Unicorn Ranch Horror [WAR EDITION] -

[Montalbane]

To High marshal Maxwell

Dear Albert

I hope this missive finds you well.
The Reclamation of Colorado has been a pain as far as I am concerned.
Plenty of hostile militias and Federalist remnant have proven to be quite the challenge for my meagre forces.
But we shall overcome, in the Autarch's name of course.
I do not write to bore you with the details of my exploits of course.
I happened across a tale I am sure you would enjoy.

Spoiler

Apparently close to one of the towns I had liberated there used to be a commune, one of the many that peppered the land before the Convergence and the fall.
This one was different or so the locals told me.
Those that still lived and managed to speak coherently at least.

They spoke of a Ranch (the locals said thst you could not call that poor imitation of a Californian favela a ranch but I digress) where a group of men had congregated.
Now these "men" were under a strong delusion.
Believing themselves women they professed their belonging to the cult of Aphrodite.
Of course such an idea would be nonsense for an italian of the 21st century, let alone a suburbanite transexual from North America.

So strong they were in their shared Schizophrenia that they thought themselves in contact with the Avatar of the goddess herself.
Said avatar of course being another man.
Eerily though he predicted the Convergence down the to very second.

One local told me she and her husband used to live close by.
"We were their neighbours."
She whispered, staring at the horizon lovingly, perhaps remembering her long dead husband.
According to her right before the Happening is when the ranchers turned into cultists.
Down to sacrifices and orgies in the name of their goddess.
Her husband had witnessed one such ritual: they slaughtered and ate an alpaca (how such an exotic animal would get there is beyond me) and as they bated in its blood they began to undress.
She shuddered as she told me of what he saw: flaccid genitals scarred beyond repair and castration wounds oozing pus and bile as the stench of rotting flesh filled the air around the unsightly spectacle.

"My thomas was so shaken he could not speak for three whole days!"
She said amidst tears.
I did not press the matter for I did not want this well of information to dry up due to some resurfacing sorrow.

Luckily she continued on her own accord.
The men had a priestess of sort, choosen to be a vessel for the reincarnation of Aphrodites.
Apparently he had been choosen because he was luscious and lustful
(According to the woman he was neither outside the realm of his own demented fantasies).

Her narration reached the day of the Convergence, she began speaking of tangential events: the weather, her husband foul mood that day and whatnot but when it came to the event proper she shutted down.
Tears swelling her eyes, she shrieked and launched herself against a wall, clawing in a mad fury screaming

"Whole... Wholewholewholewhooooole"
Or that's what I heard.
The woman then collapsed, dead.
This has left me flabbergasted but curious.
I will of course look further into the matter,hoping for another testimony.
I will of course keep you posted.

 

[IAmNotAlpharius]

Spoiler: The Blizzard of ‘21

There are things a man cannot forget, no matter how hard he tries. Certain images that are forever prescient, seared forever into the most primitive parts of his brain. For many it’s sounds: a firework or a bad muffler could send them diving to the floor. For me it was the smell. A smell so profane that I can never forget it, no matter the number of candles I lit or air purifiers that I purchased. That smell, that damn awful smell, continues to linger in my nostrils. Its been over three years and I can still smell it...

The origin of the odious odor is the terrible winter of 2021. I can still recall that terrible year.... Colorado saw its worst blizzard in over a millennium, far surpassing the storm of ‘03. It was apparent very quickly that this was like no other storm that any alive had witnessed. Some homes were entirely buried in snow, others had their roofs caved in, and the governor declared a state of emergency.

I had volunteered myself and my truck to clear as many roads as possible. Much of Colorado came to a screeching halt but nothing, nothing, had anything on Custer County. It was covered in at least 13’ of snow, well over twice the record amount that had fallen in Denver. It took us weeks to get to and through the whole county...

The smell comes back to me stronger than usual as I recall Westcliffe. I light a cigar in a futile attempt to cover it up. I try to focus on the folks we helped, not just the God fearing ones, but even the Californian transplants. I think of the little girl who offered me her stuffed lion, of the elderly couple that refused to let us go before giving us some coffee, I try to recall the young man who had nearly froze to death. No matter the good we did that day I still can’t forget the scene and that damn awful smell...

We were pulling up to a small property. We had heard rumors that the folks who lived there were unusual but harmless if left alone. Some warned us of their paranoia. Others spoke nothing but praise. Apparently they had attempted to ranch a few pack animals, namely a handful of animals.

