Last year I dropped six months participatin up in what tha fuck I was holla'd at was a psychedelic experiment. I found a ad up in mah local paper lookin fo' imaginatizzle playas lookin ta make phat scrilla, n' since dat shiznit was tha only ad dat week dat I was remotely qualified for, I gave dem a cold-ass lil call n' we arranged a rap battle.
They holla'd at mah crazy ass dat all I would gotta do is stay up in a room, alone, wit sensors attached ta mah head ta read mah dome activity, n' while I was there I would visualize a thugged-out double of mah dirty ass. They called it mah "tulpa".
It seemed easy as fuck enough, n' I agreed ta do it as soon as they holla'd at mah crazy ass how tha fuck much I would be paid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! And tha next day, I fuckin started. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They brought me ta a simple room n' gave me a funky-ass bed, then attached sensors ta mah head n' hooked dem tha fuck into a lil black box on tha table beside mah dirty ass. They talked mah crazy ass all up in tha process of visualizin mah double again, n' explained dat if I gots bugged out or restless, instead of movin around, I should visualize mah double movin around, or try ta interact wit him, n' so on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da scam was ta keep his ass wit me tha entire time I was up in tha room.
I had shiznit wit it fo' tha straight-up original gangsta few days. Dat shiznit was mo' controlled than any sort of daydreamin I'd done before. I'd imagine mah double fo' all dem minutes, then grow distracted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. But by tha fourth day, I could manage ta keep his ass "present" fo' tha entire six hours. They holla'd at mah crazy ass I was bustin straight-up well.
Da second week, they gave me a gangbangin' finger-lickin' different room, wit wall-mounted speakers. They holla'd at mah crazy ass they wanted ta peep if I could still keep tha Tulpa wit me up in spite of distractin stimuli. Da noize was discordant, skanky n' unsettling, n' it made tha process a lil mo' hard as fuck yo, but I managed nonetheless. Da next week they played even mo' unsettlin beatz, punctuated wit shrieks, feedback loops, what tha fuck sounded like a oldschool school modem dialin up, n' guttural voices bustin lyrics some foreign language. I just laughed it off - I was a pro by then.
After on some month, I started ta git bored. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! To liven thangs up, I started interactin wit mah doppelganger n' shit. We'd have conversations, or play rock-paper-scissors, or I'd imagine his ass juggling, or break-dancing, or whatever caught mah fancy. I axed tha researchers if mah foolishnizz would adversely affect they study yo, but they encouraged mah dirty ass.
So we played, n' communicated, n' dat was funk fo' a while fo' realz. And then it gots a lil strange. I was spittin some lyrics ta his ass bout mah first date one day, n' his schmoooove ass erected mah dirty ass. I'd holla'd mah date was bustin a yellow top, n' tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at mah crazy ass dat shiznit was a chronic one.. n' you KNOWS bout it fo' a second, n' realized da thug was right. Well shiiiit, it creeped mah crazy ass out, n' afta mah shift dat day, I talked ta tha researchers bout dat shit. "Yo ass is rockin tha thought-form ta access yo' subconscious," they explained. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Yo ass knew on some level dat you was wrong, n' you subconsciously erected yo ass."
What had been creepy was suddenly cool. I was rappin' ta mah subconscious muthafucka! It took some practice yo, but I found dat I could question mah Tulpa n' access all sortz of memories. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! I could make it quote whole pagez of books I'd read once, muthafuckin years before, or thangs I was taught n' immediately forgot up in high school. Dat shiznit was phat.
That was round tha time I started "callin up" mah double outside of tha research center n' shit. Not often at first yo, but I was so used ta imaginin his ass by now dat it almost seemed odd ta not peep his muthafuckin ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So whenever I was bored, I'd visualize mah double. Eventually I started bustin it almost all tha time. Dat shiznit was amusin ta take his ass along like a invisible playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. I imagined his ass when I was ridin wit playas, or visitin mah mom, I even brought his ass along on a thugged-out date once. I didn't need ta drop a rhyme aloud ta him, so I was able ta carry up rap battlez wit his ass n' no one was tha wiser.
I know dat soundz strange yo, but dat shiznit was fun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Not only was he a struttin repository of every last muthafuckin thang I knew n' every last muthafuckin thang I had forgotten, he also seemed mo' up in bust a nut on wit me than I did at times yo. Dude had a uncanny grasp of tha minutiae of body language dat I didn't even realize I was pickin up on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. For example, I'd thought tha date I brought his ass along on was goin badly yo, but he pointed up how tha fuck dat biiiiatch was bustin up a lil too hard at mah jokes, n' leanin towardz me as I spoke, n' a funky-ass bunch of other subtle clues I wasn't consciously pickin up on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I listened, n' letz just say dat that date went straight-up well.
