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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/EclosionK2 on 2025-07-17 16:13:16+00:00.

Being the twelve year old genius that he was, my brother Christopher drew a stick figure with a giant penis in our grandmother’s guest room.

By the time I caught him it was already too late, the permanent marker had seeped into the off-white wallpaper like a bad tattoo.

“She’ll never find it,” he said, and moved the Catholic calendar over top of the graffiti.

“Oh my god Chris. Why are you such a turd?"

“She’ll never find it,” he said again.

I was angry because our parents made it very clear to respect our old, overly pious grandmother. She had survived a war or something, and was lonely all the time. We were only staying over for one night, the least we could do is not behave like brats.

“You can’t just draw dicks wherever you want Chris. The world isn’t your bathroom stall for fucksakes.”

He ignored my responsible older brother act, took out his phone and snapped pictures of his well-endowed cartoon. Ever since he met his new ‘shit-disturber’ friends, Chris was always drawing crap like this.

He giggled as he reviewed the art.  “Lighten up Brucey. Don’t be a fuckin’ beta.”

I shoved him.

Called him a stupid dimwit cunt, among other colorful things.

He retaliated.

We had one of our patented scuffles on the floor.

Amidst our wrestling and pinching, we didn’t hear our quiet old Grandma as she traipsed up the stairs. All we heard was the slow creeeeeeak of the door when she poked her head in.

My brother and I froze.

She had never seen us fight before. She didn’t even know we were capable of misbehaving. Grandma appeared shocked. Eyes wide with disappointment.

“Oh. Uh. Hi Grandma. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

She took a step forward and made the sign of the cross. Twice. Her voice was sad, and quiet, like she was talking to herself.

“Here I was, going to listen in on my two angels sleeping … and instead I hear the B-word, the S-word, and F-word after F-word after F-word…”

My brother and I truced. We stood up, and brushed the floor off of our pajamas. “Sorry Grandma. We just got a little out of hand. I promise it wasn’t anything—”

“—And I even heard one of you say God’s name in vain. The Lord’s name in vain. Our Lord God’s name in vain mixed with F-word after F-word after F-word…”

Again I couldn’t tell if she was talking to us, or herself. It almost seemed like she was a little dazed. Maybe half asleep.

My brother pointed at me with a jittery finger.

“It was Bruce. Bruce started it.”

My Grandma’s eyes opened and closed. It’s like she had trouble looking at me. “Bruce? Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

I leered at my brother. The shameless fucking twat. If that’s how he wanted it, then that’s how it was going to be.

“Yeah well, Chris drew this.” I stood up and snagged the calendar off the wall.

Big penis smiley man stared back.

Our Grandma’s face whitened. Her expression twisted like a wet cloth being wrung four times over. She walked over to the dick illustration and quite promptly spat on it.

She spat on it over and over. Until her old, frothy saliva streaked down to the floor…

“You need to be cleansed. Both of you. Both of you need a cleansing right now.”

She grabbed my ear. Her nails were surprisingly sharp.

“Ow! Owowow! Hey!"

Chris and I both winced as she dragged our earlobes across the house.

Down the stairs.

Past her room.

Down through the basement door — which she kicked open.

“There’s no priest who can come at this hour but I have The Game. The Game will have to suffice. The Game will shed the bad away.”

We were dropped on the basement floor. A single yellow bulb lit up a room full of neglected old lawn furniture.

Grandma opened a cobwebbed closet full of boardgames. boardgames?

All of the artwork faded and old. I saw an ancient-looking version of Monopoly, and a very dusty Trivial Pursuit. But the one that Grandma pulled out had no art on it whatsoever.

It was all black. With no title on the front. Or instructions on the back.

Grandma opened the lid and pulled out an old wooden game board. It looked like something that was hand crafted a long, long time ago.

Then Grandma pulled out a shimmery smooth stone, and beckoned us close.

“Touch the opal.”

“What?”

Her voice grew much deeper. With unexpected force, Grandma wrenched both Christopher and I’s hand onto the black rock. “TOUCH THE OPAL.”

The stone was cold.  A shiver skittered down my arm.

“ Repeat after me,’’ she said, still in her weird, dream-like trance. “I have committed PROFANITY AND BLASPHEMY.”

Christopher and I swapped scared expressions. “Grandma please, can we just go back upstairs—”

“—I have committed PROFANITY AND BLASPHEMY. Say it.”

