Showing posts with label creepy. Show all posts

Monday, February 13, 2012

Scary Story Time - February, 2012

Hey guys, before we get into the story, I have a quick announcement. In light of finding out how many Friday, the 13ths we'll be experiencing in 2012, and due the the fact that I had decided to post a scary story on each one of them, I've had an idea: Instead of just randomly posting these things whenever I feel like it, I'm going to turn it into a monthly feature.

On the 13th of every month, you can expect a new Scary Story Time! I'm going to stop numbering them though, which will help, because sometimes, instead of posting a long story, I might post several short ones. And that will get clumsy. So now I'll just label each post by it's month and year, as you can see from the title of this post.

Also, at the very base of this post, look for the "Scary Story Time" tag that I'll place on each SST. By clicking on that tag, you'll have a quick consolidated list of every SST I've posted.

And finally, don't forget that JUST YESTERDAY, Bobby and I posted a BRAND NEW episode of our podcast Will and Bobby Know Everything centered on The Supernatural! So basically, once you're done with this creepy story, you should immediately search for the episode on iTunes or Stitcher, click HERE to read my post about the episode, or click HERE to listen right from your browser!

Now on to the story:

Quick disclaimer: I'm a really big fan of horror movies and scary stories. Recently I've been finding a lot of interesting little scary stories written anonymously by people on the internet, so I decided to start sharing some of the ones I like. You should know, before you read on, that I did not write any of these stories, unless otherwise noted. You should also know that I won't always be posting that I enjoy 100%. There could be a ten page story that I post because I like one sentence of it. In that case, I assume I'll explain why I posted horse-shit and what merit I see in it. Sometimes, I'll post "scary" stories that I hate, think are stupid, or maybe even funny. But more than that, you should really know that some of these stories may be somewhat graphic, so just steel yourself for anything, especially poor spelling and grammar (I don't edit these stories). No matter what, though, I hope you enjoy them too, and if you know any stories or sources, please share them with me. Also, if you have any requests, just ask, I have a huge archive of this stuff!

From the Peephole

There was a male college student living by himself in an old apartment. There was a small hole in his room’s wall, and he could peek into the next room from there. His next-door neighbor was a young woman. The woman apparently wasn’t aware of the peephole, so the man thought himself lucky and fell into a pattern of peeping on her.

Then, one day…

Around 3am, the man woke up to the sound of shuffling. Wondering what it was, he realized that it was coming from next door. Maybe she brought home a guy? Feeling his excitement mount, the man looked through the peephole. The room next door also had the lights off so he couldn’t see that well, but he could see two shadows for sure. The man felt the thrill well inside him, thinking This is it! when he noticed something was off.

The big shadow that he assumed was the man kept moving, but the woman wasn’t moving at all.

When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that the man was punching the woman. The woman seemed to be be gagged, so even if she wanted to scream all she could do was grunt. In the end, he couldn’t even hear the groaning anymore. Then the man’s shadow left the room.

A home intruder!

The man decided to call the police, but he stopped in his tracks with the phone in his hands. If he reported this to the police, his peephole would be discovered. Wanting to protect himself, the man wavered.

Within a week the police showed up at the apartment. Apparently, the woman really was killed. Inevitably, the police found the peephole and asked the man if he’d seen anything.

The man replied, “I didn’t even realize there was a hole in the wall. I never noticed anything unusual that day.”

He was asked several more questions, but it didn’t seem that the police suspected him of anything. He couldn’t forget having witnessed the murder, but the guilt of not reporting it to the police quickly evaporated. Even two weeks later, the culprit was still on the loose.

Then, one day…

Around 3am, the man woke up to the sound of shuffling again. However, ever since the incident next door, no new tenants had come to live there. Even so, the sound was definitely coming from next door. Trembling, he peeked through the hole, but he didn’t see anything moving. Thinking it was his mind playing tricks on him, he began to move away from the hole.

Suddenly, as if trying to fill up the small hole completely, a wide-open bloodshot eye appeared. The man could only stare back, frozen with fear.

Then, a raspy woman’s voice rang through the silence.

“You saw, didn’t you?”

THE END

Holy shit, that's a hell of a story. My hearts pounding. I want more scary stuff...I WANT to listen to Will And Bobby Know Everything - Episode 5: The Supernatural, but I'm afraid I might have a heart attack! I'm sure you're having the same problem, so here's a good pallet cleanser to calm your nerves before you move on to WBKE:

(Photo Source: http://babyanimalz.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/baby_tiger_tongue_out.jpg)

Phew, that's better. Now on to WBKE Episode 5!

Seeya!

Friday, January 13, 2012

Scary Story Time #11

Hey guys, I just read some disturbing news. SEVERELY disturbing news. Evidently it's Friday, the 13th. Not only that, but we'll be having ANOTHER Friday, the 13th in 13 weeks! These are dark days, indeed. 2012 is supposedly the year that the world ends, and based on the aforementioned facts, I have to assume that this rumor is true.

