The old Western State Mental Hospital was founded in 1871. Inside its walls Washington’s (and, indeed, some of the world’s) most violent and deranged patients were housed. It’s no secret that treatments for psychosis were, at that time, quite primitive. The inmates were positively tortured in an attempt to exorcise whatever demons had grabbed a hold of them. When the hospital was rebuilt on an area of land nearby, the old Western State was left to chip and fade and crumble to ruin before eventually being torn down. Some say the souls of those poor, sad inmates still inhabit the grounds to this day, and on a dark autumn’s night, you may still hear their cries. Oh yes, you may wander these grounds … that is if you’re not brave enough for the following.

I’m here to tell you about Tacoma’s real horrors. This list is not intended for those of weak heart or stomach. If you are with child, do not read any further.

THE “MATTRESS-GRAM”

Have you ever awoken to the sight of a severed horse’s head in your bed? No? Then maybe you won’t be able to relate to this. There’s an image in my head that I’ve spent years in intensive psycho-electric therapy trying to expunge. But to no avail.

The afternoon air was crisp as I left my apartment. I traveled not two blocks before slipping down an alley and laying eyes on a truly bloodcurdling sight: a mattress. Propped up against a garage door, it had been spray-painted with the message, “Real Talk: LaQuan REDACTED is a Snitch Bitch Who Talks to T.P.D.”

I barely made it home in time to change my pants.

Imagine, if you will, the determination it takes to create a mattress-gram. Anyone can fire off an angry email or leave a threatening voice-mail. If you’ve angered someone enough for them to go out, find a mattress (or, heaven forbid, use their own), spray-paint it, and leave it in a public area for you to maybe stumble upon, then game’s over, my friend. Get your affairs in order.

PHOTO BOOTH OF THE DAMNED

Sitting innocently in the corner of a bar nestled in downtown Tacoma is a booth cordoned off by a blue curtain. Many would have you believe that it’s merely a photo-booth — no more, no less. But the truth, dear reader, is quite chilling. This unassuming booth has been home to innumerable unspeakable acts of depravity. I speak, of course, of the photo-booth in The Mix. Some say that on a dark autumn’s night you can still hear … but you should see for yourself.

GENERIC CONDOMINIUM PROJECT

As frightening as all of this has been, the real terror is one that’s unavoidable. It’s an evil that looms on the edge of Tacoma, eyeing our first-borns and painting the sky a blood-red. That’s right, it’s REDACTED. For a couple years now, REDACTED has kicked arsenic dust into our children’s faces and employed an army of slaves (whom they also poisoned). Founded on soil that may or may not reside atop a cursed Indian Burial Ground, REDACTED has slowly but surely been working to build an empire of terror: condominiums, prefab houses, and shopping centers as far as the eye can see. In time, Tacoma will cease to be, as it becomes the first of many cities to succumb to REDACTED’s wicked, black-hole-like vortex of darkness.

Though many have tried to stop them, REDACTED has proven unbeatable. Its evil is far too powerful. It has been foretold that the One who shall defeat REDACTED will be born with a birth-mark shaped like Bob’s Java Jive. Only time will tell. As for you, dear reader, tread lightly in the streets of Tacoma. ‘Round every corner may lurk your worst nightmare; behind every hipster hangout a horror.

And what, you ask, ever became of that mattress-gram?

Why it’s … right … behind you!