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Mar 12, 2006
Oooooh Scary

As it's been nearly a year since creation of our last thread, I present to you:


The last year of these threads before we all die! So let's make this one our best.

I'm excited! I always love these threads.

Previous Thread

My site - Link takes you directly to my blogs-section. 'Best of' sub-section Still a work in progress, but has a handful of my best submitted content so far.
Creepypasta. A collection of paranormal-stories.
Drimble Wedge's Post A huge archive of stories and stuff from past threads.
HumperMonkey's Index of great-stories
Bizarre, unsolved mysteries. A thread from 2008.
Anything Ghost Show - Podcast.
Goon-written and published-book A nice-collection of ghost-stories.
A Corn Crib on Haunted Mound. A personal-favorite taken from HumperMonkey's site.
The Wireman One the creepiest stories in this thread.

Should I add resources with other paranormal-content? Just let me know!


-Just post your story. No asking "if there's enough interest, I'll post!" crap. WE WANT TO HEAR YOUR STORIES. So tell us.

Let's start things off, shall we?

Of course, there's always...

The Rake:


During the summer of 2003, events in the northeastern United States involving a strange, human-like creature sparked brief local media interest before an apparent blackout was enacted. Little or no information was left intact, as most online and written accounts of the creature were mysteriously destroyed.

Primarily focused in rural New York state, self proclaimed witnesses told stories of their encounters with a creature of unknown origin. Emotions ranged from extremely traumatic levels of fright and discomfort, to an almost childlike sense of playfulness and curiosity. While their published versions are no longer on record, the memories remained powerful. Several of the involved parties began looking for answers that year.

In early 2006, the collaboration had accumulated nearly two dozen documents dating between the 12th century and present day, spanning 4 continents. In almost all cases, the stories were identical. I’ve been in contact with a member of this group and was able to get some excerpts from their upcoming book.

The Rake

A Suicide Note: 1964

As I prepare to take my life, I feel it necessary to assuage any guilt or pain I have introduced through this act. It is not the fault of anyone other than him. For once I awoke and felt his presence. And once I awoke and saw his form. Once again I awoke and heard his voice, and looked into his eyes. I cannot sleep without fear of what I might next awake to experience. I cannot ever wake. Goodbye.

Found in the same wooden box were two empty envelopes addressed to William and Rose, and one loose personal letter with no envelope.

Dearest Linnie,
I have prayed for you. He spoke your name.

A Journal Entry (translated from Spanish): 1880

I have experience the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I see his eyes when I close mine. They are hollow. Black. They saw me and pierced me. His wet hand. I will not sleep. His voice (unintelligible text).

A Mariner’s Log: 1691

He came to me in my sleep. From the foot of my bed I felt a sensation. He took everything. We must return to England. We shall not return here again at the request of the Rake.

From a Witness: 2006

Three years ago, I had just returned from a trip from Niagara Falls with my family for the 4th of July. We were all very exhausted after a long day of driving, so my husband and I put the kids right to bed and called it a night.

At about 4am, I woke up thinking my husband had gotten up to use the restroom. I used the moment to steal back the sheets, only to wake him in the process. I apologized and told him I though he got out of bed. When he turned to face me, he gasped and pulled his feet up from the end of the bed so quickly his knee almost knocked me out of the bed. He then grabbed me and said nothing.

After adjusting to the dark for a half second, I was able to see what caused the strange reaction. At the foot of the bed, sitting and facing away from us, there was what appeared to be a naked man, or a large hairless dog of some sort. It’s body position was disturbing and unnatural, as if it had been hit by a car or something. For some reason, I was not instantly frightened by it, but more concerned as to its condition. At this point I was somewhat under the assumption that we were supposed to help him.

My husband was peering over his arm and knee, tucked into the fetal position, occasionally glancing at me before returning to the creature.

In a flurry of motion, the creature scrambled around the side of the bed, and then crawled quickly in a flailing sort of motion right along the bed until it was less than a foot from my husband’s face. The creature was completely silent for about 30 seconds (or probably closer to 5, it just seemed like a while) just looking at my husband. The creature then placed its hand on his knee and ran into the hallway, leading to the kids’ rooms.

I screamed and ran for the light switch, planning to stop him before he hurt my children. When I got to the hallway, the light from the bedroom was enough to see it crouching and hunched over about 20 feet away. He turned around and looked directly at me, covered in blood. I flipped the switch on the wall and saw my daughter Clara.

The creature ran down the stairs while my husband and I rushed to help our daughter. She was very badly injured and spoke only once more in her short life. She said “he is the Rake”.

My husband drove his car into a lake that night, while rushing our daughter to the hospital. He did not survive.

Being a small town, news got around pretty quickly. The police were helpful at first, and the local newspaper took a lot of interest as well. However, the story was never published and the local television news never followed up either.

For several months, my son Justin and I stayed in a hotel near my parent’s house. After we decided to return home, I began looking for answers myself. I eventually located a man in the next town over who had a similar story. We got in contact and began talking about our experiences. He knew of two other people in New York who had seen the creature we now referred to as the Rake.

It took the four of us about two solid years of hunting on the internet and writing letters to come up with a small collection of what we believe to be accounts of the Rake. None of them gave any details, history or follow up. One journal had an entry involving the creature in its first 3 pages, and never mentioned it again. A ship’s log explained nothing of the encounter, saying only that they were told to leave by the Rake. That was the last entry in the log.

There were, however, many instances where the creature’s visit was one of a series of visits with the same person. Multiple people also mentioned being spoken to, my daughter included. This led us to wonder if the Rake had visited any of us before our last encounter.

I set up a digital recorder near my bed and left it running all night, every night, for two weeks. I would tediously scan through the sounds of me rolling around in my bed each day when I woke up. By the end of the second week, I was quite used to the occasional sound of sleep while blurring through the recording at 8 times the normal speed. (This still took almost an hour every day)

On the first day of the third week, I thought I heard something different. What I found was a shrill voice. It was the Rake. I can’t listen to it long enough to even begin to transcribe it. I haven’t let anyone listen to it yet. All I know is that I’ve heard it before, and I now believe that it spoke when it was sitting in front of my husband. I don’t remember hearing anything at the time, but for some reason, the voice on the recorder immediately brings me back to that moment.

The thoughts that must have gone through my daughter’s head make me very upset.

I have not seen the Rake since he ruined my life, but I know that he has been in my room while I slept. I know and fear that one night I’ll wake up to see him staring at me.

From Ghostsstory:

The Basement


So I had submitted this story to a blog on tumblr, and got a 9 / 10 on the creep factor so I thought I would share it here also.
When I was younger, up until I was 19 I lived on and off with my grandparents. Their home, the only home they had ever lived in together all their married life, was sort of like a rock in my unstable life. We moved around a lot when I lived with my parents, so knowing that 47 Bayard street was always going to be there was a comfort.

It was a duplex. The upstairs neighbor, Ann was an older lady by any standard, and I'd known her all my life. She had lived up there for as long as I knew. She was friends with my grandparents, and knew my father and his brothers while they were growing up. So I'm assuming she had just always lived there. She would watch me when my grandparents had to do errands before I got home from school. Her house was different layout than my grandparents, and she had a beautiful baby doll I coveted very much that I'd play with when I stayed upstairs with her.

I don't remember how old I was but I woke up one morning to police cars and an ambulance outside the front yard, and my grandparents told me Ann had died. In the house. In her favorite chair in the livingroom. She just passed away in her sleep. I was sad because of it, but knew she was better off than being sickly and in pain all the time. As soon as her affairs were in order, my grandfather started renovations on the upstairs to prepare it for new tenants. Turned out to be college kids. Shortly after the redo, my grandparents had to go out to visit a friend of theirs whom I had known all my life as "Aunt Sid", because she was in the hospital. She'd fallen at home. My grandparents didn't think I should go, and I didn't argue because I hate hospitals. So they trusted me to stay home alone after being given the whole speech about not opening the door for anyone, or answering the phone.

About, 8pm I decided to get a Mountain Dew. We had two fridges in the house. One in our pantry where the everyday food stuff was. And then, in the basement, down two short flights of stairs in the back hall was their original fridge, that they used for Over stock of juice if they got it on sale, or when my grandmother would make a BIG pot of pasta sauce from scratch, she would put it there and when we made spaghetti (heh every monday and thursday in my house) we'd take from that. It's also where they kept the mountain dew so I would have to go past my grandfather to get one. It was their way of controlling what I ate. But I digress. So I went downstairs and opened the fridge, and I had this eerie feeling. It's always creepy in basements unless you've remodeled it to be a playroom or something ya know? The fridge is just at the foot of the stairs, to the immediate left is a shed type room, and then the room beyond is where the washer is, some clothes line to hang clothes (talk about old fashioned) and my old toys, beach chairs, pool floats, and the like. I got this sense someone or something was watching me.