Yes.

The fact that there will be two Friday, the 13th's in 13 weeks is UNDENIABLE PROOF that the world is ending.

(Disclaimer: I don't believe in any of that bullshit)

More disturbing than that is the fact that evidently I haven't posted a scary story since Halloween. I used to post these goddamn things too much, but now I find out I haven't done it in nearly a quarter of a year!

So here we go.

I should tell you that at some point I had read so many anonymously written creepy stories, that I began to rediscover stories I'd already read. I was worried that maybe I'd read them all. So I branched out. Via Google Reader, I searched for certain keywords like "creepy," "scary," and "weird." Again, I would just come across new blogs with the same old stories.

Until I found a new source.

Japanese horror stories and Japanese myths.

At first I was reluctant, because I had considered Japanese horror to be a little too bizarre, and less frightening than strange. To be fair, I was basing that assumption on the commercials I had seen for movies like The Ring and The Grudge, which looked like shit.

I decided to give anonymously written Japanese horror stories a try. And I was not disappointed.

Yes, these stories are different from anything else I have read. And no, I don't like all of them. There are urban legends about mythical creatures which are half-man and half-dog. Those stories, I don't like. But the Japanese have a very different approach to stories about ghosts. Their concept of ghosts seems to be wholly different from anything we have in this country (United States). I find it to be bizarre and disturbing. The mental image that the following story creates is both surreal and terrifying. The person who translated and re-posted the story I bring to you today (http://sayainunderworld.blogspot.com/) uses letters in place of character names. Today's story is told about a man called "Y."

So, yes, it's pretty different, but let it wash over you.

Here we go:

Ooh, is it Y?

This is a story I heard from my friend Y. Y's grandad died about two years ago. Y loved his granddad almost too much, and at the funeral he cried like a baby, not caring that other people were watching.

It happened on the seventh day after his granddad's death. On that day there was a storm warning for the area where Y lived and in spite of the murderous wind Y didn't have enough money on him to take a bus and had to walk home from school. He struggled all the way to keep himself from blown away and it was already past seven in the evening when he finally arrived home. He took out the key from the bag and opened the front door.

As soon as he was in, he saw the door to his own room, which was visible from the front door, open, as if to welcome him. He could see from the opening that the light and the TV had been switched on, as well as the halogen heater, which was the sole source of heat in his room.

It must be mum. She was considerate enough to have my room warmed up before I got home. Y thought happily, and he called out to her in a voice more cheerful than usual.

But strangely, no one answered Y. He looked around the front door and noticed there was only one pair of shoes that belonged to Y (note:Japanese people leave shoes at the front door before entering the house) and neither his mum's nor dad's shoes were there. Then Y remembered everyone in the family apart from Y was going to be home late, due to them attending a memorial service that was being held for his granddad. Who could be home then? Y was afraid that it might be a burglar.

Y tiptoed to his room, and fearfully peeked inside through the door. In the room there sat Y's dead granddad with his back to the door.
The moment Y realized that it was his granddad, his fear vanished into thin air. Y was the sort who could never watch horror movies without having someone beside him, but although he knew he was seeing a ghost it was different when the ghost was his granddad's.

Tears rushed to his eyes out of love and gratitude that his granddad cared enough about him to visit him even after death.
Granddad gave a few of his characteristic coughs and clumsily scratched at the back of his head.
"Granddad." When Y called, grandad slowly stood up and turned around.
And as he turned, as if by a trick, the outline of his body became slightly blurred.

Granddad's face looked as if covered in red ink.
"Oh...Oooh, Y. Is it Y?" Granddad called Y's name.
The voice was as he remembered it, but the intonation was somewhat strange. It was too monotonous. Granddad used to speak with a strong accent, but his voice sounded artificial as if it had been computer-generated.
Granddad took one feeble step towards Y.
"What happened to you, granddad?"
Y said, growing anxious because granddad was acting strange.
Granddad again coughed a few times and scratched his head.

"Granddad, did you try to come home?"
When Y asked, grandad looked up at the ceiling as if he was trying to think a little, and said;
"Oh...Oooh, Y. Is it Y?," uttering exactly the same phrase and in the same intonation as before. Y found that disturbing, and began to think maybe what he was seeing in front of him was not his granddad at all.
Granddad was still staring at the ceiling. From his fingers some purplish-red liquid trickled to the floor, making a small pool on the carpet. Moreover, when Y looked at him more closely, he noticed that granddad's arm was bent at an unnatural angle; and the length between the shoulder and the elbow was longer than a normal person's upper arm should be. Granddad wasn't like that at all when he was alive. Maybe this thing was something that was pretending to be his grandad.