By tha time I'd been all up in tha research center fo' four months, da thug was wit me constantly. Da researchers approached mah crazy ass one dizzle afta mah shift, n' axed mah crazy ass if I'd stopped visualizin his muthafuckin ass. I denied it, n' they seemed pleased. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I silently axed mah double if he knew what tha fuck prompted dat yo, but he just shrugged it off. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So did I.
I withdrew a lil from tha ghetto at dat point. I was havin shiznit relatin ta people. Well shiiiit, it seemed ta me dat they was so trippin n' unsure of theyselves, while I had a manifestation of mah dirty ass ta confer with. Well shiiiit, it made hoodizin awkward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! No Muthafucka else seemed aware of tha reasons behind they actions, why some thangs made dem mad n' others made dem laugh. They didn't give a fuck what tha fuck moved em. But I did - or at least, I could ask mah dirty ass n' git a answer.
A playa confronted mah crazy ass one evenin yo. Dude pounded all up in tha door until I answered it, n' came up in fumin n' sbustin up a storm. "Yo ass aint answered when I called you up in fuckin weeks, you dick!" he yelled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Whatz yo' fuckin problem?"
I was bout ta apologize ta him, n' probably would have offered ta hit tha bars wit his ass dat night yo, but mah Tulpa grew suddenly furious. "Hit him," it holla'd, n' before I knew what tha fuck I was bustin, I had. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I heard his nozzle break yo. Dude fell tha fuck ta tha floor n' came up swinging, n' we beat each other up n' down mah crib.
I was mo' furious then than I have eva been, n' I was not merciful naaahhmean, biatch? I knocked his ass ta tha ground n' gave his ass two savage kicks ta tha ribs, n' dat was when he fled, hunched over n' sobbing.
Da five-o was by all dem minutes later yo, but I holla'd at dem dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had been tha instigator, n' since da thug wasn't round ta refute me, they let me off wit a warning. My fuckin Tulpa was grinnin tha entire time. We dropped tha night crowin bout mah victory n' sneerin over how tha fuck badly I'd beaten mah playa.
It wasn't until tha next morning, when I was checkin up mah black eye n' cut lip up in tha mirror, dat I remembered what tha fuck had set me off. My fuckin double was tha one who'd grown furious, not mah dirty ass. I'd been feelin guilty n' a lil ashamed yo, but he'd goaded mah crazy ass tha fuck into a vicious fight wit a cold-ass lil concerned playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin' yo. Dude was present, of course, n' knew mah thoughts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. "Yo ass don't need his ass no mo'. Yo ass don't need any suckas," tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at me, n' I felt mah skin crawl.
I explained all dis ta tha researchers whoz ass employed mah crazy ass yo, but they just laughed it off. "Yo ass can't be scared of suttin' dat you imagining," one holla'd at mah dirty ass. My fuckin double stood beside him, n' nodded his head, then smirked all up in mah face.
I tried ta take they lyrics ta ass yo, but over tha next few minutes I found mah dirty ass growin mo' n' mo' anxious round mah Tulpa, n' it seemed dat da thug was changin yo. Dude looked taller, n' mo' menacin yo. His eyes twinkled wit mischizzle, n' I saw malice up in his constant smile. No thang was worth losin mah mind over, I decided. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! If da thug was outta control, I'd put his ass down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I was so used ta his ass at dat point dat visualizin his ass was a automatic process, so I started tryin mah damnedest ta not visualize his muthafuckin ass. Well shiiiit, it took all dem days yo, but it started ta work somewhat. I could git rid of his ass fo' minutes at a time. But every last muthafuckin time his schmoooove ass came back, da perved-out muthafucka seemed worse yo. His skin seemed ashen, his cold-ass teeth mo' pointed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time yo. Dude hissed n' gibbered n' threatened n' swore. Da discordant noize I'd been listenin ta fo' months seemed ta accompany his ass everywhere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Even when I was up in da crib - I'd chillax n' slip up, no longer concentratin on not seein him, n' there he'd be, n' dat howlin noise wit his muthafuckin ass.
I was still visitin tha research center n' bustin mah six minutes there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I needed tha scrilla, n' I thought they weren't aware dat I was now actively not visualizin mah Tulpa. I was wrong fo' realz. After mah shift one day, bout five n' a half months in, two impressively pimps grabbed n' restrained me, n' one of mah thugs up in a lab coat jabbed a hypodermic needle tha fuck into mah dirty ass.
I raised up from mah stupor back up in tha room, strapped tha fuck into tha bed, noize blaring, wit mah doppelganger standin over me cacklin yo. Dude hardly looked human no mo' yo. His features was twisted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time yo. His eyes was sunken up in they sockets n' filmed over like a cold-ass lil corpsez yo. Dude was much talla than me yo, but hunched over n' shiznit yo. His handz was twisted, n' tha fingernails was like talons yo. Dude was, up in short, fuckin terrifying. I tried ta will his ass away yo, but I just couldn't seem ta concentrate yo. Dude giggled, n' tapped tha IV up in mah arm. I thrashed up in mah restraints as dopest I could yo, but could hardly move at all.
