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I live in the country in the most haunted state in America. Everyone has at least one ghost story here, so I'm not going to tell any of them. Sometime around April i saw a wolf the size of a truck about 60 yards away from the main house on our property. All I had was a flashlight and a pitchfork so I told it to gently caress off and turned off my flashlight and went back inside. 4 months later I was wandering around in the darkness with a hammer. Don't ask me why I wander around in the dark so much, I wouldn't be able to tell you. I was prettiy far from the house at this point and I didn't bring a light source with me because the sun had been up when I started walking. The only thing I could use to guide myself back to safety were the sounds of cars passing by on the nearest road. Out of nowhere, I heard a snort and the sound of hoof beats close by. Instinctively, I threw down my weapon and held up my hands and said aloud "Whoa. there! It's only me!" Afterwards, I caught the silhouette of an 8 point buck stood still pointed in my direction. I've seen him several times and chosen not to name him because the first time we met, he charged me with full force and came close to boring me to death. I don't really understand why, but he let me be once I began speaking to him and saying in very plain english, spitting out the words "Forgive me, I surrender." I know he has family that lives near us and he seems content to let me walk freely as long as I identify myself without hesitation. Once I managed to relocate my hammer, I continued trying to return to the house and almost got stuck in a large thorn bush. The pain was excruciating because of my lack of clothing and it took a solid 20 minutes for me to get through it with minimal injuries in pitch black darkness. That's the most recent instance where I can remember being fearful of a real possibility of death in the wilderness. A few weeks later I was wandering around in the same area with a jacket at close to the same time in the evening. I heard a groan that sent the dread through me instantly. It was a huge boar. Boars scare me more than any other animal so I turned tail and hosed off. 
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Nov 1, 2016 05:52
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Crossposting from the aus paranormal thread, the true story of my encounter with an armless skinny-ripped dogman: Moon Atari posted:I used to work at dominos in a small town in WA. When we shut at midnight I would have to drive the company car down the road to a manager's house for storage and then walk back to the store to pick up my own car. So one night I've just finished parking the car when suddenly a strange creature comes running out from around the corner. It was grey and doglike, in that it has the head of a dog and basically the body, except it was upright and has no arms. Basically like this, minus jazzhands obviously: Moon Atari posted:I left out a few descriptives. This thing was skinny ripped, like it was thin but had very pronounced muscles, human like pecs and abs. I think that physique rules out your furry hypothesis. When I say it was grey I mean it had fur like a weirama, but with a more pitbull like head.
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Nov 1, 2016 07:10
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I did this thing in the 2014 thread. Maybe people will enjoy it still. I’ve never been a big proponent of belief in the paranormal. Sure, I grew up Protestant Christian and went to parochial school, and our doctrine specifically mentions the existence of ghosts, demons, and whatnot, but I’ve always thought it was ancient people using ancient knowledge and expressions to describe things perfectly explainable today. Legion, the demon exorcised by Christ is described as a crazy-strong man that lived in the graveyard, would howl at night, cut himself with stones, and generally act insane to the point where no one could deal with his bullshit anymore. I kind of attributed the whole thing to a mentally ill guy healed by the Son of God. I got to believe what was taught to me in school and have the peace of mind that there’s nothing evil out there reaping people’s souls. Yep, before this incident I had it all figured out. I spent Thanksgiving weekend this year in Northern Louisiana with my wife’s family at a place we just call The Camp. The family has owned the place since time immemorial, and the family patriarch recently divided the rather large farm/ranch/hunting lease between all their kids and grandkids. That means I own a five acre plot near where this whole thing happened (yay) right next to my in-laws’ place, meaning I probably have to go back there some time in my life. I’m not looking forward to that. Anyway, there are only a few buildings on this place. One is a little doublewide on my in-laws’ plot, right next to the lake. The other is an old farmhouse that was built sometime in the late 1800s or early 1900s with an adjacent barn/tractor shed. The rest of the land is one of two things: flat, grass fields used to make hay, or wild woodland with wicked thorny brush. So, we spent Friday and Saturday doing what we usually do out there, drinking, driving around on ATVs, shooting, fishing… typical redneck weekend activities really. Some time in the evening on Saturday, I notice that my dog, Harvey, is missing. Aw poo poo. You guys that live in rural areas probably don’t get too twisted about a dog going missing for a couple hours. Normally they’re off exploring or sniffing deer piss or rolling in something nasty or whatever, but Harvey is not that kind of dog. First of all he weighs all of six pounds, and he spends his days living in my suburban house where the wildest thing that happens to him is the occasional trip to the duck pond. He is the ultimate pampered city dog with attachment issues. He has no business being out and about with the coyotes, raccoons, alligators, and whatever other horrors they keep in the state of Louisiana. Anyway, I’m a bit concerned, but I’m not worried yet. I tell the rest of our group celebrating the holiday that the dog is missing, and I’m going to go have a look for him. Being tiny, he’s probably like a hundred yards out in the field, and we can’t see each other over the grass. I set out on foot in a likely direction and start calling his name. As I walk, I hear the sounds of engines being fired up and search parties being organized by drunk people that probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel. Looks like we’ll be covering a lot of ground and making a lot of noise. To their credit, the search parties did a good job of fanning out across the place. At least the coyotes won’t be coming near the place, limiting the chance of a chihuahua/coyote encounter. I look off to the west and see the sun is maybe half an hour from setting. Great. After an hour and a half of searching, we slowly trickle back to the doublewide, informing each other that we saw and heard nothing from Harvey. By this time it’s dark, and I’m in full on anxiety mode. Harvey’s been waiting for me to come home for ten years, always ready to go for a walk or play or cuddle. He was there for me through my depression, and he was there to greet me when I came home from Afghanistan. You could say I’m attached, and I would not let my little friend loving die out in the woods of Louisiana. He deserves better from me. I grab my jacket to combat the temperature drop that came with the sunset, and I let everyone know that I’m going back out to look and listen. I’m near tears and reluctant to look anyone in the face (guess I’m a tough-guy), but I can see my own fears in their expressions. From then on, no one