Y slowly start to back away, being careful not to make any noises. Despite that the thing that was pretending to be his granddad seemed to have realized Y's intention and, stretching only its neck, he stared at Y.
Oh no, it's looking at me - the moment Y thought it, the thing's face was right in front of him.
Its body was still standing where it was; the only parts that moved were its head and neck. The neck was now like a over-stretched rubber band. Before his eyes, purplish-red bubbles formed around its mouth.
"Oh...Oooh, Y. Is it Y?"
Y screamed.

He ran for his life and took refuge in the nearest bookshop. He was scared to be alone in the house. He couldn't go back until the rest of the family was home, by which time it was past 9pm. He told them what happened to him but none took him seriously.

That night he was forced to sleep in his own room, where the red granddad appeared. Y felt uneasy. Whenever he closed his eyes he feared that he would see that red face the moment he opened his eyes again. But in the end fatigue took the better of him and he fell asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, his face somehow felt itchy. He went to the bathroom and looked himself in the mirror; his face was wet with purplish-red juice.

From then on he stopped sleeping in his room. Because he wasn't sure if he could manage to escape like the last time if the thing appeared to him again.

To this day Y still says, "that was definitely not my granddad."

I don't know about you, but for whatever reason, that description of the grandfather's neck stretching like a rubber band really gets me. It's weird, and oddly nondescript, what is actually happening here. I myself picture the grandfather standing still, across the room from Y, but his neck is stretched, parallel to the floor, so that his face is inches away from Y's. It's terrifying to me, because of how weird it is.

I'm going to go a step further here.

I'm about to get REALLY fucking nerdy. Part of what terrifies me about this story is that, in part, I relate the grandfather's ghost to this character:

This character (enemy) is from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, from both the Nintendo 64 and the Nintendo 3DS, and it's a fucking nightmare.

It pops out of the ground with it's over-long neck stretched out straight up to the ceiling. Once you approach it, it slowly brings it's head down to stare at you, and ultimately attempt to bite you with it's huge mouth.

Bonus points for bullshit: it also has weird long arms that pop out of the ground around it, with sharply nailed hands which will grab you told hold you in place for some goddamn chomping.

Anyway. That's the creepy story for today, Friday, January 13th, 2012.

I don't want to leave you shaking in your boots though, defenseless though. So here's an item to help you:

(Photo source: http://www.deltaattack.com/2011/07/12/can-you-finish-zelda-with-only-a-cat/)

Take it easy guys.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Happy Halloween! It's Scary Story Times #8, #9, and #10!!!

Hey guys, it's Halloween, so even though I typically try to space out when I post my favorite scary stories, I figured today I'd definitely have to make an exception.

Because it's supposed to be the most frightening day of the year, I'm posting not one...not two, but THREE different scary stories from the internet! I think I'll try to take a few weeks off from scary stories, so enjoy these three! That's right, turn off the lights, hop in bed, and get scared! Here we go:

Across the Border

There was a couple from Texas who were planning a weekend trip across the Mexican border for a shopping spree.. At the last minute, their baby-sitter canceled, so they had to bring along their two year old son with them. They had been across the border for an hour when the baby got free and ran around the corner. The mother tried to find him, but he disappeared. The mother found a police officer who told her to go to the gate and wait.
Not really understanding the instructions, she did as she was told.
About 45 minutes later, a man approached the border, carrying the boy. The mother ran to him, grateful that he had been found. When the man realized it was the boy's mother, he dropped him and ran. The police were waiting for him. The boy was dead, and in less than 45 minutes he was missing, he was cut open, all of his organs removed, and was stuffed with cocaine. The man was going to carry him across the border as if he were asleep.

NEXT:

Bad Dream

"Daddy, I had a bad dream."
You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness - It's 3:23am.
"Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"
"No, Daddy."
The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not, sweetie?"
"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."
For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.

And finally, one of my favorites:

Always With You

I am always with you.

I was there from the time you were born. I stood in the delivery room, staring down at you before you could even open your eyes to see me. Your parents, relatives and doctors couldn't see me there, in the corner, watching you with cloudy eyes, but I was there from the time you were born.

And I followed you home.

I was with you always, your constant companion. You played with your toys alone while I stared from all angles in nearby mirrors; my matted, clotted hair with oily sweat that hung off my dented forehead like glue. I was always your constant companion, drifting behind your mother's car on your ride to preschool. You alone in the bathroom, but I was on the other side of the door, wind whistling through the bruised hole in my throat. My arms twisted and hanging in their sockets as I stood hunched on the other side of the shower curtain. I wait and follow you. I follow and drift behind you.

I'm not seen. I'm almost not-there in light. You never saw me that morning as I sat across from you at the breakfast table, a shiny red clot hanging from an empty tooth socket as I gaped grotesquely at you. I wonder sometimes if you know I'm there. I think you are aware, but you'll never understand just how close I am.

I spend hours of your day doing nothing more than breathing in your ear.