"They're pumpin you full of tha phat shit, I think yo. Howz tha mind, biatch? All fuzzy?" Dude leaned closer n' closer as da perved-out muthafucka spoke. I gagged; his breath smelt like spoiled meat. I tried ta focus yo, but couldn't banish his muthafuckin ass.
Da next few weeks was shitty. Every so often, one of mah thugs up in a thugged-out doctorz coat would come up in n' inject me wit something, or force-feed mah crazy ass a pill. They kept me dizzy n' unfocused, n' sometimes left me hallucinatin or delusional. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. My fuckin thoughtform was still present, constantly mockin yo. Dude interacted with, or like caused, mah delusions. I hallucinated dat mah mutha was there, scoldin me, n' then his schmoooove ass cut her throat n' her blood showered mah dirty ass. Dat shiznit was so real dat I could taste dat shit.
Da doctors never was rappin ta mah dirty ass. I begged at times, screamed, hurled invectives, demanded lyrics. They never was rappin ta mah dirty ass. They may have talked ta mah Tulpa, mah underground monsta n' shit. I aint sure. I was so doped n' trippin dat it may have just been mo' delusion yo, but I remember dem rappin' wit his muthafuckin ass. I grew convinced dat da thug was tha real one, n' I was tha thoughtform yo. Dude encouraged dat line of thought at times, mocked mah crazy ass at others.
Another thang dat I pray was a thugged-out delusion: his schmoooove ass could bust a nut on mah dirty ass. Mo' than that, his schmoooove ass could hurt mah dirty ass yo. He'd poke n' prod all up in mah grill if he felt I wasn't payin enough attention ta his muthafuckin ass. Once he grabbed mah nutsack n' squeezed until I holla'd at his ass I loved his muthafuckin ass fo' realz. Another time, da perved-out muthafucka slashed mah forearm wit one of his cold-ass talons. I still gotz a scar - most minutes I can convince mah dirty ass dat I fucked up mah dirty ass, n' just hallucinated dat da thug was responsible. Most days.
Then one day, while da thug was spittin some lyrics ta me a rap bout how tha fuck da thug was goin ta gut mah playas I loved, startin wit mah sister, he paused. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A querulous look crossed his wild lil' face, n' reached up n' touched mah head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Like mah mutha used ta when I was feverish yo. Dude stayed still fo' a long-ass moment, n' then smiled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "All thoughts is creative," tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at mah dirty ass. Then da thug strutted up tha door.
Three minutes later, I was given a injection, n' passed out. I awoke unrestrained. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Shaking, I made mah way ta tha door n' found it unlocked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I strutted up tha fuck into tha empty hallway, n' then ran. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I stumbled mo' than once yo, but I juiced it up down tha stairs n' up tha fuck into tha lot behind tha building. There, I collapsed, weepin like a cold-ass lil child. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I knew I had ta keep movin yo, but I couldn't manage dat shit.
I gots home eventually - I don't remember how. I locked tha door, n' shoved a thugged-out dresser against it, took a long-ass shower, n' slept fo' a thugged-out dizzle n' a half. No Muthafucka came fo' me up in tha night, n' no muthafucka came tha next day, or tha one afta dis shit. Dat shiznit was over n' shit. I'd dropped a week locked up in dat room yo, but it had felt like a cold-ass lil century. I'd withdrawn so much from mah game beforehand dat no muthafucka had even known I was missing.
Da five-o didn't find anything. Da research center was empty when they searched dat shit. Da paper trail fell tha fuck apart. Da names I'd given dem was aliases. Even tha scrilla I'd received was apparently untraceable.
I recovered as much as one can. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I don't leave tha doggy den much, n' I have panic attacks when I do. I cry all muthafuckin day. It make me wanna hollar playa! I don't chill much, n' mah nightmares is shitty. It aint nuthin but over, I tell mah dirty ass. I survived. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I use tha concentration dem bastardz taught me ta convince mah dirty ass. Well shiiiit, it works, sometimes.
Not todizzle, though cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Three minutes ago, I gots a funky-ass beeper call from mah mutha n' shit. Therez been a gangbangin' fuck up. My fuckin sisterz tha sickest fuckin sucka up in a spree of cappin's, tha five-o say. Da perpetrator mugs his suckas, then guts em.
Da funeral was dis afternoon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat shiznit was as ghettofab a steez as a gangbangin' funeral can be, I suppose. I was a lil distracted, though cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce fo' realz. All I could hear was noize comin from somewhere distant. Discordant, unsettlin stuff, dat soundz like feedback, n' shrieking, n' a modem dialin up. I hear it still - a lil louder now, nahmeean?
Original story:http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Tulpa