really calls Harvey’s name anymore. We’ve gone from searching for a lost dog to searching for a dead or injured one. A couple take my hint that the ATV’s engine noise are a hindrance now instead of a blessing, and they set out on foot with flashlights. I head off without one, not thinking about anything except preserving my night vision for more efficient Harvey spotting. Again, the search parties go opposite ways to cover more ground, and soon I’m alone. I find myself walking over softly sloping bald hill overlooking the old farmhouse. There are no lights visible anywhere but the half moon overhead, which is more than enough for me to navigate by. I can see for a fair piece from atop my hill, and I half-heartedly call for Harvey. I paused for a moment listening. I had been here earlier today, during the daytime, and it was unlikely he would not have come to me if he were alive and uninjured. Now I listened for the whining or whimpering Harvey was wont to do when he needed me. Nothing. I did, however, notice movement in the shadowy area around the farmhouse. No one lives there, so I figure it’s probably an animal, maybe Harvey. I finally have a lead on where to search. “Dear God, please let that be Harvey and not a rabid raccoon. Amen.” I like to keep my prayers short. I keep my eyes on the shadows around the farmhouse as I descend the hill so as to track whatever is moving in there, and in the back of my mind I kind of note that the little compound is the only loving place I might need a flashlight. As a matter of fact, it looks like an island of inky blackness in a ocean of perfectly safe moonlight. Normally, I would not mind venturing into the dark. As a matter of fact it was a big source of safety for me while I was in Afghanistan, since the local insurgents didn’t have night vision goggles. I’ve spent a lot of time in the dark with a rifle and a MRE or a map or whatever. However, I would love to know if the thing I’m reaching for in the dark is my dog or something wild and bitey. Rabies shots aren’t given in the gut anymore, but it’s still an experience I want to avoid. I pat my pockets and come up with my iPhone with ten percent battery. Better than nothing, I suppose, but I’ll have to save the light for when I need it. I’m getting closer to the farmhouse, and I’m using noise to protect myself from potential animal attacks. My steps are loud and I’m calling the dog’s name often so as to spook anything that wasn’t named Harvey. I’m getting to close to an outlying tree next to the house and I shut up for a minute to listen as I walked. Nothing. No whining, no whimpering. Actually, now that I am actively listening, there isn’t any sound but the wind through the structures in front of me. The rattle of a gate, the squeaking of tin on the roof of the equipment shed, that’s the kind of stuff I hear. No crickets or frogs. No engine noises from my fellow search party people. That’s odd. I call Harvey’s name again, unintentionally a bit quieter this time. As I continue toward the farmhouse, I stop calling Harvey’s name and find myself crouching slightly, sneaking. The outlying tree is on my left now, maybe about 25 yards away. My head’s on a swivel, looking from side to side and checking behind me every couple seconds. My eyes brush past the shadow at the foot of the tree at first, continuing on to where I first spotted the motion from the hilltop, but something brings my attention back. My stomach does that thing where it feels like you just went down that first hill of a roller coaster. Is that a person? The outline is vague, but it looks like the silhouette of a man. I freeze. Nothing moves under the tree. Those of you that have navigated by moonlight in the country probably know that the moonlight, while it seems like you see things clearly, is not sufficient to make out detail, especially in the shadows. The wind is shaking the branches of the tree, making its shadow dance and flail around, but the figure remains consistently still. It could be a person, I don’t know. My brain may be interpreting the dark into shapes it recognizes. I feel strange, like the rules governing this place just changed, and I wasn’t paying attention when it happened. I’m exposed. I’m naked. There’s no cover anywhere near me. Where’s my weapon? Where’s my overwatch? gently caress gently caress gently caress I’m dead. Somehow I feel that familiar stress I hadn’t felt since being overseas. Where the gently caress did that come from? I blink and take some deep breaths. Clarity is only a phone click away. I snake my hand down into my jeans pocket and light up the screen. The light from the screen doesn’t penetrate, so I reluctantly take my eyes off the shadow to open the flashlight app. The LED fires up and I hold it out in front of me like I’m trying to ward off dracula with a cross. Nobody. There is some scrap tin stacked up next to the trunk of the oak tree, but no man. My heart is still beating like crazy, but my brain is finally working more rationally. It’s a trick of the light. I take some slow steps toward the tree, trying to prove to myself nothing is there. I stop on the edge of the tree’s shadow, something in my head tells me I should, under no circumstances, take another step toward the that tree. I’m only a couple feet from where I saw my phantom guy, he’s not there, but damnit if I don’t feel any better. My phone’s LED light is no joke. I can see everything. Just some tin sheets and perfectly undisturbed grass. But I cannot shake the feeling that I’m very very close to… something. My hands tremble slightly as my finger hovers over the flightlight app’s kill button. I force myself to press it. ...and everything goes dark. Yay for bright phone screens and the human eye. Everything is an inky blur, and I can’t make out much of anything. I do still feel like a step in the wrong direction would be a very bad idea, so I take some steps back and turn to continue toward the farmhouse. I tell myself I don’t need to look back. I checked that drat tree. I look anyway. There he is again, barely discernable like he very well could be a figment. Just standing there, completely still, unmoved from where he was originally. He is, however, facing me still though my angle has changed. Ok, so this is one consistent optical illusion or... One thing is for certain, I’m not going near that tree. I step onto the gravel driveway leading to the house. It’s at least in the light, and it continues on past the devil tree to where I want to go. As I near the moonlit side of the house to begin my search for Harvey I look back to make sure my friend hasn’t moved or stopped being all creepy. Yep, all is right with the world. I turn back and loving freeze mid stride. My heart jumps into my throat and I throw myself backward onto the gravel with a high-pitched shriek. He’s maybe three feet from me, just standing there in the shadow cast by the awning over the side of the farmhouse. I'm so close, yet I can barely make out his head and shoulders. I can tell he’s looking down at me though I can’t see eyes. Have you ever experienced sound so low in frequency that you are unable able to hear it, but you can feel it? Imagine if you were deaf and stood in front of a really loud concert speaker, next to a huge diesel engine, or close to a series explosions. You can feel that sound in your gut. Your bones shake. Your brain rattles in your skull, and somewhere in there, deep in the parts of your brain passed on to you from your monkey ancestors, you know it’s time to panic. That's how being near the thing felt. Like a predator had me dead to rights, and all I could do was wait for the end. I’m panicking, breathing like I just sprinted for a mile, my eyes are darting for a way to escape. How many of these things