About half way through their property I hit something solid which I initially presumed to be a rock or bicycle. Upon further inspection my heart sank. It was clearly was once a living being. I then hopped out of my vehicle and dug the thing out, in the hope, that by some miracle of god it had survived. It was then I smelled it, albeit faintly. I didn’t know what it was... as I dug, the creature was clearly not human. I supposed at first that the animal was a sheep or goat but as I dug it out it was clearly from South America. At the time, I had believed it to be a llama but I have since learned the animals there were alpacas.

Seeing the sorry state of the creature, my heart pounded. Why wasn’t this animal sheltered? Did the storm hit so quickly that there was not even time to take them to safety? My concern then turned towards the ranchers themselves.

I cried out, “hello! Do you need assistance? Is anyone there?” for minutes on end, which in that cold may as well have been hours. My constant pleas fell unheard. The whole property was still, unmoving except for the wind. There were no sounds, no signs of life. There was no whir of electricity, no sounds of moving machinery, perhaps their backup generators had failed. I called for backup and soon over a half a dozen more volunteers descended on my position.

We dug out dozens of animal bodies. A friend of mine had found a few hens completely frozen to the core. Another volunteer found the mass of alpaca bodies. They huddled together in a last ditch effort to stave off the blizzard. They had all died, the males, the mothers, and every single calf. Some of them were clearly pregnant. The smell of death clung to the air, and only grew stronger as we approached the home.

We found the trailer first. To our horror it was occupied. The bodies there were frozen in place. They clearly had died in their sleep. It was not surprising as the trailer was poorly insulated and the storm had hit suddenly. Two of the corpses had embraced, perhaps they sought warmth. Others had insisted they were homosexual men. I didn’t think about it, whoever they were, they once had lives, parents, siblings, and perhaps children. The cold snuffed it out and they were not the only fatalities of the storm...

We eventually uncovered the home. The entire time we cried out in the faint hope to find anyone, anyone, at all. Our cries were unanswered save for the whispers of old man winter.

The door was sealed with frost and had to be pried open. The moment the door opened it hit me. That smell of putrid decay, of rotting flesh. It was odd considering how cold it was. That something could stink of decay in the middle of winter defied all logic and reason.

I walked carefully into the home, calling for anyone who could hear me. For a brief second I had believed that perhaps the inhabitants were trapped in the trailer. I then noticed a frost bitten coach and as I made my way towards it I recognized it was a makeshift bed. There was a roughly human shape below the frosted blankets. A long hairy arm extended over the side of the coach, it’s nails half hazardly painted. I never asked for his backstory. Who he was. I sometimes wonder if he had a daughter, someone he loved to play makeup with. I prefer not to know who this person was in life nor who he left behind before falling prey to these depravities. Knowing wouldn’t make it easier...

I called for him but he did not respond and I pulled back the pillows and blanket that covered the persons face. Like the others he had clearly died in his sleep. Unlike the others we found in the trailer, this man was not killed by the cold. Half of his face was missing but even so one didn’t have to be Sherlock to determine the cause of death. This person was shot. As I pulled back the rest of the blanket, I could taste vomit in my mouth. The entire bottom half of the coach was encrusted in dried blood. Bits and pieces of this person were missing, chunks taken out as if they had been sliced like a turkey with a cheap pocket knife. His clothing was ripped apart and entirely unrecognizable. His innards were scrambled about and the genitalia was mutilated beyond recognition. His legs had obvious bite marks but were now frozen stiff from the cold and rigor mortis. I then heard a cry from the kitchen and I hurried over.

The kitchen was a scene from a horror movie. There were countless body parts strewn about. Some had clearly been cooked. The kitchen was overrun with dishes, trash, and filth. It was the epicenter of that terrible odor. Death mingled with what smelled like human waste, trash, and unwashed dishes. The fridge was left open and that stink poured from it. It was nearly bare except for two human heads whose eyes were gouged out and cheeks that had been sliced with what looked like a cheese grater. Various other appendages were stored in the freezer. How many people were there I could not say. Was it half a dozen? Perhaps more or less, but it was then that I understood how those who found the Donner Party must have felt. A sense of revulsion, horror, pity, and fear. More than anything I could imagine what they smelled... the corpses, the human waste, and the mixture of rotting flesh.