Breathing - gagging, really.

I crave to be close to you, to always wrap my crippled arms around your neck. I lie near you every single night, cloudy eyes starting at your ceiling, underneath your bed, at your sleeping face in the dark.

Yes. You caught me staring occasionally.

Your parents came running to your room one night when you screamed. You were just beginning to talk, so you were only able to cry out "Man! Man in my room!"\

You thought you'd never forget the sight of me, with my collapsed jaw hanging to my chest, swinging back and forth. I sank back into your closet and your mother was unable to see me though you pointed and pointed and pointed. You thought you'd never forget when they left that same night. You saw the closet door crack so softly and me crawling across the floor to your bed on all fours, shambling in jerking movements as I pushed myself under your bed on disjointed limbs.

You learned a new word for me: boogeyman. Not quite the monster you thought I was. I'm just waiting and following you always, touching your face with my knotted fingers as you sleep.

You'll see me again soon. Any day now, I'm coming, blunt and brutal. One day you'll walk across the road and - I believe I'll plow into you with a loud roar and a screech.

You rolling on the pavement, rolling under wheels, bluntforce metal fenders and my fingers touching your face again and again.

As you stare up from the cold pavement with cloudy eyes; your matted, clotted hair hanging in your face and your jaw unhinged and swinging to your chest.

You'll see me approaching.

No one else will see me.

You will stare past them into my eyes and I'll leer down at you. For the first time in our life, something like a smile will come over my face. You'll swear you're looking into a mirror as clotted red bubbles form from our mouths.

I'll lean down, past the doctors and the ogling people and pick you up in my crooked arms.

Our faces will touch. My wings will unfurl. And then you'll have to follow me.

And I am always with you.

I am your guardian angel.

There you go, three creepy ass stories to freak you out. That one with the kid in Mexico is almost nauseating. God...Anyway...

Happy Halloween, everybody. Go crazy!

(Photo courtesy of http://dogs.thefuntimesguide.com/images/blogs/dog-halloween-costume-by-Don-Hankins.jpg)

Monday, October 24, 2011

Trip to Salem: Part 1 AND Scary Story Time #7: The Big Guns

Just this evening, on October 23rd, 2011 (Parents' 28th anniversary, by the way!), I got back home from a weekend away in Salem, Massachusetts with my girlfriend, my three sisters, two nephews, one niece, and friends. It was a hell of a trip.

I'll be honest with you, I did absolutely no research heading into the trip, and my only knowledge of the place was the obvious: The Salem Witch Trials took place there, and The Crucible was written about them. That's really about it. In my mind, I had created some sort of Colonial Williamsburg type place, with people in period clothing talking about witches and teaching you how to churn butter and shit.

Fortunately, I'm an idiot.

The place is totally witch obsessed, but in a way that there are statues and Halloween decorations everywhere, and even a legitimate honest-to-god graveyard is a novelty. There are PLENTY of Salem, MA shirts/mugs/jackets to buy with the silhouette of a witch on them. And while there are actual houses that are supposedly haunted (more later) there are also plenty of buy-a-ticket Haunted Houses filled with people dressed up like monsters and crap. I went through one with my niece Audrey, my nephew Kenny, and his buddy Mike. $7.00 each. Not bad. Let's do it.

You walk in, and it's nearly pitch black. And obviously the way in which it's scary is simply that people pop out from behind false-walls and scream at you. Simple. That being said, I reflexively went to brace myself a couple of times. More than that, I then reflexively tried to pretend I hadn't done that.

I am a nearly 25 year old man.

My favorite parts of the short "ride" included when we all turned right at a corner, into a hallway. I happened to look to the left as we turned, however, and could see a girl dressed like some bloody monster getting ready to scream at us. I calmly pointed at her, and jokingly commanded her, "don't scare me." she put her hands on her hips, annoyed. Then she got bored and walked away. Not too shabby. Later, some killer guy was ordered by his "master" via radio to kill us. He revved up a drill, and screamed at us. I quickly made peace with my time on earth and prepared to die. But the craziest thing happened!! He screamed more and told us to get out of his face. We survived! But surely his master is going to fire him.

Oh also, and my nephew Kenny told me that one of the crazy monster guys was yelling at him, and that when he (Kenny) reached out and touched something on the wall, the guy stopped yelling, and, sounding whiney, pleaded, "Hey, don't touch that."

Chilling.

We later went on a ghost tour hosted by a guy named Tim in a tri-cornered hat. He gave us an interesting bit of information about Nathaniel Hawthorne, some local landmarks and lore, and then an interesting bit of information about himself: He is both a medium and a psychic, and some nights he hosts ghost hunts. He then hand-chose my family and me to accompany him on such a ghost hunt that very night. We immediately signed up.

At 11:00pm on October 22, 2011, the Rogers family made contact with a ghost.

To be continued.