are there? I chance a look back at the tree: yep, he’s still there. I look back to the house, squinting to find him again, this one’s still here too. I scoot back on my rear end to get some distance from the more immediate threat and get an angle to look at the tree and the house. Tree guy is gone. House guy is still there. gently caress. I’m jerking my head around, looking for the other one. House guy is still standing there, completely still. I take my eyes away for a moment to check the barn. There he is. House guy is gone. Then it dawns on me. “It’s the same one. It’s the same one. It’s the same one,” I’m babbling to myself as I try to get control of my brain and my adrenaline. Trying to calm down is a challenge, because wherever I turn, there he is with that silent death stare of his. My mind goes back to school, in my congregation class. We had an hour of instruction from Pastor on what to do about supernatural stuff. It sounds weird, but it was really a thing in my school. It's not like we had a whole class dedicated to it, but one day, during third period, he took questions on the supernatural. Anyway, there are four things you do not do in an encounter be it demon, ghost or whatever. Don’t acknowledge it. Don’t speak to it. Don’t give it your name. Don’t call on it. Ok. The acknowledging thing is right out the window. It obviously knows I see it. Rule number one broken. “Ok. Rules. Rules. Rules. Rules... “ I’m muttering under my breath. Rushing through words. I talk a LOT when I’m afraid. I think it helps me cope with things. Slows my brain down. Everything has rules right? Rules are comforting. The whole universe is made up of rules. For one the thing hasn’t left the shadows. There’s that. It hasn’t touched me. There’s that too. I stand up and whip out my phone. Time to call for backup. I’m not going to be that rear end in a top hat that tries to go it alone in a spooky situation. If ghost stories ever taught me anything, it’s that when someone shows up that can possibly corroborate your spooky story, ghosts run for the loving hills. It’s science. Also being scared out of my gourd may have something to do with it. I dial my wife. She’s the most likely person at The Camp to have her phone on her. I keep my eye on where I think I see the shadow thing. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four ri-- *Click* “Annie? Hello? Can you hear m---” then the most God-awful screeching noise like when you’ve got a poo poo connection to the tower, and the speech is all garbled. I look at the screen just as it displays the little Apple logo in the process of turning off. “Annie?” “Annie? Hello?” Oh poo poo. Tears well up in my eyes out of sudden realization and terror. My vision gets hazy. My voice was coming from under the awning. “Annie?” “Ann?” “Anabelle?” I hear it call my wife’s name to my left, then behind me, then off in the distance somewhere impossibly far away. It wasn’t just copying what it heard, it sussed out Annie’s full name. Something clicks. “Harveeeeey?” It calls for my dog. I’m starting to see now. “David?” The memory of hearing it call out to me with my wife’s voice still keeps me up nights. The situation has changed again. I swallow the scream I had been holding in. Rule number two broken. It knows my name. Message received. Don’t call for help. Tell no one. I want to bolt. I want electricity, lights, noise, people. But I can’t leave right now. I think that's what it meant for me to interpret from it mocking me. If I leave now, I could tell the others, but then I imagine Annie hearing me call her from somewhere in the dark, only it’s not me… I slowly, carefully take trembling steps further toward the barn/tool shed, thinking it may leave me alone if i look for the dog and then go. That was my original intent after all. I don’t know. Not my most rational decision. The building is more of a car port than a barn, I guess, having only three walls and a roof. I peer inside, but, of course, it’s pitch black. I can make out the edge of the hay loft and the outlines of the backhoe and front end loader. I can almost make out the shadow man directly to my left, in the patch of darkness closest to me cast by a nearby tree, always as close as possible within sight. “David?” Perfect impersonation. I hear a scrambling sound from the tree next to the barn like little claws on bark. On one of the limbs I see a little gray lump with legs(raccoon judging from the size), doing its best not to fall from its branch. I feel a little better seeing another living being around, even if it’s not human, but then the branch gives way with a snap. The raccoon falls onto and through the tin roof into the barn. I hear a disturbing scream from a loving terrified raccoon, and then it’s cut short. The thing is still standing there to my left, still as ever, as I hear wet popping sounds coming from deep inside the barn. He never moves, but in my mind’s eye I can see the animal being butchered alone in the dark. I silently pray that no one else has met that fate tonight. The sounds continue interminably. I’m not sure when they stopped, but eventually I’m left in silence again. Complete silence. “David?” I remember sprinting back to the doublewide, staying in the light like my life depended on it. I didn’t look back. I didn’t call for help. I followed the rules. I found everyone returned from their search empty handed, and they were all too drunk to realize I was terrified as opposed to worried. None of them saw the dog or… anything else. I was afraid to ask them directly. I still haven’t. I spent the remainder of the night watching TV with the lights on and trying not to look out the window. I got Harvey back a couple days ago from a very nice lady that took him in when he showed up on her porch. She lives only a few miles away from The Camp, but that’s a long rear end way for a little dog to travel over rough country in the dark. He is a bit more chill now, content to curl up and cuddle on the couch with me rather than bark and random sounds. He's happy as a clam on your lap watching TV or reading a book. He must have been through a lot. He does not sleep with the lights off anymore. He sits there and shakes so badly that his kennel vibrates until we give him some light. We’ve taken to putting his kennel under the Christmas tree to calm him down. He won’t come when we call him anymore. I have dreams sometimes about looking out of my window into the night and seeing it there. Sometimes the dream is about my wife stepping outside thinking she heard me call her name. This got super long. TLDR version: I searched for my lost dog and got spooked by a shadow and a raccoon. 2016 Update: Dog and I are doing okay. Haven't seen/heard anything since. Dog is always nervous, but that's because he is a useless chiahuahua Elpato fucked around with this message at 08:22 on Nov 1, 2016 |
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Nov 1, 2016 08:01
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Moon Atari posted:Crossposting from the aus paranormal thread, the true story of my encounter with an armless skinny-ripped dogman: oh thats just a chupacabra
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Nov 1, 2016 08:34
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it's new gbs not new and improved gbs
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Nov 1, 2016 09:33
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This thread is dissapointingly short just like schlong of every poster other than me. Weekend is coming and some spooky shiet would be nice.
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Nov 4, 2016 12:31
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Is anyone else ITT constantly haunted by the ghosts of their victims?!?