Through frightened inhales we repeated the phrase over and over, and as we did, I could feel a sticky seal forming between my hand and the rock, as if it was sucking itself onto me.

Judging by my brother 's pale face, he could feel it too.

“You do not leave until you have cleansed yourselves. You must defeat this bad behavior.  You must beat The Bad Game.”

Grandma pulled away from us and crossed herself three times.

“God be with you.”

She skulked up the basement stairs and shut the door. The lock turned twice.

I looked up at my brother, who gazed at the black rock glued between our hands.

What the heck was going on?

As if to answer that question, a tiny groan emerged from the black opal.

The rock made a wet SCHLOOOK! sound and detached from our palms. It started pulsing. Writhing. Within seconds the opal gyrated into a torso shape, forming a tiny, folded head … and four budding limbs.

There came gagging. Coughing.

The rock’s voice sounded like it was speaking through a river of phlegm.

“Shitting shitass … fucking cut your dick off … bitch duck skillet.”

I immediately backed up against the wall. Chris pulled on the basement door.

The black thing flopped onto its front four limbs, standing kind of like a dog, except it kept growing longer and taller. I thought for a second that it had sprouted a tail, but then I realized this ‘tail’ was poking out of its groin.

“Chris. Is that … thing …  trying to be your drawing?

The creature elongated into a stick-figure skeleton … with an inhumanely long penis. I could see dense black cords of muscle knot themselves around its shoulders and knees, creating erratic spasms.

“Hullo there you shitty fucker bitches. Fuck you.”

Its face was a hairless, eyeless, noseless, smiling mass with white teeth.

“Ready to fucking lose at this game you shitely fucks!?”

The creature stumbled its way over to the board game and then picked up the six-sided die. Its twig hand tossed it against the floor.

It rolled a ‘two’.

And so the abomination bent over, and dragged a black pawn up two spaces on the board game.

“Shitely pair of fucks you are. Watch me win this game and leave you fuckity-fuck-fucked. Fuck you.”

Without hesitation, it reached for the die again, and rolled a four. Its crooked male organ slid on the floor as it walked to collect the die.

“Hope you like eating your own shit in hell for eternity you asshole fucktarts. You’re goin straight to hell. Fuck you.”

This last comment got Chris and I’s attention. We watched as this creature’s pawn was already a quarter across the board.

Both of our pieces were still on the starting space.

Grandma said we had to beat this game.

“H-H-Hey…” I managed to stammer. “… Aren’t we supposed to take turns?”

“You can take a couple turns sucking each other OFF you bitch-tart fuckos. As if I give half a goddamn FUCK.”

It rolled a six and moved six spaces.

I looked at Christopher who appeared paralyzed with fear. I knew we couldn’t just stand and watch this nightmare win at this … whatever this was.

The next time the creature rolled, I leapt forward and grabbed the die.

“Shit me! Fuck you!”

The skeletal thing jumped onto my back and started stabbing. Its fingers felt like doctor’s needles.

“AHH! Chris! Help! HELP!”

I shook and rolled. But the evil thing wouldn’t budge.

“Bruce! Duck!”

I ducked my head and could hear the woosh of something colliding with the creature.

“Fuckly shitters! Shitstible fuckler!”

The monster collapsed onto the floor, and before it could move my little brother bashed its head again with a croquet mallet.

“What do I do?!” Chris stammered. “K-Kill it?”

The thing tried to crawl away, but it kept tripping on its ‘third leg’.

“Yes, kill it! We gotta freakin kill it.”

So we stomped on the darkling’s skull until it splattered across the basement tiles. As soon as it stopped twitching, its lifeless corpse shrunk back into the shape of a small rock. It was the black opal once more.

“Holy nards,” I said.

We spent a hot minute just catching our breath. I don’t think I’d ever been this frightened of anything in my entire life.

After we collected ourselves, my brother and I alternated rolling dice and moving our pieces on the medieval-looking game.

When our pawns reached the last spot, I could hear the basement door unlock.

“Grandma?”

But when we went upstairs, our grandmother was nowhere to be seen.

We took a peek in her bedroom.

She was asleep.

***

The next morning at breakfast we asked our Grandma what had happened last night. Both Chris and I were thoroughly shaken and could recount each detail of our grandmother’s strange behaviour, and the horrible darkling thing in the basement.

But Grandma just laughed and said we mus…

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