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Creepy
Jun 9, 2009 6:15:22 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 9, 2009 6:15:22 GMT 10
Its cool! I sometimes base these on fiction, on a small fact i know!
But sometime the white noise one works! Its creepy!
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Creepy
Jun 9, 2009 10:55:25 GMT 10
Post by Missing my friends already. :( on Jun 9, 2009 10:55:25 GMT 10
Is it?
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Creepy
Jun 9, 2009 11:02:54 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 9, 2009 11:02:54 GMT 10
Yep!
Most of the facts i found in urban ledgends books!
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:25:13 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:25:13 GMT 10
Candle Cove NetNostalgia Forum - Television (local) Skyshale033 Subject: Candle Cove local kid’s show? Does anyone remember this kid’s show? It was called Candle Cove and I must have been 6 or 7. I never found reference to it anywhere so I think it was on a local station around 1971 or 1972. I lived in Ironton at the time. I don’t remember which station, but I do remember it was on at a weird time, like 4:00 PM. mike_painter65 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? it seems really familiar to me…..i grew up outside of ashland and was 9 yrs old in 72. candle cove…was it about pirates? i remember a pirate marionete at the mouth of a cave talking to a little girl Skyshale033 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? YES! Okay I’m not crazy! I remember Pirate Percy. I was always kind of scared of him. He looked like he was built from parts of other dolls, real low-budget. His head was an old porcelain baby doll, looked like an antique that didn’t belong on the body. I don’t remember what station this was! I don’t think it was WTSF though. Jaren_2005 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? Sorry to ressurect this old thread but I know exactly what show you mean, Skyshale. I think Candle Cove ran for only a couple months in ‘71, not ‘72. I was 12 and I watched it a few times with my brother. It was channel 58, whatever station that was. My mom would let me switch to it after the news. Let me see what I remember. It took place in Candle cove, and it was about a little girl who imagined herself to be friends with pirates. The pirate ship was called the Laughingstock, and Pirate Percy wasn’t a very good pirate because he got scared too easily. And there was calliope music constantly playing. Don’t remember the girl’s name. Janice or Jade or something. Think it was Janice. Skyshale033 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? Thank you Jaren!!! Memories flooded back when you mentioned the Laughingstock and channel 58. I remember the bow of the ship was a wooden smiling face, with the lower jaw submerged. It looked like it was swallowing the sea and it had that awful Ed Wynn voice and laugh. I especially remember how jarring it was when they switched from the wooden/plastic model, to the foam puppet version of the head that talked. mike_painter65 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? ha ha i remember now too. do you remember this part skyshale: “you have…to go…INSIDE.” Skyshale033 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? Ugh mike, I got a chill reading that. Yes I remember. That’s what the ship always told Percy when there was a spooky place he had to go in, like a cave or a dark room where the treasure was. And the camera would push in on Laughingstock’s face with each pause. YOU HAVE… TO GO… INSIDE. With his two eyes askew and that flopping foam jaw and the fishing line that opened and closed it. Ugh. It just looked so cheap and awful. You guys remember the villain? He had a face that was just a handlebar mustache above really tall, narrow teeth. kevin_hart Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? i honestly, honestly thought the villain was pirate percy. i was about 5 when this show was on. nightmare fuel. Jaren_2005 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? That wasn’t the villain, the puppet with the mustache. That was the villain’s sidekick, Horace Horrible. He had a monocle too, but it was on top of the mustache. I used to think that meant he had only one eye. But yeah, the villain was another marionette. The Skin-Taker. I can’t believe what they let us watch back then. kevin_hart Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? jesus h. christ, the skin taker. what kind of a kids show were we watching? i seriously could not look at the screen when the skin taker showed up. he just descended out of nowhere on his strings, just a dirty skeleton wearing that brown top hat and cape. and his glass eyes that were too big for his skull. christ almighty. Skyshale033 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? Wasn’t his top hat and cloak all sewn up crazily? Was that supposed to be children’s skin?? mike_painter65 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? yeah i think so. rememer his mouth didn’t open and close, his jaw just slid back and foth. i remember the little girl said “why does your mouth move like that” and the skin-taker didn’t look at the girl but at the camera and said “TO GRIND YOUR SKIN” Skyshale033 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? I’m so relieved that other people remember this terrible show! I used to have this awful memory, a bad dream I had where the opening jingle ended, the show faded in from black, and all the characters were there, but the camera was just cutting to each of their faces, and they were just screaming, and the puppets and marionettes were flailing spastically, and just all screaming, screaming. The girl was just moaning and crying like she had been through hours of this. I woke up many times from that nightmare. I used to wet the bed when I had it. kevin_hart Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? i don’t think that was a dream. i remember that. i remember that was an episode. Skyshale033 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? No no no, not possible. There was no plot or anything, I mean literally just standing in place crying and screaming for the whole show. kevin_hart Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? maybe i’m manufacturing the memory because you said that, but i swear to god i remember seeing what you described. they just screamed. Jaren_2005 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? Oh God. Yes. The little girl, Janice, I remember seeing her shake. And the Skin-Taker screaming through his gnashing teeth, his jaw careening so wildly I thought it would come off its wire hinges. I turned it off and it was the last time I watched. I ran to tell my brother and we didn’t have the courage to turn it back on. mike_painter65 Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid’s show? i visited my mom today at the nursing home. i asked her about when i was littel in the early 70s, when i was 8 or 9 and if she remebered a kid’s show, candle cove. she said she was suprised i could remember that and i asked why, and she said “because i used to think it was so strange that you said ‘i’m gona go watch candle cove now mom’ and then you would tune the tv to static and juts watch dead air for 30 minutes. you had a big imagination with your little pirate show.”