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Nov 4, 2016 12:47
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I lived with a family in Peru that insisted that their house was haunted. The only one who'd ever experienced this haunting was their son, who sometimes woke up suddenly and couldn't move while "something made him float in the air". It was pretty obvious he just had sleep paralysis and I explained this to them and they almost killed me for doubting them. Luckily I bought them sliced hot dog and french fries covered in mayo and they forgave me. That's my story
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Nov 4, 2016 13:22
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Let's have something from the vaults  The Dam Man by Arthyarthyarthy My dad was an engineer, and when I was 17 he took a job renovating a dam about 40 miles away from our house. At the beginning it was just a normal job, but he started comming home more and more...I would almost say frantic. You could tell there was something wrong at work, maybe a bad coworker or something. My parents relationship was strained as it was, and this stretched it to the limit. They started yelling at each other late at night, and one day at the dinner table the straw broke. Dad told what was bothering him. The dam was haunted, he said. Mom and I stared at him. Me in interest, my Mom in...annoyance, waiting for him to crack a smile and say he was just joking. The smile never came, he just got up and went to his "office". Mom stared at her food a while then followed him, I hung around within earshot to see what was going on. The conversation started out with my Mom's raised voice, but gradually it became quiet, confidential. Dad agreed to refuse the job, to work a few more days until they could find a replacement - no more. This is where my intelligence came into question: I asked if I could come with him to work, and see the "ghost". He agreed, but told me to bring a friend. I called Josh, and he was stoked, and by the next day we were riding in the cramped back seat of my Dad's pickup towards the dam. Josh and I checked out flashlights, nothing fancy, just those little penlights you get at gas stations. We were a far cry from professional ghost hunters. When we arrived at the dam, both Josh and I were struck by the somber mood that abounded in just about everyone. You could have told us that we were in a morgue, and it would have been easily believed. We followed Dad down through the concrete labyrinth, past the bypass', past the generators, deep down into the access and maintenance tunnels below, where the construction was going on. Dad grabbed a 1mil candle power light and two radios from one of the carts, not really stopping as he walked. It wasn't construction really, just patchwork to make sure the dam didn't explode under pressure, necessary little injections of concrete into compression cracks and that sort of thing. We went down some stairs that took an abrupt turn to the right, and were met with a 100 foot long unlit hallway, with another set of descending stairs at the far end, lit by a single naked light bulb. "Alright," Dad started, "This is it. All you have to do is walk down to the other end of the hallway and back. Feel free to turn back and come here at any time, I'll be standing right here with the torch. Just yell at me and I'll light up the whole hallway. Take one of the radios with you just in case, noise has a way of...getting trapped down here." He said while gazing down the hallway. He was talking quietly, the sort of way you would if you were surrounded by sleeping creatures. Josh and I lit our flashlights and started walking down the hallway. Almost immediately we began to feel...pressure close in around us. It seemed the darkness itself had weight to it, pushing down on our shoulders, sneaking into out throats and choking us. We both walked slowly, concentrating on that light at the end of the tunnel, on our little bouncing pen lights. Dams are creepy places in general, and this one was no different. Minute shifts in the lake caused the drat to...moan in a way, but not in a way you could hear. More like you could feel it moan, somewhere deep in your stomach. Little drips would become gunshots when reflected the right way, ventilation shafts would seam to form whispered words, voices from far off managed to appear right behind you. I had experienced these things before, in other dams, but this one was different - completely different. I suddenly snapped alert, Josh was whispering my name from somewhere. I became aware that we were laying down on the cold, moist concrete floor. The light at the end of the hallway had gone out. Our penlights did little to hold back the wet, seeping darkness that was constantly encroaching on us. I pulled the radio out of my pocket, whispering into it: "Dad...dad...turn on the light...". No reply, just a that silent static that filled the air around us, Josh and I turned around and looked behind us, we could see Dad still sitting on the steps. I wanted to yell for him, but I couldn't. If I opened my mouth...the darkness would come in, pour in, drowning me. The radio crackled up in my hand, "Turn on the light...turn on the light...turn on the light..." whispered someone. It wasn't my voice. It was a sick, wet, almost gurgling voice. Gutteral and deep, it originated from the gut instead of the throat. Josh and I pointed our flashlights at the radio, and he curse as his light flickered and died. We were stuck, trapped in that hallway. We couldn't yell, we couldn't move, we couldn't use the radio. "Josh...we have to try to get back.". He nodded back, his face eerily lit by the pale blue penlight. I tried to ignore its brief flickering, as we both started to crawl back down the hallway, using the penlight to light the way in front of us. The darkness was complete, filling the edges of my eyes. Our whole world existed in that circle of dim light before of us, everything else was black. Then my hand touched something... I jumped backwards and pointed the penlight where my hand had been...nothing. But I knew without a doubt what I felt - a foot. I had layed by hand down on the ankle of a human foot. It had been wet, slimy almost. The skin felt soft and bloated, ice cold. It was so vivid, I thought to myself. I had felt the callouses on the back of the heel, the wrinkles of skin...the tension of the dead muscle. I had surprised whatever I touched as much as it surprised me. Suddenly, Josh was yelling at me. He was gasping and spinning around on all fours, his eyes wide with fear. "What the gently caress was that..." he started, "Something touched me, put its hands on my back." He turned around and showed me the back of his shirt, a grey T-Shirt that he wore in case it got dirty. Two defined hand prints were set in it, right behind his shoulders, showing easily against the rest of the shirt - whatever hands had touched him had soaking wet hands. His face set as he looked forward, I followed. Up ahead, we could see Dad still relaxing on the stairs, with the light behind him, erasing all the details of his face. But there was someone else now... It was wearing a poncho, the heavy wet gear that dam workers who have to do deep work wear. Brief reflections of light around the sillouete showed its emergency-yellow color. It was wearing a hat too, one of the rubber seal hats I had seen my Dad wear on so many occasions. Someone else had come down to talk to Dad? Then I felt it...look at me. From far away, even though Josh and I were in total darkness, I felt it look at me and knew - absolutely knew - it saw me. Then it started walking. It was a hurried walk, with a heavy limp. A determined walk, the walk of a man who has something important to do, someone who is late, someone who wants...to kill an intruder. I was paralyzed, there on the floor, shaking from the cold water seeping in through my shirt off the floor, from fear of whatever it was that was walking at us. Closer, closer, closer. I pointed the flashlight at it - him. He was maybe thirty feet away now, his walking had picked up pace. Little details shimmered in the penlight. His face was a sickly white, the eyes grey and swollen, only one pointing directly at us, the other lazily drifting off to the left somewhere. His cheeks had dark blue veins showing through, and his lips were torn and rotting in places. Shimmers of light reflected back to me as droplets of water caugh the light - whoever the man was, he was soaking wet. Still closer...too close.. The radio! Dad was talking through the radio! "Are you boys OK back there? I'm turning on the light, cover your eyes." I couldn't see him any more, the man was close enough that he filled our view. His wet boots heavily slapping against the concrete, his wet, labored breathing seeming to slide across the walls until they reached my ears. It occurred to me that my flashlight had gone out, and at the same time the boot steps stopped. I could hear the breathing though...only feet above me. Wet rubber squeaked against itself, and I felt a wet, swollen hand slide down the side of my face, then violently grip my hair and yank my hair back. Then the world erupted in light - bright, unbroken light filled every corner of that drat hallway. "Why are you idiots laying down? Whats wrong with Josh?" I heard my Dad yell, unseen behind the bobbing light, he was running towards us. I looked over, Josh was face first on the concrete. He had passed out. I started shaking him and he woke up, pushing me off him in fear at first. Dad reached us and helped me pick hip up. Then pointed the light down the hallway and dismissively shook his head. "Lets get out of here, I'm seeing things now. I thought I saw one of the other workers just go around the corner down there." "Was he wearing wet gear?" "Yeah, why? Are you OK?" He squinted his eyes, almost knowingly at me. He had a unique experience, I thought to myself, probably every day for the last two weeks. "Why is your hair wet?" Was the last thing I remembered him asking. I find myself waking up late at night now, soaking with sweat, thinking about that tunnel. Sometimes I can feel that wet hand on my face, sometimes I feel the foot, other times I just see his silhouette at the end of the hallway, any hallway. Afterwords: Dad fronted an effort to quintuple the amount of wired and emergency lights in that dam, and the personnel were more than supportive. He also suggested to change the emergency gear to red, so that everyone wasn't jumping out of their socks every time they saw another worker.
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Nov 4, 2016 19:01
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Dam the man. I always liked this one, because it's a pretty unique setting.
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Nov 7, 2016 05:19
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Why do I keep trying to listen to NoSleep? So many of the drat stories end up just being about child abuse/murder/trafficking.
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Nov 7, 2016 15:50
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Too spoopy for me
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Nov 7, 2016 16:54
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Len posted:Why do I keep trying to listen to NoSleep? So many of the drat stories end up just being about child abuse/murder/trafficking. I like the first 3 or so seasons and the holiday specials but the more recent episodes have really felt like the bottom of the barrel. Mediocre horror.
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Nov 7, 2016 17:08
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coronatae posted:I like the first 3 or so seasons and the holiday specials but the more recent episodes have really felt like the bottom of the barrel. Mediocre horror. I really wonder if the good ones are in the pay episodes. But I'm not paying for something this unspooky. I just listened to a two hour one that sounded like it was going to have a supernatural ending but the twist was (in case anyone cares) that everyone local to the town was sterile because of contaminated water so the rich family that runs the town would kidnap out of town women and rape them to get babies that they would either put back into the town or sell to human traffickers
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Nov 7, 2016 17:22
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Everytime I watch Star Trek at my uncles house my rear end hurts.
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Nov 7, 2016 18:40
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Len posted:Why do I keep trying to listen to NoSleep? So many of the drat stories end up just being about child abuse/murder/trafficking. Because most people understand subtlety in ghost stories to be a giant squeaky hammer, and even fewer people know how to use such plot devices with skill. Stephen King knows how to pull off gorey gross shock humor fairly well. But redditors? Nah. They just go full grimdark and decorate it with some 666s plastered anywhere.
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Nov 7, 2016 18:54
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Len posted:I really wonder if the good ones are in the pay episodes. But I'm not paying for something this unspooky. That one was a huge letdown. The newest episode's second story included the phrase "we ran so fast we could have beat Sonic" as a sincere description of teens fleeing supernatural horror. content: a weird delightful classic My Aunt's Pot by Davey Lockwood Lets get one thing out - this story has nothing to do with drugs. It has to do with my Aunt's Pot. Like...cooking pot. So the set up: My Aunt was going out of town, and needed someone to watch her house. They had to stay there EVERY NIGHT because there were THIEVES AND CRIMINALS in her neighborhood. The lady is like 90 so I take up the bid and oblige. Gotta earn my place in the will right? I show up at her house as she is leaving and she shows me around. A large kitchen, living room, and bathroom downstairs, with two bedrooms upstairs. Small house. We say our goodbyes, she leaves, and I get to work watching television. I'm not there maybe 30 minutes when there is this outrageously loud CLANGGGGGGggggggg from the kitchen. I run in, and am med with a stainless steal metal cooking pan, 12 inch size, rocking back and forth on the hardwood floor like it just fell off of the counter. I didn't think twice about it, opened up cubbards until I found the pan area and tossed it in, then went back to watching TV. After about an hour of that, I started to get uncomfortable on the couch, so I went up to the guest bedroom and started to go to sleep. I remember thinking, how long has it been since someone has actually used this room. She has lived here like 50 years...has anyone really come over? CLANG-PANG-TING-CLANG-TINGTINGtingtingting. The noise of metal on wood reverberated throughout the house. My heart was hammering in my neck as I peered out of the doorway down the stairs. At the bottom sat that same pan, horror-movie style in a single patch of light cast by the street lamps outside. The stainless steal bounced the yellow light all over the room, making it look like everything was moving. Was something moving? I went down to check it out, keeping my eyes on a dark spot against the wall. I really was not thinking ghost at all at this point. I don't know what I was thinking really. I knew what I needed to do though - hit the light and jump on that shadow. I crouched down and tightened up my legs, then hit the light switch and leaped onto... A loving coat rack. A shooting pain burnt through my face as my nose collided with one of the stupid rear end coat rack arms. gently caress that. I'm going to get that pan and go the hell back to sleep. I turned around and stared at the now empty floor. No pan. I decided to continue with my previous plan and head upstairs to go back to sleep, cursing the coat wrack as I nursed my nose and watering eyes. Stupid pan. I got back into the dark room, laid down in bed, and started to go to sleep, pulling covers around me, and touched something cold. Not quite ice cold, but still surprising. The pan was in the loving bed with me. This was the first time I got an OK look at it, in the faint light that was coming in from the window. First, it was cold (I mentioned that). Second, it smelled awful. Like 7 day old hamburger awful. Third, it was whispering to me. You know that sound when you hold a seashell up to your ear? That was sort of the sound coming out of the sound. Like a bunch of people whispering, then listened to through a metal funnel. I thought I caught my name once or twice while I carried the pan down the stairs. Sleepyness numbed any fear or confusion. I just accepted things as they were happening. Moving talking pan. Sure. Why not. I put the pan the cupboard again and jammed it closed with a wooden spoon. Satisfied, I went back upstairs to sleep. I woke up vaguely dreaming of pans. I decided it was all a dream and walked to the downstairs bathroom to do my morning business. This wasn't that hard, I thought. Sleep in a house for three nights and get payed for it. Good deal. Now, put your brain on pause for a second and I'm going to go through what happened next in slow motion. First I opened the door to the bathroom and faced a mirror. In the mirror was a furious looking old man holding the pan over his head. Second, I turned around and saw the pan flying at my face. I ducked instinctively, listening to the pan woosh over my head. Third, the mirror behind me exploded in a mirror-induced death, sending its silvery carnage all over the bathroom and ricocheting the pot off the sink and into the bath tub, making a horrible, horrible amount of noise. Back up to normal speed. I stood there a moment, dumbfounded, then picked up a piece of the mirror, touching it to try and figure out if that just happened. At the angle I was holding it, it reflected the faded dragon on my shirt (I know, I'm a goon). I turned it up to look at myself in the face. It was a reflex. Try picking up something reflective and not looking at yourself in the face. I caught the reflection of something moving behind me...there it was again. I was fighting with myself at this point. Either put down the shard and act like it isn't there, or keep looking and see the old man trying to kill you. I stepped aside and moved the shard over, using it as a rear view mirror. Nothing still. That was the moment I decided I had it with the house. I threw down the shard and walked outside, walking past the mess in the living room (I apparently had also knocked over a lamp in the coat rack indecent). I got in my car and started it, and started to back up when I saw the guest bedroom window was open. I just started to think, 'Did I leave that....' The pot flew out of the window and broke through my front window, landing in the passenger seat. I picked it up and threw it out in one swift motion, all while reversing and getting the gently caress out of dodge. Thus ended the pan incident. UNTIL My aunt called me at the end of the three days and thanked me for keeping the house so clean. IT GETS EVEN WEIRDER Three years later, when she died, she left me specifically, as in "And to Dave I leave...", that pan. In the note she said "It felt like the right thing to do." I buried it in a park. So, to all you ghost hunters and believers who think that ghosts have some motive, or some purpose, no. You are wrong. Ghosts make no loving sense and I am pretty sure have no idea what they are doing. I'm not saying they don't exist, I firmly believe after that incident, what I am saying is that they have no idea what they are up to.
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Nov 14, 2016 18:28
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Most of the people at work are convinced the clinic's haunted. It's just minor stuff like doors reopening and small things getting moved, nothing awful. But if anything brushes up against me when I'm cleaning Treatment 5 (our euthanasia room) or in the dead shed (our supply shed/where the storage freezer is), I'm going to scream.
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Nov 14, 2016 19:43
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E: good job on the double post, phone
Flaccid Trip fucked around with this message at 19:49 on Nov 14, 2016 |
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Nov 14, 2016 19:43
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deadwing posted:jezebel posted some p. good stories this year imo What were you doing reading Jezebel? That's what scares me... Also those are actually pretty interesting...who knew anything half decent could come from that toilet of a site?
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Dec 10, 2016 12:17
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Dec 10, 2016 12:51
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504 posted:Everytime I watch Star Trek at my uncles house my rear end hurts. 
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Dec 10, 2016 12:52
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GreatPhoenix posted:What were you doing reading Jezebel? That's what scares me... I feel really guilty about giving that trash heap views but some of these stories are halfway decent. Is it cool to repost them here? gently caress Jezebel.
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Dec 10, 2016 22:23
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scuba school sucks posted:I feel really guilty about giving that trash heap views but some of these stories are halfway decent. Is it cool to repost them here? gently caress Jezebel. The "Look At Me" story I posted was from Jezebel so go for it imo
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Dec 11, 2016 16:29
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Are people bored from all that creepypasta or what? This topic was always great to read and now it's like only 2 pages long? 
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Dec 11, 2016 20:42
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stream posted:Are people bored from all that creepypasta or what? This topic was always great to read and now it's like only 2 pages long? now the crazy people post about pizza gate and patton oswalt killing his wife
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Dec 11, 2016 20:47
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Moon Atari posted:Crossposting from the aus paranormal thread, the true story of my encounter with an armless skinny-ripped dogman: lmao holy poo poo this kind of happened to me too? except in california, and like 10 years ago we were walking home at night and my friend suddenly went "what animal was that?" and I was like "what? and he was like "it looked like a cat but it was on two legs" and I thought about it and I was like "... there's no animal like that" and he was laughing a something-is-obviously-wrong laugh and went "I know!" he pointed where it went and we did the go-check-it-out-no-you-go-check-it-out thing teenagers do and went home kind of spooked, and that would have just become a funny story about how he must be dumb and crazy because he saw something impossible that nobody else did, except then I saw it a few weeks later my first thought was a raccoon running on its hind legs, except more balanced? like this was the way it moved all the time. friends theorized it was a dog that had lost its front legs, but we kind of struck that down on the basis that those dogs are usually, like, local celebrities, and it kind of seems like we would have heard of it or somebody in the neighborhood would know and nope we also floated the possibility that it was a bird, because we only saw it at night and from a distance, but it didn't move like a bird, it moved like... yeah, like a two-legged dog. that kind of awkwardly graceful quick-shuffle
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Dec 12, 2016 01:13
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Elf on the Shelf THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF JEFFY TUTTLE, AGE 10 PRIVATE!!! KEEP OUT! December 3, 1980 Things I want for Christmas: Rubix Cube Bean Bag Chair Fire Extinguisher “How to quit smoking through Hypnosis” by Dr. F. Lee Rogers Millennium Falcon Walkie Talkie Padlock for Pops’ whiskey cabinet December 6, 1980 Pops got a new job. He works at the counter of a tow yard. People get mad they have to pay because their cars got towed, so they yell at him all day. It makes me happy. He works late. That makes me happy, too. Maybe he will work so late he won’t come home until I am in bed. December 10, 1980 Christmas is soon. Mom and I put up the tree and the decorations. I am happy dad has been working so late December 13, 1980 Christmas is less than two weeks away. I am excited. There is a new decoration, its name is Elf on the Shelf. I don’t like it. It has a huge mouth, long arms, and red eyes. Mom says it goes in the living room where it can see me. There is lots of stuff in the living room for it to sit on. December 15, 1980 I don’t like the Elf on the Shelf. He stares at me no matter where I am in the living room, and I have bad dreams. I asked mom to throw him away, but mom says he has to watch me and report to Santa if I am bad. But I don’t believe in Santa since last year. Santa sucks. December 18, 1980 One more week until Christmas. Mom says the Elf on the Shelf can go up in the attic after that. She keeps moving it around the living room. Today, I was running between all the stacks of newspapers, and I almost bumped into it on the couch. It was right in my face. I screamed. Mom laughed. I hope Santa starts another fire and burns him up. December 20, 1980 My wrists hurt, so I won’t be writing much. Pops made me clean the carpets with a lint roller. It took all night. I don’t know how I got caught, either. I needed an old newspaper for history in school. So I took one from the piles in the living room. There are thousands there, so I thought he wouldn’t notice. I even put it back, right where I got it, before he came back from work. But he knew! HOW DID HE KNOW? December 22, 1980 I got hurt today. I bled a little. At dinner, I pushed my peas and carrots into my lap. I thought Pops didn’t see, he was too busy watching Barney Miller. But later on he yanked me out of bed and told me he knew. I think the Elf on the Shelf told him. December 23, 1980 Mom says I get one present, under $5. I want a new journal. This one is only half filled, but it has blood on it. But then pops would know I keep a journal. I don’t know if he’d laugh at me and call it my diary, or read it and explode, or what, but I don’t want him to know I have it. I don’t want the Elf on the Shelf to see me writing and tell him I have it. I’m glad Christmas is almost over. December 4, 2003 Hello, old friend! I was alphabetizing the junk in my attic, when I found you. Before I file you under “J,” I decided to take a stroll down memory lane. I really hated my dad, and only you knew it, huh? Well, you’ll be glad to know he’s dead now. The things he did have shaped the way I am raising Oliver. Things are alright. Honestly, the kid leaves a lot to be desired, but the whole goal is to do better than your own parents. To pick the ball up where Pops left it and move it further toward the goal line. And on that score, I’m doing quite well. Unlike my hoarder father, I keep our house neat and clean, and make sure Oliver does the same. I still smoke and drink, but I don’t use it like my father did. It’s just a way to make all the cleaning much more bearable. Nothing like a few shots every hour to make scrubbing the baseboards interesting. It’s definitely not how it was with Pops. When the people from Child Protective Services show up, now, it’s always for some big misunderstanding. Not like it was with Pops, where they would show up because a teacher had reported the bruises I always seemed to bring to school. Yep, I’m definitely moving that ball closer to the end zone than Pops ever did. Not like I’ll ever score a touchdown, I don’t even know what the metaphorical equivalent of that would be. I just want my kid to be smarter than me, to make better decisions than I did. Maybe I’ll keep you posted. December 8, 2003 Had another blast from the past today. Found the Elf on the Shelf in a dusty old trunk of Christmas decorations in Pops’ basement. Remember that horrible thing? It was supposed to report to Santa, mom said. But I hadn’t believed in Santa since I was nine, when “Santa” passed out under the tree, and his lit cigarette burnt up all my presents. I asked for more, but Pops said the elf labor union forbids making toys after Christmas. Santa sucks. The first thing I did was unscrew it, to see if there was some sort of recording device inside. Nope, just plastic, no room to put a camera in there or anything. At least not one of those 1980s cameras. I guess I always just imagined it. Tossed it on the living room bookcase: Oliver has been getting sloppy in his second hour of daily cleaning, and I’m usually working too late to catch him and make him do it over. Maybe this will be just the thing to keep him motivated. December 10, 2003 Came home, chugged a few shots of Evan Williams and poured some on the rocks. Settled into my usual chair to watch my UFO shows. I realized something about the Elf on the Shelf: I always thought it was my imagination that made its features seem so scary. Nope, it is actually really freaky. It’s got a huge red mouth that looks more like it’s about to open up and bite you than it does a smile. It’s arms are really long, which gives it a sort of monster-like look, like that made-up boogeyman those girls stabbed that other girl over. And the eyes: Good God, who gives an elf doll red eyes? Those parts make me think there are other things wrong with it which certainly aren’t. Like how it seemed to have its head turned right at me, staring me down from the bookcase. I downed a few glasses, but it was still pretty creepy, so I took it and shoved it face-first into the Christmas tree. December 12, 2003 It’s happening again. I came home from a double shift to find the elf doll sitting upright on the floor underneath the Christmas tree. I told Oliver he had to be more responsible about picking up toys off the floor every hour, on the hour. To make sure he got the point, I sent him to bed without dinner. Then I went to get a drink. I opened the liquor cabinet, and there he was. The elf was sitting right in front of the open Evan Williams bottle, staring at me with those freaky eyes. I checked the tree, nope, no elf. Had I imagined the whole thing? I couldn’t have, my son’s full plate of food was still sitting next to his unoccupied place at the table. What the hell? I went out and bought a lock for the liquor cabinet. Felt kind of silly, as nobody else in the house even likes Evan Williams, which is all I keep in there. And over what? An elf that I thought I stuffed under a tree, but I must’ve actually put in the cabinet? But locking up the liquor is something I needed to do eventually, to make sure Oliver doesn’t get the notion to start trying liquor. The longer I can keep him from tasting the sauce, the more “yards” my family’s team gains. I’m just trying to make him smarter at life than Pops made me, to keep moving that ball down the field. December 13, 2003 Oliver tracked dirt into the house again. When he does this, I make him sweep it up, then clean the floors with lint roller. Not like my dad used to do to me- that was carpet. These floors are wooden, so using the lint roller is actually smart because it gets them extra clean. When I opened the cupboard with the lint rollers, that drat elf was staring right at me. Thing is, I hadn’t been in that closet since the last time Oliver dirtied up the floors, which was months ago. HOW DID IT KNOW? I took the drat thing out to the back yard and tossed it in the trash. December 15, 2003 I unlocked the liquor cabinet and it was in there. Staring at me with those drat evil eyes. I took it out, placed it on the table, and hit it with a hammer until it was in about a hundred pieces. Took them outside and burnt them. The whole thing must’ve startled Oliver, because he started crying, so I made him organize the tool shed. December 17, 2003 It’s back. Sitting right there in the liquor cabinet. I give up. December 22, 2003 Oliver forgot to salt our driveway, today. I slipped and drat near burst a hemorrhoid falling on my keister. Kid's ten years old, but he’s pretty dumb. I may not have raised a boy that’s smarter than me, but I sure seem to have an elf that is. No matter what I’m about to do, it knows. I come home from a double shift, it’s in the liquor cabinet. Oliver forgets to rinse out the tub after a shower, so I make him clean the grout with a toothbrush, and it’s there in my cleaning bucket. I’ll even try to fool it. I’ll come home from a double shift and go get the lint roller, it’s not there. It’s in the liquor cabinet. It knows what I’m about to do. I can’t even open the liquor cabinet without my stomach tying in a knot because I know it’s going to be there. Unless of course, I’m trying to fake it out, and not really planning on drinking because I have to go to work, in which case it’s never, ever there. December 25, 2003 I’ve had enough. I stopped opening the pantry with the cleaning supplies. The place is getting messy, but I don’t care. Forget about moving the ball down the field, I just can’t take the sight of that drat elf. I woke up the other day and he was on my chest. Staring straight into my eyes. And then… and then it laughed! Twenty-five years and I never heard the drat thing laugh. HOW DID IT LEARN HOW TO LAUGH? I’m pretty sure it’s going to kill me. I don’t even