I turned to look, and there was Ann. Plain as day. Looking right at me. It didn't register until I'd been looking at her for a minute maybe more that she was dead. She didn't look happy, or angry really, she just sorta stared with a blank expression that really creeped me out. I'm fat, not even gonna lie, and normally fat girls don't really run, but when I tell you I never hauled butt so fast up stairs in all my life, you woulda thought I was a gazelle with my speed. I hit the lights, locked the back door and spent the rest of the night in the livingroom as far away from the back door as I could. I CLUNG to my grandmother when they came home. Couple months later, the creepy still hadn't worn off, and I asked my grandma, "Did Ann die in her sleep?" and she looked at me weird for asking, and said "She died while watching TV." So her heart had seized and she died with her eyes open. That look has NEVER left me for as long as I've lived.

At 30, even now it still creeps me out. It's not the only incident I've ever had, but that's, another story.

Thanks for reading.

Clickhere fucked around with this message at Apr 3, 2012 around 05:34


Page Downfall
May 5, 2009

My tables are making GBS threads their pants right now. Scary thread.

i must compose
Jul 4, 2010

What we are doing here is only the image of what we would like to do.

I read that whole story expecting a literal rake; you did not deliver.

Mar 9, 2005

I live out in Lancaster, Ohio and surrounding us on the east are the Hocking Hills. Throughout the years I have heard stories from 'a friend's friend's friend' and all that usual stuff. I've been out there quite a few times and it's beautiful woods and great hiking but nothing odd.

My best friend Aaron and I decided to just go down 33 and take a random right into Hocking Hills at about 11pm at night. We drive around aimlessly before heading back out towards the highway. It was summertime and we had out windows down. I'm in the passenger seat and hear something running along side us in the brush outside the car. Since it's pitch black you can't see anything past the window but I had him turn the AC and radio off to listen.

You can hear 2 steps at a time, not like a gallop but like a steady run coming from about 3 or 4 feet outside my window in the leaves next to the car. You can hear the crackling of the leaves as each footstep hits the ground. We're terrified at this point. It follows us all the way to 33 when we emerged from the woods and it stopped. We could never explain what it was, and to this day I refuse to go back into the woods at night.

The most terrifying part for us was we were driving about 55-60 mph and something was STILL keeping up the pace right next to the car. It scares me just thinking about what the crap it was.

A Fancy 400 lbs
Jul 23, 2008


sgtmattkind posted:

I live out in Lancaster, Ohio and surrounding us on the east are the Hocking Hills. Throughout the years I have heard stories from 'a friend's friend's friend' and all that usual stuff. I've been out there quite a few times and it's beautiful woods and great hiking but nothing odd.

My best friend Aaron and I decided to just go down 33 and take a random right into Hocking Hills at about 11pm at night. We drive around aimlessly before heading back out towards the highway. It was summertime and we had out windows down. I'm in the passenger seat and hear something running along side us in the brush outside the car. Since it's pitch black you can't see anything past the window but I had him turn the AC and radio off to listen.

You can hear 2 steps at a time, not like a gallop but like a steady run coming from about 3 or 4 feet outside my window in the leaves next to the car. You can hear the crackling of the leaves as each footstep hits the ground. We're terrified at this point. It follows us all the way to 33 when we emerged from the woods and it stopped. We could never explain what it was, and to this day I refuse to go back into the woods at night.

The most terrifying part for us was we were driving about 55-60 mph and something was STILL keeping up the pace right next to the car. It scares me just thinking about what the crap it was.

Have you considered a stick stuck in your tire treads?

Mar 9, 2005

A Fancy 400 lbs posted:

Have you considered a stick stuck in your tire treads?

Whatever it was was 'running' a few feet away from the car. It was distinct footsteps along the ground. The 'running' also stopped when we exited the woods. I don't believe in all that strange creatures, bigfoot, loch ness monster stuff but this was really unexplainable to me.

Aug 31, 2001

If there was a fence next to that road, you could have heard echos of road noise from the fence posts. I've experienced that (during the day) and it was very confusing until I figured it out.

Jan 28, 2005

There's no sense in nonsense
Especially when the heat's hot

It's a long shot, but can anybody repost the story I think called "The Noise"? A group of campers are having a good time, sun starts to set and they hear "It" the and next thing they know they're in a panic half way through the woods to their car with little to no recollection to what happened in between that time.

Would be much appreciated.

Mar 9, 2005

Some of these stories really interest me to the point of wanting to look at investigating them, people from last years Spring/Summer posts like Big Hairy Wah and Reneakat seem to have the most activity in their houses. Would either of you be open to allowing people to check that out?

Linear Ouroboros
Mar 29, 2007
Sweet loving Ginger!

When my work relcoated me across country two years ago, they gave me one day to find an apartment. It was a Sunday, when most rental offices were closed, and I had to be "settled" by Wednesday, when they stopped paying for my hotel. Joy.

I met with a guy off of Craigslist, who was showing an apartment in the historic area of town. It was one of four apartments carved out of a townhouse built in the 1840s. There wasn't any police tape or visible rodents and the rent was dirt cheap, so I hopped at the offer. My apartment was the back half of the upstairs and the smallest one. The rooms had been renovated heavily, but there was remnants of wainscoting and carved wood trims that satisfied my historic house love despite the size.

My job couldn't give me a day off to move my things for a few weeks, so I lived out of my suitcase with an air mattress and a lamp for a while. In fact for the first two days the electric wasn't turned on and I walked around my suite with a kerosene lamp or a flaslight.

Before my furniture got there, one day I was lying in bed, reading, and got up to go get a drink. Coming back, in the corner where my bathroom and bedroom doors were was a woman. She was young, still had that long look to her face that teens get. She was wearing a gray and yellow striped dress with a belt and was wringing her hands. She was staring somewhere behind me into the living room, eyes wide and had obviously been crying. As I got closer, she sort of sobbed out "but what am I to do!" took a step forward and disappeared.

I wish I could claim I did some crazy thing in response, but honestly I sort of just paused, finished my drink and walked back into the bedroom. I rationalized. I have sleep disorder issues in the past. This was some sort of dream. A lingering Jungian manifestation of the feelings I was having alone in a new state with no friends or my belongoings. Sad for me but nothing to worry about.

Then I stepped through where "she" had been stanDing. It was like walking into despair. There was this wall of just cold sadness that hit me out of no where. It felt worse than family funerals or any loss I had felt. It only lasted a moment, but the lingering traces kept me up all night.

Time went on, I got furniture, and didn't see her like that again. But I would walk into that wall of gloom and find myself crying over emotions I wasn't even having. I would wake up to someone crying, or wake up and see a person at the foot of my bed who would disappear when I turned on the lights. But I rationalized it. I was going through a rough time, stress, neighbors.

At some point I moved my cat from my parents house and adopted another cat to keep her company. Cats are weird right? They stare at invisible things, chase stuff that isn't there, growl and raise their fur at nothing or cower and hide for no reason. I blamed them too that things were moved. Little stuff at first, buthow did my jewelry box end up in the living room? Why was my microwave in my bedroom? I must be absent minded.

Then one nIght cat one is curled on my feet and cat two is snuggled beside me as I read. My cats both wear collars with bells on them, and from the next room I hear the jingle of one of their bells. I look, both are wearing their collars. The jingle goes across the room, I hears scratching at the litter box, food rattling in the bowl, all normal cat noises except that there was no cat. Both real cats are by this point on edge, fur standing on end and growling. The noise comes closer and into the room, my cats tracking the noise as it moves. Then there's a loud "HA!" and it stops.

Me? Well at this point I am spending every night I can at my new boyfriends place to avoid my apartment. That's not weird at all , right?

There were other problems with the place, and soon I found myself looking to get a new place and break my lease. My mom comes to visit and is spending the night while we apartment hunt. I had turned in for the nIght when she comes

Oct 31, 2005

Keep in mind I have zero experience with this, but have you considered trying a spiritual cleanse or something? If you're gonna break your lease anyway it might be worth a try?

Along the same lines, I may be moving in the next few months, but I have time. Are there any suggestions to make sure I'm not moving into a haunted place? It sounds odd, but I'm worried about it. I figure my tin foil hat won't protect me forever...

Sep 12, 2008

Well ain't that precious?

Ctrl_Alt_Delete posted:

Keep in mind I have zero experience with this, but have you considered trying a spiritual cleanse or something? If you're gonna break your lease anyway it might be worth a try?
Before he does that, he might want to check for carbon monoxide in his house. Its actually the cause of a lot of so-called haunted houses.

Linear Ouroboros
Mar 29, 2007
Sweet loving Ginger!

