Insane Limited Apparel

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Together with my friend Bartek Idzikowski, we have been working on designing our own clothing brand for a long time, but not so ordinary. We wanted a brand for people who like spicy, dark and sometimes strange atmosphere. This is how Insane Limited was created, which in its limited offer has t-shirts with dark graphics.

Insane Limited is a brand offering T-shirts, posters and accessories targeted at all thrill-seekers. Every design is a result of an original approach to given subject. In our shop, you will find collections focusing on different motives from the best horror stories.

Boo!

www.insanelimited.com

Ripper’s story
There are many stories about people buried alive. The ending is always gruesome, and the depiction of
what the unlucky go through in their last moments may leave a permanent trauma. But these stories are
tragic. Mine is worse.
My family was always old-fashioned. Holy to the limits. When I was sick, they were praying for my health,
instead of calling a doctor. But the sickness was insensitive to the salutary effects of their prayers. When I
slipped into a coma, they’ve declared me dead and then buried. Apparently, my funeral was beautiful...
Absolute darkness. Absolute silence. Overwhelming reek of soil and wet wood. If not for the water oozing
from the wood, I probably wouldn’t even wake up. Lace near the wrist - old superstition that saved my life.
Tube, in which it flew to the bell on the ground, provided me access to the air. Obviously, no one reacted to
jiggling - the lace was destroyed long before my awakening.

Having tube in my mouth, I began to smash the planks. They were easily destroyed, covering me in mud.
Slowly - centimeter after centimeter, I started to go up. Hours and days have passed, I was falling asleep
and waking up without any rhythm, I was sucking water out of the soil and swallowing occasional vermin
that have found its way to my lips.

My muscles must have been so relaxed that for the underground predators I was no different from the soil.
When the first of them tried to bite into my skin and consume leftover meat, I passed away. Further bites
were less and less noticeable. When I began to think that I will be eaten alive, a breath of fresh air sobered
me up. I was out.

This was my first, damned night on the surface. I fed myself everything that was moving. Vermin started to
reproduce itself in my limbs. I’ve learned to live in symbiosis with them.
In search for better alimentation, I’ve arrived to the city. I’ve found some abandoned basements and I sit in
them in darkness, waiting for other meat servings. I hear the steps. I take the crowbar, called by me “the
fork” and I’m going to greet my guests. It’s time for dinner.

Author: Jakub Caban

Smiley’s story

14 years in four walls. 14 years of being a prisoner in my own house, under the eyes of my own family. I
was supposed to go to the preschool, but the shame won. At first, they were visiting me, but when I’ve
learned to read, they’ve stopped caring about my education. Why should they care? I wasn’t going
anywhere. I’ve just had my books, three meals a day, and a bed I outgrew long time ago. And clowns.
These cursed, annual clowns. Every year these damned clowns!
At first, I was always happy for my birthday, because that was the only day when someone actually paid me
a visit and entertained me. Year after year, these tradition became grotesque.
In my adolescent years, in the darkness of the basement, I was still visited by the clown for kids.
Nevertheless, I was still enjoying this moment when I could finally talk to someone.
After 14 years, something has changed. By counting the number of the nails, I assume it should have been
my 18th birthday. Instead of an annual party for children, the sad clown came. And instead of entertaining
me, he started laughing. Not with me - at me. It should have been my day of joy, not his. I had to changed
the roles. I had to put an end to this show.
I’ve managed to escape in his disguise. Plank from the bed with a couple of nails turned crimson with
blood. Clown, father, mother, sister… I had to fix what they have destroyed. Children should be given laugh
and joy. I have to smile.
They point fingers at me when they see me. They chase me, that’s why I hide. I whisper to children’s ears,
when I encounter them. I invite them to play. We laugh together. But please, don’t laugh at me. I don’t want
to hurt you...

Author: Jakub Caban

Widows’s story

He was always quite mysterious. I’ve felt like he wasn’t telling me everything. When I was asking him
questions about work, he was mumbling something about the office, and then suddenly changing the
subject. I didn’t mind. I was young and stupid. That’s why when he finally offered to show me what he does
for living - I instantly agreed.
During the trip outside the city, I’ve felt a little bit weary and fell asleep. I woke up in a hospital bed, among
harsh, concrete walls. The air was cold and humid. At first I thought that we had an accident, yet there were
no injuries. He wasn’t there. I was completely alone.
Finally, he arrived. Dressed in white doctor’s gown, face deprived of any emotion. He wasn’t answering my
questions, he just examined my body and left. And then, they came and took me away. They drove me
through long hallways with no windows. I was screaming, but no one responded. When I was struggling,
they tied me with leather belts. I was lying on the operating table.
When I started trembling, they gave me some drugs. My body ceased to react, but I remained conscious.
Why? When cold steel of a scalpel cut through my skin, I wanted to howl out of pain. But I couldn’t move.
During the operation I was dreaming of blissful unconsciousness, when strong waves of pain caused by
inflicted tortures were flooding my conscious mind.
Seconds blended into minutes, and minutes were lingering on inexorably, turning into hours. And then
finally, they stopped. My whole body was the source of pain, yet I was able to move my fingers. They
weren’t expecting that, thinking I was asleep. I ripped my arms out of leather shackles - the pain of flayed
skin was nothing in comparison to the agony during the operation. Furious, I was throwing them onto the
wall, I was breaking bones, crushing skulls. I ran forward through the hallways. Someone pursued me,
someone was yelling. It didn’t matter. I was running, killing many on the way.
People do not accept me after what they’ve done to me. That’s why I hide, every day in a different
basement. And I continue to hunt Him, although now I don’t even remember His name. My embrace shall
not be as pleasant this time. Someone’s coming. I have to check it...

Author: Jakub Caban