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:26:19 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:26:19 GMT 10
Enclosing
I’m so cold. So very cold. There is no warmth left in this room.
I suppose I should start at the beginning. It started about 2 weeks ago, back when I could still see the sun. I live alone, my parents kicked me out after I dropped out of high school…I always hated high school; the teachers, the kids, all of them…Every last one. They don’t understand you, nor will they ever. Friends…I scoff at the idea, they’re just people who act like they care, but turn around to stab you in the back. Deplorable.
As you can tell, I’m not a people person.
Although maybe it wasn’t their fault, considering my sickness.
Oh, did I not mention my sickness? I guess I spaced it. I’ve always had serious mental problems; as far back as I can remember. I get these…weird images in my head. Sick images…images of murder, sickness, and war. From what I’ve been told by people around me when I’ve had my ‘episodes’, mostly teachers, I spasm and throw myself to the floor, scratching and writhing at everything around me screaming all the while. Of course I don’t remember it, all I remember is the images…I doubt I will ever get any of them out of my mind. These ignorant teachers thought I was merely acting out, seeking attention as it were, as did my classmates. I hated them and they hated me, leading to many fights at school. I even sent a few kids into the hospital.
Ah, my youth.
I live in a dingy rental home in the slums of an unimportant city. My parents don’t visit me anymore, and none of my neighbors can stand being around me for more than a few moments. Nobody ever cared about me and nobody ever will, and I’m content with that.
Back to my current predicament; it was only last month when I saw a doctor about my episodes. He diagnosed me with a wide array of mental disorders, none of which I bothered to ask what they meant; all I knew was that I needed pills and he could give me some. I remember him handing me 3 or 4 bottles of pills or various shapes and colors, but I didn’t take them right away. I waited, thinking maybe, just maybe the images were caused by a troubled childhood, and maybe I had matured out of it, but sure enough in a few days, they came back. Suicide, bombings, and genocide this time. My mind was filled to the brim with disturbing, haunting images; these were some of the worst yet. I was already sobbing in the fetal position by the time my mind comprehended that I might be able to stop this. I couldn’t open my eyes, I didn’t want to see anymore. I remember crawling on my side towards the bathroom, shakily standing up and spilling open my medicine cabinet, spilling the assorted products on the floor. I grasped blindly for the unfamiliar shape of pill bottles, and soon found them. I ripped them open and threw them into my mouth, spilling many on the floor. I collapsed onto the cold tile, losing consciousness. This was a first.
Then, I woke up in my bed. I must’ve thought to myself that I got up and walked into bed, I just didn’t remember it. Maybe. Then it began: I was cold. With my heavy comforter, one of the few things I had invested my small amount of spare money into, should have kept me warm. I always found solace in sleep. I got up and walked into the living room and turned on my TV. Cable was out, should have known. How long had it been since I paid my bills? Still cold, I thought to myself. I walked over to the thermostat and cranked it up, hearing that old familiar sound of the heater pumping warm air. I sat back down, but 15 minutes went by, and I still was cold. I walked over to the heat vent, placing my hand over it; I couldn’t feel any warmth, I couldn’t feel any air coming from the vent, but I could definitely hear it. Ah, my bills, no wonder there was no heat. I could only feel the cold grate of the vent. But then why could I hear it pumping throughout the room?
Might as well call my landlord, I thought to myself, picking up the phone. Dead. “Doesn’t anything in this hell hole work?” I distinctly remember asking myself. It was one of the last things I remember saying out loud. How was I to know what was happening? I walked outside, I don’t remember if it was to grab the morning paper or perhaps to soak up some rays from the sun, but it was at this time I knew something was wrong. It was dead outside. I’m talking Sunday morning in the winter at 4:00 in the morning dead. There was no lights on in the houses, nobody walking outside, no noise. The silence was deafening, cliché as it sounds. I slowly walked back in, afraid to disrupt the perfect silence by too loud of a step. I hadn’t realized till I was back inside, but it was much colder outside then in.
The rest of the day went per usual, watching DVD’s for hours and reading. Only difference was the cold, which by my best efforts I could not stop. Then I went to bed, one of my last moments of peace, even though there was no warmth to be had. The next morning I woke up, against the blaring noise of my alarm clock. Work? No, much too cold. I put my hand on the dresser to turn the alarm clock when I felt it. Searing pain in my palm, my hand lurched off the dresser, bits of flesh ripping off. Cradling my hand under my armpit for warmth, I looked at the dresser. It was covered in a fine layer of frost. No, it wasn’t frost. It was too perfect. It was like….ice, like perfect ice. No cracks, no imperfections; completely perfect ice, nearly covering the entire dresser. Little bits of my skin and flesh were on the top, and a small amount of warm blood dripped from my palm. The warmth made me shiver, I had been so used to the cold of my house. Obviously I was disturbed. I don’t remember spilling a glass of water…no, definitely I hadn’t. I walked out of my room and went to check outside, maybe I could casually talk to one of my neighbors of the cold. Who was I kidding, they would probably throw their gardening item of choice at me and walk inside. Still, I needed to know why it was so cold. I placed my hand on the knob and jumped back. Frozen. I grabbed my comforter and gripped the knob, twisting with all my might. Nothing, not a budge. I threw myself against the door, trying to force it open. Luckily, my poor run-down house had a pretty flimsy door. it flew open and I stumbled outside.