Now, being that it's getting close to Halloween, I'm pulling out the big guns. Here is a scary story that I've always been a pretty big fan of. It's very odd, very creative, and very unsettling. Definitely not meant to be read by anyone who isn't feeling well, or anybody squeamish. But enjoy one of my favorite weird horror stories:

Mail

It all started as a message in my mailbox one morning. Having my morning coffee and cigarette, I decided to walk out to the mailbox and check my mail. I had bought this house from an auction for a very low price. It was out in the quiet country. Me being a city kid, I had no idea what country life was like until I had made a few friends around the area. With the purchase of the house came 100 acres of crop land that, in the autumn, blossomed into golden produce that swayed beautifully in the wind.

I slipped on my shoes and headed out to the road, still slightly groggy. Upon opening the mailbox, I found a dead bird inside; at first, I thought it was those stupid kids playing pranks again - last week, they decided to toilet paper my lawn. I pulled the dead bird out and threw it on the ground; it was mangled to a pulp, almost as if a dog had gotten hold of it.

Inside was nothing.

I started to think that maybe the kids had stole my mail, but eventually I brushed it off and told myself I'd get up early in the morning and watch the mail come so I could catch the jerks in the act. The next morning came and the mailman came as usual. I walked out and got my mail, not thinking anything of it. the next morning was the same.The next week came and I walked out to get my mail once again. This time, I was horrified at the sight; my white mailbox had blood smeared all over it. I opened the mailbox cautiously. Inside was a mangled cat.

I gasped and covered my mouth, quickly choking back the vomit raising to my throat. I rushed to my garage, put on my gloves, and pulled the poor animal out. Stapled to it was a note, fairly legible, but crude nonetheless. On the note was a simple smiley face. I was disgusted at that; whoever did it thought it was funny. I gave the cat a proper burial and continued with my day.The next morning, I woke up around 5:00 AM, walked out, and checked my mailbox again to see if it had been tampered with. The cat I had just buried in my backyard was stuffed inside yet again, this time another note attached to it. This one had a frowning face and under it, "You don't like my present?"Pissed off and finally fed up, I decided to bury it yet again and stay up all night to watch my mailbox to find out who was doing this. The time rolled by - 12:00 am, 1:00 am, 2:00 am, nothing at all....then, at 3:00 am, I finally saw movement across the road and out of the cornfield there came a figure into my yard.

I watched it until it finally came under the security light I have in the middle of my yard. What I saw I cannot begin to explain. It was a man...or at least I think it was. It was hunched over like an old man with long gangly arms that went farther than the average human and its head bent downwards as if it was looking for something it had dropped on the ground.The man looked frail and weak, but it moved with great speed. I quickly and quietly moved to the back window and peered out as I saw it dig up the cat once again and hold it in its arms; it stroked the cat as if it were alive and quickly hurried around to the front of my house. Back at my front window again and watching it as it made its way to my mailbox and put the cat inside, it disappeared into the night. That day I didn't leave my house; I was too shocked of what happened. I slept a bit then decided to take a trip to the store; when I came back, I checked the mailbox again and there it was, the same cat I just buried. I went to take the dead cat out of my mailbox once again and bury it in a different spot, then proceeded to stay up again that night and what to see what happened.

A flashlight in hand and watching my front window again, I saw the long, spindly man come out of the field and jog into my yard, to the spot where I just buried the cat that day and started to dig it up with his hands. I slid open the back sliding glass door and stepped outside, turned on the flashlight at the man, and yelled "What in the hell are you doing?!" The man turned around to face me, and that's when I saw the thing for the first time, in plain sight. Its body looked like it had been mauled by a bear - clothes ripped, rotting skin shown through, its teeth completely exposed and jagged, and the eyes sunken in. I quickly ran back inside as it gave a shrieking sound and hopped over in my direction.I slid the glass door shut and locked it, and grabbed the pistol I had bought for self-defense from under my couch. Sending a bullet into the chamber, I shined the light at the door and waited. I accidentally fired off a shot in fear when a glob of something smacked against the glass and slid down it. I walked to the glass door and shined the light down to see what it was: a mess of entrails were scattered across the bottom and blood smeared across the glass.

Sick to my stomach, I chocked back the vomit that was rising from my stomach.I quickly rushed back to the couch that was against the wall and sat there with my eyes fixed upon the glass door, my flashlight off. Outside, I could see the moonlight through the gruesome mess that was plastered upon the glass. I saw a figure approach the door, then its hands smeared the blood across the window. I was frozen with fear, waiting for it to break the glass and try to take my life from me.After smearing the blood, it turned around and walked away. I swear I could hear a faint chuckle, like a smoker's lungs laugh, but more raspy. I sat in the sofa and didn't budge; I don't know how long I waited, but after a while the room became light as the sun rose in the sky. I looked around the house - everything was so quiet - then fixed my eyes on the window and smeared across it were hand prints with very unusually long fingers and a smiley, the same one on the letter. I sighed and tried to make myself comfortable, but, still alert, I laid down and rested my eyes.

