead with a self-inflicted pencil to the neck. “Check the VHS. Killed by a children’s cartoon.”

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