Then I realized I couldn’t move.
My right shoe, the only shoe touching the sidewalk, was frozen to the ground. I could hear the sound of the ice forming the outline of my footprint along the ground. Alarmed, I pulled with all my might, barely ripping my foot free, and fell back inside. There was no wind, and yet the outside brought ghastly cold into my home, even the icy temperature of my house was better than the feeling of cold death outside. I stood up and slammed the door shut, leaving my shoe.
That was the last time I ever went outside.
Since then, everyday has been constant torment. The cold…my god its unbearable. Everyday a little bit more of my home is covered with that perfect ice…less and less of my few commodities can I use. My bed froze solid 2 days ago. Ive resorted to sleeping in the corner of my living room, but soon that wore thin, as my TV, couch, and walls were covered in ice. I didn’t eat for the first few days, terrified. Soon though, I realized I needed nourishment and ran to my fridge. I opened, and felt like a complete moron. How could I any of my food be edible? A fridge storing food at cold temperatures…in a home well below 0 Degrees. Smart. The food, fruits, meats, cheeses, about all I had left were covered in at least in inch of that clear, perfect ice. Almost like glass containers. I would spend hours chipping away at it, then stuffing the remains in my mouth, hoping I could survive just a little longer on the scraps.
Yesterday, my entire upstairs become covered in the ice. I can’t even reach my fridge, much less my door. I gave hope on human contact days ago. In the basement I fled, knowing I couldn’t avoid it anymore.
And finally, we’ve come to today. It’s coating the stairs, and the walls around me are closing in with the ice. I stopped shivering long ago, even my body realized that it’s over, my body systems and organs shutting down one by one. So here I am; trapped in the last bit of my home, my world, not covered in that perfect killer. I’m huddled into the fetal position, retelling this story again and again to myself. The ice is now literally just a few inches away. Huh. I never thought about it, but I’ve never actually watched the ice grow. It’s just covering more space every time I check. I look down and see the ice at my toes. Clever, while I was busy thinking of the ice never moving, it moves.
I’m fading in and out of consciousness, and every time I awake, I slip more and more into the cold embrace of death. Hah. I laugh mildly in my head at my ironic statement. My legs are now enveloped in the ice. At least there is no more running, no more trying to survive. I’m trying to smile but the muscles in my face won’t respond. The ice is now over my stomach and around my arms. I take solace in the fact that my eyes, and more so my mind will be the last to go. Oh, now it’s up to my chin. With the final movements of my eyes, I glance around at my glass coffin. So this is how it ends. My eyes fall back, looking straight ahead. No longer do I feel anything, the ice must be everywhere now.
I’m suddenly remembering the time I sent a kid to the hospital in a 2 week coma.
I pray to god that this is enough for St. Peter to reject my application into Heaven.
I hear Hell is much warmer.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:27:14 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:27:14 GMT 10
Focus
Did you ever see one of those videos where you are asked to look for, or follow a specific thing through out the video? Then, at the end, they reveal that as were watching, something large and intrusive moved around in plain sight and you never even noticed it. Its frightening how often that happens, like how I just moved from the doorway into your room as you read this.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:29:12 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:29:12 GMT 10
Get Help
GET HELP.
You start noticing those words when you’re going about your day-to-day business - just flipping through the classifieds, or posted on telephones near bridges. Normal places. Just words that seem to be catching your eye. Then they start appearing more randomly: the first seven tiles you pick in Scrabble, the first spoonful of alphabet soup, even those stupid spams sent by strangers. You even check a few of them, but they all end up being for the same old pills and promises.
Now it’s getting so everything you read has those words crop up - close-captioned TV shows, book titles, CDs, bus schedules, menus, everywhere. It’s distracting, very very distracting, it’s so very hard to concentrate when words squiggle out of the corner of your eye, when the keyboard’s no longer qwerty but gethelpgethelpgethelp.
The delusion’s taking its toll. Who needs help? Who’s sending you this message? Why you? How can you help someone who you don’t even know? You’re trying to type an email to a friend. It’s very hard to do. The letters keep swimming and you add an apology in the email, just in case your writing’s garbled. You finally hit send.
You wake up.
You’re in the hospital. Your friend is sitting beside you. I was so worried, he says. When you sent that email. GET HELP GET HELP GET HELP, over and over. I came over and found you on the floor. They had to do surgery. Do you know what they found? A second brain. Tiny but fully formed, growing in your head. It was blocking an artery. You’re lucky to be alive.
But you aren’t really listening to your friend any more. You’re staring at a fire escape diagram near your bed. It doesn’t say anything about fire safety at all.
FINALLY, it says. IT WAS GETTING CROWDED IN THERE.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:30:48 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:30:48 GMT 10
I Used To Be Fearless
I used to be fearless.
Horror movies never really scared me. Scary books had no effect. Haunted houses are meaningless. I was never a child who slept with the covers over their face, or with a night light. As a little girl, I never felt the need to crawl into bed with my mother after having a nightmare. I never really had nightmares to begin with, and the few that I did, most would never consider a nightmare at all.
I’ve simply never been afraid of what goes bump in the night. Our home security system kept away fears of very real humans with dark intentions, as did our rottweiler, aptly named Killer. As for threats outside the home, well, who could be afraid in a nice, white, upper class community? I’ve lived in a bland bubble all my life, never knowing what fear is.