A few hours later, I awoke from a nightmare and propped myself up on the couch.I was, apparently, pissing whatever it was off, and I was getting more scared by the second just thinking of whatever was out there, lurking. I cleaned up the entrails off the ground and went out to check my mail, then I came across a plain letter. Curious, I opened it up and felt a chill shoot up my spine.The letter had no words - only a smile, the same, crude smile that was on the letter stapled to the cat and on my sliding glass door.I quickly crumbled it up and tossed it on the ground. I left that night; I went to stay with my parents up in the city for a few weeks. Not explaining my situation to them, I just simply told them that I had been sick of country life and needed a change for a few weeks. They happily agreed.

When I returned to my home three weeks later, horror was stricken across my face, for my house was not as I left it. As soon as I walked in, the stench of rotting carcass hit my nostrils and I vomited on the floor. Covering my nose with my shirt, I proceeded to the light switch.Turning on the light made me shriek in terror. Scattered throughout my house were entrails and carcasses of dead animals; some were propped up like humans on my couch, and all were staring at me as I stood, horrified, in the doorway. All over the white walls were smiley faces and the same writing over and over, "I'm very angry with you," written in blood. I lifted up the couch seat to look for my pistol, but it was gone.I saw something in the hallway moving steadily back and forth. Flipping on the hall light, there it was again: the creature who had almost killed me the night before I had left. It snapped its gaze to me and moved its mouth into a sickening smile. It jumped up and started to walk in my direction. I quickly turned around and ran outside, slamming the door behind me.

I got into my car, started it up, and proceeded to back out of the driveway and onto the road as fast as I could. Behind me, I saw a figure in my rear-view mirror running up to my car; its arms slammed into the trunk and it proceeded to hop onto the roof of my car.I shifted into drive and slammed on the gas; I drove all night as far as I could away from the house, those dead animals, that thing. As soon as I was in the city limits, I decided to buy some gas, seeing as I was almost on empty. I pulled into a gas station and got out of my car. My eyes widened as I saw the trunk had been completely bashed in. I quickly pumped the gas and left for my parents' house.

Four months later, I am living in my apartment, dealing with occasional nightmares at times, but could never be happier to get away from that house and that monster that lives there.I just checked my mail this morning and received a letter with no return address. Inside, written on crumpled up paper, was a crudely draw smiley face and the words, "You can't hide," scribbled underneath it.

Terrifying and disgusting. I don't know what your mental image is for the way the monster looks and the way it sounds, but what I've got cooking in my imagination leaves me pretty unsettled. So this picture of another awesome animal is not just to help calm you down, it's also for me:

(Image courtesy of: http://chztotsandgiggles.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/funny-kids-pictures-superhero-squad-to-the-rescue.jpg)

Alright, take it easy guys, I plan to have the ghost-hunting story up in the next couple days!

Monday, October 3, 2011

Scary Story Time #5 and #6

Well, I haven't posted anything here for a really long time, so I'm going to get back into the swing of it by posting a couple of quick scary stories. I'll post some of my own crap soon.

Quick disclaimer: I'm a really big fan of horror movies and scary stories. Recently I've been finding a lot of interesting little scary stories written anonymously by people on the internet, so I decided to start sharing some of the ones I like. You should know, before you read on, that I did not write any of these stories, unless otherwise noted. You should also know that I won't always be posting that I enjoy 100%. There could be a ten page story that I post because I like one sentence of it. In that case, I assume I'll explain why I posted horse-shit and what merit I see in it. Sometimes, I'll post "scary" stories that I hate, think are stupid, or maybe even funny. But more than that, you should really know that some of these stories may be somewhat graphic, so just steel yourself for anything, especially poor spelling and grammar (I don't edit these stories). No matter what, though, I hope you enjoy them too, and if you know any stories or sources, please share them with me. Also, if you have any requests, just ask, I have a huge archive of this stuff!

New Cell Phone

A couple of months ago, my friend's cousin (a single mother) bought a new cell phone. After a long day of work, she came home, placed her phone on the counter, and went watch to TV; her son came to her and asked if he could play with her new phone. She told him not to call anyone or mess with text messages, and he agreed. At around 11:20, she was drowsy, so she decided to tuck her son in and go to bed. She walked to his room and saw that he wasn't there. She then ran over to her room to find him sleeping on her bed with the phone in his hand. Relieved, she picked her phone back up from his hand to inspect it. Browsing through it, she noticed only minor changes such as a new background, banner, etc., but then she opened up her saved pictures. She began deleting the pictures he had taken, unril only one new picture remained. When she first saw it, she was in disbelief. It was her son sleeping on her bed, but the picture was taken by someone else above him... and it showed the left half of an elderly woman's face.