Got cut off and it won't let me edit?

So anyway my mom comes running wide eyed into my bedroom. She was on my futon reading when she saw a woman walk out of my bedroom, cross the living room and disappear. My normally stoic mother was freaking out, even crying and saying that I has to get out of there, that I had to move ASAP. Turns out later she walked into the sane "pocket" of emotion I had.

So I found a new apartment literally the next day and I start emptying out my stuff the next week The bedroom was first. Moved all my stuff, moved the cats, then spent the rest of the day scrubbing the floors and washing the windows in a lame attempt to get my security deposit back. Next day I pack the kitchen/living room and move most of it. It's my final day for moving and I have only to move some random boxes and clean the bathroom and kitchen.

It's August and hot. There's no AC and as I walk in I notice a horrible smell. I follow it into the bedroom. There, on the windowsill I had cleaned the week before was a puddle of urine. It poured over the sill down the walls and across the floor over a good two foot radius. It reeked, but had already gotten sticky, so it must have been there a while. I couldn't explain it. Literally no one but myself had the key. Not even my landlord. But there it was, mystery piss in my bedroom.

That was the last time I was there, and other than a few other weird happening there I can't say too much else, but it was a weird six months.

Aug 29, 2008

by XyloJW

Since The Rake has already been posted, Rotting Meat always makes it's way into these threads.


The following events occured during a two week vacation stay at a rented house in Cape Cod. I was not particularly old; I believe I was 9 and my sister was 4. My mother, however, was in her 30s, so I can't chalk up her experiences to an overactive imagination.

For the first few days, things were fine. We learned the layout pretty quickly; there was a basement with a washer, dryer and a tv in a seperate room. On the main floor was the kitchen, a proper living room and bathroom. And on the second floor were the bedrooms - three in total.

One day it was particularly stormy, so there would be no trips to the beach or nature walks. My parents, really eager for as much private time as they could get, sent my sister down to the basement to watch what little tv we could recieve. My sister and I managed to get a decent version of PBS, which meant the static wasn't too bad at all (antennae only at this place). We continued to watch, I absentmindedly playing my Gameboy, my sister more enthralled by some show.

And then it all stopped. My gameboy shut off. The lightbulb popped. The tv did not go off; instead it showed nothing but static.

And then the smell.

From the other room, the one with the washer and dryer, there was a smell that is not even partially described by the word rank. Imagine a bag of rotting meat kept in the summer sun for days at end, and you can begin to imagine it. "Let's go, please" my sister whimpered. I took her hand and we walked back up.

My parents were not terribly pleased. They listened to our story, sighing as we spoke. Finally Mom smiled and said "Alright, if I go down and check, and it's all ok, will you go back down?" We agreed, knowing if anyone could make it all better, she could.

She disappeared into the black basement, flashlight in hand, replacement lightbulb box held in the other. We expected her to return quickly. She didn't. After ten minutes that stretched into eternity, she finally came back up. "Ok kids, you can can stay up here. In fact, I don't want you going down there again."

We didn't know what that meant, but accepted it gladly. Mom never went down in the room either; she insisted on doing laundry at laundromats in town. I would not ask her what happened for years.

Another night I was woken by a horrid scream from my sisters room. My Dad burst from his room and slammed her door open, picked her up and took her downstairs. It took over an hour to calm her down and a couple smores, but she finally agreed to tell us what was wrong.

She had seen the entire room soaked in blood. Top to bottom. Handprints in blood, streaks, dripping splatters. We wrote it off as a dream, but she refused to go back up for the rest of the night. Mom took a look in the room, and I caught her whisper to Dad: "That smell is there."

Finally, my encounter with whatever it was. My parents had taken my sister into town, planning on doing some shopping with her. I voiced my dismay and they said I could stay at the rented home if I wished. I whiled away some time watching Disney videos, and eventually started to read a book.

Eventually I had had enough reading. I put down the book - and my eyes shot open in surprise. Near the ceiling, slowly circling about as if it were some ethereal shark, cruised an orb, fire red and yet translucent. I didn't move as I watched it, hoping not to scare it away. Part of me was fascinated by it, as if it were as ordinary as a bird on the porch.

Then I heard the car door slam. My parents had arrived, and the orb, a trailing tail following, raced towards the wall, vanishing. "Hi Scott!" called Dad as he walked in, cooler in hand. "Anything good on TV?"

As for what happened to my Mom in the basement - when I finally did ask her years and years later, she suddenly became very still, and quietly spoke. She had intended to simply change the lightbulb downstairs, figuring the bulb had simply died and I had turned off my Gameboy in surprise and that one of us had nudged the antenna out of clear reception. So, she had taken out the old bulb and put a new one in. It didn't work. She tried a new one. It also didn't work. As she tried the remaining two bulbs, she began to smell something too, but this time it had an oily stench to it.

She figured that one of the machines in the washing room had broken, or perhaps a breaker went off or something. She put down the bulbs, and walked into the room. She shone her flashlight on the machines - nothing. Then she looked at the other end of the room - only to see it.

"It" was a short man, crouched over, a piece of maggot covered meat held in its hand. It looked at my Mom, smiled with sharp teeth and black eyes, and whispered "Hello, Laurie".

Then it sank into the floor.

Mom left in a god drat hurry after that.

Mar 9, 2005

This is from the previous thread but it always struck me as really sad.


When I was younger, my family moved from the city of Richmond, Virginia to the tiny little town of Tappahannock. We were remodelling the family summer home to become permenant living space. In the mean time, we stayed with family friends. They owned a horse and cattle farm, and with it, a shitload of wooded land.

Like most young boys are apt to do when they have vast expanses of woodland at their disposal, my group of friends began exploring the acreage. We found a shitload of old deer runs, hunting trails, and horse trails. We found rusted out hulks that used to farm equipment. We found more than a few old headstones, whic creeped out a few of the younger boys. We explored drat near every square foot of woods we could. And then we made the biggest mistake of our young life. We found a nice clearing and decided that the only logical thing to do was to establish a fort.

There was only one path leading to this clearing. I remember even then thinking that this was odd. Surely there must have been more than one way out of the woods from there.

Over the next few months, we drug every piece of scrap plywood and metal we could find down to that clearing. We dug out a foundation. We erected plywood-and-2x4 walls. We even attached a corrugated metal roof. We spent every hour of every day for a good two and a half months building the greatest fort in the history of forts. This thing rivaled the Alamo in its glory.

With the fort complete and the return to school looming on the horizon, we decided it was time to have our first overnight camp at our new fort. We cleared it with all the parents, loaded up our backpacks with Little Debbie snack cakes and bottled water, and headed to the fort. At this point, I should point out that it took nearly three hours to make it to the fort from my family friend's house at a brisk pace.

We left in the early afternoon, and made it to the fort. We unloaded our supplies and gathered enough firewood to keep a decent fire going until we'd fall asleep. We spent the remaining hours of daylight running around the clearing, playing army, and doing the crazy things that pre-teen boys tend to do. Eventually dusk settled in, and we got the fire going.

It had been dark for a few hours when we decided to go to sleep. We drowned the fire, unfurled our bedrolls, and began chatting about which girls we'd like to kiss. Everything was going great, until a lull in the coversation. I could swear I felt the ground shaking a bit. I shrugged it off and the conversation picked back up. Eventually, one by one, we all succumb to sleep. For a minute.

I was not the only one that noticed the ground shaking. Slowly it dawned on us that something was not right. I put my ear to the ground like an indian in a western, and sure enough, the loving ground was rumbling like a freight train was approching.

And then all hell broke loose. It started as a distant rustling in the trees that drew closer and closer and seemed to be gaining speed. In a scene that will never leave my memory, our senses of sight and sound were totally overwhelmed.

Do you know the sound that a scared, horribly injured piece of livestock makes? A horse with two broken legs? A cow that wasn't killed by the first blow in a slaughterhouse? If so, you know how terrifying that scream is. That unearthly, unholy, pants-shittingly scary loving scream that no human being should ever loving hear. Imagine a cat in heat crossed with the shreik of a pissed off eagle and a woman in labor screaming at the top of her lungs and you're close.

From every direction, from every angle, filling that clearing and our ears was that noise, multiplied by the 100s. The ground was shaking furiously, the rustling was right at the tree line, and in an instant the clearing was filled by disgusting, deformed, damaged, injured, tortured, rotting, charging, running, stampeding translucent livestock.

Horses missing flanks, cows with exposed vicera, donkeys split and broken in unnatural places. Goats, sheep, dogs. All in varying stages of decay, all charging through the clearing, and all filling the woods with that unholy shriek only a terminally injured animal filled with panic and scared to death can make.