So why should I ever be afraid of the dark?
Up until this moment, I haven’t been. I saw it as childish and illogical. Of course, I don’t feel that way anymore. I’m writing this to you now as a warning because it’s too late for me. I know that now, and it’s brought on a surreal sort of calm…When I finish warning you, it will be all over. So forgive me if I’m being long-winded…I enjoyed life a bit more than I was once willing to admit.
It all started with what I thought was a virus. I had been linked to a video called “Girls and Boys Come Out to Play.” It sounded harmless enough. I thought it was an art student’s film, perhaps. The person who had linked the video promised it was very good. Well worth watching.
I can’t remember the video. All I can remember is the feeling it brought up. It wasn’t fear, but it was close. I was uncomfortable. I was unnerved. I was also vaguely ill.
From then on, things only got worse. The background on my computer had changed to a picture of a disturbed looking young woman who stared at me from a black abyss. Every now and then, and growing more frequent by the day, strange noises would emit from my computer, even when the sound wasn’t on. Screaming, strange laughter, grinding noises…
At the time, I was annoyed; the fear hadn’t settled in quite yet. Then, the faces started popping up, like those ridiculous ’screamers’ that scared my friends in high school. Yet these were different. They looked real. They were the faces of the dead; and they had died violent deaths.
I wish I could say that I stopped using the computer, but I couldn’t. My job requires me to use my computer frequently. What was I to do? I had no other computer available to me.
I tried to take it in to have the virus removed, but no one could help me. They said there wasn’t a virus. They said the computer was fine.
Meanwhile, it got worse. The faces weren’t just popping up; they would stay. And with those horrible, rotted eyes, they would hold my gaze. I couldn’t look away from them and their terrible, mocking grins. And oh, God…the smell. My computer forever had a vague stench of death around it.
I thought I was going crazy. I thought that perhaps someone was messing with me. The people at the computer repair place didn’t know what they were talking about. Something was wrong, but I knew that it had to be something very real that just had to be fixed.
So I got a new computer. Everything was fine for a while, but then it all came back, and in full force. Now there were voices. Now there was screaming. Now, the rotted faces showed their stinking bodies. I could see every maggot, every fly, every pus-filled crevice…And they were calling to me. Telling me that soon, very soon, I’d be joining them. They were so angry that I had tried to get rid of them, and now they would make me pay.
I didn’t know what to do. Ignoring the problem wasn’t working. I thought maybe it was the fault of a friend from work. Perhaps it came from the emails they had been sending me? I never thought it was the video. Not for a second. After all, that just wasn’t logical.
I was at the end of my rope. Today, I unplugged the computer and began packing. I would go on vacation, clear my head, and pray that everything would be back to normal.
A few minutes ago, I realized it would not. The power went out, and for the first time in my life, I felt true fear. I had no idea that in a few moments, it would become mind-numbing.
I stumbled through the house, looking for a flashlight, when I saw that something was still giving off light.
The computer.
The unplugged computer was on, and the woman in the background was moving. Beckoning me over.
I couldn’t help myself. I sat down across from her with the darkness caving in all around me. And then the woman, like all of the other images I’ve seen before, began to rot away. The whole scene rotted away, and then the screen went black. And without light, without a means of seeing my reflection, I saw her behind me for the briefest of moments, a bloody and rusted knife in hand. The computer came back to life, and my old background had returned.
But I know it’s not over.
So I’ve decided to come here. I know you all like to be scared, right? Well, take it from someone who has only very recently known fear: it’s not always worth it, and not everything is fun and games.
Of course, you probably wont believe me. Why should you?
The thing is…I haven’t been completely honest with you. There was no video. It was a story. A story quite similar to this one, though with subtle plot differences and perhaps better story telling. I know all of you like stories that might give you a good scare. That’s probably why you started reading mine.
Now that you’ve read this, you’ll share my fate. I know it’s cruel, and perhaps unfair, but it has to be done. I just hope that you can take comfort in knowing that when I’m the woman haunting your computer, I’ll be a bit more gentle. If I can, I’ll use a blade that’s a little less dull. Pictures of those who came before us who are a little less grotesque. Sounds that are a little less alarming.
But then again, you DO like to be scared, right?
Don’t worry. I wont ask you to repost this story five times. Nothing will save you. After all, nothing could save me.
The power is still out. And I know, behind me, the woman is waiting for me. I’ll see you very soon.
Goodbye for now.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:36:42 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:36:42 GMT 10
The Man Who Lives Above You
The man who lives above you is the quiet type. How lucky you are to live in an apartment underneath someone so courteous! It seems he never drops anything, seeing as how you never hear any loud thumps coming from the rooms above yours. He is even kind enough to keep the volume on his radio and TV too low to disrupt you. Come to think of it, had you not seen and spoken to him, you would think no one lived up there. Quite a big change from living below a batch of rowdy teens.
He is terribly kind as well. Within the first week of you living there, he invites you up to dinner and offers his services as a plumber in case you have any leaky faucets. The maintenance crew at this complex is awfully incompetent. You can’t have it all, I suppose.
He didn’t even get offended when you told him you were far too busy and didn’t know him well enough to dine with him. He simply smiled, gave you his number, and let you know the offer stood as long as you lived below him.
One night, you decide to take him up on his offer, seeing as how you’re tired of the Hot Pockets your busy schedule allows. You call, uncertain about whether or not he is home due to the utter silence from above, and he answers and invites you to join him upstairs; he has made far too much chicken piccata to eat himself.