We made our way to the other rooms. There was but a single body hanging from the ceiling held up by a rope that nearly snapped from the weight. It had a gunt which hung grotesquely from its purple shirt. On the floor were red spectacles that I hadn’t seen worn anywhere except by my deceased great aunt, God rest her soul, two decades prior. It’s face had more than 5o clock shadow and was covered in blood and chunks of meat. Nearby weapons were placed haphazardly, perhaps in case the rope had failed. It was apparently a suicide. The only one...

Briefly we held out hope for a survivor. We cracked down a door that had been barricaded. Behind it was what looked like a ghoul or ghost. Perhaps she had starved to death and had locked herself in for an indeterminate amount of time. The position she was found in would make anyone blush and I’ll leave it at that. She was frozen, her cause of death is still unknown to me, with what looked like a vibrator. How did she spend her last moments? In fear of the violence that occurred throughout the house? Still there was something ghoulish of this whole scenario. It was clear that she had tried to call for help. The phone was in such a position that she must’ve been trying to furiously contact the outside world, perhaps for aid that never came. Even in that room, isolated from the others, I could smell it.

We treated the intact corpses with as much dignity and respect as the situation warranted. They were someone’s children once....

The police were involved soon after. I had underestimated the national frenzy this disaster would cause. Some tried to silence it, others could not stop talking about it. I never cared for politics. I didn’t care to be a witness or voice of criticism, however, I wasn’t afraid to voice my experience. Nor was I fearful of the names and accusations lobbied towards me for telling the story as I saw it.... What stuck with me through the news fervor was the smell of that human tragedy. It was roasted into my nostrils. It’s weird. I had previously assumed it was the sight that would disturb me the most. Perhaps I was desensitized to the images I’ve seen over the years both fictional and real. The countless films and documentaries led me to believe I would be most horrified by what my eyes witnessed. Images can be seen by anyone hundreds or thousands of miles away. With a smell a person must be present to understand it. It’s not possible to be desensitized by a foreign smell. It can’t be recorded and later shared. It isn’t as easy to describe but it isn’t something I can ever forget...

 

[Dr. Henry Armitage]

Not as good a writer as some of you but I try. Here's my submission I wrote up when I had time at work.

Spoiler: The Horror at the Ranch House

From the journal of Dr. Henry Armitage dated March 1st 2021

Of all the things I have witnessed in my many years only one compares to the horror I witnessed in Dunwitch Massachusetts. I had been quietly attending to my duties as head librarian of Miskatonic University. When I received a phone call from a local veterinarian by the name of Joshua Williams in Custer County Colorado of all places. He seemed desperate for help but could find none among the local law enforcement veterinarians or academia. They had dismissed him as a mad man or possibly on drugs. But to me he seemed as sane and sober as any man I had ever met. He had been called to a ranch to inspect their sheep and alpaca. Upon arrival he had been greeted by two men who insisted they be called women. They were wearing body armor and carrying rifles. What they needed protection from was beyond him as there were no threats from the locals or wildlife that required such force. Never the less he went to inspect the animal what he found initially was no big surprise. The sheep and alpacas were malnourished and some sick but he had seen this before. Inexperienced ranchers often failed to look after their animals properly but usually got better with time, if they cared at all. The real shock came when he examined several new born lambs. Besides appearing malnourished they had strange puncture marks around their neck and on their hind quarters. No one would explain how the marks got there. He was headed towards the house to discuss treatments but before he could he spotted movement in a nearby barn. The owners explained that’s where the new born alpacas were being kept. He only got a brief glimpse of them before they forced him to stay away from the barn. The young alpacas showed signs of genetic disease not consistent with inbreeding. They were hairless in some places and the skin he could see was a sickly green. They seemed to have no teeth and strange sucker like mouths. Their tongues were long and thin and seemed to dart in and out at random intervals. On the floor of the barn was the body of a lamb three of the horrors stood over it their tongues stuck into its neck clearly drinking its blood. He bolted to his truck the guards at the gate tried to stop him from leaving threatening violence if he didn’t stop. Luckily for him their aim was so poor they couldn’t even hit his truck. He tried getting the authorities involved but they seemed reluctant. He then turned to other veterinarians but they quickly dismissed him thinking he had been smoking a bad strain of the newly legalized cannabis on the job. Finally he turned to the University of Colorado for answers. After much insistence they directed him to me. Since the incident in Dunwitch I have gained something of a reputation for strange and fanciful tales. Most who have contacted me with these tales can be dismissed as mentally unwell. But something about Joshua’s voice sounded sincere. On the off chance that another Wilbur Wately had emerged I decided investigate.