And then it was over. The rustling was gone, the shrieking was gone, the ground was no longer rumbling beneath us. One or two of the boys was screaming and crying. All of us had jumped out of our sleeping bags and huddled together in the corner of the fort. None of us spoke for what seemed like eternity. We all knew what we just saw, but none of us could manage to understand it.

We didn't sleep. We built a new fire, and kept it burning until the sun was completely up. We didn't leave the fort until the sun was completely up, either. And when we did, we saw that a new pathway had been exposed at the opposite end of the clearing.

It had to be explored. Three of us decided to go, the other two made the trek back to the house.

We pushed through the overgrown path, through briers as thick as our wrist; through saplings no bigger than our fingers. Occasionally, we'd find an old rusted horseshoe, a rotted piece of leather tack. We pushed our way through this path until the sun had gone totally over our heads; a good four to five hours.

Then we saw it. A clearing up ahead. We picked up our pace to a flat run, or as much of a run as we could maintain in the thick underbrush.

We broke the treeline and noticed that there was a cliff at the opposite end of the clearing. We also noticed an abundance of spent shotgun shells, some old rusted cowbells, and more pieces of rotting leather tack. I and one of the other boys surveyed the ground, looking for anything cooler than shotgun shells and 30-06 cartridges, while the third boy made his way straight to the cliff.

He shreiked, fell back, and scampered away from the edge of the cliff as soon as his eyes peaked over the edge. Me and the other boy both ran over and helped him up. He was pale, his mouth was agape, and his eyes were beginning to tear up. I walked the few feet to the edge of the cliff, and will never, ever forget what laid before me.

A gorge, stretching as far as I could see in both directions. The bleached bones of 100s of dead livestock filled the floor of the tiny canyon, some with sun-cured pieces of leather flesh still stretched across their remains.

We decided to follow it, to see where it stopped. Eventually, the remains started to thin out, and soon it was just an empty gorge. We walked the entire length of the gorge, and by then, the sun had set. The gorge had eventually become nothing more than a tiny crack in the earth, and we emerged from the woods approximately a 1/4 mile away from the house.

I was never able to find this gorge again, and when we went back to the clearing the next day the "new" path was nowhere to be found. I later found out that back in older times, if a piece of livestock had been hurt or had become diseased, th owners of the property would take them on a trek that led to their eventualy demise via shotgun, and they would then push them into this gorge to rot. Sometimes, the poor animal didn't die from the shotgun blast to the head, and would lie in a pile of rotting animal carcasses screaming and bleeding to death.

Mar 12, 2006
Oooooh Scary

Cryogenic Jesus posted:

Since The Rake has already been posted, Rotting Meat always makes it's way into these threads.

I always think back on this story and can never remember where it came from. Creeps me out every time.

Sep 24, 2007

kazr posted:

It's a long shot, but can anybody repost the story I think called "The Noise"? A group of campers are having a good time, sun starts to set and they hear "It" the and next thing they know they're in a panic half way through the woods to their car with little to no recollection to what happened in between that time.

Would be much appreciated.

I think I know the one you're talking about but can't find where it's stashed. Maybe it's a creepy pasta? Anyway, found another on camping, for the meantime.


Who’s There? Are You Lost?
By Mad Jackyl

I was fifteen years old in the summer of 1997 and part of a 4-day, 3-night canoe trip down Tennessee's Big South Fork River. There were six of us, maybe 7 that I can remember including my brother and several cousins. My cousin's dog, Copper, an awesome and really rad Golden Retriever, also came along. Yep, in one of our canoes.

It's really a great river with medium and sometimes class-4 rapids on which to go canoing or kayaking and at some point joins the New River and runs North up into Kentucky, the state where my cousins were from. This stretch of the river Wikipedia can attest to as being "extremely remote". No kidding, I don't remember seeing or hearing any signs of civilization, not a gunshot or distant highway overpass noises barring planes every now and then. We saw no one on the river except the last day when we struck camp late because we wanted to fit in some extra fishing before the final stretch of the river took us home. A single canoe with two occupants asked us for directions on a part of the river ahead and that was it.

We drove down nearly 3 hours and into Tennessee territory, the lot of us in a ragged out family van and rented canoes. You know the kind, no air conditioning and handles like a drunken dinosaur taking up the whole drat road. The river was pretty challenging for someone like me who'd never experienced whitewater, yet alone in a canoe. It was magnificent, boulders as large as full sized houses, absolutely tremendous logs and things you can't possibly imagine being moved by the forces of nature and woods as dense as I'd seen anywhere. I can't recall whether it was late on our first or second day of heavy paddling when we all agreed it was time to find a spot to camp. We rowed for another thirty minutes before finding the first remotely suitable place along the river that anyone could camp, but it was getting late and this was going to have to do, so we pulled up on this rocky shoal as the sun was getting low and unpacked. We camped facing outwards towards the river, and less than 20 yards behind us a steep ridge rose up and up and finally was lost in a mess of foliage and enormous trees that hung over our rocky shoaled riverbank spot. Looking inwards at camp from the river, to the right of us was a dense forest of logs and debris that had been washed downstream - I'm talking whole trees with entire root bases and accompanying chunks of ground and various flotsam and jetsam that had collected behind it.

We've got the camp fire rolling steady and we're passing around cigars (my first!) and I don't know what else uneventful until sometime close to midnight, Copper perks up and sits staring at my cousin's side off into the darkness behind the camp, into the jumbled clump of uprooted debris which goes back I don't know how far, exactly. No one pays attention to this, until Copper, a friendly dog, starts making uneasy sounds, kind of a low gurgling growl that resonates from her chest. My cousin Bekah thinks she hears an animal and is just being territorial and protective, so she keeps trying to calm the dog down. "Oh hush. Copper…what is it? Shut up!" That sort of thing. Another cousin makes a comment about what's up with the dog, and Bekah's like, "I dunno, there must be something she hears out there." Time drags on, another 30-45 minutes lapses peacefully and no one is on edge, everyone's chatting about whatever still. Displaying the single-mindedness of a dog, Copper still won't turn away from whatever it sensed out there and we make jokes about how good of a guard dog she is. "Let it go, Copper, it's alright…just deer and skunks."

We're jovially poking at the fire, telling stories when my brother sitting across the fire from me suddenly in rude fashion hushes everyone with a great "SHHHH!" Everyone looks at each other and back at him confusedly. Everyone's silent for all of three seconds before someone begins to protest and ask questions and my brother cuts them off saying, "SHUT UP. I'm hearing like, music or something. Is that singing?" Copper senses that we're on alert now and begins her baritone growl deep in her belly again and she's leaning forward into the collar which Bekah has grasped by one hand to keep her from running off after what she hears. Her growl is much more audible by this time. We all stay quiet for the next five minutes, my brother swearing he heard a voice or possibly several voices. My bro is trying to get Bekah to shut Copper up.

Then we all hear it, faintly but surely, everyone hears something. Voices. Out here? They sound far off but sound like they're trying to communicate by yelling out in the dark. Someone out there is calling out as if wanting to be acknowledged, like they're trying to get a response. My brother stands up and walks away from the fire light slowly to be away from the crackling fire sounds and Copper's growl to hear better. We wait several long minutes, catching a snatched yell here and there. My brother, standing closest to the massive tangle of river debris suddenly yells at whomever is out there.

"Heeeelllooooo!! Over heeeeeeeerre!" he yells. A distant voice answers him, but only after a few seconds, like there is a slight disconnect such as when astronauts communicate with earth. But nothing can be made out as to what is said. "What?" everyone is scrunching their faces and questioning each other over what the reply was. It sounds like they are just on the far side of the expanse of brush and we can hear branches cracking as they were moving out there in the distance, though they couldn't have been greater than 150 yards away. More echoing shouts come from that direction but are still indiscernible. "Who's There? Are you loooost? We're over heeeeere!" my brother offers, thinking it may be some wayward canoers like ourselves that needed assistance of some kind. What sounds like a pair in unison give a seemingly affirmative yet muffled response. I remember it sounding something like two people yelling "Yeah!" or "Okay!" but slightly out of sync. I'm thinking along the lines of - Oh god, what horrible men are out there waiting to murder foolish canoers such as us?? I begin feeling a little adrenalized, fearing I may have to fight for my life before the night is done if these strangers intend harm. Something didn't seem right. No, this was not normal, I told myself. Why now, why here and why in the middle of the night? "Where are youuuuu?" my brother offers, trying to lure these possibly injured or disparate river travelers in our direction using his voice.

