The Complete Works of Todd Doherty

[admin]

THEY WILL BE CRYING LIKE BITCHES, WHILE I SIT ON MY YACHT IN THE ATLANTIC, ENJOYING MY FUCKING LIFE FROM THOSE MORON.

I'm not a violent person, I JUST PISSED OFF BECAUSE THEIR ALL A BUNCH OF FUCKING MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!

[AI SAYS N9OGL HAS DownSydrome]

WATCH AND SEE, THESE MOTHERFUCKERS IN THIS LITTLE SHITHOLE TOWN ARE GOING TO WISH THEY NEVER HEARD OF MY FUCKING NAME WHEN I GET DONE WITH THOSE INBRED MOTHERFUCKERS. I AM PUT THIS TOWN SO FAR IN TO FUCKING DEBT IT'S NOT GOING TO BE FUCKING FUNNY. I'M GOING TO MAKE SURE THOSE FUCKERS INVOLVED WITH THIS LOOSE THEIR FUCKING JOB AND OR ANY FUCKING LICENSES THEY FUCKING HAVE INCLUDING THE PUBLIC DEFENDER. HER BULLSHIT OF LEAVING ONE WEEK BEFORE A FRANK HEARING IS VERY QUESTIONABLE AT LEAST. I AM SUE THIS TOWN INTO DEBT. I AM GOING TO SUE THE FUCKING STATE AND THE FUCKING FBI. BELIEVE ME YOU STUPID COCKSUCKING BITCH IT IS GOING TO HAPPEN!

Feel Better? I know it's a coping mechanism for you to post stuff that is never, ever going to happen.

10 PRINT "I'M GOING TO SUE"
20 GOTO 10

Run

---

P.S. - You've been running that program for 20 years now.

[admin]

BACK ON SUBJECT

The House of Echoing Madness
By Todd Doherty
From the Book: Nightmares and Other Stories (2025)

Galloway Manor stood like a rotting carcass on the edge of the forest, its silhouette twisted and skeletal against the pale moonlight. The three-story structure had once been a grand estate, boasting sprawling verandas and stained-glass windows that shimmered like captured fire. But time had turned beauty to decay—the paint peeled in long, curling strips like dead skin, and the ivy strangled the brick as if reclaiming what man had stolen from nature.

The team of five arrived just as the sun dipped beneath the trees, casting elongated shadows that stretched unnaturally, twitching as if alive. The night was thick with impending storm, the air charged with electricity that prickled against the skin like unseen fingers. The sky, once sprawling and endless, had turned into a suffocating canopy of churning black clouds, pressing down on the earth as if trying to smother it.

Mitchell, the leader, gripped his flashlight tightly, his knuckles pale. Olivia, the psychic, shivered despite the oppressive humidity. Darren, the cameraman, muttered about how the footage would look eerie under this lighting, unaware of how eerily perfect his words were. Sophie and Grant, the technical experts, set up their sound equipment, eager to capture spectral voices in the walls—though none dared admit how deeply they feared what they might actually hear.

The team set up their base in what had once been the manor’s grand dining room. The long banquet table was warped and cracked, its surface littered with dust and forgotten remnants of feasts long past. Sophie booted up her laptop, scrolling through archived reports of Galloway Manor’s history while the others unloaded their gear.

“This place has a reputation,” Sophie murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. “They say no one who stays longer than three nights ever leaves the same. Some say they don’t leave at all.”

Mitchell leaned in, intrigued. “Anything specific?”

“There’s a mix of stories,” she continued. “The original owner, Richard Galloway, was known for his obsession with séances. Some say he tried to summon his dead wife, but what came through wasn’t her. After that, the servants started disappearing. Then his daughter—she was found wandering the halls, babbling incoherently. She died a week later.”

“And the manor itself?” Olivia asked, her tone edged with unease.

Sophie exhaled, scanning deeper into the records. “It’s like the house is sentient. Every group that’s ever stayed here describes feeling watched, touched by something unseen. Some claim they heard voices whispering their names. And a few—well, the reports say they went completely insane.”

Darren scoffed. “You mean they imagined it?”

“I mean they were found clawing at the walls, tearing their own skin, begging to be let go,” Sophie corrected. “One man was found in the basement, curled into a ball, his nails ripped out. When they tried to talk to him, all he kept repeating was: ‘It’s inside me. It’s inside me.’”

A chill settled over the group. The wind outside howled, rattling the broken shutters, as if trying to warn them.

Mitchell pulled a map of the manor from his bag and spread it across the table. “We should explore before we jump to conclusions. There has to be a logical explanation for all this.”

The team split up, moving carefully through the decaying halls. The wallpaper, barely clinging to the walls, seemed to shift when they passed, curling as if recoiling from their presence. Darren documented everything, filming the corridors, the portraits with hollow-eyed figures whose gazes seemed to follow them. The house was silent, yet alive—a presence lurking beneath its stillness.