I was met at the airport by the good doctor who had agreed to let me stay in his home for the duration of my visit. He was a tall man heavily built with graying dark brown hair and a beard to match. His handshake was firm and calloused no doubt from years of hard work. As we drove he and I discussed how we were going to inspect the ranch. It was agreed that we would go under the guise of retrieving his medical bag he left during the last visit. He then revealed he had purchased body armor for us both to wear in case they got violent. I was greatly appreciative. As we drove up to the gates I was expecting to see guards as he has described before. So was he apparently, as he had his handgun ready in his right hand hidden from view. But the gate was open, swinging in the wind I began to feel uneasy at the sight of the opened gate. It only depend into fear as we began to slowly move down the drive way. A smell began to assail me one I had never smelled before. Like rotten meat coins and salt, it only got stronger as we got closer to the house.

Even from a distance the place looked deserted. We could see the dead animals lying in their pens. Their bodies had been decaying for some time. Even so there was no signs of violence on them except for the puncture wounds on their necks. Cautiously we made our way to the barn. That’s where we found the first of the bodies. Three men lay dead and naked on the hay and feces covered floor. They had been dead only a few days but still showed the curious puncture wounds on their necks. Two of them appeared to have had their genitals removed though this was long before their deaths. The doctor and I had to take a few moments to recompose ourselves before we ventured into the main house. It was littered with dead animals, cats, dogs, and sheep all having been drained of their blood. In the kitchen we discovered two more bodies. One lying near the stove apparently having been drained of blood the other was propped up in a corner having killed himself with a single shot to the head. Dried blood had pooled around him. Leading away from the scene were strange three toed tracks. As we followed the tracks we became aware of a soft humming coming from one of the back rooms. It sounded almost like a lullaby. As we neared the room we became aware of another sound like plastic toys hitting each other. The doctor raised his gun as I opened the door. What greeted us on the other side will be burned into my memory until the day I die. Six things that may have once been infant alpacas stood around a corpulent monstrosity that sat on the bed. They were hairless, their hooves were now three toed and sucker like. On the underside of their bellies hung countless tentacles that pulsed in shades of green, red, and purple. Some of them also ending in sucker like mouths. Their skin was mottled green and grey they had strange lumps and growths sticking out seemingly at random all over their bodies as well as what seemed to be human fingers and eyes that moved and twitched. They stood around drinking from growths that covered the vile thing on the bed. Black liquid dribbling from what appeared to be a gross perversion of human breasts. It had two toys in its pudgy hands and appeared to be smashing them together as it hummed. Before I could react the doctor raised his gun and emptied the clip into the thing. The creatures feeding of it turned and let out an ear splitting shriek. I reacted quickly and slammed the door just as I heard their bodies hitting it. The doctor ran outside and quickly grabbed a gas can off his truck. I watched him pour the contents into the house and set it ablaze. We sped away from the scene neither of us saying a word until we had reached his house. That night we drank heavily and pondered how long it would be before the police arrested us. But the police never came. Two days later the local newspaper reported it as a bizarre murder suicide. Claiming a total of five bodies had been found and one was still missing. My blood ran cold. Had the thing in the back room survived with its bastard offspring? I left after a week, needing to get back to work. Joshua and I agreeing to keep in touch and I agreeing to come back and finish what we started if the monstrosity ever resurfaces. I pray it died that day or at least was called back to whatever infernal realm spawned such a creature.

 

[Gutts]

> you exist on the ranch

 

[Tyrell]

It is incredibly likely that I am going to die.

I believe that I have uncovered an international drug, sex, and pedophilla ring
during my undercover station at the "tranch". I am being targeted by incredibly powerful
individuals such as forestry lobbyists, african warlords and the gunrunners of those african warlords.

These crimes against humanity aren't going to just stop after I die, they will continue to happen
and nobody will fucking acknowledge it. My contemporaries have launched disinformation campaigns and
participated in the exchange of child sex slaves to ensure that this nation of ours will last far beyond the 31st century.
Truly a one thousand year reich!

I don't have any collateral.

"They were dead now, and the sun was going down where so many believed, a million ago,
that only the fit survived."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjCuNwYAoeM