It’s the summer, and you’re out of your college classes for at least a week or two, before the next semester starts. You’ve spent this time lounging around, and sleeping a lot. But lately, correspondence between your local friends has dropped off. They don’t drop by. Your phone’s been quiet for awhile, and your IM lists are all empty.
After five days of this, you’ve gotten bored enough to try chatrooms. They’re all empty; even the big ones. Any e-mails you send get no replies.
When you leave your apartment, the whole of the building is unearthly silent. The only noise that comes about at all is the whurr from the automated Rail outside. Nobody answers when you knock. All the buildings are dark and locked up when you look out the window; the only cars are of the parked variety.
A search of the entire building, and even further beyond that, yeilds nothing. No life; the only movement is from the wind, or the automated peices of machinary. Defeated, you slink back into the empty apartment complex.
On your door is pinned a note:
“Turns out the guy in room 302 really could sleep through the end of the world.”
The note is dated five days ago.
miercuri, 2 ianuarie 2013
Stairs
I do not own this story.
You might be getting yourself ready for bed, hopping out of the shower at night, or running to grab something before a date when you inadvertently find yourself descending a flight of darkened stairs. About halfway down said flight, the urge to go that much faster jolts into your mind and you immediately obey.
What are we running from that dwells in the darkness up the stairs? Is it simply the thought of darkness that causes us to want to leave the situation as soon as possible? Or is there something else? A darker, more sinister force awaiting us to take our time going down the stairs to nab us and take us with them to their hell-hole? Or perhaps is it a force of good, attempting to protect us from the things in the darkness?
Could it be that every time we feel that urge to move faster the very hands of an evil force are grabbing our back, and because of our sudden speed we slip out of its grasp? Who knows. Just remember, next time that you’re going down that flight of stairs, don’t look back and skip some stairs if necessary!
You might be getting yourself ready for bed, hopping out of the shower at night, or running to grab something before a date when you inadvertently find yourself descending a flight of darkened stairs. About halfway down said flight, the urge to go that much faster jolts into your mind and you immediately obey.
What are we running from that dwells in the darkness up the stairs? Is it simply the thought of darkness that causes us to want to leave the situation as soon as possible? Or is there something else? A darker, more sinister force awaiting us to take our time going down the stairs to nab us and take us with them to their hell-hole? Or perhaps is it a force of good, attempting to protect us from the things in the darkness?
Could it be that every time we feel that urge to move faster the very hands of an evil force are grabbing our back, and because of our sudden speed we slip out of its grasp? Who knows. Just remember, next time that you’re going down that flight of stairs, don’t look back and skip some stairs if necessary!
Child's Eyes...
I do not own this story.
Every child fears under their bed. If they don’t, they fear the closet, or maybe that little crack in the almost closed door.
Scientists know that children are more perceptive, they see things adults don’t. They aren’t yet tethered into only accepting what society wants them to accept. They see what is truly there.
They see the monsters.
If you were to borrow a child’s eyes and see through them for a night, you would go insane. To be able to see what you only dimly remember, burrowing into your covers while wearing those train pajamas, hoping to a God you can barely comprehend that “it” doesn’t see you back…would drive an adult crazy. Because Adults forget the rules.
1) Cover yourself. If you can’t see it, it can’t see you. Even if it makes it harder to breathe.
2) Don’t make a noise. Every whimper can lead to destruction.
3) Don’t move. It attracts their attention.
4) Only light can make them go away. Bright light. Flashlights make it worse.
Teens are caught in the middle. They still feel what’s there, but they cannot see… and they forget the rules….
Why do you think there are so many insomniacs typing at their computers, subconsciously praying the light from their monitor will be enough to keep them away?
It’s not. Now look behind you with a child’s eyes and try not to scream.
Every child fears under their bed. If they don’t, they fear the closet, or maybe that little crack in the almost closed door.
Scientists know that children are more perceptive, they see things adults don’t. They aren’t yet tethered into only accepting what society wants them to accept. They see what is truly there.
They see the monsters.
If you were to borrow a child’s eyes and see through them for a night, you would go insane. To be able to see what you only dimly remember, burrowing into your covers while wearing those train pajamas, hoping to a God you can barely comprehend that “it” doesn’t see you back…would drive an adult crazy. Because Adults forget the rules.
1) Cover yourself. If you can’t see it, it can’t see you. Even if it makes it harder to breathe.
2) Don’t make a noise. Every whimper can lead to destruction.
3) Don’t move. It attracts their attention.
4) Only light can make them go away. Bright light. Flashlights make it worse.
Teens are caught in the middle. They still feel what’s there, but they cannot see… and they forget the rules….
Why do you think there are so many insomniacs typing at their computers, subconsciously praying the light from their monitor will be enough to keep them away?
It’s not. Now look behind you with a child’s eyes and try not to scream.
Lights On
I do not own this story.
I was six, maybe seven years old when this happened. My family had just gotten back from visiting my aunt’s house. My cousins were watching a scary movie in the basement, and even though my parents said I would get scared, I snuck downstairs and watched some of it. I don’t remember what part I saw, but there were little monsters with teeth that would eat people in their sleep.
When we left for home it was dark outside and my parents scolded me for watching that movie. I secretly hoped they would keep scolding me, because I was feeling sleepy and didn’t want those things to eat me. We got home fine and my parents even managed to calm me down enough to the point where when my bedtime came around I could go to sleep.
I fell asleep almost immediately and slept pretty well. I woke up sometime during the night. Knowing where everything is in my house I didn’t turn the lights on, but instead used the street light coming in the windows. I went to the bathroom and then got a glass of water. As I was putting the glass in the dishwasher, something pricked my hand. I pulled my hand back and switched on the lights, but there was nothing in the dishwasher.
I looked at my hand and it had four little indents on the top and bottom where something had broken through the skin. Since that day I’ve had little bumps on my skin where the marks were, and I always remember to turn the lights on.
I was six, maybe seven years old when this happened. My family had just gotten back from visiting my aunt’s house. My cousins were watching a scary movie in the basement, and even though my parents said I would get scared, I snuck downstairs and watched some of it. I don’t remember what part I saw, but there were little monsters with teeth that would eat people in their sleep.
When we left for home it was dark outside and my parents scolded me for watching that movie. I secretly hoped they would keep scolding me, because I was feeling sleepy and didn’t want those things to eat me. We got home fine and my parents even managed to calm me down enough to the point where when my bedtime came around I could go to sleep.
I fell asleep almost immediately and slept pretty well. I woke up sometime during the night. Knowing where everything is in my house I didn’t turn the lights on, but instead used the street light coming in the windows. I went to the bathroom and then got a glass of water. As I was putting the glass in the dishwasher, something pricked my hand. I pulled my hand back and switched on the lights, but there was nothing in the dishwasher.
I looked at my hand and it had four little indents on the top and bottom where something had broken through the skin. Since that day I’ve had little bumps on my skin where the marks were, and I always remember to turn the lights on.
The Blind Man's Favor
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.”
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.”
The House of Dissapearances...
I do not own this story.
There was this woman whose husband was acting very strange one day, very paranoid, she asked him why and this is what he told her:
“Twelve years ago to this day a whole bunch of my friends and I went to an old haunted house downtown to stay the night because we thought it would be fun. We were all settled on the bottom floor of the house and we were fine for the first few hours. We began to hear things that sounded like foot steps pacing on the floor above, and scratching on the walls.”
“We sent Jimmy, who was the oldest of us, up to have a look so he grabbed his flashlight and we watched him head up the steps. His foot steps seemed to stop towards the last few steps where he was no longer visible to us and slowly his light faded from view, we called after him but there was no reply.”
“Afterwards we sent Matt, the second oldest up to find him, he walked up the steps and the same thing happened. At this point we thought they were joking, and out third eldest, Jason went up to look shouting that he knew it was a trick and to give it up, at the last few steps where the other guys had vanished his shouting voice became distant before vanishing completely.”
“The rest of us got scared and went home to call the police who checked it out the next morning and found blood smeared up the sides of the stairwell. They searched the entire house and never found a soul. The house was eventually knocked down and not one body was found. Every year on this day one of us remaining from that house has disappeared going from oldest to youngest.”
Her husband was not seen again after that day. Police held an brief investigation, but nothing came of it.
There was this woman whose husband was acting very strange one day, very paranoid, she asked him why and this is what he told her:
“Twelve years ago to this day a whole bunch of my friends and I went to an old haunted house downtown to stay the night because we thought it would be fun. We were all settled on the bottom floor of the house and we were fine for the first few hours. We began to hear things that sounded like foot steps pacing on the floor above, and scratching on the walls.”
“We sent Jimmy, who was the oldest of us, up to have a look so he grabbed his flashlight and we watched him head up the steps. His foot steps seemed to stop towards the last few steps where he was no longer visible to us and slowly his light faded from view, we called after him but there was no reply.”
“Afterwards we sent Matt, the second oldest up to find him, he walked up the steps and the same thing happened. At this point we thought they were joking, and out third eldest, Jason went up to look shouting that he knew it was a trick and to give it up, at the last few steps where the other guys had vanished his shouting voice became distant before vanishing completely.”
“The rest of us got scared and went home to call the police who checked it out the next morning and found blood smeared up the sides of the stairwell. They searched the entire house and never found a soul. The house was eventually knocked down and not one body was found. Every year on this day one of us remaining from that house has disappeared going from oldest to youngest.”
Her husband was not seen again after that day. Police held an brief investigation, but nothing came of it.
The String Theory
This one is really freaky. Also, I do not own it.
Have you ever had an experience that suggested someone else was in your house, and just thought “I don’t wanna know” and left it? Sometimes, fear of the unknown just seems like the preferable option than facing a real, concrete danger. Normally it’s nothing, though. One time, the beeper function of my wireless housephone went off, when I was the only one home. It could only be called from the living room. Another time, I swear someone took some change from my desk. They’re all probably just slightly disconcerting tricks of the memory.
But what would you do when something truly suggestive happens? Would you run, or just ignore it, like I did?
Last Monday was a normal day. I got up, brushed my teeth, changed into school clothes… All little parts of my morning ritual. It seemed like it would be another totally un-noteworthy day, until I saw the strings.
There were three or four thick twine strings in my room. They criss-crossed between the walls around my bed, one attached to the door. No way would I have missed them before; I should have tripped over them. They were tied to pins in the walls, which had also not existed before ten seconds ago.
Nobody could have been in my room while I was in it, let alone set this up. It was early, and my brain wasn’t processing correctly. I simply discredited the sight, untied the strings and left for school, leaving them balled up on my desk.
It didn’t get any better later. Outside my house there were hundreds of them, tied between houses, around cars, across streets… This had to be some super elaborate prank. One of those hidden camera shows, or a comedy improv blog. They had gotten everyone else to play along too; passer-bys were tangled in them, tying them to objects they were walking towards and away from, as if they had been and were continuing to follow the course laid out for them.
I nervously continued my journey to school. On the bus, every except me was tied to the door. At school, groups of friends were tied to each other; teachers were tied to their desks and boards. Oddly enough, at this point all I could wonder was why I had been left out.
When my friend Lucy sat beside me in first period, she simply plonked her bag down on my lap and rested her chin in her hand, looking right past me to the window outside.
“Hey Lucy.”
No response.
“Come on, I didn’t expect you to be in on this too. “
She sighed and started taking books from her bag. All the books were tied to her hands. I grinned, and yanked one of the strings off a book. She didn’t seem to notice, instead simply disregarding the book completely, letting it drop to the floor without a moment’s hesitation.
“Um.” I leaned down, picking up her book and placing it back on her desk. She took no notice.
“Well, if that’s how we’re gonna play it.” I smiled, trying to look playful, but really just trying to hide my nervousness. I bundled all the strings attached to her together with one hand, then pulled them all free.
She blinked, turning to stare at me.
“Holy crap, Martin. You’re like a ninja or something.”
“I’ve been sitting here for maybe ten minutes.” I smiled again, relieved my friend had finally “noticed” me.
“Where did all these strings come from??” She gasped, seemingly noticing for the first time.
“I assumed you were all fucking with me…”
She stood up, backing into a corner. No one else in the class noticed.
“They weren’t here just a minute ago! Do you see them too??” Her tone made it clear she was genuinely scared.
“No. Didn’t you-. “ I was interrupted by my teacher slamming the door behind her. Everyone except me and Lucy murmured a good morning, and still, no one seemed to pay either of us any notice.
“People have been ignoring me all day.” I said to Lucy, before turning to our teacher. “Hey! Dumb bitch! You can’t teach for shit!”
No reaction.
“I’m getting away from all this shit.” Lucy pulled a few strings aside and left the class. I followed, and surprise-surprise, no one else noticed.
We wandered the corridors, leaving and entering classes as we saw fit. Whenever we untied a chair or book from someone else, it was like it suddenly didn’t matter to them. It didn’t exist.
I showed her the street outside; there were more strings than when I came in this morning. Twice as many. We carefully picked our way through the tangle, making our way to a nearby coffee shop. Not particularly grand, I know. But what would you do in our situation? As I said, fear of the unknown sometimes seems like the safer option. On a few occasions, I suggested we untie a few more people. Lucy was opposed to it, remembering how terrified she’d been.
In the coffee shop, we grabbed a couple of sandwiches and drinks from the fridge. We found a table, untied all strings attached to the chairs, and sat down. We both ate in silence, both of us too scared, both of us distracting ourselves by watching the strangers in the shop, oblivious to the strings.
After twenty minutes, Lucy spoke up. “Now she’s gonna take that sandwich.” She said, pointing at a woman across the shop. Sure enough, she walked to the fridge and took the plastic wrapped sandwich she was tied to. “She pays for it and leaves.” She did so, according to the prophecies of the strings. “That guy doesn’t intend to pay.” I watched as a man took his coffee and ran out of the store, the two servers just looking too exasperated to go after him.
“This is horrible.” She whimpered. “Let’s go. Please.”
Outside wasn’t much better. Everyone just followed the strings’ instructions, going about their daily lives. Lucy announced she was going home to sleep this off, and I agreed to walk her home. She only lived ten minutes away.
Away from the busier part of town there were fewer strings. It was nicer; we could pretend it wasn’t happening.
When we turned onto Lucy’s street, she stopped, her mouth falling open.
“What now?” I broke the silence, my voice sounding surprisingly small.
”Look.” She pointed outside one of her neighbours houses.
I saw it clearly, and I’ll take my memory of that moment ‘til the day I die. A little dark imp, maybe three feet tall, walking along with its knuckles on the ground, almost like a monkey. It had two bulbous yellow eyes taking up about half its face, and no mouth or any other facial features. It was holding a hammer and a ball of twine, which it was letting out behind it.
It walked quickly and quietly from the front door of the house to the mailbox. It stopped, hammered a nail into the side of the box, and tied it’s string around it. It turned to face us, and stopped when it spotted us.
My bottom fell out even further than it had already been, but it just stared with a look of surprise and curiosity. You could almost say it was the more frightened one. Suddenly, it beckoned to us with its tiny hand.
I looked at Lucy, she hadn’t moved. I looked back at the imp, which stared at me.
I halved the distance between us, and then halved it again. This wasn’t fear of the unknown anymore; it was fear of this little guy. Didn’t seem like anything to be scared of. When I was a meter away from it, it extended its hand.
“Uh. Hi.” I shook it. It nodded in approval, blinking its massive yellow eyes up at me.
“So you’re the ones in charge of the strings?” It nodded eagerly. I called Lucy over, but she stayed where she was.
“There are more of you?” Another nod. I wanted to ask it so many questions, about what it was and where it came from, but it seemed for now I was stuck with only yes or no questions.
“Do we even have free will?”
It just looked at me, almost sadly. I immediately felt sick to my stomach, and couldn’t bear looking at the little monster anymore. I grabbed Lucy, who had been listening to our exchange, and now sat on the curb with her head in her hands.
“Come on.”
We entered her house, and I made her a cup of tea. When I found her in the living room, she had untied her dog and was curled up with it, crying. I set the tea down and sat beside her.
“I’m so scared.” She whispered after a good ten minutes of sobbing. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
“I’m going to sleep” She mumbled suddenly, and was under within the minute. Sleep was starting to sound pretty good all of a sudden, my eyelids suddenly felt like they were being weighed down.
I collapsed to the rug, and the last thing I heard before I fell asleep was the scurrying of several sets of little feet nearby.
I felt much better the next day, as if the whole affair had been a dream. I’d probably have believed that if I hadn’t been awoken by Lucy’s mother that morning, wondering what I was doing sleeping over without permission or something.
Over breakfast, Lucy asked me why I looked so pale and nervous. I turned to her and smiled, mumbling something to her about feeling sick.
But the truth was, I was scared because I couldn’t see any strings, and was wondering whether my actions were truly my own.
Have you ever had an experience that suggested someone else was in your house, and just thought “I don’t wanna know” and left it? Sometimes, fear of the unknown just seems like the preferable option than facing a real, concrete danger. Normally it’s nothing, though. One time, the beeper function of my wireless housephone went off, when I was the only one home. It could only be called from the living room. Another time, I swear someone took some change from my desk. They’re all probably just slightly disconcerting tricks of the memory.
But what would you do when something truly suggestive happens? Would you run, or just ignore it, like I did?
Last Monday was a normal day. I got up, brushed my teeth, changed into school clothes… All little parts of my morning ritual. It seemed like it would be another totally un-noteworthy day, until I saw the strings.
There were three or four thick twine strings in my room. They criss-crossed between the walls around my bed, one attached to the door. No way would I have missed them before; I should have tripped over them. They were tied to pins in the walls, which had also not existed before ten seconds ago.
Nobody could have been in my room while I was in it, let alone set this up. It was early, and my brain wasn’t processing correctly. I simply discredited the sight, untied the strings and left for school, leaving them balled up on my desk.
It didn’t get any better later. Outside my house there were hundreds of them, tied between houses, around cars, across streets… This had to be some super elaborate prank. One of those hidden camera shows, or a comedy improv blog. They had gotten everyone else to play along too; passer-bys were tangled in them, tying them to objects they were walking towards and away from, as if they had been and were continuing to follow the course laid out for them.
I nervously continued my journey to school. On the bus, every except me was tied to the door. At school, groups of friends were tied to each other; teachers were tied to their desks and boards. Oddly enough, at this point all I could wonder was why I had been left out.
When my friend Lucy sat beside me in first period, she simply plonked her bag down on my lap and rested her chin in her hand, looking right past me to the window outside.
“Hey Lucy.”
No response.
“Come on, I didn’t expect you to be in on this too. “
She sighed and started taking books from her bag. All the books were tied to her hands. I grinned, and yanked one of the strings off a book. She didn’t seem to notice, instead simply disregarding the book completely, letting it drop to the floor without a moment’s hesitation.
“Um.” I leaned down, picking up her book and placing it back on her desk. She took no notice.
“Well, if that’s how we’re gonna play it.” I smiled, trying to look playful, but really just trying to hide my nervousness. I bundled all the strings attached to her together with one hand, then pulled them all free.
She blinked, turning to stare at me.
“Holy crap, Martin. You’re like a ninja or something.”
“I’ve been sitting here for maybe ten minutes.” I smiled again, relieved my friend had finally “noticed” me.
“Where did all these strings come from??” She gasped, seemingly noticing for the first time.
“I assumed you were all fucking with me…”
She stood up, backing into a corner. No one else in the class noticed.
“They weren’t here just a minute ago! Do you see them too??” Her tone made it clear she was genuinely scared.
“No. Didn’t you-. “ I was interrupted by my teacher slamming the door behind her. Everyone except me and Lucy murmured a good morning, and still, no one seemed to pay either of us any notice.
“People have been ignoring me all day.” I said to Lucy, before turning to our teacher. “Hey! Dumb bitch! You can’t teach for shit!”
No reaction.
“I’m getting away from all this shit.” Lucy pulled a few strings aside and left the class. I followed, and surprise-surprise, no one else noticed.
We wandered the corridors, leaving and entering classes as we saw fit. Whenever we untied a chair or book from someone else, it was like it suddenly didn’t matter to them. It didn’t exist.
In the coffee shop, we grabbed a couple of sandwiches and drinks from the fridge. We found a table, untied all strings attached to the chairs, and sat down. We both ate in silence, both of us too scared, both of us distracting ourselves by watching the strangers in the shop, oblivious to the strings.
After twenty minutes, Lucy spoke up. “Now she’s gonna take that sandwich.” She said, pointing at a woman across the shop. Sure enough, she walked to the fridge and took the plastic wrapped sandwich she was tied to. “She pays for it and leaves.” She did so, according to the prophecies of the strings. “That guy doesn’t intend to pay.” I watched as a man took his coffee and ran out of the store, the two servers just looking too exasperated to go after him.
“This is horrible.” She whimpered. “Let’s go. Please.”
Outside wasn’t much better. Everyone just followed the strings’ instructions, going about their daily lives. Lucy announced she was going home to sleep this off, and I agreed to walk her home. She only lived ten minutes away.
Away from the busier part of town there were fewer strings. It was nicer; we could pretend it wasn’t happening.
When we turned onto Lucy’s street, she stopped, her mouth falling open.
“What now?” I broke the silence, my voice sounding surprisingly small.
”Look.” She pointed outside one of her neighbours houses.
I saw it clearly, and I’ll take my memory of that moment ‘til the day I die. A little dark imp, maybe three feet tall, walking along with its knuckles on the ground, almost like a monkey. It had two bulbous yellow eyes taking up about half its face, and no mouth or any other facial features. It was holding a hammer and a ball of twine, which it was letting out behind it.
It walked quickly and quietly from the front door of the house to the mailbox. It stopped, hammered a nail into the side of the box, and tied it’s string around it. It turned to face us, and stopped when it spotted us.
My bottom fell out even further than it had already been, but it just stared with a look of surprise and curiosity. You could almost say it was the more frightened one. Suddenly, it beckoned to us with its tiny hand.
I looked at Lucy, she hadn’t moved. I looked back at the imp, which stared at me.
I halved the distance between us, and then halved it again. This wasn’t fear of the unknown anymore; it was fear of this little guy. Didn’t seem like anything to be scared of. When I was a meter away from it, it extended its hand.
“Uh. Hi.” I shook it. It nodded in approval, blinking its massive yellow eyes up at me.
“So you’re the ones in charge of the strings?” It nodded eagerly. I called Lucy over, but she stayed where she was.
“There are more of you?” Another nod. I wanted to ask it so many questions, about what it was and where it came from, but it seemed for now I was stuck with only yes or no questions.
“Do we even have free will?”
It just looked at me, almost sadly. I immediately felt sick to my stomach, and couldn’t bear looking at the little monster anymore. I grabbed Lucy, who had been listening to our exchange, and now sat on the curb with her head in her hands.
“Come on.”
We entered her house, and I made her a cup of tea. When I found her in the living room, she had untied her dog and was curled up with it, crying. I set the tea down and sat beside her.
“I’m so scared.” She whispered after a good ten minutes of sobbing. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
“I’m going to sleep” She mumbled suddenly, and was under within the minute. Sleep was starting to sound pretty good all of a sudden, my eyelids suddenly felt like they were being weighed down.
I collapsed to the rug, and the last thing I heard before I fell asleep was the scurrying of several sets of little feet nearby.
I felt much better the next day, as if the whole affair had been a dream. I’d probably have believed that if I hadn’t been awoken by Lucy’s mother that morning, wondering what I was doing sleeping over without permission or something.
Over breakfast, Lucy asked me why I looked so pale and nervous. I turned to her and smiled, mumbling something to her about feeling sick.
But the truth was, I was scared because I couldn’t see any strings, and was wondering whether my actions were truly my own.
The Guests
I love how my Grandfather is always around to keep me company. On days that my Mom isn’t around, Grandpa is always nearby to comfort me. I sit on his lap, tell him stories about my day, and I never feel like I’m alone. Although our house is never empty even when Mom leaves for work, and I sit with Grandpa and read stories while he enjoys his chair, we always have guests in every room of our house.
There’s Edna and Elma the twins my Grandfather is friends with, they’re always sitting together in the kitchen with a teapot between just the two of them. There is also Joseph the plumber who went to school with Dad. Often seated with him in his study as dad is hunched over his desk, with a grin on his face, always looking at their High school yearbook while Joseph keeps him company as old friends should. Unless Mom needs to use a spare chair, then Joseph just stands next to Dad as he looks at his yearbook.
Then we have our younger guests like Beth and Tomas, who are around my age. Often upstairs when they aren’t playing with me. However I don’t really care if Tomas stays up there with his Mom and Dad, he never talks to me, and always makes a stupid face at me when I try and play with him. But Beth is really nice, she has pretty blonde curls in her hair, wears pretty perfumes and makeup, and sometimes Mom buys new dresses for her to wear. I’m sure she likes those, because she always has a smile on her face, even when I accidentally asked Mom how she got the ugly scar on her back. I felt bad when Mom told me that she had gotten the scar when she came here and was separated from her parents, who Mom says were very bad people. So I guess that makes her like the sister I never had, but I just like playing games with her when I’m bored. But Mom often scolds me if I get Beth’s dresses dirty, or accidentally knock her down.
Tonight my Mom says we’ll be having another guest, and a new friend for me to play with! Hopefully his family can come too! But Mom says that it’s hard to get an entire family like Tomas’ to come and stay in our home. So before she leaves for work, she tells me she’ll be home by Midnight. She gives me a kiss on the cheek, packs up her tools, and tells me to go make some space in Beth’s room for the new boy to stay. It’s the last time I talk to Mom before she leaves for work, and I go upstairs to get the bedroom ready. It takes me awhile, and by the time I’m done I don’t want to play with Beth like I usually do. So I grab a storybook from Beth’s shelf, and go downstairs to the living room. As always Grandpa is there, sitting in his rocking chair, waiting for me to come sit in his lap and tell him how my day went.
So I climb up into his lap, and snuggle against him as I tell him about our new guest. But I notice something’s wrong. His head is limp to one side, and his eye’s are closed. So I hop off his lap, and go into the kitchen as fast as I can. I run past Edna and Elma, and immediately go for the bottom drawer next to the silverware where we keep Grandfather’s emergency supplies. I go back into the living room, stopping at the doorway to remember my manners, and I say “Good evening” to Edna and Elma before I go back to Grandpa. Carrying the supplies in my arms, I drop them behind Grandpa’s chair and look up at his neck. “Grandpa, your stitches came out again! It’ll take me forever to fix your neck like last time!…hmph…if only Mom had sewn you shut with a machine and used beads to stuff you like she did to Beth, instead of that flimsy cotton. Then you wouldn’t be falling apart all the time!”.
But I’m not upset with him, it’s not his fault. Mommy was only learning when she first brought him over as a guest. We’d only just moved into the neighborhood, and she had wanted to make sure that we’d never have to be lonely ever again. But of course now our guests can sit straight and never fall over, and Mom says that someday she’ll be sitting next to Grandfather while I’m out bringing new guests to keep us company.
There’s Edna and Elma the twins my Grandfather is friends with, they’re always sitting together in the kitchen with a teapot between just the two of them. There is also Joseph the plumber who went to school with Dad. Often seated with him in his study as dad is hunched over his desk, with a grin on his face, always looking at their High school yearbook while Joseph keeps him company as old friends should. Unless Mom needs to use a spare chair, then Joseph just stands next to Dad as he looks at his yearbook.
Then we have our younger guests like Beth and Tomas, who are around my age. Often upstairs when they aren’t playing with me. However I don’t really care if Tomas stays up there with his Mom and Dad, he never talks to me, and always makes a stupid face at me when I try and play with him. But Beth is really nice, she has pretty blonde curls in her hair, wears pretty perfumes and makeup, and sometimes Mom buys new dresses for her to wear. I’m sure she likes those, because she always has a smile on her face, even when I accidentally asked Mom how she got the ugly scar on her back. I felt bad when Mom told me that she had gotten the scar when she came here and was separated from her parents, who Mom says were very bad people. So I guess that makes her like the sister I never had, but I just like playing games with her when I’m bored. But Mom often scolds me if I get Beth’s dresses dirty, or accidentally knock her down.
Tonight my Mom says we’ll be having another guest, and a new friend for me to play with! Hopefully his family can come too! But Mom says that it’s hard to get an entire family like Tomas’ to come and stay in our home. So before she leaves for work, she tells me she’ll be home by Midnight. She gives me a kiss on the cheek, packs up her tools, and tells me to go make some space in Beth’s room for the new boy to stay. It’s the last time I talk to Mom before she leaves for work, and I go upstairs to get the bedroom ready. It takes me awhile, and by the time I’m done I don’t want to play with Beth like I usually do. So I grab a storybook from Beth’s shelf, and go downstairs to the living room. As always Grandpa is there, sitting in his rocking chair, waiting for me to come sit in his lap and tell him how my day went.
So I climb up into his lap, and snuggle against him as I tell him about our new guest. But I notice something’s wrong. His head is limp to one side, and his eye’s are closed. So I hop off his lap, and go into the kitchen as fast as I can. I run past Edna and Elma, and immediately go for the bottom drawer next to the silverware where we keep Grandfather’s emergency supplies. I go back into the living room, stopping at the doorway to remember my manners, and I say “Good evening” to Edna and Elma before I go back to Grandpa. Carrying the supplies in my arms, I drop them behind Grandpa’s chair and look up at his neck. “Grandpa, your stitches came out again! It’ll take me forever to fix your neck like last time!…hmph…if only Mom had sewn you shut with a machine and used beads to stuff you like she did to Beth, instead of that flimsy cotton. Then you wouldn’t be falling apart all the time!”.
But I’m not upset with him, it’s not his fault. Mommy was only learning when she first brought him over as a guest. We’d only just moved into the neighborhood, and she had wanted to make sure that we’d never have to be lonely ever again. But of course now our guests can sit straight and never fall over, and Mom says that someday she’ll be sitting next to Grandfather while I’m out bringing new guests to keep us company.
Chat
It was a regular Friday night and I was up late chatting to my friend Bradley on this virtual chat room we had found online. He told me and the other guys who we had just met, that he was able to stay up as late as he wanted, because his parents were away until the weekend and he had the house to himself. We stayed on there for a few hours having fun with these random people, and I noticed Bradley had taken a liking to one girl in particular. Soon enough, my mum began calling out for me to go to sleep. As I was about to log off, I asked Bradley what he was doing tomorrow, thinking he might want to stop by my place. He didn’t reply for a while, until:
“Bradley is typing a message.”
Then it went blank.
“Bradley is typing a message.”
Nothing again.
“Whatever man, I’m going to bed we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I said. It was strange for him to just stop replying like that.
I didn’t hear from him again until the next day when I logged on to the chat site and he was on. He apologised for not replying last night and said he had just been busy. We had a brief exchange, and he said he would come over soon, saying it was urgent. That was fine, but queried him why he didn’t want to wait to see his parents first, who would be home any minute. He insisted there was no time because he had something really important to show me, and then logged straight off. I thought that was out of character for him, as he usually put his family before anything, and I grew curious at what he wanted to show me so badly.
I expected him to be over soon, as he only lived about twenty minutes away, when I received a disturbing phone call. It was Bradley’s parents, who had just come home and were sounding extremely worried. They asked if I knew anything on Bradley’s whereabouts, to which I told them not to worry, because he was in fact on his way over. The phone fell silent for a moment until I heard a deathly scream from the mother in the background on the other end of the line. The father drew a deep breath, and bravely strung together a sentence that I’ll never forget. “Get out of the house now. Bradley’s here… He’s dead.” They had found Bradley’s lifeless body hung up like a coat in the wardrobe. I ended the call in shock, as it became apparent why he had asked if I would be home alone, when suddenly I heard the back door creak open.
Instinctively, I did the first thing I could think of and quickly crawled under my bed to hide. I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, ever so slowly. I dared not to open my eyes, but when I dreadfully peaked through my fingers, I saw these pale white, cold, bare feet coming in to my room, almost in slow motion. I would hate to see the person such feet belonged to. As they slowly approached the bed, you could hear the dampness of the footsteps peeling away from the floorboards; my heart was pounding in my mouth and I held my breath. Just when I couldn’t possibly get any more scared, my phone let off a loud beep to notify me that I had received a message. It was from Bradley’s phone and read: “Where are you?” as the feet stopped abruptly, dead in their tracks…
“Bradley is typing a message.”
Then it went blank.
“Bradley is typing a message.”
Nothing again.
“Whatever man, I’m going to bed we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I said. It was strange for him to just stop replying like that.
I didn’t hear from him again until the next day when I logged on to the chat site and he was on. He apologised for not replying last night and said he had just been busy. We had a brief exchange, and he said he would come over soon, saying it was urgent. That was fine, but queried him why he didn’t want to wait to see his parents first, who would be home any minute. He insisted there was no time because he had something really important to show me, and then logged straight off. I thought that was out of character for him, as he usually put his family before anything, and I grew curious at what he wanted to show me so badly.
I expected him to be over soon, as he only lived about twenty minutes away, when I received a disturbing phone call. It was Bradley’s parents, who had just come home and were sounding extremely worried. They asked if I knew anything on Bradley’s whereabouts, to which I told them not to worry, because he was in fact on his way over. The phone fell silent for a moment until I heard a deathly scream from the mother in the background on the other end of the line. The father drew a deep breath, and bravely strung together a sentence that I’ll never forget. “Get out of the house now. Bradley’s here… He’s dead.” They had found Bradley’s lifeless body hung up like a coat in the wardrobe. I ended the call in shock, as it became apparent why he had asked if I would be home alone, when suddenly I heard the back door creak open.
Instinctively, I did the first thing I could think of and quickly crawled under my bed to hide. I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, ever so slowly. I dared not to open my eyes, but when I dreadfully peaked through my fingers, I saw these pale white, cold, bare feet coming in to my room, almost in slow motion. I would hate to see the person such feet belonged to. As they slowly approached the bed, you could hear the dampness of the footsteps peeling away from the floorboards; my heart was pounding in my mouth and I held my breath. Just when I couldn’t possibly get any more scared, my phone let off a loud beep to notify me that I had received a message. It was from Bradley’s phone and read: “Where are you?” as the feet stopped abruptly, dead in their tracks…
Laura
Laura looks at the clock on her dashboard which reads “5:43”. She curses herself for staying late at work, but there was just too much to do to justify leaving early. Being Valentines Day, she knows she should have made an effort to get home on time to be with her husband. They managed to somehow get the kids out of the house for the weekend and the thought of missing out on this opportunity for some alone time is nearly frightening.
Rolling into her driveway, she notices something posted on the door. The stack of papers on the passenger seat is stuffed into her bag as she exits her minivan and walks up to the door. Her eyes squint the whole way, trying to make something of this disconformity. It’s a note. She reads it and her heart sails.
“Meet me inside for some fun…”
Part of her feels her level of guilt double, being that he has put some real effort into this special day, but the other part can’t wait to see what her husband has cooked up. She turns around to see if anyone is watching, slightly embarrassed that perhaps someone has seen this sultry example of foreplay. No one. She tears off the note and dances inside, giddy with excitement.
The lights throughout the house are all turned down while candles burn, their dim ambiance casting soft rays of amber against the beige walls. She tosses her bag to the floor and starts searching. The second note is found in the kitchen, stuck to the side of a can of whipped cream.
“You’re almost there. Come to the bedroom and bring this with you.”
Her heart is pumping with anticipation as she grabs it and makes her way to the staircase. She grasps the banister with her free hand, arms shaking. Each step has a rose petal placed delicately on it and rich vanilla cascades from a candle perched somewhere in the dark abyss of the hallway. Reaching the top floor she sees another note on the door to the bedroom.
“Welcome.”
She quickly fluffs and fixes her hair before flinging the door open, standing in the threshold in her sexiest stance. The bed is made up with heart shaped pillows. A bottle of champagne is chilling in a bucket of ice. More candles fill the room with light and scent but something is wrong. Her husband is nowhere to be found. Confused, she looks around finding one final note across the room, stuck to her dresser.
“Your husband is dead. Perhaps you would like to join him in the closet?”
Rolling into her driveway, she notices something posted on the door. The stack of papers on the passenger seat is stuffed into her bag as she exits her minivan and walks up to the door. Her eyes squint the whole way, trying to make something of this disconformity. It’s a note. She reads it and her heart sails.
“Meet me inside for some fun…”
Part of her feels her level of guilt double, being that he has put some real effort into this special day, but the other part can’t wait to see what her husband has cooked up. She turns around to see if anyone is watching, slightly embarrassed that perhaps someone has seen this sultry example of foreplay. No one. She tears off the note and dances inside, giddy with excitement.
The lights throughout the house are all turned down while candles burn, their dim ambiance casting soft rays of amber against the beige walls. She tosses her bag to the floor and starts searching. The second note is found in the kitchen, stuck to the side of a can of whipped cream.
“You’re almost there. Come to the bedroom and bring this with you.”
Her heart is pumping with anticipation as she grabs it and makes her way to the staircase. She grasps the banister with her free hand, arms shaking. Each step has a rose petal placed delicately on it and rich vanilla cascades from a candle perched somewhere in the dark abyss of the hallway. Reaching the top floor she sees another note on the door to the bedroom.
“Welcome.”
She quickly fluffs and fixes her hair before flinging the door open, standing in the threshold in her sexiest stance. The bed is made up with heart shaped pillows. A bottle of champagne is chilling in a bucket of ice. More candles fill the room with light and scent but something is wrong. Her husband is nowhere to be found. Confused, she looks around finding one final note across the room, stuck to her dresser.
“Your husband is dead. Perhaps you would like to join him in the closet?”
In The Mirror
Normally you sleep soundly, but the thunderstorm raging outside is stirring you from your sleep. You begin to doze, then another crash jolts you awake. The cycle lasts most of the night. So you lay there, eyes open and outward, looking at your room stretching out before you in oblong shadows. Your eyes move from nameless object, to object, until you reach your mirror, sitting adjacent to you across the room.
Suddenly a flash of lighting, and the mirror flickers in illumination. For a scant second the mirror revels to you dozens of faces, silhouettes within its frame, mouths open and eyes blackened. They stare out at you, their black pupils fixed upon your face.
Then it is done. Are you sure of what you have seen? Unsettled, you don’t sleep for the rest of the evening. The next morning you remove the mirror from your wall and toss it in the trash. It didn’t matter if the vision you had seen was of truth or falsehood, you wanted to be rid of that mirror. In fact, you scrap every mirror in your house.
Weeks pass and the event of that night falls into passive memory. You are spending the day at a friend’s house and it’s time to use the bathroom. While you are in there the faucet starts to run without you prompting it. Taken aback by this, you do not yet act, trying to reason with your paranoia in your mind. The water starts to steam and a skin of moisture covers the mirror up above. You’re watching intently as words form: “Please return the mirrors. We miss watching you sleep at night.”
Suddenly a flash of lighting, and the mirror flickers in illumination. For a scant second the mirror revels to you dozens of faces, silhouettes within its frame, mouths open and eyes blackened. They stare out at you, their black pupils fixed upon your face.
Then it is done. Are you sure of what you have seen? Unsettled, you don’t sleep for the rest of the evening. The next morning you remove the mirror from your wall and toss it in the trash. It didn’t matter if the vision you had seen was of truth or falsehood, you wanted to be rid of that mirror. In fact, you scrap every mirror in your house.
Weeks pass and the event of that night falls into passive memory. You are spending the day at a friend’s house and it’s time to use the bathroom. While you are in there the faucet starts to run without you prompting it. Taken aback by this, you do not yet act, trying to reason with your paranoia in your mind. The water starts to steam and a skin of moisture covers the mirror up above. You’re watching intently as words form: “Please return the mirrors. We miss watching you sleep at night.”
The Corpse Bride
‘La Pascualita’, who first appeared in the window of a bridal boutique in Chihuahua, Mexico, in March of 1930, has become the subject of some spooky urban legends. These are all attributed to the striking realism of the figure, and the rumor that she isn’t just a mannequin: she’s supposedly the embalmed daughter of the former shopkeeper. Ever since she was first placed in the display window, many people have felt disturbed over the details on the figure, like her fingernails and facial features, and some noticed a similarity to the shop owner, Pascuala Esparza. She became known as ‘La Pascualita’, and despite published statements from the store owner’s family denying her origin, the name stuck. People have said that the figure will change positions at night, and many are creeped out by her gaze, which is said to be piercing and almost ‘alive’. Some of the current employees of the store refuse to change the clothes on the dummy, and many say that their hands break out into a sweat whenever they get near her. ”Her hands are very realistic and she even has varicose veins on her legs. I believe she’s a real person,” one employee was quoted as saying. Whether she is real or not, the display window that La Pascualita resides behind has become a popular place for Dia de Los Muertes altars and she has become a bit of a famous oddity with recent attentions devoted by Mexican celebrities
The Bunny Man
After the civil war Fairfax County, Virginia became more populated and eventually an insane asylum was built there. No one wanted to live near the asylum and because of the public outrage the institution was shut down.
The administration transferred the patients and in 1904 the process was completed. During the transfer, some of the patients escaped and hid in the surrounding woods and forest. These individuals were lost, delusional and dangerous. Most of them were found except Marcus Lawster and Douglas Griffen. The local authorities found a trail they believed belonged to them, littered with half eaten mutilated bunnies.
The trail led deep into the woods to a tunnel bridge crossing a wide creek. There they found Marcus hanging from the tunnel entrance. There was a note attached to his foot that said, “You’ll never find me no matter how hard you try! Signed, The Bunny Man.” That tunnel has been called Bunny Man Bridge ever since.
The legend says that if you walk all the way down the tunnel at around midnight the Bunny Man will grab you and hang you from the entrance of the bridge.
Strange deaths and phenomena has been connected with the Bunny Man Bridge. There was a young man from Clifton, Virginia who came upon the Bridge while traveling. Later, he killed his parents and dragged their bodies into the woods to hang them from the bridge and then killed himself. In 1943, three teenagers, two men and a young woman, were at the bunny man bridge for Halloween night. The three youths were found dead, hung from the bridge with their bodies slashed open. All with notes attached to their feet saying the same thing,” You’ll never catch the Bunny Man!”
In 2001, after hearing the tale, six local students and a guide searched the area. They found mutilated bunny parts during their search and left the forest after they heard noises and saw figures moving around in the woods
marți, 1 ianuarie 2013
The Web Page...
This video was done by a user "Jhonny Atker". He claimed there will be more coming up, but after months and months, all there is on this weird Youtube channel is this video and another one entitled 'I'm hearing a strange noise right now.'
I see what he did there...
I see what he did there...
Thanks!
Woah... I guess that took some stories off my email.
Thanks for taking the time to read, new posts coming tommorrow! Be sure to check them out.
-Achim
P.S:I don't know about you but it's kinda late in this part of the world.
Thanks for taking the time to read, new posts coming tommorrow! Be sure to check them out.
-Achim
P.S:I don't know about you but it's kinda late in this part of the world.
Doors
I do not own this story.
I was adopted. I never knew my real mother; rather, I knew her at one time but I left her side when I was too little to be able to remember. I loved my adopted family though. They were so kind to me. I ate well, I lived in a warm and comfortable house, and I got to stay up pretty late.
Let me tell you about my family real fast: First, there’s my mother. I never called her Mom or anything like that; I just called her by her first name. Janice. She didn’t mind at all though. I called her that for so long, I don’t think she even noticed. Anyhow, she was a very kind woman. I think that she is the one who recommended my adoption in the first place. Sometimes I would lay my head against her in front of the television and she would tickle my back with her nails. She is one of those Hollywood mothers.
Second, there’s Dad. His real name was Richard, but he never really liked me much so I began to refer to him as Dad in a desperate attempt to gain his affection. It didn’t work. I think that no matter what I called him, he would never love me as much as his own child. That’s understandable so I really didn’t press the matter. The most notable attribute of Dad was his unmoving sternness. He was not afraid to pop his children when they did something wrong. I found that out before I could use the restroom properly. He didn’t hesitate to spank me. Well, I’m in line and it’s because of his methods.
Lastly, is my sister. Little Emily was really young when I was adopted, so we were about the same age, but she was slightly older. I liked to think of her as my little sister, though. We got along better than any sibling could possibly get along. We would always stay up late together and just talk. Well, she did a lot of the talking; I mostly just listened because I loved her. It was a great setup that we had! We were short on bedrooms, so- because I didn’t want to sleep in the living room by myself when I was littler- I had a pallet set up for me next to her bed on the floor. This is where I have slept since. But it was cool with me because I enjoyed being with her and I had always felt pretty protective of my little sis.
Everything changed on a horrible Wednesday night. I was at home taking a nap when little Emily opened the front door. The sound of the door opening pulled me to a state of consciousness and I walked from the room down the hall to the living room. That’s when I first remembered it was Wednesday. I was never any good at keeping track of what day it was. Actually I’ll just go ahead and say it: My sense of time was HORRIBLE! But nevertheless, I knew it was Wednesday because Emily had just come home from her Church’s youth group gathering. She walked in the front door and hugged me, and then was followed in by Dad and Janice.
“You have a good nap?” Janice said teasingly as she ruffled up my hair. I just shook my head away and snorted in a manner that clearly expressed that I was teasing back with her.
“Don’t you snort at your mother like that!” said my father gruffly with authority. He shut the door behind him and hung up his coat.
“I was clearly joking…” I growled under my breath. He must not have heard me because I didn’t feel him smack me. Emily then proceeded to our room and I followed. She started telling me about her day. You know… usual teenage girl stuff. But I listened so that she would feel better. After her summary she suggested watching TV and I obliged and jumped onto the couch as she was going for the remote. She rolled her eyes at my little-brother-like immaturity and scooted me over and sat down. The TV turned on and we watched it together until the sun went down. Emily was the kind of girl that- instead of watching cartoons and soap operas- would rather watch Discovery and Animal Planet and Natural Geographic. I like those too so I didn’t mind. Actually, those were the only channels that can hold my attention.
So it got late and Janice walked up behind the sofa. “Emily it’s past your bed time. Turn off the television and go to your room. You too.” she pointed at me. Emily turned off the program we were watching grudgingly and stood up. She started down the hallway to our room. As I followed I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
We went into our room and Emily turned off the light. Just as she did, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. It was out the window, but as soon as I redirected my line of sight to where the window was no longer in my peripheral vision, what it was that I thought I saw was gone. I still remained alert. For my sister’s sake.
I laid there in the darkness with nothing but the thin ray of light from the street lamp outside to illuminate the room. It wasn’t much. Time and time again I could have sworn that I heard subtle sounds just out the window… a twig break, leaves crunching, clothes jostling. And all the while I could smell a faint stench of sweat and blood. I kept my eyes open most of the night.
The sounds outside subsided and the smell left my nose. I began to feel at ease. My eyelids closed.
Not long after that, I heard a very loud crash on the other side of the house. I was up in an instant. “THERE’S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE!” I barked with extreme adrenaline coursing through me. “Wake up!” I shrilly pleaded with Emily. She did, and as soon as I saw her sit up I ran to my parent’s room…
Dad was dead. His neck was splayed open and gaping as blood spilled out of it, off the bed, and onto the floor. I saw that the master bathroom’s door was closed and just before it- on the outside- was a man.
A man… I don’t feel comfortable calling it that.
He was very large and rugged. He turned around and saw me and that’s when I saw him accurately for the first time. I wont forget it. His eyes were large and beady and trapped with lust. He was styling a beard that was badly unkempt with blood dripping off. His clothes were dirty and his face was cold. Just then I noticed the same horrid smell of sweat and blood from earlier, but this time it was overwhelming.
He saw me. He saw me and grinned with a set of crooked yellow teeth. That smile threw me off. I thought that I was going to die, but then he turned back to the bathroom door completely unperturbed by my presence. I was terrified and didn’t no what to do. I just yelled and cried. I watched as he shouldered through door that was Mom’s only protection. I watched as he raised the large razor that he was carrying, but had obviously neglected to use properly. I watched as he sliced her open and tore her to shreds…
I then heard something; the last thing that I wanted to hear… It was Emily’s scream coming from behind me. The large monstrosity looked up from my butchered mother and stared at my little sister. I was distraught. He stood up and quickly started walking toward us. My sis turned and ran, and I was at a loss when he bypassed me and went straight after her. Why was she still in the house? Had she not assessed the situation and run? Apparently not, and now she was dead and I was alone.
I ran after them both. I expected the man to kill her as he had the rest of my family, but I was sadly mistaken. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her as a way to make clear that he was in control. He dragged her through the house… I was making all of the noise I could now, hoping and praying that someone would come to my aid. He mustn’t take her. Not her.
As he passed me I backed against the wall and whimpered with terror, “Why?” He didn’t respond except by putting his free hand on my head while Emily screamed in the other and saying “Good boy.” He gave another crooked grin and a very cold, unnatural laugh. I followed him to the door where he dragged my helpless sister after him. He opened it, pulled her out, and slammed it shut behind him.
I am now sitting in the house with my mutilated adopted parents, shivering and whimpering with dismay. He’s out there with her. Doing who-knows-what to her, and I can’t do anything. I would if I could, but I can’t. I would chase after them in a heartbeat, but I can’t. I sit here, looking at the front door. I look down at my paws. If only I could open doors...
I was adopted. I never knew my real mother; rather, I knew her at one time but I left her side when I was too little to be able to remember. I loved my adopted family though. They were so kind to me. I ate well, I lived in a warm and comfortable house, and I got to stay up pretty late.
Let me tell you about my family real fast: First, there’s my mother. I never called her Mom or anything like that; I just called her by her first name. Janice. She didn’t mind at all though. I called her that for so long, I don’t think she even noticed. Anyhow, she was a very kind woman. I think that she is the one who recommended my adoption in the first place. Sometimes I would lay my head against her in front of the television and she would tickle my back with her nails. She is one of those Hollywood mothers.
Second, there’s Dad. His real name was Richard, but he never really liked me much so I began to refer to him as Dad in a desperate attempt to gain his affection. It didn’t work. I think that no matter what I called him, he would never love me as much as his own child. That’s understandable so I really didn’t press the matter. The most notable attribute of Dad was his unmoving sternness. He was not afraid to pop his children when they did something wrong. I found that out before I could use the restroom properly. He didn’t hesitate to spank me. Well, I’m in line and it’s because of his methods.
Lastly, is my sister. Little Emily was really young when I was adopted, so we were about the same age, but she was slightly older. I liked to think of her as my little sister, though. We got along better than any sibling could possibly get along. We would always stay up late together and just talk. Well, she did a lot of the talking; I mostly just listened because I loved her. It was a great setup that we had! We were short on bedrooms, so- because I didn’t want to sleep in the living room by myself when I was littler- I had a pallet set up for me next to her bed on the floor. This is where I have slept since. But it was cool with me because I enjoyed being with her and I had always felt pretty protective of my little sis.
Everything changed on a horrible Wednesday night. I was at home taking a nap when little Emily opened the front door. The sound of the door opening pulled me to a state of consciousness and I walked from the room down the hall to the living room. That’s when I first remembered it was Wednesday. I was never any good at keeping track of what day it was. Actually I’ll just go ahead and say it: My sense of time was HORRIBLE! But nevertheless, I knew it was Wednesday because Emily had just come home from her Church’s youth group gathering. She walked in the front door and hugged me, and then was followed in by Dad and Janice.
“You have a good nap?” Janice said teasingly as she ruffled up my hair. I just shook my head away and snorted in a manner that clearly expressed that I was teasing back with her.
“Don’t you snort at your mother like that!” said my father gruffly with authority. He shut the door behind him and hung up his coat.
“I was clearly joking…” I growled under my breath. He must not have heard me because I didn’t feel him smack me. Emily then proceeded to our room and I followed. She started telling me about her day. You know… usual teenage girl stuff. But I listened so that she would feel better. After her summary she suggested watching TV and I obliged and jumped onto the couch as she was going for the remote. She rolled her eyes at my little-brother-like immaturity and scooted me over and sat down. The TV turned on and we watched it together until the sun went down. Emily was the kind of girl that- instead of watching cartoons and soap operas- would rather watch Discovery and Animal Planet and Natural Geographic. I like those too so I didn’t mind. Actually, those were the only channels that can hold my attention.
So it got late and Janice walked up behind the sofa. “Emily it’s past your bed time. Turn off the television and go to your room. You too.” she pointed at me. Emily turned off the program we were watching grudgingly and stood up. She started down the hallway to our room. As I followed I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
We went into our room and Emily turned off the light. Just as she did, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. It was out the window, but as soon as I redirected my line of sight to where the window was no longer in my peripheral vision, what it was that I thought I saw was gone. I still remained alert. For my sister’s sake.
I laid there in the darkness with nothing but the thin ray of light from the street lamp outside to illuminate the room. It wasn’t much. Time and time again I could have sworn that I heard subtle sounds just out the window… a twig break, leaves crunching, clothes jostling. And all the while I could smell a faint stench of sweat and blood. I kept my eyes open most of the night.
The sounds outside subsided and the smell left my nose. I began to feel at ease. My eyelids closed.
Not long after that, I heard a very loud crash on the other side of the house. I was up in an instant. “THERE’S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE!” I barked with extreme adrenaline coursing through me. “Wake up!” I shrilly pleaded with Emily. She did, and as soon as I saw her sit up I ran to my parent’s room…
Dad was dead. His neck was splayed open and gaping as blood spilled out of it, off the bed, and onto the floor. I saw that the master bathroom’s door was closed and just before it- on the outside- was a man.
A man… I don’t feel comfortable calling it that.
He was very large and rugged. He turned around and saw me and that’s when I saw him accurately for the first time. I wont forget it. His eyes were large and beady and trapped with lust. He was styling a beard that was badly unkempt with blood dripping off. His clothes were dirty and his face was cold. Just then I noticed the same horrid smell of sweat and blood from earlier, but this time it was overwhelming.
He saw me. He saw me and grinned with a set of crooked yellow teeth. That smile threw me off. I thought that I was going to die, but then he turned back to the bathroom door completely unperturbed by my presence. I was terrified and didn’t no what to do. I just yelled and cried. I watched as he shouldered through door that was Mom’s only protection. I watched as he raised the large razor that he was carrying, but had obviously neglected to use properly. I watched as he sliced her open and tore her to shreds…
I then heard something; the last thing that I wanted to hear… It was Emily’s scream coming from behind me. The large monstrosity looked up from my butchered mother and stared at my little sister. I was distraught. He stood up and quickly started walking toward us. My sis turned and ran, and I was at a loss when he bypassed me and went straight after her. Why was she still in the house? Had she not assessed the situation and run? Apparently not, and now she was dead and I was alone.
I ran after them both. I expected the man to kill her as he had the rest of my family, but I was sadly mistaken. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her as a way to make clear that he was in control. He dragged her through the house… I was making all of the noise I could now, hoping and praying that someone would come to my aid. He mustn’t take her. Not her.
As he passed me I backed against the wall and whimpered with terror, “Why?” He didn’t respond except by putting his free hand on my head while Emily screamed in the other and saying “Good boy.” He gave another crooked grin and a very cold, unnatural laugh. I followed him to the door where he dragged my helpless sister after him. He opened it, pulled her out, and slammed it shut behind him.
I am now sitting in the house with my mutilated adopted parents, shivering and whimpering with dismay. He’s out there with her. Doing who-knows-what to her, and I can’t do anything. I would if I could, but I can’t. I would chase after them in a heartbeat, but I can’t. I sit here, looking at the front door. I look down at my paws. If only I could open doors...
The Sixth Floor
I do not own this story.
The corridors of the hotel still had the smell of laundry detergent and disinfectant. This smell, however, was obscured greatly by the overwhelming stench of ash. Three months ago there was a kitchen fire that quickly spread to the rest of the prestigious hotel, and rather than try to rebuild or renovate, the owners thought it better to simply collect the insurance money and sell the property. No one died in the fire, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any ghosts to haunt these charred halls.
It wasn’t difficult to get into the place, about as hard as ducking under some yellow caution tape and kicking in a locked door. There were plenty of windows on the second floor that I could have reached with ease, but something told me that they had been used recently and that they should be avoided. The entrance I used wasn’t even safe. Three steps into the building and I nearly got my leg caught in a bear trap. Obviously, someone wanted intruders to be wounded or killed for their curiosity, and for that reason I resolved to proceed with utmost caution. I pulled out a flashlight from my trench coat and began my search, the shadows dancing around the cone of white light before me.
The first girl was found dead about a week ago, floating in a lake, her skin grey and sagging away from muscle. “De-gloving.” Morticians call it. The forensic guys on the news said that she had been dead for about three days, her throat slashed open and joints broken at sharp angles. The reason she was floating was because her lungs and stomach had not been flooded with water and the skin slippage around her ankle allowed her corpse to loosen itself from the cinder block that had been weighing her down. The next day when the lake was trenched for more evidence, three more girls were discovered at the bottom, each in a state of decay that could make even a sewage worker vomit.
The city panicked. There was a killer on the loose, every man a suspect, every woman a potential victim. A curfew was implemented, and the police were scrambling to find any information on who this boogeyman was. How I managed to track this sick bastard to the hotel, well, that was just pure luck.
My main hobby is photography. Specifically, I like to take pictures of urban decay when the weather permits, usually at night. Rarely I use the flash, as I prefer to set the shutter to its slowest speed to allow the maximum amount of light to imprint the film. There are other technical procedures I use for the lens adjustments and the tripod, but that’s irrelevant to anyone but me. I had just finished up a series of photographs of some abandoned farm houses on the outskirts of town and had decided to move on to the fire damaged hotel. Well, that, and the police asked me to stay away from the farm houses after the bloated girl was found. They suspected that a condemned house just outside of town would be the perfect place for the killer to hide, and they wanted to stake out a few locations which turned up some potential evidence. So I moved on to the hotel. The first night I got some decent shots of the outside perspective. (Style: Outside broad shot, outside looking in, and last a shot of the inside looking out) The pictures came out great, I loved the way the smoke stains leaked from the sixth floor windows, and I was getting ready to move in for a closer view when I saw him.
Climbing into the sixth floor window from the fire escape, was a large man in a brown coat carrying a duffle bag. From where I was I could tell that he was about six feet tall, muscular but with a slight paunch. A white guy with a shaved head. I decided against staying to finish my work, not with some strange man roaming around the place, and I had planned to return later in the week. That was a promise that I managed to keep. At the time, though, it never occurred to me that I saw the face of a monster.
Not until tonight.
Tonight was the night that I had intended to return. About fifteen minutes ago I was prepping my gear to finish the photo run, when the weather report on T.V. was interrupted by a breaking news flash of a girl being forced into her own car at gunpoint outside of the department store where she worked. A coworker managed to get a brief description of the kidnapper and promptly called 911. She told the police, “A tall white male with a bald head wearing a brown coat jumped out from behind a tree and threw –no name- into the passenger seat.” As I heard the report, I got a deep, horrible sinking feeling in the base of my gut, the slow creeping feeling that I was somehow to blame for being too stupid to spot a murderer when one sits right in front of me. I had to do something.
I dropped the camera gear and instead grabbed a flashlight, my cellphone, and a meat cleaver from my kitchen. Just in case. Just in case I meet this sick piece of shit face to face.
I got to the hotel about three minutes ago. Drove like a cheetah on crack to get here too. I parked my car a block away and sprinted the rest of the distance. Kicked in the door about a minute ago. Why didn’t I call the police immediately? Well, first of all, I needed to make sure the girl was still alive, or at least here. The second reason is a little hard to explain. Maybe I have a hero complex, or maybe I just want to make sure this guy suffers adequately before the cops get to him. Or, maybe, I have some sort of demon in me that saw a chance to get out.
So here I am, running as carefully as I can down a burnt hallway looking for a girl who could already be a mutilated corpse, all the while her killer could pop out from around any given corner. I start up a flight of stairs, keeping to the edges to avoid falling through. Part of stairs collapse beneath my feet, but I grab onto the railing just in time. I shimmy the rest of the way up. I’ll find another way out later. Let’s think, left or right? Right, down a new corridor so damaged by fire that all I see is black. So black that I almost think my flashlight went out. I taste charcoal and cough louder than I should. I hear a noise and my heart drops, I freeze in place. I don’t move, I don’t breath, I just listen. Then I hear it again. Not a man’s voice. No, it’s the muffled sob of a woman. A woman crying, alone and afraid, and I can tell that she cries only because she hasn’t given up hope.
I follow the sound to a room, one of the rooms that was once used by those in need of rest and comfort. I see no light from the slit beneath the door, and I turn the knob cautiously. The slow creek of the hinges prompts more stifled screams of pain. As my light floods the room, it’s her eyes I see first. Washed out and red from tears, so wide from pure terror that she looks like less of a human and more of a wild animal backed into a corner. The rest of her body is stretched naked and chained to a bed, her arms and legs covered in cuts leaking blood into the mattress. Her mouth is choked with a ball gag, and from a brief glimpse, it appears that portions of her scalp are missing. Without a shadow of a doubt, she has endured obscene agonies within this last hour.
She starts snorting and struggling when she sees me, until I hush her. “I’m going to help you,” I say, “but you need to stay quiet.” She isn’t calm, but she understands that her nightmare is about to end. I search the rest of the room for signs of what-have-you. The desk next to the bed is littered with pliers and knives, but no key. I check the bathroom. Nothing. Then I notice the orange extension cord leading from the window to a pair of flood lights in the corner of the room. “He brought his own light source, but why risk it?” I ask myself. Turning away from the corner, I focus my attention on the closet. It was as I walked towards the closet door that the lights in the corner flickered to life.
He’s coming up the fire escape.
Fast as lightning I fling myself into the closet while simultaneously punching 9-1-1 into my phone. I get ahold of the dispatch officer just as I close the door behind me, leaving just enough of a gap to see the bed.
“What is the emergency?” The voice on the line asks.
“The missing girl from earlier tonight, she’s in the —- Hotel on the corner of —Street and —–. Sixth floor, room number 5B. Send an ambulance.” I rush every syllable through a hushed panic and hang up before the officer can ask any follow up questions. I haven’t heard the window open yet, so I still have surprise on my side. My heart beats like a hammer, a bead of sweat rolls down my brow. Adrenaline saturates every muscle, the tension stretches time across a slow motion frame. Finally, after what felt like a thousand years of waiting, I hear the window open, followed by two heavy footsteps. One after the other, and a short grunt. My fingers grip the handle of the cleaver, while I hold my breath.
Now I can’t see the girl, the man is blocking my line of sight, but her agonizing noises pick up again. I want to rush him now, but there’s a voice in my head telling me to wait. It’s a voice, but also not a voice. More like a deep, rasping feeling of hatred. The words are unclear but the meaning is inherent. It wants me to wait for the man to move closer to the closet.
I hear the clicks of padlocks, and footsteps turning towards the closet. I don’t know what’s in here with me, but it’s something he wants.
I raise the cleaver above my head.
His hand reaches for the doorknob.
One heartbeat.
Then two.
The rasp in my head screams for the moment to come.
It screams for what it wants.
The corridors of the hotel still had the smell of laundry detergent and disinfectant. This smell, however, was obscured greatly by the overwhelming stench of ash. Three months ago there was a kitchen fire that quickly spread to the rest of the prestigious hotel, and rather than try to rebuild or renovate, the owners thought it better to simply collect the insurance money and sell the property. No one died in the fire, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any ghosts to haunt these charred halls.
It wasn’t difficult to get into the place, about as hard as ducking under some yellow caution tape and kicking in a locked door. There were plenty of windows on the second floor that I could have reached with ease, but something told me that they had been used recently and that they should be avoided. The entrance I used wasn’t even safe. Three steps into the building and I nearly got my leg caught in a bear trap. Obviously, someone wanted intruders to be wounded or killed for their curiosity, and for that reason I resolved to proceed with utmost caution. I pulled out a flashlight from my trench coat and began my search, the shadows dancing around the cone of white light before me.
The first girl was found dead about a week ago, floating in a lake, her skin grey and sagging away from muscle. “De-gloving.” Morticians call it. The forensic guys on the news said that she had been dead for about three days, her throat slashed open and joints broken at sharp angles. The reason she was floating was because her lungs and stomach had not been flooded with water and the skin slippage around her ankle allowed her corpse to loosen itself from the cinder block that had been weighing her down. The next day when the lake was trenched for more evidence, three more girls were discovered at the bottom, each in a state of decay that could make even a sewage worker vomit.
The city panicked. There was a killer on the loose, every man a suspect, every woman a potential victim. A curfew was implemented, and the police were scrambling to find any information on who this boogeyman was. How I managed to track this sick bastard to the hotel, well, that was just pure luck.
My main hobby is photography. Specifically, I like to take pictures of urban decay when the weather permits, usually at night. Rarely I use the flash, as I prefer to set the shutter to its slowest speed to allow the maximum amount of light to imprint the film. There are other technical procedures I use for the lens adjustments and the tripod, but that’s irrelevant to anyone but me. I had just finished up a series of photographs of some abandoned farm houses on the outskirts of town and had decided to move on to the fire damaged hotel. Well, that, and the police asked me to stay away from the farm houses after the bloated girl was found. They suspected that a condemned house just outside of town would be the perfect place for the killer to hide, and they wanted to stake out a few locations which turned up some potential evidence. So I moved on to the hotel. The first night I got some decent shots of the outside perspective. (Style: Outside broad shot, outside looking in, and last a shot of the inside looking out) The pictures came out great, I loved the way the smoke stains leaked from the sixth floor windows, and I was getting ready to move in for a closer view when I saw him.
Climbing into the sixth floor window from the fire escape, was a large man in a brown coat carrying a duffle bag. From where I was I could tell that he was about six feet tall, muscular but with a slight paunch. A white guy with a shaved head. I decided against staying to finish my work, not with some strange man roaming around the place, and I had planned to return later in the week. That was a promise that I managed to keep. At the time, though, it never occurred to me that I saw the face of a monster.
Not until tonight.
Tonight was the night that I had intended to return. About fifteen minutes ago I was prepping my gear to finish the photo run, when the weather report on T.V. was interrupted by a breaking news flash of a girl being forced into her own car at gunpoint outside of the department store where she worked. A coworker managed to get a brief description of the kidnapper and promptly called 911. She told the police, “A tall white male with a bald head wearing a brown coat jumped out from behind a tree and threw –no name- into the passenger seat.” As I heard the report, I got a deep, horrible sinking feeling in the base of my gut, the slow creeping feeling that I was somehow to blame for being too stupid to spot a murderer when one sits right in front of me. I had to do something.
I dropped the camera gear and instead grabbed a flashlight, my cellphone, and a meat cleaver from my kitchen. Just in case. Just in case I meet this sick piece of shit face to face.
I got to the hotel about three minutes ago. Drove like a cheetah on crack to get here too. I parked my car a block away and sprinted the rest of the distance. Kicked in the door about a minute ago. Why didn’t I call the police immediately? Well, first of all, I needed to make sure the girl was still alive, or at least here. The second reason is a little hard to explain. Maybe I have a hero complex, or maybe I just want to make sure this guy suffers adequately before the cops get to him. Or, maybe, I have some sort of demon in me that saw a chance to get out.
So here I am, running as carefully as I can down a burnt hallway looking for a girl who could already be a mutilated corpse, all the while her killer could pop out from around any given corner. I start up a flight of stairs, keeping to the edges to avoid falling through. Part of stairs collapse beneath my feet, but I grab onto the railing just in time. I shimmy the rest of the way up. I’ll find another way out later. Let’s think, left or right? Right, down a new corridor so damaged by fire that all I see is black. So black that I almost think my flashlight went out. I taste charcoal and cough louder than I should. I hear a noise and my heart drops, I freeze in place. I don’t move, I don’t breath, I just listen. Then I hear it again. Not a man’s voice. No, it’s the muffled sob of a woman. A woman crying, alone and afraid, and I can tell that she cries only because she hasn’t given up hope.
I follow the sound to a room, one of the rooms that was once used by those in need of rest and comfort. I see no light from the slit beneath the door, and I turn the knob cautiously. The slow creek of the hinges prompts more stifled screams of pain. As my light floods the room, it’s her eyes I see first. Washed out and red from tears, so wide from pure terror that she looks like less of a human and more of a wild animal backed into a corner. The rest of her body is stretched naked and chained to a bed, her arms and legs covered in cuts leaking blood into the mattress. Her mouth is choked with a ball gag, and from a brief glimpse, it appears that portions of her scalp are missing. Without a shadow of a doubt, she has endured obscene agonies within this last hour.
She starts snorting and struggling when she sees me, until I hush her. “I’m going to help you,” I say, “but you need to stay quiet.” She isn’t calm, but she understands that her nightmare is about to end. I search the rest of the room for signs of what-have-you. The desk next to the bed is littered with pliers and knives, but no key. I check the bathroom. Nothing. Then I notice the orange extension cord leading from the window to a pair of flood lights in the corner of the room. “He brought his own light source, but why risk it?” I ask myself. Turning away from the corner, I focus my attention on the closet. It was as I walked towards the closet door that the lights in the corner flickered to life.
He’s coming up the fire escape.
Fast as lightning I fling myself into the closet while simultaneously punching 9-1-1 into my phone. I get ahold of the dispatch officer just as I close the door behind me, leaving just enough of a gap to see the bed.
“What is the emergency?” The voice on the line asks.
“The missing girl from earlier tonight, she’s in the —- Hotel on the corner of —Street and —–. Sixth floor, room number 5B. Send an ambulance.” I rush every syllable through a hushed panic and hang up before the officer can ask any follow up questions. I haven’t heard the window open yet, so I still have surprise on my side. My heart beats like a hammer, a bead of sweat rolls down my brow. Adrenaline saturates every muscle, the tension stretches time across a slow motion frame. Finally, after what felt like a thousand years of waiting, I hear the window open, followed by two heavy footsteps. One after the other, and a short grunt. My fingers grip the handle of the cleaver, while I hold my breath.
Now I can’t see the girl, the man is blocking my line of sight, but her agonizing noises pick up again. I want to rush him now, but there’s a voice in my head telling me to wait. It’s a voice, but also not a voice. More like a deep, rasping feeling of hatred. The words are unclear but the meaning is inherent. It wants me to wait for the man to move closer to the closet.
I hear the clicks of padlocks, and footsteps turning towards the closet. I don’t know what’s in here with me, but it’s something he wants.
I raise the cleaver above my head.
His hand reaches for the doorknob.
One heartbeat.
Then two.
The rasp in my head screams for the moment to come.
It screams for what it wants.
A haze of red tears apart my vision. Heavy pants of rage, my shoulder vibrates with each hateful hack of shapened steel into bone and flesh. What remains is no longer a man, but the pathetic, failed excuse for a demon: A broken nightmare, a malfunctioned machine. There is no love here. Only speckles of blood and the aftertaste of bittersweet vengance. But the rasp is not yet satisfied. I can hear it begging for more. Not from within either. I can hear it all around me. From the walls, the floors, and from down the hall, it’s as though it were part of the building itself. I wipe the re from my eyes, I start to smell smoke.
The door I entered is too hot to open. What lies behind is burning to the ground. The fire will finish what it started. Fueled by anger, it will consume all. I look to the girl, and then towards the open window. She’s still chained to the bed, and there’s still no key. If I leave her here to burn, what will I become? Would I be any better than that perverted thing soaking into the carpet? If I loose what’s left of my own humanity to the rasp for the sake of mercy… well, that’s no choice at all. It’s a damnation of love.
After my arrest, the police told me that the keys were in the closet.
Within The Walls
I do not own this story.
When you move into a new house, you always feel slightly uneasy, don’t you? It’s not really your house yet, a stranger’s house filled with your things. And during those first few weeks, you feel like you’re intruding into someone else’s personal space.
Well, you are.
You see, I moved into my new house today. It’s a very nice house. But there’s something watching me. I know it’s there. Always creeping into my mind, finding my deepest, darkest fears and mutating them into hideous nightmares. I can’t escape from it now. It’s chosen me.
Do you know why it chose me? Because I came into its grasp, you see. It hides in the shadows. It follows your footsteps. But, it can never quite catch you. You don’t stay in the same place for long enough.
I bet you’re thinking, ” Well, why doesn’t it hide in your current house?” There’s a simple answer to that. It’s because there’s already something there. Something that’s already latched onto your mind and find the things that terrify you the most. Usually after a few months it gets weaker – and soon you barely notice it at all. But it’s still there. It’s always there.
In new houses, it is stronger. It has been hungry for a long time. It creeps within the walls. Just waiting in the shadows, just waiting to latch hold of a strong mind and ready to drive you to the brink of insanity.
And it enjoys every minute of your sweet, delicious pain.
You see, I moved into my new house today. It’s a very nice house. But it will get me.
I can see it coming for me in my nightmares. And it’s only a matter of time before I succumb to its terrible, terrible torture.
When you move into a new house, you always feel slightly uneasy, don’t you? It’s not really your house yet, a stranger’s house filled with your things. And during those first few weeks, you feel like you’re intruding into someone else’s personal space.
Well, you are.
You see, I moved into my new house today. It’s a very nice house. But there’s something watching me. I know it’s there. Always creeping into my mind, finding my deepest, darkest fears and mutating them into hideous nightmares. I can’t escape from it now. It’s chosen me.
Do you know why it chose me? Because I came into its grasp, you see. It hides in the shadows. It follows your footsteps. But, it can never quite catch you. You don’t stay in the same place for long enough.
I bet you’re thinking, ” Well, why doesn’t it hide in your current house?” There’s a simple answer to that. It’s because there’s already something there. Something that’s already latched onto your mind and find the things that terrify you the most. Usually after a few months it gets weaker – and soon you barely notice it at all. But it’s still there. It’s always there.
In new houses, it is stronger. It has been hungry for a long time. It creeps within the walls. Just waiting in the shadows, just waiting to latch hold of a strong mind and ready to drive you to the brink of insanity.
And it enjoys every minute of your sweet, delicious pain.
You see, I moved into my new house today. It’s a very nice house. But it will get me.
I can see it coming for me in my nightmares. And it’s only a matter of time before I succumb to its terrible, terrible torture.
Prime
I do not own this story.
I love creepy pastas. And chances are that if you are reading this so do you. I’ve been into them for about a year now and like most the community enjoy the sudden jolt a well-cooked piece of pasta can provide. The way a perception can be built up in a mere couple of sentences, then be violently smashed down. I’ve appreciated all the classics, from “Noend House” and “Candle Cove”, to the secrets of the Holder series.
I heard about a group of guys recently that kept talking about wanting to take their pasta to the “next level”. The kind of story that changes you as a person, gives you a new outlook on life. They posted on a forum, and the impression I got from lurking at the time was that they were building the story fragment by fragment. A mish-mash of text that was being amalgamated as much in the public eye as it was via personal message.
I do know that it was eventually finished, and that a grand unveiling was planned at midnight on the forum for atmospheric effect. This caused some minor grumbling as they all lived in different time zones, but GMT was eventually agreed upon. Many waited with bated breath for this alleged “perfect” pasta that had grown from the minds of many, yet were disappointed when there was no sign of activity from any of the original creative group.
A couple of days later, one of them signed onto the message board and left a brief message
And you would believe that would be where the story would end, were it not for one final postscript. A message was found:
I love creepy pastas. And chances are that if you are reading this so do you. I’ve been into them for about a year now and like most the community enjoy the sudden jolt a well-cooked piece of pasta can provide. The way a perception can be built up in a mere couple of sentences, then be violently smashed down. I’ve appreciated all the classics, from “Noend House” and “Candle Cove”, to the secrets of the Holder series.
I heard about a group of guys recently that kept talking about wanting to take their pasta to the “next level”. The kind of story that changes you as a person, gives you a new outlook on life. They posted on a forum, and the impression I got from lurking at the time was that they were building the story fragment by fragment. A mish-mash of text that was being amalgamated as much in the public eye as it was via personal message.
I do know that it was eventually finished, and that a grand unveiling was planned at midnight on the forum for atmospheric effect. This caused some minor grumbling as they all lived in different time zones, but GMT was eventually agreed upon. Many waited with bated breath for this alleged “perfect” pasta that had grown from the minds of many, yet were disappointed when there was no sign of activity from any of the original creative group.
A couple of days later, one of them signed onto the message board and left a brief message
Slendermanrulez89: uj3drjjde498bli404nd8540jYou know exactly what we were thinking at that point? Publicity stunt. That’s what we continued to say to ourselves over the coming weeks as more and more messages started to pile up from all the authors. Most of them were nonsensical, a couple downright disturbing.
Creepyboi97: dazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzAt this point we started to get a little worried. Weeks had passed since the supposed release date, and there was no sign other than these repeated postings of the forum, so we started to investigate further. Initial findings showed that the group had shared the story among themselves prior to the release, a couple of them bragging of the fact on various other forums. More details came to light showing that one of them, “RATMfanatic”, had been the final editor stitching all the text together, then sending it out to all of them. Research of his facebook showed one status not long after.
Azraelsblade: ttttttttttttttoooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmuuuuuccccccccccchhh
TheGothfather: it toook alitle whyl but i got em oiut………………they tast lik jelli.
“I can’t focus anymore. my mind keeps being drawn back to it. I can see where I stand and it terrifies me.”All of the others showed had followed suit, and slowly but surely described a gradual descent into depression, mania and ramblings of “finally understanding”. At this point all sorts of theories were flying around, all fixated on this story. We scoured the news reports and found that over the course of time we were able to tie missing persons reports up to all the forum members from throughout the world. Accounts were investigated showed that the homes they had left behind had been trashed. Their computers had all be destroyed, as if there had been some shared belief that burning or smashing the source of their fear would somehow alleviate it. There was no mention of the pasta, but to be honest we wouldn’t have expected that. To this day we don’t know where they are.
And you would believe that would be where the story would end, were it not for one final postscript. A message was found:
Voltronator: yeah, i just got it in my inbox, but I haven’t read it yet.. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m gonna fire a couple of copies to some friends. They’ve been begging me for this, and I do owe them one from way back. They are gonna be stoked.No-one knows who he was referring to, and nothing has be heard of since. Who knows, maybe it’s still out there. Floating on some dead site that gets like a hit a year. No-one knows the title, so your guess is as good as mine. The only thing I will say you is be careful out there. Next time you stumble across some pasta you’ve never tried before… just… I don’t know, I mean how would you even know until it’s too late?
House
I do not own this story.
First of all, I want to stress the fact that this is a real happening. This is not some story written to get what I write on to a public medium. I am only doing this because I think the story needs to be told. The events that I am about to describe took place by the account of my brother in law. All I have is his story and the fear on his face when he entered my house that afternoon in the fall of 2007. The story is as follows.
My sister, along with her new husband and child, had just moved into a house about a half a mile down the road from my own. A month had passed and, from what they had told me, they were settling in nicely. At the time I was living with my parents after just graduating high school and trying to build up money for college. I was busy doing the dishes when I saw my brother in law, Richard, walking in a hurried fashion from his car, up my dirt driveway, under the porch and stopping in front of the door. The entranceway was a French door so anyone walking towards the house was easily seen. He looked at me and sweat was pouring from his face. Concerned, I walked over and let him in asking if everything was ok. He pushed his way around me and made his way to the sink, where he quickly grabbed a cup and poured a glass from the tap. He moved over to table and took a seat guzzling the water down as if he had just run a marathon, then abruptly set down the cup and stared into nothing. My sister walked through the door next. She had been taking the car seat from the back of her Dodge neon and was a few steps behind her husband. She came in, gave me a look of concern, and went about setting her child, who was sitting in the car seat, and diaper bag on the table. She sat down and clasped her hands together looking at Richard with a frown on her face.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I slid the chair at the tables head and sat down with caution. Richard never looked at me. Cassie, my sister, turned her head towards me, her eyes welling with tears.
“You’re not going to believe it.” She said. Her voice cracked as she placed her hand over her mouth. She turned to her husband and nudged his shoulder. “Tell him Rich.”
Richard just sat there. His eyes focused on a point in space only he could see. His mind, as far as I could tell, was trying to puzzle out what had just taken place. I leaned my head in the path of his starring and broke him free of his thoughts.
“Rich?” I said in a calm tone. “What happened?” He took a deep breath and told me the following.
He had been raking leaves in his yard for the better part of the day, arranging them in piles to be picked up later and placed into a garbage pail. The goal was to arrange all of the leaves in a large pile and burn it during the winter when friends and family come over for coffee and general visiting. This was common practice of families in my town and Richard wanted a piece of that nostalgia for himself. After sectioning off the small piles he took a seat on the stairs that led to his front door and admired his work. He told me that he was thinking about how he was finally a homeowner and his thoughts at the time were of the future for his family and himself. The story continued. He sat there on his stoop for a few minutes when his father’s car entered the driveway and parked. His father got out and walked over to sit with him on the stairs.
“Yard work huh?” His father asked as he bent his knees to rest on the step beside his son with a grunt of old age. Richard nodded his head and his father began to talk to him. He spoke about how difficult it was to raise a family and how, if he could do it over again, he would have washed his hands of the whole ordeal entirely and lived his life alone. He said to Richard that it would be better to live alone. Richard grew uncomfortable and began to tell his father about how he was happy and wouldn’t have it any other way, that he loved his wife and daughter and how they were the best thing to ever happen to him. His father smirked, patted him on the shoulder and with a low tone in his voice stated. “You keep them safe. You never know what could happen. “After saying this, his father walked to his car, opened the door and left still smirking at he exited the driveway. Richard sat there watching his father leave his house with a chill running up his spine. He felt a hand touch his shoulder and a familiar voice call out to him. It was Cassie.
“Richard? Are you going to stare at it or rake the yard?” Rich snapped back. The yard was covered in leaves. There were no small piles dotting the property. No sign that any work was done. He just sat there with rake in hand. The most disturbing aspect of the whole ordeal was that Richard had not seen nor heard from his father for five years. His mother had divorced him year’s earlier and he had moved far away from the state of Louisiana to escape his now ex-wife. It was impossible for his dad to have been there, and when he asked my sister if she had seen his father pull up she stated that no one showed up in the time he had went outside to work. Rich hesitantly asked what time it was. My sister stated plainly that it was five o’clock. His eyes widened.
“Cassie, I came out here at one.” He had been on the porch for four hours sitting there speaking to………..someone. Richard grew pail. My sister became concerned and asked what was bothering him, to which he explained the story I am telling you now. My sister, having a firm belief in the supernatural, came to my house to try to make sense of the situation. He finished his story. Richard looked at me with hesitation, his eyes searching mine for any hint of disbelief. I myself have had encounters with the unexplained in the past, and for me to look at this situation with any judgment or condescension would be grossly inappropriate. I grabbed his shoulder and looked calmly into his eyes.
“We need to find the history of that house.” I stated in an assuring tone. His face relaxed and his shoulders untightened. Immediately I began to search the internet for previous owners, criminal occurrences, or deaths relating to that house. I found much. The most outstanding story that I had found was of a massacre that had taken place in the house during the 80’s. The story goes that the house was notorious for meth and other illegal drugs going in and out of the property. An argument occurred between a few customers and the dealer and his partner that led to a brutal fight between the two parties. All five victims had stabbed each other repeatedly until they all lay dead on the floor. Other stories told of an old man during the 70’s that would show up in the middle of the night claiming that the current tenants were trespassing on his lands yelling threats to kill them and the like. All of the deaths recorded about the house seemed to follow the same order of deranged and angered people lashing out and committing murders in fits of rage. Later I would find out from my father that during the 50’s that his grandfather used to live in this area, and that in that house lived an old lady who was deranged and mad. She would threaten people on the street passing by claiming that she would shoot them and drag their bodies away for no one to find. When my grandfather made the mistake of accidentally walking on her property, she ran after him with a shotgun madly firing into the air shouting that she was going to kill him and eat him. The lady eventually died in that house from a heart attack and wasn’t found until days later. As we talked the uneasiness of my brother in law fell away. Richard, not wanting to believe that something was wrong with his house, dismissed it as being overtired and stressed and went back to his house, shaken but not deterred. It wasn’t long after our talk that something else happened.
A month and a half went by with no further happenings in the house, when a frenzied call came to my home. My mother picked it up. It was Cassie crying and partially yelling as a loud thumping echoed over the call. She kept screaming ‘He’s trying to get in! He’s trying to get in!’ as the thumping sound grew more and more violent. My mother shouted over the phone that my father was on his way. He grabbed his .357 handgun and took off out the door to his truck. My mother hung up the phone, called 911, and we waited in silence for our father to return from rescuing my sister. An hour passed and my father walked through the door alone.
“The police arrived shortly after I got there. Not a moment too soon.” He explained. He was never one to give over to emotion in intense situations, but his face was pail and stressed. “I thought I was going to have to shoot him. “
“Shoot who?” My mother asked.
“The man who was trying to break in to Cassie’s house, that’s who.” He shakily placed the gun on the counter and wiped the sweat from his brow. “He kept shouting I know you have it in there! Come out and give it to me! When I yelled at him to stop he turned and faced me. He walked slowly towards me saying that if I didn’t leave he was going to cut me up and eat me for dinner. That’s when the cops arrived and arrested him. He kept screaming it even as they were putting him into the car. ‘I’m going to cut you all up and eat you!”
“Where was Richard?” My mom asked almost in tears. The next words out of his mouth stopped me dead in my tracks.
“His father came into town and he took Richard out to dinner. He left about four hours ago. Dumb idiot left his phone at home.”
Shortly after that incident, my sister and he family left the home and moved into an apartment on the other side of town. Later I would ask Richard what he thought of that house. His answer was simple.
“If I had the gasoline I would burn it to the ground. It… and whatever lived inside it.”
"
First of all, I want to stress the fact that this is a real happening. This is not some story written to get what I write on to a public medium. I am only doing this because I think the story needs to be told. The events that I am about to describe took place by the account of my brother in law. All I have is his story and the fear on his face when he entered my house that afternoon in the fall of 2007. The story is as follows.
My sister, along with her new husband and child, had just moved into a house about a half a mile down the road from my own. A month had passed and, from what they had told me, they were settling in nicely. At the time I was living with my parents after just graduating high school and trying to build up money for college. I was busy doing the dishes when I saw my brother in law, Richard, walking in a hurried fashion from his car, up my dirt driveway, under the porch and stopping in front of the door. The entranceway was a French door so anyone walking towards the house was easily seen. He looked at me and sweat was pouring from his face. Concerned, I walked over and let him in asking if everything was ok. He pushed his way around me and made his way to the sink, where he quickly grabbed a cup and poured a glass from the tap. He moved over to table and took a seat guzzling the water down as if he had just run a marathon, then abruptly set down the cup and stared into nothing. My sister walked through the door next. She had been taking the car seat from the back of her Dodge neon and was a few steps behind her husband. She came in, gave me a look of concern, and went about setting her child, who was sitting in the car seat, and diaper bag on the table. She sat down and clasped her hands together looking at Richard with a frown on her face.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I slid the chair at the tables head and sat down with caution. Richard never looked at me. Cassie, my sister, turned her head towards me, her eyes welling with tears.
“You’re not going to believe it.” She said. Her voice cracked as she placed her hand over her mouth. She turned to her husband and nudged his shoulder. “Tell him Rich.”
Richard just sat there. His eyes focused on a point in space only he could see. His mind, as far as I could tell, was trying to puzzle out what had just taken place. I leaned my head in the path of his starring and broke him free of his thoughts.
“Rich?” I said in a calm tone. “What happened?” He took a deep breath and told me the following.
He had been raking leaves in his yard for the better part of the day, arranging them in piles to be picked up later and placed into a garbage pail. The goal was to arrange all of the leaves in a large pile and burn it during the winter when friends and family come over for coffee and general visiting. This was common practice of families in my town and Richard wanted a piece of that nostalgia for himself. After sectioning off the small piles he took a seat on the stairs that led to his front door and admired his work. He told me that he was thinking about how he was finally a homeowner and his thoughts at the time were of the future for his family and himself. The story continued. He sat there on his stoop for a few minutes when his father’s car entered the driveway and parked. His father got out and walked over to sit with him on the stairs.
“Yard work huh?” His father asked as he bent his knees to rest on the step beside his son with a grunt of old age. Richard nodded his head and his father began to talk to him. He spoke about how difficult it was to raise a family and how, if he could do it over again, he would have washed his hands of the whole ordeal entirely and lived his life alone. He said to Richard that it would be better to live alone. Richard grew uncomfortable and began to tell his father about how he was happy and wouldn’t have it any other way, that he loved his wife and daughter and how they were the best thing to ever happen to him. His father smirked, patted him on the shoulder and with a low tone in his voice stated. “You keep them safe. You never know what could happen. “After saying this, his father walked to his car, opened the door and left still smirking at he exited the driveway. Richard sat there watching his father leave his house with a chill running up his spine. He felt a hand touch his shoulder and a familiar voice call out to him. It was Cassie.
“Richard? Are you going to stare at it or rake the yard?” Rich snapped back. The yard was covered in leaves. There were no small piles dotting the property. No sign that any work was done. He just sat there with rake in hand. The most disturbing aspect of the whole ordeal was that Richard had not seen nor heard from his father for five years. His mother had divorced him year’s earlier and he had moved far away from the state of Louisiana to escape his now ex-wife. It was impossible for his dad to have been there, and when he asked my sister if she had seen his father pull up she stated that no one showed up in the time he had went outside to work. Rich hesitantly asked what time it was. My sister stated plainly that it was five o’clock. His eyes widened.
“Cassie, I came out here at one.” He had been on the porch for four hours sitting there speaking to………..someone. Richard grew pail. My sister became concerned and asked what was bothering him, to which he explained the story I am telling you now. My sister, having a firm belief in the supernatural, came to my house to try to make sense of the situation. He finished his story. Richard looked at me with hesitation, his eyes searching mine for any hint of disbelief. I myself have had encounters with the unexplained in the past, and for me to look at this situation with any judgment or condescension would be grossly inappropriate. I grabbed his shoulder and looked calmly into his eyes.
“We need to find the history of that house.” I stated in an assuring tone. His face relaxed and his shoulders untightened. Immediately I began to search the internet for previous owners, criminal occurrences, or deaths relating to that house. I found much. The most outstanding story that I had found was of a massacre that had taken place in the house during the 80’s. The story goes that the house was notorious for meth and other illegal drugs going in and out of the property. An argument occurred between a few customers and the dealer and his partner that led to a brutal fight between the two parties. All five victims had stabbed each other repeatedly until they all lay dead on the floor. Other stories told of an old man during the 70’s that would show up in the middle of the night claiming that the current tenants were trespassing on his lands yelling threats to kill them and the like. All of the deaths recorded about the house seemed to follow the same order of deranged and angered people lashing out and committing murders in fits of rage. Later I would find out from my father that during the 50’s that his grandfather used to live in this area, and that in that house lived an old lady who was deranged and mad. She would threaten people on the street passing by claiming that she would shoot them and drag their bodies away for no one to find. When my grandfather made the mistake of accidentally walking on her property, she ran after him with a shotgun madly firing into the air shouting that she was going to kill him and eat him. The lady eventually died in that house from a heart attack and wasn’t found until days later. As we talked the uneasiness of my brother in law fell away. Richard, not wanting to believe that something was wrong with his house, dismissed it as being overtired and stressed and went back to his house, shaken but not deterred. It wasn’t long after our talk that something else happened.
A month and a half went by with no further happenings in the house, when a frenzied call came to my home. My mother picked it up. It was Cassie crying and partially yelling as a loud thumping echoed over the call. She kept screaming ‘He’s trying to get in! He’s trying to get in!’ as the thumping sound grew more and more violent. My mother shouted over the phone that my father was on his way. He grabbed his .357 handgun and took off out the door to his truck. My mother hung up the phone, called 911, and we waited in silence for our father to return from rescuing my sister. An hour passed and my father walked through the door alone.
“The police arrived shortly after I got there. Not a moment too soon.” He explained. He was never one to give over to emotion in intense situations, but his face was pail and stressed. “I thought I was going to have to shoot him. “
“Shoot who?” My mother asked.
“The man who was trying to break in to Cassie’s house, that’s who.” He shakily placed the gun on the counter and wiped the sweat from his brow. “He kept shouting I know you have it in there! Come out and give it to me! When I yelled at him to stop he turned and faced me. He walked slowly towards me saying that if I didn’t leave he was going to cut me up and eat me for dinner. That’s when the cops arrived and arrested him. He kept screaming it even as they were putting him into the car. ‘I’m going to cut you all up and eat you!”
“Where was Richard?” My mom asked almost in tears. The next words out of his mouth stopped me dead in my tracks.
“His father came into town and he took Richard out to dinner. He left about four hours ago. Dumb idiot left his phone at home.”
Shortly after that incident, my sister and he family left the home and moved into an apartment on the other side of town. Later I would ask Richard what he thought of that house. His answer was simple.
“If I had the gasoline I would burn it to the ground. It… and whatever lived inside it.”
"
The Fax...
I do not own this story.
You’re working alone in the office late one night when you hear the old fax machine start running. Surprised, you go to check what has printed to see a photo of the building you are working in taken from across the street with your office light the only one on. The photo is time stamped at one hour ago. Unusual, but easily explained you thought as you return to your desk to finalize your work so you could get home soon.
Back at your desk, you hear the sound of the fax machine starting up again. Annoyed by the interruption you go over to check it only to see a photo of the inside of the building, time stamped 30 minutes ago. What the hell. Anyone could have put the dates on these old photos, and they are just trying to fuck with you, you rationalize. But as you reach for the switch to turn off the machine, it starts up instantly and one last photo comes through. It’s a photo of you standing at the fax machine. As suddenly, all the lights in the building switch off.
You’re working alone in the office late one night when you hear the old fax machine start running. Surprised, you go to check what has printed to see a photo of the building you are working in taken from across the street with your office light the only one on. The photo is time stamped at one hour ago. Unusual, but easily explained you thought as you return to your desk to finalize your work so you could get home soon.
Back at your desk, you hear the sound of the fax machine starting up again. Annoyed by the interruption you go over to check it only to see a photo of the inside of the building, time stamped 30 minutes ago. What the hell. Anyone could have put the dates on these old photos, and they are just trying to fuck with you, you rationalize. But as you reach for the switch to turn off the machine, it starts up instantly and one last photo comes through. It’s a photo of you standing at the fax machine. As suddenly, all the lights in the building switch off.
Snow
I do not own this story.
I really need to let this out. I can’t bear to live with what happened that night anymore. Every time I close my eyes I can see the death in her eyes, and the malice in his. I had just recently moved out to Scotland with my fiancé. We had moved to a beautiful town in the North called Elgin. We were two weeks in. Everything was going well, we had settled in just fine. We thought we were going to live a long, happy life here. Oh how wrong we were.
On the third week, strange things started happening to us on one night that would change our lives. My fiancé received a phone call at 4AM, a strange time for anyone to receive a phone call. She looked up, blinded by the light on her mobile and answered with a tired “hello”. This was followed by more “hello’s”, and then she hung up. She said she could only hear a very faint screaming noise in the background of the phone. Unsettled, she turned her phone off so she would not receive a phone call.
5 minutes after the phone call, I received another phone call. This time it was just pure static we could hear, with laughing in the background. I immediately got very angry at this disturbing little game someone was playing with us. I cursed and told them to stop phoning. After that the static stopped, and all that was heard was a huge bang on the front door. We both jumped, she clutched on to me, crying, terrified. I told her everything was going to be all right. I got up, told her to stay there, put on my dressing gown, grabbed a bat and walked to the door. I pulled the curtain covering the window on the door to find a message. The message read “You shouldn’t have left her alone”.
As soon as I finished reading I heard a scream coming from upstairs. I immediately ran upstairs to find myself frozen at the entrance of our bedroom. There my wife was standing, blood dripping from her neck, looking right into my eyes, sobbing for me to help. And there was that thing behind her. That fucking thing that ruined my fucking life. It was a tall completely naked creature, humanoid in shape. It was completely bald and had very skinny limbs, you could almost see it’s bones. Its face was the most horrendous thing I had ever seen in my life. It had a huge smile on its face, stretching right across, and had completely bloodshot eyes, one significantly smaller than the other.
I had never felt this feeling before. I couldn’t do anything. I was literally frozen. I couldn’t even speak, I couldn’t even say how sorry I was, and all I could do was cry. This creature slowly crept towards me, with my fiancé in his clutches. His face came down to my height and he looked right in my eyes. At this point he started to scream, however all that came out of his mouth was static. I was terrified. He ran back very quickly to the window, and jumped out with her. As soon as he left the building I fell to the ground. I jumped up to look outside to see if I could see her with it, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Two days later, I was a wreck. I hadn’t slept; I had just been researching to see if anyone knew what this was, if anyone had ever related to me. I had filed a missing persons report at the local police station who was extensively investigating the disappearance. Nobody had ever heard of this thing that I had seen. A month had gone by, nothing had happened. I hadn’t been working, I had barely slept. I could barely live anymore. I took a razor blade to my wrists. As the blood seeped from my wound, it felt like all of the pain of the past events was flowing away, I looked up from the bathroom sink to the mirror, and he was there. Smiling just like before. Blood dripped from his eyes as he held my fiancé’s head up, severed from the body. Again he screamed static and I fell to the floor.
I felt my body growing weak as my wrists bled. I was terrified to look at the mirror, but I felt I had to. As I slowly rose from the ground my reflection matched his. I was looking right into his eyes, where my eyes should have been, where my body should have been. I slowly raised my hand and in the reflection I was holding her head. As I looked to my right hand there it was. I was holding my wife’s head. I screamed and dropped it, but my screams were static. As the blood began running thick and black, I knew I was coming close to the end. I felt my body going cold. Surely I couldn’t have killed my fiancé. Surely not. I fell asleep.
I woke up in a hospital bed, confused, wrists bandaged. As I awoke, two police man walked into the room and told me they had some questions for me. They told me her head was found in my house, and that I was not going to be going anywhere for a while. They told me to rest and that they would come back later. As they walked out of the room, one of them turned round and said, “Oh and one last thing,” His mouth then opened incredibly wide and the only sound that filled the room was pure static.
I really need to let this out. I can’t bear to live with what happened that night anymore. Every time I close my eyes I can see the death in her eyes, and the malice in his. I had just recently moved out to Scotland with my fiancé. We had moved to a beautiful town in the North called Elgin. We were two weeks in. Everything was going well, we had settled in just fine. We thought we were going to live a long, happy life here. Oh how wrong we were.
On the third week, strange things started happening to us on one night that would change our lives. My fiancé received a phone call at 4AM, a strange time for anyone to receive a phone call. She looked up, blinded by the light on her mobile and answered with a tired “hello”. This was followed by more “hello’s”, and then she hung up. She said she could only hear a very faint screaming noise in the background of the phone. Unsettled, she turned her phone off so she would not receive a phone call.
5 minutes after the phone call, I received another phone call. This time it was just pure static we could hear, with laughing in the background. I immediately got very angry at this disturbing little game someone was playing with us. I cursed and told them to stop phoning. After that the static stopped, and all that was heard was a huge bang on the front door. We both jumped, she clutched on to me, crying, terrified. I told her everything was going to be all right. I got up, told her to stay there, put on my dressing gown, grabbed a bat and walked to the door. I pulled the curtain covering the window on the door to find a message. The message read “You shouldn’t have left her alone”.
As soon as I finished reading I heard a scream coming from upstairs. I immediately ran upstairs to find myself frozen at the entrance of our bedroom. There my wife was standing, blood dripping from her neck, looking right into my eyes, sobbing for me to help. And there was that thing behind her. That fucking thing that ruined my fucking life. It was a tall completely naked creature, humanoid in shape. It was completely bald and had very skinny limbs, you could almost see it’s bones. Its face was the most horrendous thing I had ever seen in my life. It had a huge smile on its face, stretching right across, and had completely bloodshot eyes, one significantly smaller than the other.
I had never felt this feeling before. I couldn’t do anything. I was literally frozen. I couldn’t even speak, I couldn’t even say how sorry I was, and all I could do was cry. This creature slowly crept towards me, with my fiancé in his clutches. His face came down to my height and he looked right in my eyes. At this point he started to scream, however all that came out of his mouth was static. I was terrified. He ran back very quickly to the window, and jumped out with her. As soon as he left the building I fell to the ground. I jumped up to look outside to see if I could see her with it, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Two days later, I was a wreck. I hadn’t slept; I had just been researching to see if anyone knew what this was, if anyone had ever related to me. I had filed a missing persons report at the local police station who was extensively investigating the disappearance. Nobody had ever heard of this thing that I had seen. A month had gone by, nothing had happened. I hadn’t been working, I had barely slept. I could barely live anymore. I took a razor blade to my wrists. As the blood seeped from my wound, it felt like all of the pain of the past events was flowing away, I looked up from the bathroom sink to the mirror, and he was there. Smiling just like before. Blood dripped from his eyes as he held my fiancé’s head up, severed from the body. Again he screamed static and I fell to the floor.
I felt my body growing weak as my wrists bled. I was terrified to look at the mirror, but I felt I had to. As I slowly rose from the ground my reflection matched his. I was looking right into his eyes, where my eyes should have been, where my body should have been. I slowly raised my hand and in the reflection I was holding her head. As I looked to my right hand there it was. I was holding my wife’s head. I screamed and dropped it, but my screams were static. As the blood began running thick and black, I knew I was coming close to the end. I felt my body going cold. Surely I couldn’t have killed my fiancé. Surely not. I fell asleep.
I woke up in a hospital bed, confused, wrists bandaged. As I awoke, two police man walked into the room and told me they had some questions for me. They told me her head was found in my house, and that I was not going to be going anywhere for a while. They told me to rest and that they would come back later. As they walked out of the room, one of them turned round and said, “Oh and one last thing,” His mouth then opened incredibly wide and the only sound that filled the room was pure static.
The Vegas Illusion
Unfortunately, this turns out to be quite true(a part of it).
I do not own this story.
When going to Las Vegas, ride the rides from places like New York, New York and the Stratosphere, gamble away your money in a drunken state on a few hands of poker, or take a complete stranger back to your expensive hotel room. Or perhaps you’d prefer a magic show from Cirque Du Soleil or David Copperfield? I would suggest this option for your first night in Sin City. Real magic is to be found in Vegas, but not on the Strip, oh no. For a true experience that will make you believe in the realm of magic, you must seek out master illusionist Mephisto Centurion.
To see his astounding performance, drive off the Las Vegas Strip past the airport, and keep going until you reach desert. Be sure you make this journey after midnight, for Mephisto’s act is only to entertain the nightlife. Once it seems like you’ve made a wrong turn, stop your car, get out and peer across the night desert. You won’t see anything at first, but then a hotel shrouded in darkness will catch your eye. Leave your vehicle behind and approach the hotel in the distance.
You will notice that no lights are on in this hotel, but don’t be fooled, it is plenty occupied. Walk up to the hotel’s entrance and knock on the glass doors, which will swing open. The entire lobby will be dark, and no one will be there to greet you, so bring a flashlight as you enter the building and make your way through a large, empty casino, following the signs hanging from the ceiling that will direct you to the hotel’s theatre. While there will be no one around, if you get the sense that you’re being watched, you’re correct, but don’t let that feeling hold you back. Continue to follow the signs until you come to two large, golden doors with many faces sculpted on them.
These doors will open for you, and to your surprise, you will find an enormous, bright theatre filled with hundreds of people you didn’t even know were there. It will be a full house, but one seat will still be available in the front row. Take it, it’s yours. Once you are seated, the lights will dim, the curtains will open, and the great Mephisto Centurion will appear in a flash of light onstage, dressed entirely in black with a cape, top-hat, and a long, black beard and mustache. He will have a wide variety of tricks up his sleeve that will astonish you, so try not to blink.
The beginning part of his act typically consists of card tricks like making a card float in the air right out of the deck, or making the card appear on the other side of the room. Something even more mind-boggling is when he takes a real sword and impales himself right through the stomach. This special trick isn’t even performed inside a box, it looks like the sword is actually going through his body, and he’ll pull it straight out and be just fine. He can also make real animals and automobiles disappear and reappear at his command. His talents are endless.
Fire will accompany many of his acts, and you will find yourself cheering and applauding with amazement, but in the back of your mind you’ll be thinking that nothing you saw actually happened in real life. Once this thought crosses your mind, Mephisto will ask for a volunteer, and point directly at you. He tells the audience that he will make you disappear, how can you resist such an honor to be part of his legendary act? A spotlight will shine upon you, and the whole audience will join in to give you encouragement. Stand up, and get onstage where the real experience will begin.
You may have seen disappearing acts before, and you’ll probably think that a trapdoor will open, and then Mephisto’s assistants will help you back to your seat while everyone claps for you. Instead, you’ll feel the most intense rush of your life. Mephisto, at nearly seven feet tall, will loom over you, and inform the crowd that the trick is about to begin. He’ll have you tell everyone your name and what you do for a living, then he’ll have you stand atop a platform and wave his hands at you while chanting words of an ancient language. At a certain point during his speech, you’ll notice his eyes glowing an eerie purple, and before you can scream, a beam of white light will engulf you.
After the light comes the darkness, but it only lasts for a few moments before you’re flying through a wormhole at a very fast rate beyond your control. It will be quite a thrill, so don’t close your eyes. When you reach the end of the wormhole, the next thing you know, you’ll be soaring high in the air above the Stratosphere, and an invisible force will keep you up there. The feeling of the wind will make you realize that it’s not a dream. Don’t be afraid to swoop down over the Vegas Strip that glows in the night.
Enjoy this flying sensation, don’t even question it, just have fun while you can because it won’t go on for too long. Before you know it, you’ll be teleported inside a lion’s habitat at The Mirage. A lion will wake up and approach you, and you’ll run for your life, frantically searching for an exit, but there will be none. The ferocious beast will eventually have you cornered, and ease in for the kill. In fear, you’ll curl into a ball, shut your eyes and prepare for the end.
When you open your eyes again, you’ll be in a dark room with a wide opening at the top. You’ll realize all too quickly that you’re standing inside The Mirage’s volcano, and the show is about to start. You may scream loudly in hopes that someone will rescue you, but it will be too late. A ball of fire will come for you, and there will be no way to escape it. Just seconds from your impending doom, there will be another flash, and you’ll be back at your seat, sweating and trembling as you suddenly hear clapping from everyone in the theatre.
Mephisto knows your journey was intense, but he was there with you the entire time to guide you along your way. He welcomes you back and thanks you, then he bids the crowd farewell and vanishes. Converse with the crowd, if you wish, then make your way back through the dark lobby. As soon as you exit the hotel, there will be another flash, and then it will be morning, and you’ll be in your own hotel room with no memory of how you got there. That’s when the realization comes that the magic trick isn’t over… and it never will be.
Don’t bother looking for this place in the daytime, you won’t find it. If you look up Mephisto Centurion online, all that exists will be a single article titled: “Vegas hotel burns; Illusionist goes missing.” This article was written in 1960, only a few days before the famous El Rancho hotel burned down, which was a far bigger story. The hotel was called The Vegas Illusion, and Mephisto’s act was the main attraction. Little did the audience that attended know their entertainer was completely out of his mind.
He committed arson that night, burning the whole place down with the intent of taking himself with it. Many guests fled, but some did not make it out alive, and their remains were never found. Mephisto, real name Albert Torrance, worshipped an ancient god who promised him great power if he sacrificed his body, and he would do it in the most dramatic way possible with one show. Now he has abilities you can’t possibly comprehend, and he’ll be entertaining you for all eternity.
You can ask for help from the people around you, but they won’t hear you because, well, you’re dead. You died the second you got out of your car and stepped into a dark abyss that consumed you. There was never a hotel, there was never an audience, there was only HIM, and his beloved act. How do I know all of this? I am The Creator of the Magic Realm, I am amongst you, and I invite you to the show of a lifetime. I promise that my dear apprentice will make it all worthwhile.
I do not own this story.
When going to Las Vegas, ride the rides from places like New York, New York and the Stratosphere, gamble away your money in a drunken state on a few hands of poker, or take a complete stranger back to your expensive hotel room. Or perhaps you’d prefer a magic show from Cirque Du Soleil or David Copperfield? I would suggest this option for your first night in Sin City. Real magic is to be found in Vegas, but not on the Strip, oh no. For a true experience that will make you believe in the realm of magic, you must seek out master illusionist Mephisto Centurion.
To see his astounding performance, drive off the Las Vegas Strip past the airport, and keep going until you reach desert. Be sure you make this journey after midnight, for Mephisto’s act is only to entertain the nightlife. Once it seems like you’ve made a wrong turn, stop your car, get out and peer across the night desert. You won’t see anything at first, but then a hotel shrouded in darkness will catch your eye. Leave your vehicle behind and approach the hotel in the distance.
You will notice that no lights are on in this hotel, but don’t be fooled, it is plenty occupied. Walk up to the hotel’s entrance and knock on the glass doors, which will swing open. The entire lobby will be dark, and no one will be there to greet you, so bring a flashlight as you enter the building and make your way through a large, empty casino, following the signs hanging from the ceiling that will direct you to the hotel’s theatre. While there will be no one around, if you get the sense that you’re being watched, you’re correct, but don’t let that feeling hold you back. Continue to follow the signs until you come to two large, golden doors with many faces sculpted on them.
These doors will open for you, and to your surprise, you will find an enormous, bright theatre filled with hundreds of people you didn’t even know were there. It will be a full house, but one seat will still be available in the front row. Take it, it’s yours. Once you are seated, the lights will dim, the curtains will open, and the great Mephisto Centurion will appear in a flash of light onstage, dressed entirely in black with a cape, top-hat, and a long, black beard and mustache. He will have a wide variety of tricks up his sleeve that will astonish you, so try not to blink.
The beginning part of his act typically consists of card tricks like making a card float in the air right out of the deck, or making the card appear on the other side of the room. Something even more mind-boggling is when he takes a real sword and impales himself right through the stomach. This special trick isn’t even performed inside a box, it looks like the sword is actually going through his body, and he’ll pull it straight out and be just fine. He can also make real animals and automobiles disappear and reappear at his command. His talents are endless.
Fire will accompany many of his acts, and you will find yourself cheering and applauding with amazement, but in the back of your mind you’ll be thinking that nothing you saw actually happened in real life. Once this thought crosses your mind, Mephisto will ask for a volunteer, and point directly at you. He tells the audience that he will make you disappear, how can you resist such an honor to be part of his legendary act? A spotlight will shine upon you, and the whole audience will join in to give you encouragement. Stand up, and get onstage where the real experience will begin.
You may have seen disappearing acts before, and you’ll probably think that a trapdoor will open, and then Mephisto’s assistants will help you back to your seat while everyone claps for you. Instead, you’ll feel the most intense rush of your life. Mephisto, at nearly seven feet tall, will loom over you, and inform the crowd that the trick is about to begin. He’ll have you tell everyone your name and what you do for a living, then he’ll have you stand atop a platform and wave his hands at you while chanting words of an ancient language. At a certain point during his speech, you’ll notice his eyes glowing an eerie purple, and before you can scream, a beam of white light will engulf you.
After the light comes the darkness, but it only lasts for a few moments before you’re flying through a wormhole at a very fast rate beyond your control. It will be quite a thrill, so don’t close your eyes. When you reach the end of the wormhole, the next thing you know, you’ll be soaring high in the air above the Stratosphere, and an invisible force will keep you up there. The feeling of the wind will make you realize that it’s not a dream. Don’t be afraid to swoop down over the Vegas Strip that glows in the night.
Enjoy this flying sensation, don’t even question it, just have fun while you can because it won’t go on for too long. Before you know it, you’ll be teleported inside a lion’s habitat at The Mirage. A lion will wake up and approach you, and you’ll run for your life, frantically searching for an exit, but there will be none. The ferocious beast will eventually have you cornered, and ease in for the kill. In fear, you’ll curl into a ball, shut your eyes and prepare for the end.
When you open your eyes again, you’ll be in a dark room with a wide opening at the top. You’ll realize all too quickly that you’re standing inside The Mirage’s volcano, and the show is about to start. You may scream loudly in hopes that someone will rescue you, but it will be too late. A ball of fire will come for you, and there will be no way to escape it. Just seconds from your impending doom, there will be another flash, and you’ll be back at your seat, sweating and trembling as you suddenly hear clapping from everyone in the theatre.
Mephisto knows your journey was intense, but he was there with you the entire time to guide you along your way. He welcomes you back and thanks you, then he bids the crowd farewell and vanishes. Converse with the crowd, if you wish, then make your way back through the dark lobby. As soon as you exit the hotel, there will be another flash, and then it will be morning, and you’ll be in your own hotel room with no memory of how you got there. That’s when the realization comes that the magic trick isn’t over… and it never will be.
Don’t bother looking for this place in the daytime, you won’t find it. If you look up Mephisto Centurion online, all that exists will be a single article titled: “Vegas hotel burns; Illusionist goes missing.” This article was written in 1960, only a few days before the famous El Rancho hotel burned down, which was a far bigger story. The hotel was called The Vegas Illusion, and Mephisto’s act was the main attraction. Little did the audience that attended know their entertainer was completely out of his mind.
He committed arson that night, burning the whole place down with the intent of taking himself with it. Many guests fled, but some did not make it out alive, and their remains were never found. Mephisto, real name Albert Torrance, worshipped an ancient god who promised him great power if he sacrificed his body, and he would do it in the most dramatic way possible with one show. Now he has abilities you can’t possibly comprehend, and he’ll be entertaining you for all eternity.
You can ask for help from the people around you, but they won’t hear you because, well, you’re dead. You died the second you got out of your car and stepped into a dark abyss that consumed you. There was never a hotel, there was never an audience, there was only HIM, and his beloved act. How do I know all of this? I am The Creator of the Magic Realm, I am amongst you, and I invite you to the show of a lifetime. I promise that my dear apprentice will make it all worthwhile.
Teketeke
Who needs to sleep this month anyway?
Teketeketeketeketeketeke.
That is the sound of what is probably the creepiest of Japanese urban myths. Teke Teke is her name. It’s typical that the Japanese would give the scariest of horror story creatures such a misleadingly stupid sounding name. I would understand the horror of the creature as well anyone on account of the fact that I ran into her.
Like a typical American skeptic I didn’t take to the Japanese folklore with much heed. After all… every story seemed to have the same moral: don’t go out after dark alone. Therefore, it was only natural to believe that the stories were only a system of keeping kids from wandering off. When one story was proved wrong or ignored, another and more exotic story was made up to keep the children enveloped in pants-wetting fear of wandering off. The stories ranged from that of the slit mouth woman to the impossibility of the fifty story skeleton that would gladly tear off your head and drink the blood from your system like you were a juice box. But there were always holes in the story, such as HOW in the world a fifty story skeleton hasn’t been spotted by more than one person at a time, or even how something that massive could ever sneak up on anyone. And even the story of the slit mouth woman has it’s problems. The story supposedly features a beautiful Japanese woman who angered her husband who in turn sliced her mouth in his rage. Now she goes around with a scarf over her mouth asking people if she beautiful or not. If you say no she takes a giant pair a shears to you. If you say yes, she takes off her scarf and asks the same question again. At that point you’re pretty much screwed no matter WHAT you say unless you tell her she’s so-so, and then make a run for it while she’s contemplating what to do with that statement. However, it is never mentioned what happens if you see the giant pair of scissors on her back and just make a run for it before she asks you anything, or if you happen to be armed and just shoot the girl in the head a point blank range the moment she takes off the scarf.
The story of Teke Teke is similar in ways of plot holes. The story is about a girl who jumps/falls into a subway and gets split in half (how she didn’t get pulverized completely is anyone’s guess.) Afterword her spirit gets royally ticked off at the world and chases down any poor sap she sees and cuts them in half. Her name is based off the noise she makes as she runs as her long-nailed hands clack against the ground rapidly.
Teketeketeketeketeketeke.
Even if dead spirits were able to interact with the real world, my question is why Teke’s so angry. I’ve seen plenty of people who had lost their legs in reality shows or whatever and they seem pretty happy! and her tripping an falling into a railway station wasn’t anyones fault besides her own. Therefore, that myth seemed to contradict a rational human mindset.
At least, that’s what I thought. Until I saw her torso sitting on a wall late one friday evening.
In a classic horror story fashion, It was incredibly dark and I was walking home alone. Like I mentioned earlier, I did not take much of the surrounding folklore seriously. I actually thought it was a full sized girl for the longest time. If I had known that she was the ultimate concentration of horrific mutilating nightmare fuel I probably wouldn’t have approached her so carelessly to ask if she was alright. However, my good intentions changed to a furious rush of terror when she jerked violently at the sound of my voice and hopped off of the wall. Before she even hit the ground I clearly saw that most of the bottom portion of her was missing. She scurried toward me like an angered spider, making indistinguishable groaning and shrieking sounds as she raced toward me. That’s when I took off like a scared puppy. Who wouldn’t?
I am a very fast runner, the undeniable fact has been mentioned several times to me by my peers ever since middle school. I would have stopped running after the first few minutes if I had managed to leave whatever was chasing me behind. But the noise did not subside. In fact, as I ran, it grew steadily louder.
Teketeketeketeketeketeketeketeke.
The possibility of this being an insanely well configured prank had crossed my mind several times. I had asked for this elaborate joke the moment I bragged to all of my friends that ghost stories didn’t scare me or that I didn’t believe in ghosts. However, the way that the creature moved and how fast it went and how impossible it is to pull off something like this without Hollywood affects or circus creatures… I really had little to believe accept the fact that Teke Teke happened to main character of an all to true story.
But during my rambling and strangely calm train of thought I noticed something. I got my feet to finally stop and listened. The clicking noise had stopped. A gust of wind swirled around the corners of the ally and wrapped around my feet. Suddenly a bolt of movement shot past the corner of my eye.
Teketeketeke.
I turned around at the strange spurt of the horrendous clicking. However, the moment I focused my ears in to find out where the specter had run to the clicking quit. I listened to what was now a dead and ominous silence, the type of quiet that would play out in a horror movie before some corpse fell out of the ceiling with it’s eyes sliced out of the sockets and it’s mouth hanging open in a ghastly scream.
Teketeketeke.
I turned back at the spurt of sounds again. My heart pounded so hard I felt like I was going to go unconscious. “I should just get out of here,” I thought to myself. That was perhaps a bad idea on account of a probable inability to watch my own back mindless dashing would serve. However, my body instantly obeyed and I took off. As I rounded the corner, I was stopped by the short and legless figure of Teke Teke who stood on her hands no more than a few feet away from me. My heart leapt up, slamming into my throat and expelling a gag. At the sound of my gag, Teke looked into my eyes. In the light of a street-lamp I actually got a glimpse of her face.
In means of symmetrical features and a well-shaped nose she was actually a very lovely girl. However, the sheer panic of the situation made the beauty matter very little to me. But the scariest thing was, when I gagged, I swear that the pupils of her eyes grew until the whites disappeared from her sockets when she turned and faced me.
She raced at me while I attempted to start running again, and lurched like a fierce predator toward my lower torso with both of her hands outstretched. It was unreal how far she was able to jump. I screamed and swatted her as best as I could to the side. I very well managed not to cut in half, but her claw made a large gash in my side just above the pelvis. I yelled as the blood began to pour out of my side and in a terribly unintelligent motion I flopped down onto the ground onto my back as I bled. By that time Teke Teke had shaken off my blow and leapt onto my form as I lay on my back.
It was at that point that I switched from mildly intelligent survivalist to mindless panicked child. I shrieked and twisted violently to shake her off. Most of what happened during that time was a blur. A bunch of pain slashes of claws and blood till my face was blinded by red. It was almost a surreal nightmare, It WAS a surreal nightmare. Every feeling of panic and terror that you’d feel when being attacked by an angry dog was multiplied by the fact that this unhappy and vengeful creature was less than a dog and far more frightening.
I must have blacked out, because suddenly I came to my senses in a railway station. Everything was still blackened, horrendously dark, but I was able to see my hands and a few faint glows of shattered advertising signs. I was unable recall how I got into the railway station in the first place, I could have crawled here in my wounded state or Teke Teke could have dragged me here. However, my memory at that point was fuzzy and unreliable. I checked behind my back, and my spine crunched as my torso turned a full 180 degrees when I looked behind me. It didn’t hurt, but it produced a strange feeling of relief… like popping your back in a violent manner. I didn’t mean to turn myself around in such a grotesque manner, but it didn’t terrify me as much as one would suspect such an odd manner. When I straightened myself with another abnormal crunch I examined myself and unintentionally reminded myself of the gash that was laid upon my side by Teke Teke. Now I was able to view the thing in full potential, it was cut all the way from front to back in a clean slice. However, no blood poured from the wound. That was the final revelation that I need to know why I had been left alone.
“I’m dead,” I thought to myself, still far to shaken to break the silence of the railway station by verbalizing my thoughts. The horror quite at that time, for the revelation that death wasn’t quite as terrible as I thought it was still sinking in slowly. However, I was quickly distracted by the sight of a young woman walking down a far more well-lit path far from me, not noticing my huge form standing stiffly in the shadows. I was overwhelmed with the feeling that it was my inner purpose to hurt her.
I moved toward the girl, my spine moving unnaturally and my torso twisting on and off of my pelvis with the large gash that kept the upper part of my body half holding on.
Teketeketeketeketeketeke.
That is the sound of what is probably the creepiest of Japanese urban myths. Teke Teke is her name. It’s typical that the Japanese would give the scariest of horror story creatures such a misleadingly stupid sounding name. I would understand the horror of the creature as well anyone on account of the fact that I ran into her.
Like a typical American skeptic I didn’t take to the Japanese folklore with much heed. After all… every story seemed to have the same moral: don’t go out after dark alone. Therefore, it was only natural to believe that the stories were only a system of keeping kids from wandering off. When one story was proved wrong or ignored, another and more exotic story was made up to keep the children enveloped in pants-wetting fear of wandering off. The stories ranged from that of the slit mouth woman to the impossibility of the fifty story skeleton that would gladly tear off your head and drink the blood from your system like you were a juice box. But there were always holes in the story, such as HOW in the world a fifty story skeleton hasn’t been spotted by more than one person at a time, or even how something that massive could ever sneak up on anyone. And even the story of the slit mouth woman has it’s problems. The story supposedly features a beautiful Japanese woman who angered her husband who in turn sliced her mouth in his rage. Now she goes around with a scarf over her mouth asking people if she beautiful or not. If you say no she takes a giant pair a shears to you. If you say yes, she takes off her scarf and asks the same question again. At that point you’re pretty much screwed no matter WHAT you say unless you tell her she’s so-so, and then make a run for it while she’s contemplating what to do with that statement. However, it is never mentioned what happens if you see the giant pair of scissors on her back and just make a run for it before she asks you anything, or if you happen to be armed and just shoot the girl in the head a point blank range the moment she takes off the scarf.
The story of Teke Teke is similar in ways of plot holes. The story is about a girl who jumps/falls into a subway and gets split in half (how she didn’t get pulverized completely is anyone’s guess.) Afterword her spirit gets royally ticked off at the world and chases down any poor sap she sees and cuts them in half. Her name is based off the noise she makes as she runs as her long-nailed hands clack against the ground rapidly.
Teketeketeketeketeketeke.
Even if dead spirits were able to interact with the real world, my question is why Teke’s so angry. I’ve seen plenty of people who had lost their legs in reality shows or whatever and they seem pretty happy! and her tripping an falling into a railway station wasn’t anyones fault besides her own. Therefore, that myth seemed to contradict a rational human mindset.
At least, that’s what I thought. Until I saw her torso sitting on a wall late one friday evening.
In a classic horror story fashion, It was incredibly dark and I was walking home alone. Like I mentioned earlier, I did not take much of the surrounding folklore seriously. I actually thought it was a full sized girl for the longest time. If I had known that she was the ultimate concentration of horrific mutilating nightmare fuel I probably wouldn’t have approached her so carelessly to ask if she was alright. However, my good intentions changed to a furious rush of terror when she jerked violently at the sound of my voice and hopped off of the wall. Before she even hit the ground I clearly saw that most of the bottom portion of her was missing. She scurried toward me like an angered spider, making indistinguishable groaning and shrieking sounds as she raced toward me. That’s when I took off like a scared puppy. Who wouldn’t?
I am a very fast runner, the undeniable fact has been mentioned several times to me by my peers ever since middle school. I would have stopped running after the first few minutes if I had managed to leave whatever was chasing me behind. But the noise did not subside. In fact, as I ran, it grew steadily louder.
Teketeketeketeketeketeketeketeke.
The possibility of this being an insanely well configured prank had crossed my mind several times. I had asked for this elaborate joke the moment I bragged to all of my friends that ghost stories didn’t scare me or that I didn’t believe in ghosts. However, the way that the creature moved and how fast it went and how impossible it is to pull off something like this without Hollywood affects or circus creatures… I really had little to believe accept the fact that Teke Teke happened to main character of an all to true story.
But during my rambling and strangely calm train of thought I noticed something. I got my feet to finally stop and listened. The clicking noise had stopped. A gust of wind swirled around the corners of the ally and wrapped around my feet. Suddenly a bolt of movement shot past the corner of my eye.
Teketeketeke.
I turned around at the strange spurt of the horrendous clicking. However, the moment I focused my ears in to find out where the specter had run to the clicking quit. I listened to what was now a dead and ominous silence, the type of quiet that would play out in a horror movie before some corpse fell out of the ceiling with it’s eyes sliced out of the sockets and it’s mouth hanging open in a ghastly scream.
Teketeketeke.
I turned back at the spurt of sounds again. My heart pounded so hard I felt like I was going to go unconscious. “I should just get out of here,” I thought to myself. That was perhaps a bad idea on account of a probable inability to watch my own back mindless dashing would serve. However, my body instantly obeyed and I took off. As I rounded the corner, I was stopped by the short and legless figure of Teke Teke who stood on her hands no more than a few feet away from me. My heart leapt up, slamming into my throat and expelling a gag. At the sound of my gag, Teke looked into my eyes. In the light of a street-lamp I actually got a glimpse of her face.
In means of symmetrical features and a well-shaped nose she was actually a very lovely girl. However, the sheer panic of the situation made the beauty matter very little to me. But the scariest thing was, when I gagged, I swear that the pupils of her eyes grew until the whites disappeared from her sockets when she turned and faced me.
She raced at me while I attempted to start running again, and lurched like a fierce predator toward my lower torso with both of her hands outstretched. It was unreal how far she was able to jump. I screamed and swatted her as best as I could to the side. I very well managed not to cut in half, but her claw made a large gash in my side just above the pelvis. I yelled as the blood began to pour out of my side and in a terribly unintelligent motion I flopped down onto the ground onto my back as I bled. By that time Teke Teke had shaken off my blow and leapt onto my form as I lay on my back.
It was at that point that I switched from mildly intelligent survivalist to mindless panicked child. I shrieked and twisted violently to shake her off. Most of what happened during that time was a blur. A bunch of pain slashes of claws and blood till my face was blinded by red. It was almost a surreal nightmare, It WAS a surreal nightmare. Every feeling of panic and terror that you’d feel when being attacked by an angry dog was multiplied by the fact that this unhappy and vengeful creature was less than a dog and far more frightening.
I must have blacked out, because suddenly I came to my senses in a railway station. Everything was still blackened, horrendously dark, but I was able to see my hands and a few faint glows of shattered advertising signs. I was unable recall how I got into the railway station in the first place, I could have crawled here in my wounded state or Teke Teke could have dragged me here. However, my memory at that point was fuzzy and unreliable. I checked behind my back, and my spine crunched as my torso turned a full 180 degrees when I looked behind me. It didn’t hurt, but it produced a strange feeling of relief… like popping your back in a violent manner. I didn’t mean to turn myself around in such a grotesque manner, but it didn’t terrify me as much as one would suspect such an odd manner. When I straightened myself with another abnormal crunch I examined myself and unintentionally reminded myself of the gash that was laid upon my side by Teke Teke. Now I was able to view the thing in full potential, it was cut all the way from front to back in a clean slice. However, no blood poured from the wound. That was the final revelation that I need to know why I had been left alone.
“I’m dead,” I thought to myself, still far to shaken to break the silence of the railway station by verbalizing my thoughts. The horror quite at that time, for the revelation that death wasn’t quite as terrible as I thought it was still sinking in slowly. However, I was quickly distracted by the sight of a young woman walking down a far more well-lit path far from me, not noticing my huge form standing stiffly in the shadows. I was overwhelmed with the feeling that it was my inner purpose to hurt her.
I moved toward the girl, my spine moving unnaturally and my torso twisting on and off of my pelvis with the large gash that kept the upper part of my body half holding on.
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 3:23.
“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
“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
The old lady...
One day at a shopping mall in the afternoon, a woman was coming out of the mall from a shopping spree. She was in a happy mood. She had gotten to her car and loaded her stuff that she had bought into her trunk. When she was done loading, she shut the door of her trunk and she saw an old lady standing by the passenger side of her car.
The old woman said “Would you be a darling and give me a lift home? I don’t have a car and I was walking all day.” The woman said “I’d be happy to.” So she unlocked the door for the old woman.
As she started to make her way around the car to the driver’s side, she started to feel uncomfortable. So when she got in the car, she looked in her purse and said “Darn, I can’t find my credit card. I’m going inside to see if anybody found it.” The old woman said “I’ll wait for you here.”
The woman left to go look for help. Then she found a security guard and told him the situation. They went back to the woman’s car and the passenger door was wide open. On the seat of the car was a shopping bag that the old woman had been carrying. Inside of the bag was the old woman’s dress and a gray haired wig, along with a huge butcher’s knife, a video camera, and a roll of duct tape.
The old woman said “Would you be a darling and give me a lift home? I don’t have a car and I was walking all day.” The woman said “I’d be happy to.” So she unlocked the door for the old woman.
As she started to make her way around the car to the driver’s side, she started to feel uncomfortable. So when she got in the car, she looked in her purse and said “Darn, I can’t find my credit card. I’m going inside to see if anybody found it.” The old woman said “I’ll wait for you here.”
The woman left to go look for help. Then she found a security guard and told him the situation. They went back to the woman’s car and the passenger door was wide open. On the seat of the car was a shopping bag that the old woman had been carrying. Inside of the bag was the old woman’s dress and a gray haired wig, along with a huge butcher’s knife, a video camera, and a roll of duct tape.
Go to Sleep.
I read this a while ago. Not for the easily disturbed.
It was just an ordinary summer night (or morning for those who don't believe there is such thing as 1:00 at night); I couldn't go to sleep right away, the whole rest of the entire house was asleep, so I decided to grab my 3DS. I could have done a lot with this thing. I could have taken some pictures (I know what you're thinking; "At night?/At early morning?"), I could have played Drawn to Life the Next Chapter, Pokemon Rumble Blast, Fossil Fighters Champion, Pokemon Black, Super Scribblenauts, and a bunch of other great games most teenagers these days would consider 'stupid' or 'too childish'. But that night, I decided to use the internet on it.I am a huge fan of Creepypastas. Oh, I haven't introduced myself. My name is OldManGlitch, and I am the author of a Creepypasta known as Belle's Demise. If any of you haven't read it yet and want to, feel free to look under the pokemon section. But anyways, back to the point.
As I was saying, I am a huge fan of Creepypastas. There are some that aren't scary at all, just fun to read, some that aren't terrifying, but you would feel safer with a night light, and those that just make your heart want to jump out of your chest. Before this disaster struck, I wouldn't read Jeff the Killer, because I knew if the picture of him made me think I was gonna have nightmares, the pasta would scare me to freaking death. But a while after, I got brave enough to read it, now the picture doesn't terrify me as much, because I knew what the hell happened to him.
So that night, I read a pasta called Jeff Is Back, basically talking about Jeff using a video to hack into other people's computers, find their information, come a couple nights after, and make a puddle of blood out of them. My heart was kinda beating with excitement. But then, everything changed. In the Creepypasta, Jeff wrote how he knew information of others. One of the things he wrote was he knew one of our usernames was OldManGlitch, and if there was such a thing as shitting bricks, I would have had silicone coming out of my ass.
If this was real, Jeff was going to- 'Wait a minute...' I thought to myself that night. 'I never gave my real information in that thing. I said I lived in Pokemon, and I said my speciality or job was corruption. He has nothing against me.' With that, I closed my eyes, and went to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to find myself not in my room, but I was in another persons house, tied to a couch, unable to move. I shouted "WHERE AM I?!!?" I was answered by a man with black jeans, a white hoodie, he had greasy black hair going down to his shoulders atleast, his bottom lip was red, his upper one just wasn't there, but worst of all were his eyes, they each had a black ring around them. I wouldn't have thought of the black that creepy had his entire face been white as snow. "It's OK, lay down."
I didn't want to believe that the Creepypastas were real. "What's wrong with your face?" I asked.
He just looked at me and replied, "I was bleached during a fight." "Why are you always smiling, but never blinking?"
"I couldn't keep smiling, so I just carved one on. I couldn't keep looking at my face, so I burned my eyelids. I told you I would find you, didn't I OldManGlitch?"
It was then that it hit me, I was speaking to the real Jeff the Killer himself. "But why did yo-" "Sssssshhhhhhhh... Just go to sleep." When he said that, I knew there was no escaping. He held his knife up, and plunged it to my heart...
I awake at 8:30 A.M, in my room, sweating like I was in an oven. My parents had gone to work, my brother was watching TV, and I realized it was nothing more than a dream.
The next night, I go to my room, to find a note. This is what it read:
OldManGlitch,
I told you I would find you. You may be safe physically, so I thought of a better plan for you. I will use psychological torture, and I will torture you for the rest of your life, or atleast until you can't take it and decide to kill yourself. I find it very odd that while you are only 13, you are the very first person alive I use this on. First it will be torture, then insanity, then, you will be my puppet. You will find out what I will do to you tonight.
Signed, Jeff
P.S: Have pleasant dreams.
The next morning, I awoke in my room after a nightmare to find a person's body there. It also had a note.
OldManGlitch
You have murdered him well. Do you recognise him? He was Moosejuice, the same guy that blocked your Wikia account all because you didn't edit it. I find it easier to use you when you are to kill people you contain a grudge on. Have a good day, and sleep well tonight, because who knows who will be next?
Signed, Jeff
Suddenly, the body opened it's eyes, and began to breathe. I sighed in relief that I did not kill him, because even though I was still mad about him blocking me, I would never be able to live with myself knowing that I killed a person. He took one look at me, yelled, and shot me.
I woke up at 8:30 A.M in my room, sweating like I was in an oven. My parents had gone to work, my brother was watching TV, and I realised it was nothing more than a dream.
Good night... and have pleasant dreams.
As I was saying, I am a huge fan of Creepypastas. There are some that aren't scary at all, just fun to read, some that aren't terrifying, but you would feel safer with a night light, and those that just make your heart want to jump out of your chest. Before this disaster struck, I wouldn't read Jeff the Killer, because I knew if the picture of him made me think I was gonna have nightmares, the pasta would scare me to freaking death. But a while after, I got brave enough to read it, now the picture doesn't terrify me as much, because I knew what the hell happened to him.
So that night, I read a pasta called Jeff Is Back, basically talking about Jeff using a video to hack into other people's computers, find their information, come a couple nights after, and make a puddle of blood out of them. My heart was kinda beating with excitement. But then, everything changed. In the Creepypasta, Jeff wrote how he knew information of others. One of the things he wrote was he knew one of our usernames was OldManGlitch, and if there was such a thing as shitting bricks, I would have had silicone coming out of my ass.
If this was real, Jeff was going to- 'Wait a minute...' I thought to myself that night. 'I never gave my real information in that thing. I said I lived in Pokemon, and I said my speciality or job was corruption. He has nothing against me.' With that, I closed my eyes, and went to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to find myself not in my room, but I was in another persons house, tied to a couch, unable to move. I shouted "WHERE AM I?!!?" I was answered by a man with black jeans, a white hoodie, he had greasy black hair going down to his shoulders atleast, his bottom lip was red, his upper one just wasn't there, but worst of all were his eyes, they each had a black ring around them. I wouldn't have thought of the black that creepy had his entire face been white as snow. "It's OK, lay down."
I didn't want to believe that the Creepypastas were real. "What's wrong with your face?" I asked.
He just looked at me and replied, "I was bleached during a fight." "Why are you always smiling, but never blinking?"
"I couldn't keep smiling, so I just carved one on. I couldn't keep looking at my face, so I burned my eyelids. I told you I would find you, didn't I OldManGlitch?"
It was then that it hit me, I was speaking to the real Jeff the Killer himself. "But why did yo-" "Sssssshhhhhhhh... Just go to sleep." When he said that, I knew there was no escaping. He held his knife up, and plunged it to my heart...
I awake at 8:30 A.M, in my room, sweating like I was in an oven. My parents had gone to work, my brother was watching TV, and I realized it was nothing more than a dream.
The next night, I go to my room, to find a note. This is what it read:
OldManGlitch,
I told you I would find you. You may be safe physically, so I thought of a better plan for you. I will use psychological torture, and I will torture you for the rest of your life, or atleast until you can't take it and decide to kill yourself. I find it very odd that while you are only 13, you are the very first person alive I use this on. First it will be torture, then insanity, then, you will be my puppet. You will find out what I will do to you tonight.
Signed, Jeff
P.S: Have pleasant dreams.
The next morning, I awoke in my room after a nightmare to find a person's body there. It also had a note.
OldManGlitch
You have murdered him well. Do you recognise him? He was Moosejuice, the same guy that blocked your Wikia account all because you didn't edit it. I find it easier to use you when you are to kill people you contain a grudge on. Have a good day, and sleep well tonight, because who knows who will be next?
Signed, Jeff
Suddenly, the body opened it's eyes, and began to breathe. I sighed in relief that I did not kill him, because even though I was still mad about him blocking me, I would never be able to live with myself knowing that I killed a person. He took one look at me, yelled, and shot me.
I woke up at 8:30 A.M in my room, sweating like I was in an oven. My parents had gone to work, my brother was watching TV, and I realised it was nothing more than a dream.
Good night... and have pleasant dreams.
The Paths
I do not own this story.
Rumor has it that if you ever visit Maine, somewhere, no matter what city you are in, is a dusty path that stretches for miles and miles before taking you to the Interstate somewhere in Boston. These paths can not be located by satellite or airplanes, as the trees are so thick that one cannot see them from above. It is also nearly impossible to find the correct path, as many lead to abandoned outcroppings or other sections of different highways. If you do find the right path however, be warned. What I'm about to show you is a transcript of a 911 call triangulated to a dense forest in Stow, ME.
---
Dispatcher: Chatham 911, what is your emergency?
Caller: Chatham, New Hampshire?
Dispatcher: Yes. Your emergency?
Caller: Listen, you know the local legend, the dusty path that takes you to Boston?
Dispatcher: I suppose, where are you located?
Caller: That's just it, I have no idea. If you are in Chatham I might be right on the border. I was in Stow before I placed this call. Just off of the {unintelligable} Road.
Dispatcher: You seem to have placed the call from Stow. The dense forest on the border.
Caller: Ah, okay. Well, it seems I have the correct path, but there is some sort of... I have absolutely no idea. Its eyes are yellow. (faint growls in the distance)
Dispatcher: Does it seem to be provoked or angry?
Caller: Yes, I think I've wandered into its-- (speech cut off by growling and screaming, followed by dead silence)
---
It was later determined that the caller's location was on a narrow path no more than 2 feet wide that led south toward a nearby pond. Police sent divers to the pond, who discovered a well preserved Model T at the bottom. Further clues were found in a rusting ammunition container, holding written accounts of what was witnessed in the call. Each were 10 years apart and written by men named Charles
Rumor has it that if you ever visit Maine, somewhere, no matter what city you are in, is a dusty path that stretches for miles and miles before taking you to the Interstate somewhere in Boston. These paths can not be located by satellite or airplanes, as the trees are so thick that one cannot see them from above. It is also nearly impossible to find the correct path, as many lead to abandoned outcroppings or other sections of different highways. If you do find the right path however, be warned. What I'm about to show you is a transcript of a 911 call triangulated to a dense forest in Stow, ME.
---
Dispatcher: Chatham 911, what is your emergency?
Caller: Chatham, New Hampshire?
Dispatcher: Yes. Your emergency?
Caller: Listen, you know the local legend, the dusty path that takes you to Boston?
Dispatcher: I suppose, where are you located?
Caller: That's just it, I have no idea. If you are in Chatham I might be right on the border. I was in Stow before I placed this call. Just off of the {unintelligable} Road.
Dispatcher: You seem to have placed the call from Stow. The dense forest on the border.
Caller: Ah, okay. Well, it seems I have the correct path, but there is some sort of... I have absolutely no idea. Its eyes are yellow. (faint growls in the distance)
Dispatcher: Does it seem to be provoked or angry?
Caller: Yes, I think I've wandered into its-- (speech cut off by growling and screaming, followed by dead silence)
---
It was later determined that the caller's location was on a narrow path no more than 2 feet wide that led south toward a nearby pond. Police sent divers to the pond, who discovered a well preserved Model T at the bottom. Further clues were found in a rusting ammunition container, holding written accounts of what was witnessed in the call. Each were 10 years apart and written by men named Charles
Abonați-vă la:
Postări (Atom)