You climb the stairs and enter his apartment. It’s impeccable. You’ve already managed to spill some Coke Zero on your carpet. In his six years living there, he has left no stains. Dinner smells delightful. He already has a place set for you, almost as if he was expecting you sooner. Astounded by his kindness, you seat yourself and begin eating.
Almost immediately, you feel a bit drowsy. Overworked, perhaps? He smiles and watches your muscles slowly fail you, the sauce dribbling out of the mouth you can’t hold closed. You start to slide from your chair, you can almost feel the floor meeting your body, but no. He catches you. No sound is made. He carries you down the hall, ever so quietly. You’re growing too unconscious to worry, so rest assured, no one will hear a thing; you won’t even hit the floor.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:39:42 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:39:42 GMT 10
La Muerta Blanca
I am currently sitting in front of my computer, scared witless. Any moment now I am going to be killed.
Today a friend of mine told me a story.
His aunt had taken care of him since he was a small boy, and she told him last night about how his parents died. He did a very fair imitation of her (I knew them both pretty well):
“They were doing mission work in some nasty little South American country when a man burst into the mission hospital one night, terrified out of his mind. He told them that his sister had been killed by a Muerta blanca, and that he was certain that it was coming for him next. What is a Muerta blanca? Apparently it was some sort of bogey-man, something like that dumb chupacabra or whatever. They called it the White Death or the White Girl, because it was the soul of someone who hated life so much that they came back in their shrouds to kill those who told of them.
The man had been told about the vengeful spirit by his sister hours before her death. It was a girl with dead, black eyes that wept bile. The thing moved without ever actually moving its legs, and it stalked its victims back to their homes. Now, if you weren’t already aware that this thing was following you, once it got back to your house, it would start knocking on your door…
Once for your skin, which she’ll use to patch her own decaying flesh.
Twice for your muscle, which she’ll gnash her teeth on between victims.
Thrice for your bones, which she’ll make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victims.
Four times for your heart, which she’ll wear around her neck.
Five times for your teeth, which she’ll polish and keep in a box.
Six times for your eyes, which she’ll see the faces of your loved ones through.
Seven times for your soul, which she’ll eat whole - you can never pass while you’re in her stomach.
She has to repeat this on any mirror or door between you and her.
You can try to outrun her, but she’s faster than the fastest man. And if you leave your home while she’s knocking on your door, she won’t be so courteous when she catches up to you.
Now the man was certain that this thing had killed his sister, that he had tried to tell the police, but they would not listen. Next he had tried to tell his priest, but the priest turned him away when he saw that the thing was following him now - oh, that’s right, I forgot about that - it can only get you if you tell someone else about it, or you saw it kill someone else. The man, after finishing his tale, stole a car from the mission, and was never seen again.”
Apparently his mother and father had immediately called his aunt about this when it happened. They were found in the morning, skinned and dismembered. Their bodies were covered in tiny, child-like handprints.”
His aunt was really drunk the night before, and had told him about that. He told me this story early in the morning today at school, before the cops arrived. His aunt had been murdered that night. I called him later that night, and he told me that he was being chased by someone, and now they were knocking on his door. I told him to stop shitting me.
He held the phone away from his face for a minute, and I could hear slow, deliberate knocking. A moment later, I heard the door rip from its hinges and the dying screams of my friend.
Then a little girl’s voice spoke over the line: “WITNESS.” I hung up.
Three minutes ago someone started knocking on my door. She has to knock 28 times on my front door, 28 times on the mirror in the hall, and another 28 times on the door to my bedroom. She’s doing it slowly… I think she wants to scare me some more, let me know that my death is just moments away. I will not run - I couldn’t get to my car in time anyway. She started knocking on my bedroom door a minute ago, she should be done any moment.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:42:27 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:42:27 GMT 10
I Am Sam
I am Sam.
I have reached the gates of Hell. I entered without fear. I met the Lord of All Evil, and we made a deal. I got back to Earth, with a task.
I have to kill 665 people before I die. If I do so, I will spend eternity as a Demon King in Hell, with my own Legion to command. Of course, I’m very delighted by that perspective…
There is one condition, though: I cannot just kill random people. There is a trigger: if they hear one simple incantation involving my name, they are eligible to be my target. I managed to make my job easier, putting this spell into a book, a famous one, so that many people will probably hear it. I am very smart, indeed.
So, after you hear the deadly sentence, I will know you. And, when you are least expecting, you’ll see my shadow out the corner of your eyes. And when you turn your head to see what that was… it will be too late.
I will be waiting untill you hear my name again.
Sam I am.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:47:06 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:47:06 GMT 10
The Boogey-Man
When you come home from your night out, you are going to find that your house is just the same as it always has been. It will be bright; well illuminated by the light bulbs you leave on in the living room and kitchen whenever you know that you will be out after dark. Your expensive furniture, from all your favorite designer stores, will still be in place. Upstairs, your computer’s fan will be humming because you’ve forgotten to turn it off. That’s something I know you do quite often, even though you try not to.
Kind of strange. You leave the lights on, but you try to keep your computer off. Don’t you know that wastes just as much power? It’s not going to keep the ‘boogey man’ out. Not the real boogey man. Not me.
