GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: THE GATEKEEPERS
There’s something lurking in the code, in the algorithms that’s preying on us—If you’ve seen this post, it might already be too late.
The door was open. It wasn’t supposed to be. It gaped like an invitation no one wanted, humming with silence. I stepped inside Justine’s apartment, whispering their name. No response. Just the kind of stillness that feels loaded. And then I saw the blood.
It was smeared along the edge of their keyboard—a perfect, curling half-print of a fingertip. Beneath it was a tiny message written in red Sharpie on the back of a Post-it note:
"Rule 0 is real."
That was the last thing they ever wrote.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: POLLY MILLER ROAD
If you grew up in upstate New York, you’ve probably heard some version of the Polly Miller story. Witch. Murdered lover. Cursed swamp. The older kids always dared each other to go out there, to Polly Miller Road, after dark. I used to think it was all bullshit. Just local legend. But in the summer of 1999, I found out it wasn’t. Polly’s real—and she’s been waiting.
All we wanted was to run—me and Jess, two girls who’d gotten too deep in Carter’s bullshit. Swayed by the money, the free drugs, and that so-called safe compound tucked deep off Vickerman Hill. We had it made, but the cost was our souls, and that was too steep for me.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: THE CURIOUS CASE OF JORGE THE VAMPIRE HORSE
This is Jorge.
Jorge was a good little horse.
He came from Mexico.
He didn’t have papers—just dreams.
This is the Man in the Red Hat.
He was not the sharpest tool in the shed.
He was very mean.
He hid behind a cross and a gun.
And he treated politics like his favorite sports team.
The Man in the Red Hat hated Jorge.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: JACK’S TONIC
WARNING: Never drink a 150-Year-old Snake Oil Tonic—My Aunt did, and now she’s not human anymore
They told me the old milk house hadn’t been opened since 1947. My great-grandfather, Jack “The Milk Man,” died there—collapsed by the churn with his boots on. The room had stayed sealed ever since, the cold stone cellar beneath it undisturbed.
Until now.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: THE CROOKED ONE
(HE WHO HAUNTS THE TOWPATH - as told in German Flatts, New York – circa late 1850s)
In the late 1850s, the towpath connecting Ilion and Mohawk, New York, was a vital link along the Erie Canal, bustling with activity. Running parallel to the Mohawk River, it was not only a hub of commerce but also a place of whispered legends among the locals.
One such tale was that of The Crooked One.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: THE DIRT WITCH
My best friend stole a cursed crystal. Now she’s gone, and someone—or something else has her face.
We were just two art students crafting costumes for Comic Con—until my best friend stole a strange red crystal to cosplay the Dirt Witch, a local legend known for vengeance and blood. Now she’s missing… and something wearing her face won’t stop staring at me.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: THE JESTER
My family is dead and everyone thinks I killed them—but it was the Jester, I swear.
I didn’t hurt anyone. He did. He tricked me. It was all just a joke. A bad joke.
I’m getting out tomorrow. Ten years in juvie. They say I’ve made “progress.” That I’ve “accepted responsibility.”
But they’re wrong. I didn’t kill my family. I was the victim. Preyed upon by that toy—that evil thing.
The Jester.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: PREACHERMAN
I visited my girlfriend’s hometown in the Mohawk Valley to film a doc on local legends. The forest near Columbia Center is supposedly haunted by something they call “Preacherman.” They say if you hear a sermon in the woods at night…don’t respond.
I didn’t listen. And now I can’t.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: ELON PRIME
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: THE FEAST
I should have known something was off the moment I downloaded an app specializing in underground food pop-ups. It was just another weak attempt by me to fit in with the young millennials at work. But this was the perfect chance to get Vanessa to go on a date with me.
“Sublime Bites” had no address, no reviews—just an invitation-only system and the promise of a "once-in-a-lifetime underground dining experience." As a programmer whose whole world is based on logic, I should’ve been skeptical. But as a single, socially awkward man trying to impress his way-out-of-his-league date, I was admittedly desperate.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: HARVEST OF ASH
Jaycen’s parents always told him that progress came at a cost. He just never thought the cost would be their lives.
The fire in the main house cast long, twisting shadows across the greenhouse as the masked men dragged him forward. The air reeked of burning plastic, blood, and gasoline. His mother’s screams had stopped. His father’s body lay somewhere in the inferno, their life's work crumbling with them.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: POWER CHORD APOCALYPSE
Power Chord Apocalypse
Troy’s off key voice bellowed through the room as Wolf’s fingers moved up and down, strumming and wishing his vocal chords could match that ego. Nothing he could do could drown out the weak voice of his lead singer. But he had no other options now and he just wanted to play with a band and hope they’d notice his talent.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: The Algorithm’s Final Trick
Rob used to be normal—at least, as normal as a guy who vaped bubblegum-flavored smoke and owned a "Live, Laugh, Lift" poster could be. His diet was 70% energy drinks, 20% Taco Bell, and 10% the free samples at Costco. Life was fine. Then the Algorithm happened.
It started with quirky conspiracy videos. Harmless stuff. "The moon is a hologram," "Tom Hanks was two raccoons in a trench coat," "Your microwave is a government informant." He chuckled, shared a few ironically, and moved on. But the more he saw the videos the more they burrowed into his brain. What if Reptilian shapeshifting aliens really did run Hollywood, he wondered.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: THE KINDRED GLITCH
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: Sasquatch’S AWAKENING
Alone in the woods, Dave had eaten way too many psychedelic mushrooms. So when a massive figure—hairier than an overgrown lawn, with eyes that glowed like fireflies emerged from the shadows and stood over his campfire, he didn’t even panic.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: CHAMP 2.0
Billy Walsh was a shitty, mad scientist whose anger caused a lot of issues in his life. With an emphasis on mad—he was also an arrogant, grudge holding asshole with mommy issues, whose rich parents footed the bill for his life. The people of Ticonderoga, NY, had shunned him after The Incident (which involved a genetically mutated squirrel, a taser, and an unfortunate explosion at the Stewart’s gas station). But tonight, revenge would be his.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: MARIO’S SPECIAL PIZZA
Mario, the lab’s most promising chimpanzee, had always been curious. His handlers, marveled at his growing intellect as they pumped him full of experimental pharmaceuticals. The VR headset, designed to boost his cognitive abilities, was his gateway to a new world. The only thing Mario loved more than the pizza he was given for doing a good job in VR by his favorite scientist, Dr. Kim, was the world itself. He excelled at navigating through it unlike the other chimps—those vibrant landscapes, the endless possibilities were a respite from the real world and cruelness at the hands of Dr. Keller. But today, something was different.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: RABBIT MEAT
Ben awoke violently to the sound of a large thud. The smell of damp earth and rot filled his nose as he opened his eyes. His wrists burned from the ropes binding him to the cold, wooden floor of the dilapidated house. He turned, realizing now, that the noise that brought him back to consciousness was his best friend, Jake. His lifeless body leaked a pool of blood onto the floor. A grotesque, half-rabbit figure stood over him menacingly. Ben looked into its eyes, glowing with malevolent hunger. The cultists, draped in filthy, ragged rabbit masks, left the room. Ben could see them through the open door in the hallway as they circled the altar, chanting in a language that made his skin crawl.
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: THE DEMON’S DESERT
Grandma rocked in her chair, the firelight flickering in her cloudy eyes. “Your great-grandfather told me stories, bambina. From Calabria, where he was a boy. Dark stories.”
GOD HATES HEAVY METAL: WOLFMOTHER
Rachel crouched in the darkness, fingertips brushing the metal band at the base of her skull. Below, five men laughed—her family’s murderers.