This one constantly gets me, even though Allie pointed out that this woman looks like Liza Minelli. Final story for now:

Across the Border

There was a couple from Texas who were planning a weekend trip across the Mexican border for a shopping spree. At the last minute, their baby-sitter canceled, so they had to bring along their two year old son with them. They had been across the border for an hour when the baby got free and ran around the corner. The mother tried to find him, but he disappeared. The mother found a police officer who told her to go to the gate and wait. Not really understanding the instructions, she did as she was told.
About 45 minutes later, a man approached the border, carrying the boy. The mother ran to him, grateful that he had been found. When the man realized it was the boy's mother, he dropped him and ran. The police were waiting for him. The boy was dead, and in less than the 45 minutes he was missing, he was cut open, all of his organs removed, and was stuffed with cocaine. The man was going to carry him across the border as if he were asleep.

Aaand here's a picture of a monkey to reverse the effects of the horror:

(Image from http://monkeyislandpanama.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/CapuchinMonkey011.jpg)

Take it easy guys.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Scary Story Time #3 and #4

I was originally going to avoid posting scary stories for a while, since I did it two times in a row, but I'm really enjoying the shitty rainy weather, so all I want right now is spooky stuff. Anyway, I decided to just put up a couple short stories that I really like.

Quick disclaimer: I'm a really big fan of horror movies and scary stories. Recently I've been finding a lot of interesting little scary stories written anonymously by people on the internet, so I decided to start sharing some of the ones I like. You should know, before you read on, that I did not write any of these stories, unless otherwise noted. You should also know that I won't always be posting that I enjoy 100%. There could be a ten page story that I post because I like one sentence of it. In that case, I assume I'll explain why I posted horse-shit and what merit I see in it. Sometimes, I'll post "scary" stories that I hate, think are stupid, or maybe even funny. But more than that, you should really know that some of these stories may be somewhat graphic, so just steel yourself for anything, especially poor spelling and grammar (I don't edit these stories). No matter what, though, I hope you enjoy them too, and if you know any stories or sources, please share them with me. Also, if you have any requests, just ask, I have a huge archive of this stuff!

Sarah O' Bannon

Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. In a certain small town Harold, the local gravedigger, upon hearing a bell one night, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time, it wasn't either. A voice from below begged and pleaded to be unburied.
"Are you Sarah O'Bannon?" Harold asked.
"Yes!" The muffled voice asserted.
"You were born on September 17, 1827?"
"Yes!"
"The gravestone here says you died on February 20, 1857."
"No, I'm alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!"
"Sorry about this, ma'am," Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. "But this is August. Whatever you are down there, you sure as hell ain't alive no more, and you ain't comin' up."

AND:

Last One Today

In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.

She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She went to the police, who raided the address on the envelope, where they found heaps of human flesh for sale.

And what was in the envelope?

"This is the last one I am sending you today."

So there you go, a couple brief, creative, scary stories. Two favorites of mine, actually. Their the kinds of stories that somehow captivate you from the very first word until the surprising last one.

And because I don't want to give you nightmares tonight, here's a little something to balance out the spookiness:

(Photo via: http://images.paraorkut.com/img/funnypics/images/p/pig_dog-12443.jpg)

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Scary Story Time #2

Curious Little Thing

I have an odd habit a friend recently picked up on, a habit I developed about a year ago. He noticed that when I enter a room, any room, and shut the door, I turn my face away from it and close my eyes until I hear the lock click. Only after the door is fully closed will I open them. He gave me a hard time about it until I told him where it started.

I work for a water-seal company in St. Paul. We produce sealant for exposed wood — decks, boats, that kind of thing. You hear about sealant being a dirty word in the Ashland-Ichor Falls-Ironton area, but not all those companies were part of the infamous “Ethylor summer” that wiped out the local economy in the ’50s. I got sent to an industrial park outside of Ichor Falls on business.

I checked into this dismal hotel, the Hotel Umbra, that looked like the decor hadn’t been changed since 1930. The lobby wallpaper had gone yellow from decades of cigarette smoke, and everything had a fine layer of dust, including the old man behind the front desk. I hoped that the room would be in better shape. Mine was on the fourth floor.

Being an old place, the hotel had a rickety cable elevator, the kind with the double sets of doors: one of those flexing metal gates, and a solid outer pair of doors. I shut the gate and latched it, and pressed the tiny black button for my floor.

Just as the outer elevator doors were about to close, I was startled by the face of a young woman rushing at the gap between them. She was too late; the doors shut, and after a moment the elevator ascended.

I thought nothing of it, until I needed to take the elevator back down for one of my bags. I entered, pushed the button for the lobby, and pressed my tired back to the elevator wall opposite the doors. They had nearly completely shut when again I was surprised by a woman’s face moving towards the gap, staring into the elevator through the gate, too late to place her hand in to stop the doors from closing. This time I sprang forward and held the “Door Open” button, and after a moment the doors lurched and slid open.