You’ll take your jacket off and hang it on the hook next to your doorway. Your wife’s hook will stay empty, though. Don’t act like I don’t know, John. You’re acting like everything’s normal, but you know that it’s not. You were out tonight because you wanted to drink your problems away. Even if you were at a bar tonight, you won’t be tomorrow, and you’ll still be drinking. You’re quickly becoming an alcoholic, and it’s because you can’t accept the truth. Your wife isn’t going to be coming back. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. She left you, and I can’t blame her.
But, hey, I’m not complaining. It only makes it that much easier for me. I knew that I could lead her away from you by handing her those photographs of you in bed with that cheap whore from Middleton; I didn’t know that you would become inebriated, too. You won’t put up as much of a struggle as you might have before.
Tonight, after you take a quick shower trying to sober up, you’re going to sit down on the couch. I know you better than you know yourself, John. You’re probably going to try to call your wife, too, where she’s staying with her sister. After your call last night, though, she’s had her number changed. You probably don’t remember, but you threatened to kill her with a broken liquor bottle. That definitely ruined any chance you ever had of getting your wife back.
After you finish crying over the phone, you’re going to pass out on the sofa. That’s when I’m going to strike. I’m going to take you, John, and I’m going to drag you away and drive you, in the back of your own car, to a place down by the river side. I have some friends I want you to meet there. You probably don’t know them, but they know you, and they’re going to be eager to get acquainted. You see, there are some people who want to be you. They want your money, they want your life, they want each and every one of your credit cards.
And it’s a lot easier for them to take all of that away from you if you have no one, if you know no one, and, oh yes, if you are dead.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:48:34 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:48:34 GMT 10
The Closest Enemy
Some murderers see their work as an art form. If their piece is a success, they will continue on with their life, outside of jail. However, with the limited capability of understanding humans possess, combined with their narrow mindedness, the true secret of a killer can go entirely missed.
The following is a video log of young man recording his last moments. It spends its time quietly residing in a dark, silent evidence room, calling out to whoever may hear its cry. Upon deaf ears will its shrill screams always fall.
The video starts off recording the youth adjusting his camera. His room is entirely dark, not a single spec of light to be found. The camera records in night vision as the man looks directly into the lens and begins speaking.
“Hello. My name is…” The voice pauses for a moment, deciding how he should start off. “Ugh. No, I’m not beginning it like this. It sounds too much like I’m recording my last words. That isn’t what I want this to be. Instead, I’ll just get straight to the explanation. I’ll describe to you the hell that has been nipping at me for god only knows how long now. It started the night of my 18th birthday. January’s cold held reign over our outside activities. It was just a small party, if you could even call it that. A few presents from my family, cake, the norm. All irrelevant. It was that night, as I was lying in bed, my lights out with my TV providing the only light for the room, that my story begins. My curtains and blinds were closed, which gave the room a nice ominous feel at the time. I liked that sorta thing back then.”
The man takes a slow breath, looking away from the camera for the first time. His focus returns after a brief moment and once more he begins reciting his story.
“Right. Back to what I was saying. My TV was in front of me, and the light it gave out cast a shadow on the wall beside me. I was a bit bored, so I decided to entertain myself by interacting with the two dimensional doppelganger of myself. My hand traced along the wall, as if I was playing a game of tag with my shadow’s hand, which seemed to be trying to flee from me, going out in front of me. That was the first sign, but I didn’t notice it. I should’ve been more aware.”
A brief pause accompanied by a stressed exhale and quick inhale. His expressions seemed to show that he was trying to think.
“After that, I’m sure there were more signs, I’m positive. They were probably just too subtle for me to notice. By the time I did notice something wrong, it might as well have been written in big bold letters in front of me. It was later on in the day, and I was in the kitchen of our house by myself. It was mildly lit. Just enough to see where you’re going with out needing the aid of a light. I got some snack out of a cabinet, but knocked over a box onto the ground in the process. No big deal. I bent over to pick it up, and noticed the presence of my shadow. It immediately struck me as awkward. There was no light in here to cast a shadow. I put the box and my snack on a nearby counter without letting my eyes leave my shadow. If they were deceiving me, I wanted to know right away. My interest in the paranormal may have made me a bit paranoid, but I knew that the tenseness I was feeling now wasn’t unwarranted. I took a step towards the room’s exit, and of course my shadow mimicked me. I raised my left arm, as if tempting him to continue mirroring what I was doing. He raised his left arm. Then he raised his right arm. Mine was still at my side. My skin crawled like a trillion tiny little bugs were trying to make their way out from under it. Then in one swift movement his hands wrapped around his neck, and I was the one who felt its effects. My throat was pained and my breathing stopped. I struggled frantically, but against what? My attacker was my own shadow. I don’t remember what happened after that. Only what I was told by my family when I woke up. My blood was on the corner of one of the cabinet doors I had left open. Apparently I knocked myself good and passed out on the floor. Back then, I was happy to believe that’s what really happened. After all, this kind of stuff only happens in stories.”
Once more he collects himself from the rough memories with a deep breath of air.
“After that, I was always suspicious of the me that didn’t talk, that didn’t have any facial expressions, that would never confess to what he did to me. But what I had thought happened had a perfectly logical explanation. I couldn’t doubt it. Instead, I carried on, always holding that distrust in the back of my mind. But he didn’t assault me again. Though several times I noticed things that just couldn’t have really happened. I’d brush my teeth with my right hand, he’d use his left. I’d scratch my back, he’d scratch his head. I’m sure he was just taunting me. Probably the same reason he let me live the first time he attacked me. For fun, no doubt.”
There is a creak off to the man’s left, which catches his attention. He stares at the origin of the sound intently for a moment before returning to his monologue.