As soon as my brother finishes saying this, Copper begins barking wildly and no one knows just what the hell is up with her all of a sudden. If you've heard two dogs suddenly get into a fight, those are the barks I'm talking about, absolutely teeth gnashing out at the night and straining at her collar. Bekah is nearly pulled off the log she is sitting on and has to hold on to Copper with both hands about the collar. It's then that we begin seeing what had to be flashlight strobes. They're wild and bouncing all over, at least two of them, like someone going over extremely uneven ground, just everywhere. Half of the time pointing upwards at angles and even straight up into the sky. Then they wink out and everyone freezes, straining their eyes into the dark and their ears past the sounds of water only feet away. One of my cousins after half a minute of sitting still suddenly gets up quickly and says, "Well you know what, if someone's coming into this camp, I'm going to make plenty sure I'm ready for 'em," and goes to fetch the small .22 caliber handgun stashed in one of the empty coolers.

"Are you okay? Heeeeeey!" my brother continues nearby. "Do you need heeeelp?" he yells, and again we hear a muffled reply, sounding to me like one guy was saying, "Yeaaahh" while someone else was saying "Naaaaah" a second later. They still sounded far off. My brother is yelling to confirm if that was a yes or a no and just nondescript, loud, garbled responses are heard for the next few seconds. What is up with these people, what are they baying like sheep out here for on this stretch of river in the middle of the night near a strange camp and not being more forthcoming about what the gently caress they're doing? Where exactly are they? They still sounded as far off as the first time we heard them. Fifteen minutes pass in silence. So we sit by the fire on our guard waiting for whoever to emerge from that clusterfuck ready to put a slug into them if we have to. The dog is barking and my brother's still calling out if whoever is approaching needs help and what they need. Suddenly, strobes of light, much fainter this time break out and they are RIGHT ON THE EDGE of breaking through to the rocky opening in which we made our camp and we're all yelling and shouting for them to just follow the light towards the camp fire and Copper is being restrained by my cousin who is practically bear hugging her and holding her collar. No one answers our beckoning. The lights just sort of wave around aimlessly in the sky like someone's lost and trying to find their bearing, even though they're JUST on the other side of the last few logs separating them from us. Had to have been a couple hundred feet away at MOST. We can hear footfalls and crackling much closer now. Then as soon as they appeared, the flashlight strobes blinked out. But no one ever steps out. Not another voice is heard. Nor is a single footstep or splinter of wood heard which would indicate they stepped forward or went back the way they came.

No one moved their sights off the firelight that flickered into the shadow of the trees all around for quite some time. Everyone was quite nervous, and expressed this aloud; some preferred to keep quiet and listen. In low voices, we discussed the possibility that someone could be watching us from the edge of camp, waiting for us to fall asleep and sneak into our camp then. We all slept with the partially see-through mesh flaps on our tent zipped and our faces towards the door. We had the .22 and the dog would work better to alert us than any of our senses combined, so with a bit of mystery and uneasiness, we slept nonetheless uneventfully the rest of the night.

The next day, on discussing this among the canoes as we paddled along, I wasn't very convinced that everything matched up to just being some guy or guys out in the woods stalking us. Things didn't add up, like the voices coming from a distance, even though they couldn't have been that far off and the time elapsed between when we saw the first flashlight strobes and the second time we saw them and their distance to us each time. Plus, the relative closeness of the crunching steps. Voicing my concerns out loud, I made it clear that in my mind, no one could have navigated that dense expanse of fallen trees and rocks, probably not even with flashlights the whole way and whatever it was did just that and in the dark most of the way without sound, to which everyone pretty much agreed.

Oct 28, 2005

Two of us are magical.
One of us is real.

edit: ^^I'm pretty sure the story he wants was a goon story, because I don't generally like creepypasta and don't check out any sites for it. I remember it too and I'd almost bet money it was posted in a previous ghost story thread on here.

sgtmattkind posted:

This is from the previous thread but it always struck me as really sad.

Thanks for posting that. It's been one of the stories from these threads that has stuck with me very vividly, but I could never find it. Though rereading it I'm a little confused as to how the author could both never find the gorge again despite looking while the owners of the property apparently knew about it and told him its history. Also the old ranchers were apparently very bad if they left an injured animal to die slowly. Perhaps they should have used a rifle to shoot their livestock like a normal person. That tends to be a lot more effective for close-range head shots than a shotgun.

It's a cool little creepy story though. I still like it a lot.

I'm going to be working up near Cimarron, New Mexico, in a few weeks and have to stay overnight in the area. I'm thinking about booking a room at the St. James Hotel, which is supposed to be super haunted. Might as well, not like there are too many options up there, and if I'm going to stay in a haunted hotel I'm drat well going to stay in the original haunted building and not the modern annex. I probably won't see anything though. Every creepy thing I've ever experienced has happened in broad daylight or other totally not scary times, while every time I've explored supposedly haunted buildings or been in graveyards at night or whatever I haven't gotten so much as an orb in a picture.

2tomorrow fucked around with this message at Mar 15, 2012 around 21:06

Dec 11, 2010

sgtmattkind posted:

Some of these stories really interest me to the point of wanting to look at investigating them, people from last years Spring/Summer posts like Big Hairy Wah and Reneakat seem to have the most activity in their houses. Would either of you be open to allowing people to check that out?

Oh hey, that's me. Actually I didn't think anyone really read my little stories, so I'm honored.

As far as my apartment goes, months ago I confronted whatever was making noises/moving things by basically getting up in it's face/grill/where ever the noise was coming from, and shouting, "WHAT?! What do you want? I'm listening now, so you're either going to tell me or keep making noises." And... nothing happened. I didn't really expect it to. Nothing weird happened for about a week, and then the noises returned. Later on the neighbors moved out, but even with an empty place next door, the weirdness continued.

I don't mind the weird things now. It could be something electrical/plumbing or whatever that I just don't know about. And we're moving in 2 months anyway, so meh.

My mom's house (I think I posted a little about it) is also relatively harmless. Just little things. I would love to investigate it, and have told her so. But she's not really interested and prefers to leave it as is.

Joe Videogames
Jun 3, 2003

Find enlightenment?!
Vanu 1.0!

The best story to come out of these threads was the wireman and the story of the kid with the creature in his barn. He'd go up there after hearing this otherworldly animalistic screeching and howling sound to find animal bodies brutally massacred in a box or bathtub up in the rafters of his huge barn.

He even got so accustomed to it he'd be out on his porch grilling with beers or something, hear the noise, and yell at it to shut the gently caress up.

Mar 18, 2009

by Y Kant Ozma Post

My favorite is the one with the pig with a man's face shadowing the protagonists pretending to be their echo for a while

Aug 29, 2008

by XyloJW

Aziraphale posted:

The best story to come out of these threads was the wireman and the story of the kid with the creature in his barn. He'd go up there after hearing this otherworldly animalistic screeching and howling sound to find animal bodies brutally massacred in a box or bathtub up in the rafters of his huge barn.

He even got so accustomed to it he'd be out on his porch grilling with beers or something, hear the noise, and yell at it to shut the gently caress up.

Oh god, the loving wireman.

Error 404
Jul 17, 2009


Aziraphale posted:

The best story to come out of these threads was the wireman and the story of the kid with the creature in his barn. He'd go up there after hearing this otherworldly animalistic screeching and howling sound to find animal bodies brutally massacred in a box or bathtub up in the rafters of his huge barn.

He even got so accustomed to it he'd be out on his porch grilling with beers or something, hear the noise, and yell at it to shut the gently caress up.

You're thinking of Onic, that dude's entire farm is on like, an indian burial ground or some poo poo.
last I heard, he posted in the last thread with pictures and a video that he'd bulldozed that fuckin barn.
I think his house might still be haunted though.

Mar 12, 2006
Oooooh Scary

Error 404 posted:

You're thinking of Onic, that dude's entire farm is on like, an indian burial ground or some poo poo.
last I heard, he posted in the last thread with pictures and a video that he'd bulldozed that fuckin barn.
I think his house might still be haunted though.

Where is that story? I must read it.

Joe Videogames
Jun 3, 2003

Find enlightenment?!
Vanu 1.0!

It's a really great story. I searched for it in GBS by Onic's username, but only turned up his story about bulldozing the barn. Someone needs to turn it up quick.

Dec 4, 2009

I've found that story in the compilation 1.pdf that I believe a goon called Noodle made in the last thread. I don't know where to upload it so others can download it as I think it was hosted on megaupload, however googling the story name I found it on this website.

It's pretty big and includes pictures so I won't quote it here. These threads are the reason I bought an account and I don't have anything to contribute myself sadly.

Sep 18, 2010

Juche Lyfe 4 Ever!

trollstormur posted:

My favorite is the one with the pig with a man's face shadowing the protagonists pretending to be their echo for a while

That was by Canis Letrans (I hope I spelled that right). All of his stories are goddamn epic. In my opinion his stories are definitely up there with HM and Ant's.