I waited a moment. From the opening I could see partly down the hallway: no one in sight. Still holding the button down, I slid open the metal gate and craned my head into the hallway to look down the other direction.

No one. No trace of the girl, no recently shut hotel room door, no footsteps, no jingle of keys.

I released the button, but did not lean back against the wall. I stood directly in front of where the gap in the doors would be, in the center of the elevator. After a pause, the outer doors again began to slide shut, to move towards each other until the space between them was the width of a young girl’s face.

In that quarter-second several fingertips appeared, followed immediately by her face again, rushing from around the corner, staring at me as the doors met. I had been watching the gap where I thought she might be, so I saw her — she was about thirteen years old, and very plain, almost homely, with a pale complexion and neck-length dark brown hair that looked mussed or slightly dirty.

I didn’t have time to glance down at her visible shoulder, to see what she was wearing; from her behavior I wondered if she was a runaway or a homeless person who had gotten into the building. She had had a glassy, blank expression, tinged with a little desperation, some distant desire or need. A look that could easily be accompanied by the words “Please help.”

The next time I passed the front desk, I asked the old man if he’d seen a young girl running through.

“Heard the stories, then,” he said between throat-clearings, rocking gently in his seat. “Young Maddy has been here a long time. Takes a liking to gentlemen guests. Always been shy. Never says a word, not a word. Just curious.”

I told him I hadn’t heard any stories, and that there had been a girl taking the stairs and standing in front of my elevator on every floor.

“That’s our Maddy,” he said. “She likes you then. Sweet on you. She just wants to see, that’s all, just to see. All she ever does. Curious little thing. Just wants to see.”

I stayed at the Hotel Umbra for three nights. It was a four-night business trip; the last night I tried sleeping in my car. It didn’t help.

Let me tell you about Young Maddy. You only catch glimpses of her, of a face with a resigned look of quiet desperation, dominated by a pair of wide, dark eyes. Locked doors, barricades, nothing made a difference; she gets inside. I never saw her longer than half a second. Every time I laid eyes on her she retreated instantly, only to appear again an hour or two later. An hour or two if I was lucky.

Let me tell you about where I saw Young Maddy.

Every time I shut the door to my bathroom, in my hotel room, I saw her. If I watched as I shut it, at the last possible second I’d see the crescent of her face moving fast at the gap. I’d throw the door open to find nothing.

Every time I closed the closet door I saw her. If I watched that gap, she’d suddenly be inside the closet, leaning her head to watch me just as it shut. It’s as if she knew where to go, where to be, so that my eye would meet hers. But there was never an impact, never a moment when she’d make contact with the door or the wall.

The first time I sat at that writing table I saw her. As I closed the large bottom drawer. She rushed at the gap from inside the drawer, her wide eyes pleading for something I could not give. I pulled the drawer from its rails and threw it to the floor.

I did spend that last night in my car, but like I said, it did no good. Tossing and turning on that rental car seat, the back ratcheted as flat as I could get it, I’d have to open my eyes sometimes, and if there was a place for her to dart from my view when I opened them, she did. In the side-view mirror, or peeking over the hood of my car — once upside-down, at the top of the windshield, as if she was on the roof.

I’m back in St. Paul again, and I’ve been back for a year. But Maddy hasn’t stopped. If I keep my eyes open long enough, if I watch a place long enough, I’ll eventually catch sight of movement — near the copier in my office, a pile of boxes in an alley, a column in a quiet parking lot — and my eye will get there just in time to see her eye retreating from view. There’s never anything there when I go to look, so I’ve stopped looking.

That’s how I’ve had to change things since the Hotel Umbra. I’ve stopped looking. I keep my eyes shut when I close doors, when I shut drawers and cabinets, fridges, coolers, the trunk of my car. Not all spaces. Just ones that are big enough.

At least, that used to work. I was getting ready for bed a few nights ago, standing in front of my bathroom mirror, door shut, cabinets shut. Watching myself floss. I opened up wide to get my molars.

I swear I saw fingertips retreat down the back of my throat.

This story actually legitimately freaked me out for a while, but that's probably just because I already have a fear of people staring at me. Now I occasionally think of this stupid little girl ghost whenever I see that there is a cabinet or something open across a room. I swear to god, if I EVER see a stupid freaky face peaking at me from under a bed, I'm just going to die on the spot. Oof...Okay, here's something to help us all calm down:

(Photo via: http://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_liavrjB9nF1qhtfmeo1_1280.jpg?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJ6IHWSU3BX3X7X3Q&Expires=1326934227&Signature=jfY8OkwnxULDdZIZfEenS76WZAM%3D)

Look at these guys! So silly!

I'm still scared. Send me your favorite scary stories, guys!

WillRogers2000

About Me