“The next attack… I’m betting this one was planned to finish me off. Once again I was in the kitchen, home alone for the time. I had an apple on a plate, and I grabbed a steak knife from its group. Not entirely necessary for cutting an apple, but it was in easy reach. Only half way through grabbing the knife did I realize that when I had it, so did my shadow, my enemy. Stunned by my lack of thinking, I dropped the knife. As I feared, my shadow did not repeat this action. If he had a face, I’m sure it would have been filled by a crooked and malevolent smile. I whispered “No.” as best as I could. My voice was barely more than a whisper but I doubt it made any bit of a difference. My silhouette raised the knife, and then brought it down in one swift, uncaring motion. The result was a jet of blood from my arm and a surge of pain that reverberated several times through out my body. But on instinct I turned around and ran. I didn’t know where, and I didn’t know why. I couldn’t out run him. Another stab. This one brought me to my knees. The nearest room was the bathroom. I dragged myself across the carpet, slowly into the room, and shut the door behind me. There was no window to the outside, which made the room completely dark. I waited for him to return, I was expecting to be ended by something that was essentially me. Hours went by and nothing happened. That’s when I learned how to defeat him. He can’t exist in total darkness. He becomes nothing.”
The young man looked around his surroundings, devoid of any light, and then back to the camera.
“And that’s why I’m here now. I couldn’t do this at home. If I tried to explain, I would’ve been sent out to an asylum. I had to run away. I suppose he let me get this far as a sort of show sportsmanship. Twisted. Doesn’t matter, really. So long as I’m in this chamber of darkness, I’m safe. That’s all that matters for now. Although I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll be trapped in here. What do I do when I run out of food? What do I do-“
The sound of cars pulling up and parking outside stop the young man midsentence.
“Taylor? Taylor are you in there? Please, Taylor, say something!” A voice yelled just outside the door, and the young man’s previous moderately calm demeanor has changed to one of panic.
“Go away! Just go! I don’t want you here, go away damn it!” He screamed back. His voice was so angered that the woman on the other side was silent for a minute.
“Taylor, we’re coming in honey. It’s for your own good.”
There was a smash against the door. Then another, followed by a soft spoken “No…” from the young man. The third crash brought the door down with a tremendous thud. Light from outside flooded the room, and almost immediately the man was knocked to the ground by some invisible force. In the struggle, the camera is tipped backwards and only records the sounds of Taylor struggling for breath as his mother and the accompanying police officer try to help him in some manner, without avail.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:49:14 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:49:14 GMT 10
Heat Stroke
You’re just sitting there, trying to fan yourself off from the heat as you wait for you mother to come back from inside the shop. By chance, perhaps, you glance over to your left where another car is parked, empty and probably even more sweltering than your own. You roll up the windows and turn the key your mom left in case it got too hot. As the whoosh of cool air hit you in the face, you hear a strange sound, almost a knock on your window. You don’t look, thinking it impossible, because there was nobody there a second ago.
But soon, there is a movement out of the corner of your eye. You whip your head around, but there is nothing. All you can see if the interior of the car next to you, and a few odd buildings, all closed for the day. You chalk it up to the heat, one of those wisps you see on hot blacktop on days like today. You move to change the radio station when you see it again, almost a face, sitting in the back of the car next to you. But as soon as you turn to see it clearly, it vanishes.
You find you can do this every time, turn away and see the face, and have it disappear when you turn at it directly. You sit, staring out the windshield, but secretly paying attention the the car out of the corner of your left eye. The figure is hooded, tan, and more gaunt than any human you have ever seen. It seems to be laughing, almost, as his body blurs in and out of your already struggling focus.
Your concentration is pulled away only when your mom returns with her grocery bags, turning down the air conditioner and putting the car in drive. You press your face against your window, desperate for one last look before you drive away. But not to worry, for the first time, you can see him without using only your peripheral vision, his massive eyes and overgrown mouth twisted into a grin as the creature waved goodbye.
You turn back to the front, sweating and shaking uncontrollably. At that moment you know, you have not seen the last of that wicked being.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:50:55 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:50:55 GMT 10
Subterra
The trio of city workers stood six stories below the surface. Amidst the ancient network of iron, cement, and stone, they monitored the array of sensors and scanners that bedecked their protective suits. Traipsing through the dread stillness, they entered a chamber strewn with bones, debris, and long-since rotted organic matter. As the beams of their headlamps played across the rusted bolts and water-stained fixtures, they came to rest on a panoply of strange creatures attached to the walls.
They seemed like large, shelled insects the size of box turtles. From the bottom of the spiky domes protruded long, thorned tails that tick-tocked back and forth in the eerie silence. Agreeing that this was the source of the anomalies detected by the metropolis above, they decided to report back after a quick look at the blood-and-rust colored bugs.
The radio man fell to his knees complaining of a sudden migraine. The navigator, dropping his equipment, screamed that his teeth and bones were burning. The analyst, his legs buckling, consulted his equipment with failing strength.
His last coherent thought was a disturbing realization… “…They’re microwaving us!…”
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:51:52 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:51:52 GMT 10
Headphones
I can tell, how you’re staring there at this screen, finding some enjoyment. You need anything, just anything to keep you awake and entertained. It’s late, you’re dead tired, but you want to use up every moment. I know how it is. This happens to me, too.