Nov 10, 2009

I've enjoyed the SA Ghost threads for so long, it's only fair that I finally share my story. I consider myself to be very skeptical of all things paranormal, but I can find no rational explanation for the thing we saw in the cemetery that night over 10 years ago....

The Mourner
It began like any other Friday night in high school, with a tight-knit group of friends hanging out in a mildly negligent parent's basement. It wasn't just any Friday night though, it was Friday the 13th...and a full moon to boot. The five of us embraced the spirit of the holiday with a Quiji board and cheesy slasher movies. Invariably Jake and I were trying to scare the three girls a bit, but it was all in good fun.

Around 10pm we all piled into Jake's car to go mess around in our town's big cemetery. I vividly remember the mood turning from light and fun to mildly creepy as Nicole turned down the stereo's volume as we drove past the massive sea on tombstones. We parked on a side street, as to not arouse suspicion. As we exited the car, Lauren stopped suddenly.

"I change my mind, I'm not going in there."

"Seriously!?", Nicole asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I'll just wait in the car."

"Are you sure? You'll probably be more scared staying here all alone." Jake pleaded to no avail. He left his keys with Lauren, and the four of us ventured out into the dark, laughing at her uneasiness.

We rounded the corner, and as we began walking towards the entrance I stifled the creepy feeling I got from the eerily silent graveyard. Aside from our voices, the only other sound was the occasional passing car, and headlights flickering across the landscape. The four of us crossed the threshold and entered cemetery, making corny jokes to try and ease our nerves. Jake and Lindsey led the way, and Nicole and I followed 10 or so paces behind them. We were maybe 100 yards in when Nicole grabbed my arm suddenly and motioned ahead to the left.

"Do you see that? Who is that?" she whispered to me. As I turned to look in that direction, I saw something extremely unexpected. There was a dark figure hunched over a grave.

"Hey!" I yelled out to get Jake and Lindsey's attention. They were now a bit further ahead of us, almost parallel with the figure. At that moment, time slowed down and several things happened at once. The figure, apparently startled by my yell, jumped up and began weaving between tombstones towards where we were standing. I was completely frozen with fear as Jake and Lindsey ran past Nicole and I towards the exit. Nicole started screaming bloodly murder and followed...but try as I may I could not peel my eyes off the figure. What must have been a 5 second pause stretched to feel like an eternity.

The way the thing moved was so strange. It was impossibly fast and flickered in and out almost like it was being hit with a strobe-light. It stopped suddenly when it reached where the grass met the pavement, maybe 10-15 feet in front of where I was standing. The figure was shrouded in what looked like a black/dark purple hooded robe, and stood incredibly tall. It was easily head-and-shoulders taller than me, and I was around 5'9 / 5'10 at the time. The face under the hood was emitting a strange light but I could not make out any features, save for two black eyes.

Half a pace behind my friends, I finally regained control of my fear-frozen body and bolted out of the cemetery and back to the car. When we reached the car, the four of us were all in hysterics...and inadvertantly scared the hell out of Lauren. We peeled out and headed back to the comfort of our basement hang out spot, utterly shaken up. We all described the same thing, and to this day have no idea what we saw that night.

ericdrawback fucked around with this message at Mar 16, 2012 around 18:49

Mar 12, 2006
Oooooh Scary

Magazines posted:

I've found that story in the compilation 1.pdf that I believe a goon called Noodle made in the last thread. I don't know where to upload it so others can download it as I think it was hosted on megaupload, however googling the story name I found it on this website.

It's pretty big and includes pictures so I won't quote it here. These threads are the reason I bought an account and I don't have anything to contribute myself sadly.

This is awesome. Thank you!

Mar 12, 2006
Oooooh Scary

Updated/added a few links in the OP

Error 404
Jul 17, 2009


KimJongUnstoppable posted:

That was by Canis Letrans (I hope I spelled that right). All of his stories are goddamn epic. In my opinion his stories are definitely up there with HM and Ant's.

Oh man, I love Canis Latrans, his stuff is definitely as good as HM or Ant, The eddie story alone is like some hosed up cross between Stephen King and Hunter S. Thompson, well, all his stories are like that, but you know what I mean.

somebody track that guy down and make him write more.

Jun 26, 2008


I know it's in the previous thread, but I thought it might be good to have a direct link to OneWhiteWhisker's "Snoopy" stories.

While not exactly "scary", they are definitely creepy and I'd like to see more of them.

Mar 11, 2006

Error 404 posted:

You're thinking of Onic, that dude's entire farm is on like, an indian burial ground or some poo poo.
last I heard, he posted in the last thread with pictures and a video that he'd bulldozed that loving barn.
I think his house might still be haunted though.
Yeah, the corn-crib is dead. The howling spirits and eldritch horrors had to move to another derelict building. poo poo has been happening on the farm still though. So, when I get bored I'll punch out a new read for you guys. In the meanwhile, have a picture of my farm in it's glory days.
It's just a picture I took of an old aerial photo that was taken of the farm in the 50s or 60s. I circled the house since it's hard to see. The red building in the middle was the corn-crib.


I got archives access recently and hunted down some of the old Ghost threads in the archives. Which means I can find the stories that I posted but were lost. I'll just paste one of my old ones now.

Posted Apr 11, 2007

Somethings Upstairs

I live in an old farmhouse, that my father sold to me about 5 years ago. I was raised in this house, and so was my father, and his before him. It was built almost a century ago by my great grandfather I believe. It's an all around old house. So now I own the house, and farm surrounding.

The house itself is rather large. It has 5 bedrooms, 3 of which are in the upstairs, and 2 on the main floor. And a very spacious basement. The upstairs itself isn't used. Over the years, the leaky rain and whatnot has gotten to it. The ceilings starting to come down in some parts, and a lot of the wallpaper is peeling. So I don't use the upstairs.
I simply close the thick curtain thing in front of the stairs leading up to it. Now I just keep stuff stored up there. Old clothes, a motorcycle, old toys. Just random crap in general.

Around a decade ago I started hearing some weird things coming from the upstairs. It started out with the occasional bang. As if something had fallen off of one of the shelves up there. So I put that off as nothing. I would go and inspect to see if anything had fallen the next day, but never did find anything out of place.

Then there would be this scratching noise above my bed in the middle of the night. Now at this time I was sleeping on a hide-bed in my living room.
I just put the scratching off as being some animal that had gotten into the upstairs.
Of course, the next day I would go up and find no evidence of there being any animal, even mice. Speaking of mice, there have never been any in my house. Which is very very weird for a farm house in Iowa. Maybe it has something to do with this house itself. I really don't know.

Anyway, this scratching continued for a long time, and I still do hear the scratching every now and then. But it was replaced with something a little more unnerving. I remember the first time I heard this particular noise.

It was the year 2001. I was back at my place for the summer which was still owned by my father. He was living at his place at the lakes by then anyway though, so I was good and alone.
I had spent most of the day typing away on the Internet. Doing a whole lot of nothing. It was getting late so I decided to turn in.
I got into my PJ's and hopped into my hide-bed, and tried to get some sleep. I was about to drift off, when I heard it.
A bang. A very loud bang. As if someone had dropped a damned bowling ball on the floor of the room above me. That started the gently caress out of me. At first I thought it was like one of those post sleep paralysis things, but I noticed that I was awake.

I laid back down, and heard this slow creaking noise. Followed by footsteps. It was as if someone was just walking around in the room above me.
This continued for about a minute, before I decided to do something about it.

I'm not the kind of person that believes in ghosts, so I thought it was someone who had gotten into my upstairs. I got up, walked over to my shotgun and loaded it up.
I got to the upstairs, and started working my way up the steps, being careful not to set off any creeks that the old house was known to do. Thankfully I knew all the creaky spots though, like any kid wanting to sneak out in the middle of the night would.

I reached the top of the steps, and moved directly to the room that I had heard the noise, I flipped the light on, and to my dismay, saw nothing. I went and checked the other rooms, and nothing as well. The only way someone could have gotten in would have been through one of the windows, so I checked them as well.
Not even the dust on them was disturbed.

I put it off as my imagination, and went back to sleep.
The very next night. The same thing happened. I went through all the same poo poo.
After about 2 weeks I got sick of it, and just ignored it. But every night, that same banging and footsteps poo poo occurred.
My mindset is, that it was happening, but wasn't hurting anything, so why bother with it.

That whole thing went on for about 3 months total, then quit for about 2 years.
After the 2 years I had all but forgotten about the incident.

Now fast forward the 2 years. I owned the place now, and decided to change my sleeping arrangements. The hide-bed was doing no good for my back, so I decided to get out an old bed and move it into one of the bedrooms on the main floor.
Since the main bedroom already housed all my power tools and craftsman tool chest, I decided to pick the smaller room.
No biggie though, its only me, and I don't need much space to sleep in.