In one room, Olivia stopped abruptly. She ran her fingers over the rotted remains of a crib, her pulse hammering. “This was the nursery…” she murmured. “Galloway’s daughter slept here.”

Mitchell observed the tiny handprint smudged into the dust-covered glass of a nearby window—too fresh to be decades old.

They continued deeper into the house, moving toward the basement. As they descended, the air thickened, heavy with damp rot and something else—something rancid, something breathing.

Sophie hesitated at the threshold. “This is where they found him.”

Grant chuckled nervously, stepping forward. “Oh, come on. It’s just a basement—”

The door slammed shut behind them.

A gasp caught in Olivia’s throat. The walls seemed to pulse. The whispers began—soft, slithering, familiar.

Then, slowly, one by one, they realized—

The whispers were calling them by name.

[admin]

A friend said I should write love stories so I wrote this:


A Letter Never Sent
by Todd Doherty


Eleanor had loved James since the moment she first saw him—the kind of love that sank deep into her bones, the kind that made the world feel lighter in his presence.

For years, they had been inseparable. Their laughter wove through the quiet streets, their whispered dreams carried by the wind. They had promised each other the future—held hands beneath the stars and sworn they would never let go.

But promises could not stop fate.

James had always believed in chasing life’s greatest adventures, and when opportunity knocked—a chance to travel, to photograph the world—he left.

“Just a year,” he’d promised. “Then I’ll be back, and we’ll start our life together.”

Eleanor smiled through her heartbreak and kissed him goodbye at the train station.

But he never came back.

The news arrived in the form of a single phone call. A car crash. A terrible storm. James had been somewhere far away, lost to a fate neither of them had foreseen.

Eleanor’s world collapsed.

She spent days rereading his old letters, tracing the ink with shaking fingers, searching for remnants of the warmth he had left behind.

But there was one letter—one she had never sent.

It sat on her desk, untouched, sealed in an envelope that carried words of devotion, words she had written the night before he left.

I’ll wait for you forever. I don’t need the stars, or the perfect ending—just you.

And now, he would never read it.

Eleanor never stopped loving him. She grew older, but her heart remained tethered to a love that had been stolen too soon.

She never married, never filled the empty space beside her in bed.

Yet, every morning, she placed fresh flowers beside his old letters. Every night, she whispered his name like a prayer to the wind, hoping—just once—it would carry back a reply.

She never sent the letter.

And in time, the ink faded, the paper yellowed, but the words—the words remained.

When Eleanor was finally ready to leave the world behind, she asked for just one thing.

She wanted the letter placed with her.

And so, when the earth cradled her for eternity, the letter lay folded in her hands—never read, never answered, but forever hers.

Because some loves don’t end.

They linger, just beyond reach, waiting in the echoes of time.

[AI SAYS N9OGL HAS DownSydrome]

THEY WILL BE CRYING LIKE BITCHES, WHILE I SIT ON MY YACHT IN THE ATLANTIC, ENJOYING MY FUCKING LIFE FROM THOSE MORON.

I'm not a violent person, I JUST PISSED OFF BECAUSE THEIR ALL A BUNCH OF FUCKING MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!

Court records, FBI files, your local police, and your own photos of holding guns say otherwise

02/27/2012 
DEFT, SA. PD APPOINTED SUBJECT TO REIMBURSEMENT. CCPD ADVISES DEFT BECAME PHYSICALLY VIOLENT AND HAD TO BE RESTRAINED. DEFT ADMONISHED. PD APPOINTED 3/23/12 @ 10 A.M.

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Then there is this gem someone found

[admin]

Nope—and here’s why.

When law enforcement receives an anonymous tip from an unknown individual, they are legally obligated to corroborate it through an independent investigation. They must do this before making any arrest, because an unverified tip alone does not establish probable cause. This was affirmed by the U.S. Supreme Court in Illinois v. Gates (1983), which requires a “totality of the circumstances” approach to validate anonymous information.
In my case, the FBI received an anonymous threat that included a stolen image of me holding a handgun—an image taken from a now-defunct blog and used without my consent. That image was sent alongside the threat against the school, but no investigation was conducted to verify its origin, context, or authenticity. Instead, the FBI handed the tip to the Taylorville Police Department, who arrested me that same evening. No independent investigation. No corroboration. No probable cause.

Bottom line: The FBI and police failed to follow basic constitutional procedure. They acted on an anonymous threat without conducting any independent investigation, arrested me without probable cause, and used a stolen image as justification. Now the state is defending that failure instead of acknowledging the misconduct.

[AI SAYS N9OGL HAS DownSydrome]

AI answer is rejected.

AI says you have Down Syndrome by the way.

[admin]

no not AI you're the one with that syndrome. Crawl back to what FBBS board you crawled out of. Maybe you should read the motion to dismiss. it says the same thing.