Bogleech.com's 2013 Horror Write-off:
" Last Will and Testament of Mr. Darius Belwether "
Submitted by Immutatus
If you are reading this, I am thought to be dead.
I am not dead. I cannot die. Not anymore. But there is a possibility that a body will be found that resembles me in every detail, and naturally it will be assumed that it is mine, and that I am dead. It will not be mine, and I will not be dead, but the conclusion, however, mistaken, will be understandable. If you are reading this, then that is undoubtedly what happened.
The body that is found that resembles me will not be dead either. You may, however, go ahead and bury it. It won't matter. Not for a very long time.
Do not, however, burn it. That is, do not attempt to burn it. It will not burn, but the consequences of attempting to do so may be unpleasant.
If you are reading this, I am not dead in fact, but I have been declared dead from a legal standpoint. It behooves me, therefore, to clarify how my worldly goods are to be disposed.
For these purposes, the most important of my possessions are a set of small shapes carved out of a material that appears to be jade. They will be found in the second drawer down in the desk in the study, at precisely six p.m., Eastern Standard Time. The date does not matter; they can be found there on any day; but they will only be present at that specific time. If you look in the drawer at any other time, they will not be there, but in most cases there will be no harm done. Do not, however, under any circumstances look in the drawer between 2:13 and 2:16 a.m.
There will be five of these shapes. They must be distributed, one to each of my closest friends, family, and colleagues. One to you, of course. One to my sister, dearest Claudia. One to my longtime correspondent, Arthur Lark. One to a naked young man you shall find in the attic, of whose existence I suppose you were hitherto ignorant. And one to an old woman who shall visit you the night after you read this document, bearing a black umbrella.
As for which of the shapes should go to each person, simply go with your first impulse. I do not say this lightly, and I do not mean to imply that it is unimportant. It is, in fact, of grave import that the shapes are correctly distributed. Your first impulse will be correct. Do not second guess yourself, whatever doubts may later arise.
Aside from the green shapes, the disposition of my material goods is of no consequence. You may claim them yourself, if you wish, though I do not recommend it. Perhaps it is best they simply be given to the charity of your choice, preferably one representing a cause with which you do not sympathize. I know that some of my more avaricious relations may carp at this for a while, but they will not long be in any position to do so.
If you are reading this, everyone believes me to be dead. I do not exclude you; I do not expect you to credit my assurances that I still live, or at least exist. If it comforts you to think I have gone to a better place, you may do so. It is, in a fashion, true, though not in the sense that you think it, and not without some subjectivity regarding the actual superiority of my current location.
Nevertheless, having at least in some sense departed, though, again, not in the sense you presume, I should address the dispensation of what I have left behind. I have already taken care of my material possessions; now I must deal with the immaterial.
My awe I leave to my nephew Clarence; may he make better use of it than I did. My asthma I leave to my friend Thomas Wainwright; know that I do so without malice. My humanity I leave to Miss Melanie Surtowe; I know of no one in sorer need of it. And to you, I leave, at last, a taste of my foreknowledge.
If you are reading this, you know what is nigh.