So, I lay down in the hide-bed for one last time. When it happens. The bang from hell, but this time, it wasn't followed by footsteps. It was like someone was stomping on the floor above me. Then this clawing noise, like someone had taken a board with nails on it, and was dragging across the floor very quickly. To call it scratching would be an insult to that noise.

I was loving weird-ed the hell out, and rather scared to say the least. I got out of bed and spent the night in my truck. Since there was no way in hell I was going upstairs in the dark to a possible bobcat or dinosaur or something.

Next day, I did go up however. I checked all the rooms without the noise first, and didn't find anything. So I decided to check THE ROOM.
I walked in, expecting to find nothing out of the ordinary, but that's not what I found at all.

The room was in shambles. All the garbage bags full of old clothes were ripped to shreds, and the clothes were everywhere. The mirrors I had up there were all laid face down on the floor, unharmed. And everything else was just strewn about. I was pissed to say the least. First thought was that some animal had gone ballistic up there, but how could such a large creature get into my upstairs and do all of this, and the mirror thing...what the hell?

I found the area above my bed...this was the shocker. The carpet was torn to hell there, exposing the hardwood underneath. The wood was unharmed. The carpet It was like something had clawed at it enough to just rip it out in about a 6 inch by 3 inch area.

I left the upstairs, re shut the curtain thing, and put it out of my mind. I had better things to do. I was finally moving into the bedroom on the main floor.
I cleaned the new room out of all its old stuff. Which brought up a lot of old memories as well. It used to be the room of my brother and I. After he died on his 5th birthday I stopped using it. Out of mourning I suppose. But time heals wounds.

Anyway, I got the room cleaned from top to bottom. Put my bed in there, my computer, dresser, and a futon. Everything was good to go. I then went to drink some beers at a friends house for a few hours.

I got home around midnight, and decided to hit the hay. I climbed into the bed, only to be greeted with...a comfy mattress! drat did it feel good to not be held up by a metal bar in the middle of my back. I quickly drifted off.

2 am. My alarm goes off. I'm awoken in utter disbelief. I try to shut my alarm off. It wouldn't go off, and that thing was unusually loud. So I yank the cord out of the wall and it goes off. "It must just be screwed up" I think to myself. I lay back down, but the instance my back hits the mattress, BANG!

Right above my loving bed. Then the stomping. Then the clawing, and then...another noise. A loving screaming. Its like, someone had ahold of some kids hair, and was dragging the blade of a knife across their back. The screaming was horrible, and not at all muffled by the ceiling. It was like it was right there, inches from my face.

I jump the gently caress out of my bed, and ran upstairs. No gun or any kind of protection this time. I thought someone was in serious trouble.
I throw open the door to the room, only to be greeted by the most humid air I had felt in ages. It was like running into a sauna.
It was dark, very dark, but I saw something. It was this dulled out blue. Kind of a Cyan. Just a form, like a human, crouched in the spot above where my new bed was.
It was very dark I said, but this just slightly stood out.

It turned its head, and looked at me. Didn't make a noise. I stared back at it for at least 2 seconds. Its face had the very distinctive shape of the humans, but no eyes...and there was this kind of, bubbling pitch coming from its mouth. which shinned, regardless of there being no light.
It looked back down, drug its claws or whatever the gently caress it had across the floor, and leaped at me.
Just like panther leaping at something. I fell back and smacked my head against the doorknob.
Nothing had actually hit me though.

I was pissed. Something was loving with me, I didn't know what, but I was sick of it.
I go on a tangent, screaming and swearing up a storm at nothing, in an empty room.
After I had cooled down, I went and looked at the newly tore up carpet in this room.
It was a lot worse than the other. There was at least a 2 foot patch, ripped to shreds. But this was different from the other for one reason. There was gouge marks in the hardwood on this one. I'd estimate them to be about a quarter inch deep. Like someone had been clawing at the floor with fingernails.
3 long marks, like a human hand pattern.

I went back downstairs, and got back into bed. I waited for the noise to come again, but it didn't. Eventually I drifted off back to sleep.
I woke up refreshed, and wondering if the events the night previous were a dream.
So, I went upstairs, and saw that everything was the same as it was the night before.

This poo poo still happens. More frequently lately. I'm renting a room to another goon at the moment. And when he showed up, the noises started again. Not the crazy rear end stomping and clawing. But the footsteps did start up again. Not in the room above me anymore. Just, every room except the one above me.
Actually, hah, I hear them right now. They're not to loud, just like someone walking around with socks on.

The roommate has yet to acknowledge hearing them, but I've seen him look at the ceiling a few times when they happen.

Time will tell what will happen. Maybe I'll soon be killed by some weird apparition, and my innards will be strung along the graves of murdered people. I hope not though. I want to die while saving a busload of mentally challenged orphans.


Onic fucked around with this message at Mar 16, 2012 around 23:17

Umbilical Lotus
Nov 13, 2005


Ooo, I love these. Let's see what coffee dredges up.

Pray With Me

Every now and again, I find myself reflecting on the day I helped my father.. I can't help but wonder what would have happened to me and what path my life might have taken if something had gone differently that day. I know, as a rational being who is accustomed to dealing with the emotional reactions of others, that I should feel insulted or even injured by what that man and his 'God' did to me, but I can't summon up the impetus. I remember how it felt to be angry, but time has eroded all perception of that emotion to a dull footnote in an otherwise smooth life.

Let me explain in further detail.

My father owns a music school, and once owned something of a fleet of them. A downturn in the economy forced him to close one of his satellite locations, one which had been sitting empty and unused for three months during the summer. The landlord, not particularly famous for his diligence, had allowed the building to become infested with squatters over that time, and when he returned to remove some equipment he had left behind, my father found himself facing rooms full of smashed keyboards, broken glass, jimmied locks, human refuse and jagged graffiti. Of course, the landlord wouldn't return his security deposit until the place had been cleaned, so my father recruited myself along with a number of other sympathetic family members to renovate the place, blitzkrieg-style, in the few weeks we had left to do it. I wasn't particularly happy about my role in this operation. I was not a very pleasant teenager, tending to long periods of morose contemplation. I spoke primarily in insults, and had no interest in the world around me. The universe, myself included, was comprised primarily of filth and disappointment, and my way of rebelling was to detach myself as much as possible from it, through abuse if laziness was not available.

The first day we arrived, it was just myself, himself and my brother. As the boys were getting the equipment out of the car, we became alerted to the presence of someone inside the empty school. The lock on the back door had long since been smashed to uselessness, and there was nothing more of value inside the place, but that summer was a hot one and the building's value as shelter was obvious. We went room to room, scouting the school, and found a rumpled human figure sleeping in a nest of insulation and torn carpet. We woke the creature and set about the task of evicting it, but all it gave in response to our stern statements was an indecipherable mumbling, and we had a lot of work to do that day.

So, the boys began to pull out the furniture and furniture remnants while the job of talking this guy out of our building was left to me. I am and never was a particularly assertive person, but after five minutes of talking to what appeared to be an inanimate pile of man, I began tearing the makeshift blankets off of him and dragging him into something of a standing state. As he moved, he dislodged a stench I can only accurately describe as the smell of compounded misery. He was one of those individuals whose characteristics - age, gender, ethnicity - seemed to have been ground away by the rough handling of an unfriendly life. Dark skin. Long beard. Grey eyes. Wearing flannel in the middle of August. He seemed to revivify as I handled him, however, and by the time I shuffled the man out the back door and offered him a cigarette, I learned his name was Sam, and he was a man of faith.

He did not take my cigarette, but sat with me as I smoked it. He spoke. I did my best to restrain myself to noncommittal grunts and curses as he did, but this was a man that took every shift and shudder as encouragement, and as I sat he poured out the entirety of his life story. His youth was blobs and disjointed words - I remember something about him being a soldier - but the majority of his speech was a lengthy description of how God had come to him when he had called. There were no definite times or measurements beyond simple days and hours - "One day I saw how bad my life had got, so I prayed to God and God came to me". He had this intense, unshakeable belief in the Divine, and worked the name of God into every sentence somehow. I was, at the time, an angry and reactive atheist, but every time I tried to interject some snark, I was cut off.

Shortly my cigarette was done, and I stood to continue my day's reprehensible labors. Sam stood and followed me, still talking. He made to follow me back into the building, and would have if I didn't stop him. I stepped back outside, and he paced backwards, speaking all the while. It became obvious that he was going to follow me wherever I went - I think he had chosen me as the target of his ministry, and I was having none of it. I shut the door and began trying to speak over him, talking aggressively and with increasing amounts of rage. I wanted him gone, off my father's property. It was him and people like him who had caused all this damage in the first place, and I was angry at having to interrupt my permanent vacation to deal with his refuse. I grew loud, and my father peeked his head back to see what the fuss was, but I just waved him off, explaining that I would be done shortly. I was a few words away from hitting him. I know this.