drink anymore, I know he’ll be waiting there in the cabinet. I drink a lot of coffee and smoke a lot. For some reason it never seems to care about that. November 29, 2015 Found this journal in with the Christmas decorations. Right next to that damned elf. Since I’m a completionist, I might as well fill out the last few pages. The elf stopped showing up after that Christmas. Turns out it never did kill me, I guess he knew God would take care of that. Got back from the doctor today, there’s a huge mass in my lung. 12 years completely sober, and this is the reward I get. Doctor says I got maybe a few months left, so I’m cleaning out my attic. Gonna show Oliver when he gets back from his trip. He’s setting up a clean water reservoir in Africa. See if he wants any of this garbage. I guess I’d better warn him about the elf, too. December 1, 2015 Well, that was a kick in the head. I was having one of my bad days when Oliver came over earlier. I could barely get out of bed. Death sucks, sure, but what they don’t tell you is that before you die you get sick and stay that way. You don’t get to live out your last days in peace, but in agony. For me, the agony is definitely settling in to stay. In between coughing spells, I pulled out various boxes of Christmas decorations to show to Oliver. If he wanted the box, we marked it and put it aside. If not, we put it in a pile to give to Goodwill. After a few boxes I came to the Elf on a Shelf. Oliver’s eyes grew wide, I didn’t expect him to remember it, but I was obviously wrong. “Maybe in Africa you learned something about curses, I dunno,” I began, “but this thing’s cursed and I’m scared it’s going to take it to you.” “Wait, what?” “It’s been after me for decades. The worst was when you were little. No matter what I did, it would come back and be there, waiting to pop out wherever I went. I thought it was going to kill me.” At this, Oliver let out a long hiccupping sound. I’m not into men getting emotional, but this was a special case with me dying and all, so I waited for it to pass. But instead of stopping, it grew. And it wasn’t crying, it was a laugh. Soon, Oliver was doubled over, guffawing louder than I’d ever heard him before. “You think it’s funny, your old man croaking?” I spat. Oliver took a second to compose himself, “Dad, I… I really thought you knew.” “Knew?” “It was me. I kept hiding this dumb doll.” My jaw dropped. There was no way. “It… it would be in my locked liquor cabinet.” “You were a drunk, I copied your key one time when you were sleeping off about a fifth of that cheap whiskey.” “N-No, but I threw it away, and it came back,” I’m surprised my heart didn’t just give out there, “I smashed the drat thing to bits and burnt it!” “I got a new one on ebay!” “It was on ebay?” “It wasn’t the exact same one. It looked the same, but the new one I got was more modern. I think it had a chip in it that made it laugh.” “Why?” “No offense, you were an awful dad. The drinking, the obsessive-compulsive cleanliness. I saw how afraid you were of this thing, and I used it to trick you so you would stop all that.” My vision swam. My son went on about how hilarious this was, and how it would probably make a great tale for one of those “scary stories” places they have on the Internet. But I couldn’t register any of it, my entire field of consciousness was filled with one thing. One… single… word… Touchdown.
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Dec 12, 2016 01:59
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Drunk Nerds posted:Elf on the Shelf 
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Dec 12, 2016 19:34
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There is a big lack of spoopy channels/shows on youtube that give you that nice cozy vibe of being safe in your bed at home yet wanting to observe something spoopy. Everything on youtube is crazy tier instead of spoopy - like you can feel after 10 seconds of watching somebodys spoopy channel that dude has some mental illness or some poo poo. Now everybody has a HD camera at all times within reach, uploading it online is easy but UFO videos have gone the way of the dodo. I always liked to watch X-files, read some spoopy poo poo (good creepypasta) or some conspiracy websites (it's all bullshitt but still gave me some entertainment), read some sciency stuff like about VLF radio communication for submarines, debunking paranormal like Skeptoid blog. It's fun. I feel big lack of quality stuff like that. It's sunday morning here and I would like to be spooped while sitting in bed. Gimme some good links guys. 
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Feb 12, 2017 10:30
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JiveHonky posted:A little background before I begin, I was a stay at home mom in my early 30's when this all happened. My husband is in the military and sometimes would have to place such as the Iraq area to do patrols of duty or whatever (he would never tell me about it he said its top secret). Can't believe I jacked off to this
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Feb 12, 2017 10:32
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stream posted:There is a big lack of spoopy channels/shows on youtube that give you that nice cozy vibe of being safe in your bed at home yet wanting to observe something spoopy. https://m.soundcloud.com/user-984048283/the-day-king-hammer-fell-from-the-sky-by-gregory-whitehead
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Feb 12, 2017 11:24
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myDad posted:Can't believe I jacked off to this I can't believe somebody goes thru all the trouble writing that sort of whole page long poo poo that everybody starts to read and after two lines skips the rest. It's not funny or interesting. Why even bother? 
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Feb 12, 2017 11:30
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stream posted:There is a big lack of spoopy channels/shows on youtube that give you that nice cozy vibe of being safe in your bed at home yet wanting to observe something spoopy. Dark5 is a pretty fun channel but may not be what you're looking for. Mr. Nightmare and Lazy Masquerade do narrations but the stories may be hit or miss. Might find something in the related section too. There's also https://www.damninteresting.com/ if you've not seen it.
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Feb 13, 2017 03:39
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you shouldn't humor the whiny bitch who repeatedly used the word spoopy and then complained about other people making jokes
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Feb 13, 2017 03:47
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ok really wasn't paying close attention
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Feb 13, 2017 04:14
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did op actually use the word spoopy or am i having a loving stroke maybe both are happening
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Feb 13, 2017 06:01
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gas thread and kill the op
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Feb 13, 2017 06:02
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One time I saw a s-spoocky ghost and it jumped out and said "boo" and I poo poo my pants and I was like is this awkward? Nah, it's j-just a g-ghost. 
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Feb 13, 2017 06:05
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A misanthrope posted:gas thread and kill the op He'll just come back as a ghost, idiot.
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Feb 13, 2017 06:17
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