I managed to argue him back to a single concession. "Pray with me," he asked me, and promised to leave if I would. Angry, exhausted, I agreed. We sat back by the stub of my finished cigarette, on the lip of a raised planter with the great green mass of a young, spreading tree over us. He leaned his head down, clasped his hands, and began to pray with intense, inward fervor. I put my hands together in a mockery of his gesture, closed my eyes, and began dreaming of what I'd do once I got home.

Sam grew louder and louder. He was interspersing his English with smatterings of a language I couldn't understand. I could see through my eyelashes the fury that was on his features. He was locked in his own little world, and that was about all I wanted to be a part of. I unclenched my hands and reentered my father's store, ready to get this over with.

Or, I should say, I tried to. My hands were stuck together as surely as if my sweat had become glue. I tried to ratchet my eyes open, but only succeeded in getting the lids to quiver a little, and when I blinked, they stayed closed. My whole body was as rigid as if my skeleton had been replaced with iron rods. None of my joints would bend. None of my muscles would twitch. Sam was praying louder and louder, the sun was on me like a cloak of living light, and I began to sweat in fear as much as in heat.

I was terrified. I was panicked. Every inch of me strained to rise. I would have killed that man if I could so much as open my eyes. Struggling against my own body, I ran into something else. There was something behind me, something huge and warm and radiant, and it pressed itself against my back. I felt my head leaning against a soft, smooth stomach and two brilliant hands laid down on my shoulders. They were pressing me down against my seat, holding my arms in their position. Something electric was passing over my skin and hair, and I could smell my sweat boiling. Sam was still speaking in that mixed-up half-English, but steadily his alien words were making more and more sense. I could hear an earnest plea for salvation in his voice, not just for himself or for the world but for me, specifically. I heard him pray for God to take me into his grace and open my heart to faith. I began to feel it. I began to pray.

Bit by bit, atom by atom, my capacity for resistance left me. No - was removed from me, picked away as if by fingernails. The hands that held me down felt less and less like a terrific danger that I had to leap up and free myself from, and more like simply a fact of life, something that was there because it should be there. With my eyes clenched shut I could nevertheless see the presence behind me: it was a tall white creature wearing a voluminous robe, only negligibly human, whose face was shrouded by the corona of the sun. There was acceptance there, and love. Love is not a passive emotion. Love steadily creeps into every empty space inside a person's soul, crowding out other emotions, pushing them through any permeable membrane until there is nothing left but that brilliant gold uniformity. Something was picking at the holes in my heart and forming a cavity there. Something was crawling inside like a warm and welcome infection.

Dimly, I heard something at the edge of my perception. It was another voice, distant and unfamiliar. The God gripping at my shoulders pulled me back harshly. My joints crackled like old wood as I was wrenched backwards. I fell back into someone's chest and wrapped my arms around it like a grasping child. Sounds resolved into screaming and yelling, some words angry and some terrified. It was five full minutes until I could get my eyes open under my own power; I could only tell that my father held me because of the smell of his cologne.

According to my family, I had been gone for over an hour. They found me behind the building, crouched under a tree with Sam. I wasn't breathing, or breathing so shallowly that it wasn't perceptible, but when my father grabbed me he said I felt as hard and immobile as if I had been made of stone. They were terrified and angry. The sun had been beating down on my unprotected skin for all that time, and I had an atrocious sunburn. None of that bothered me. I find difficulty in being bothered by anything, these days.

Once I convinced them that I had not been molested or assaulted in any way, I returned to the building and continued working for the profit of my family. The anger and annoyance that I had felt that morning seemed to belong to a different me, one separated from my current self by the impenetrable wall of the past. I returned the next day, and the next, and all those passing two weeks. I worked without hesitation and complaint. I was not rewarded beyond the benefit to my family and the knowledge that I had done good work.

The next week, I applied for and received a job, breaking my two-year streak of willful unemployment. I ceased speaking to a number of former friends. I ceased smoking. I applied for and completed my GED. I removed my labret piercing, and washed the purple dye out of my hair. The world is a far more tolerable place, these days. I still encounter snips of that old aggression now and then, but they are distant and dim, like a small fire from across a great distance. I am still unsure whether or not I have the capacity to believe in a loving God - but I know that I can't NOT believe in Him, if that makes any sense at all. About once per week I will wake and find myself utterly immobile, eyes clamped shut, unable to move or breathe until I thank Him. Then my eyes will open up, and the sun will fall on me like a blanket.

Jan 4, 2012

No Yanda's allowed

In the summer my family goes camping with about 5 other families, most of which are other police officers who work with my dad. Well the one guy always tells these insane horror stories to the kids (usually about 9 of them), and they're just a hoot to listen to. When he's telling a ghost story he starts it with "IT HAPPENED ON A NIGHT! JUST. LIKE. THIS." however occasionally he tells fake crime scene stories. My favorite was where he and another officer, one of the other campers he got to play along, told a story about how they got called to a gruesome murder where the guys dead body had been there for weeks. There was arterial spray all over the walls, jugular by the looks of it. When the paramedics tried to pick it up to put it in the body bag, it was so decomposed that the body fell apart and remains of his body were left in the cracks of the floor so the apartment was haunted.

Edit: I have a few favorites my dad used to tell me about my great grandmas attic, I'll type them when I'm home and at a proper computer.

The looks on the kids faces is priceless during these stories.

Toriori fucked around with this message at Mar 17, 2012 around 00:04

Joe Videogames
Jun 3, 2003

Find enlightenment?!
Vanu 1.0!

Onic posted:


Post the corn crib story

Feb 21, 2012

I want to leave NOW!

My father got this story (or a very similar one, since I don't remember all the details) published in his local newspaper when he was about sixteen.


In the town of Louisford, there was a house on a hill. No one had lived there since any of the residents could remember, and as with any such house, rumors grew about it being haunted. It became a popular dare among high schoolers to spend the night in the house; even though nothing ever happened, it was still a mark of prestige to say that you and your friends had spent the night in the old house.

On this particular night, a group of three - Tommy, Ben, and Joseph - was preparing their own excursion to the house. They got out there, and each selected a bedroom and unpacked what little stuff they needed to bring. However, after an hour or so, Tommy began throwing up uncontrollably, and Joseph left to take him to the hospital. Ben elected to stay the night, and bring the other two their stuff in the morning.

Now, though many had stayed the night in the house, none had ever stayed there alone, and Ben was a little bit nervous about doing it. But, he reasoned, why would less people mean anything would happen? The thought assuaged him enough to let him drift off to sleep, though just before his eyes closed, he thought he heard an eerie giggling...

Ben was awoken by a horrific screech outside the window. He dashed over to the curtains and ripped them aside - and was greeted by a huge, staring eye. After a moment, the eye drew back, and Ben caught a glimpse of the body it was attached to: a huge, evil-looking bird nearly as tall as the house itself. The bird's talons were planted on the ground, and its head still rose high enough to peer in through Ben's third story window.

The bird screeched again and took off, leaving Ben shuddering in fear against the opposite wall. He quickly realized that though out of sight, the bird wasn't gone, for he heard a giant *THUMP* over his head, followed by several smashes. The bird was trying to break in, he realized, and promptly ran out of the room to the first floor. He wasn't leaving the house, not while that thing was around, but the more it had to break through in order to get to him, the safer he'd be.

Or so Ben thought. But as he swung around the landing and started down the steps to the first floor, the front door of the house flew off its hinges. There stood a huge, masked man carrying an axe. At the sight of Ben, he let out a roar and charged. Ben had no time to even flinch, he could do nothing other than watch the axe descend toward-


Ben was awakened by the small alarm clock he'd brought with him. He sat bolt upright and looked around, realizing it was morning, and he was alive, and nothing had happened. It had all been a dream.

But as Ben threw back his covers and climbed out of bed, he suddenly heard a horrible screech outside the window...

Mar 11, 2006

Aziraphale posted:

Post the corn crib story

It's actually in the OP by the way it looks.

Ice Phisherman
Apr 12, 2007

We'll always have our memories won't we? Those special memories that I’ll always treasure. You, writhing from the jellyfish sting, me, urinating on the wound.

I absolutely have to stop reading these threads before I go to sleep. I always do this. Why do I do this?


Sire Oblivion
Apr 22, 2008

Down the Rabbit Hole.

Onic posted:

It's actually in the OP by the way it looks.

I love this story, but I couldn't help but laugh at this typo:

"I hate raccoons, skunks, opposums, whatever. All those things could have rabbis, which I don’t want around my farm."

Oh those Jewish Raccoons. Still love the story either way.

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