Are the sounds on your computer too loud? Don’t want to wake your folks? Don’t want to get complaints from neighbors, even? Whatever, not a problem. Lower the volume on your speakers. Now that doesn’t really work for you. Instead grab some headphones. You walk through the dark with that slight paranoia, the old childhood fear of the dark. It never really goes away, but it’s all in your head, and you know that. You find your room, you dig through your drawers and your junk to feel for some wires. Ah! There they are. Time to head back to the computer.
Drop them on your computer desk, and go grab a drink of water. Come back and sit down comfortably. Throw on your headphones. You hear a dark ambient sound in the background. A liquid dripping sound, even some metallic grinding there, too. Is it from outside? You take off the headphones, and suddenly, the sound goes away. You think for a moment, suspicious and even frightened. You slide the headphones back on. There it is again. There’s some high-pitched frequency you hear as well. You rip them back off, thinking this is just a joke. It’s gone again. You slide them back on and turn the volume on your speakers all the way down, you even break off the switch trying to make the sound disappear. But it remains.
But then suddenly you notice something. Something you feel stupid for not noticing before. Your headphones aren’t even plugged in. But wait. The wire, it’s dangling straight out, stretching into the darkness elsewhere. You try to pull it towards you, but nothing. You must’ve gotten it stuck on something, you think. But when was I even over in that area? You walk blindly into the darkness, using the wire as a guide through. The wire is longer than you once remembered, much longer than how you remember. “What the hell is this?” you say in your head. The further you go, you finally feel something on the wire. It’s a heavy, gooey, mucky liquid-solid matter. You pick up your hand and bring it close to your face to see what the substance is. It’s dark, and it glistens off the glow of your computer screen, which is now a lot farther away from you than it should be. You glance at your computer’s set-up, and back at your hand.
But in that quick glance at your computer set-up, you noticed something. You saw something there, standing there and staring at the dark and dull light radiating off of your computer monitor. Not only did you see something, but you heard something as well. A heavy, gooey, mucky dripping sound.
You look back at your computer set-up, as the tall, man-like figure there glistens in the light.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 6:56:32 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 6:56:32 GMT 10
The Antiguan Giant
I used to go diving a lot. Not so much anymore, but a couple years ago I was really into it, had my license and everything. It’s really beautiful down there: the pale patterned sand, the water washing away the distance like a blue mist, and flashes of the brightest colors you’ve ever seen as some fish darts into view. I’ve done my share of exploring wrecks and grottoes, but my favorite thing to do is hover right where the shelf plunges into the deep. You get the greatest dynamics there as deep-sea creatures come up to feed.
Anyway, one time I was drifting along near Antigua about 40 feet down. I had two tanks with me so I could stay down for several hours. The shelf sloped off to my left and rocks and coral broke the monotony of the sand to my right. I hadn’t seen much that day and was getting a bit bored, but then I noticed a large octopus. It was a deep-sea type, probably washed up accidentally (they don’t usually come up to hunt). It seemed sluggish and didn’t react much when I drifted over to it.
Now, octopuses aren’t very friendly creatures; if you manage to get near one they usually flee within seconds. I’m sure you’ve seen videos of them changing colors to match their environment. Not all species can do that, but they’re all very good at hiding. So seeing a deep-sea octopus up close was quite an opportunity. It was about a foot from crown to beak and dark mottled green. Its tentacles curled around it, perhaps four feet long when extended and pale on the underside. Its eyes looked like golden rings around narrowed black pupils. It was having trouble moving and looked half dead.
I decided to try to get near it. There were some yellowtail jacks nearby and I speared one with my knife. Sorry if that offends you, I’m not one of those “touch nothing” divers. Cautiously I approached the octopus and offered it my fish, shoving it out ahead of me and letting it drift toward the creature. Success! It didn’t run, but lazily reached an arm out to capture the morsel. It brought it under its beak and began to devour it. I drifted closer, trying to acclimate it to my presence.
Over maybe half an hour or so it became more lively and used to my presence. Apparently I had bought its tolerance with my offering, and it even began to play a little bit, darting away from me and then back. I had a stick with me that I used to test holes and mud and such, and it occurred to me that maybe I could teach it to play fetch. I brought the stick out and waved it until it seemed like I had its attention, and then threw the stick out sideways. It didn’t go very far underwater, of course, but the octopus went after it and grabbed hold with its tentacles. It didn’t seem inclined to return to me, though, so I swam closer. It was waving the stick at me, and then it tossed it out to the side. It was copying me!
I retrieved the stick and then an interesting idea came into my head. Next to us was a large flat rock covered in half an inch of mud and detritus. Careful not to disturb the layers, I took the stick and slowly drew a crude figure of a man: two legs, two arms, and a round head coming off a central cylinder. The octopus seemed to be watching with interest. I tossed it the stick and it caught it easily. It sat there toying with it, and for a few moments I thought my expectations had been too high. But then it reached out with the stick and began tracing its own mark in the mud. It was even cruder than mine, to be sure, but clearly drawing. However, the proportions were all wrong. It had fused the head and the body into one ball, and there were too many legs. I was just happy it was copying me; I’d heard octopuses were smart, but this was really something. But then, it hit my like a freezing wave: the octopus wasn’t copying my drawing, it was drawing itself!
The implications for this were huge. If I’d had a video camera then, I would be a famous man today. The only other animal I’m aware of that’s capable of the imagination and self-awareness to do something like that is the ape, first cousin to humans. That the ancient octopus, without so much as a spinal column, had the mental capacity for such a feat would surely have turned biology on its head. However, I didn’t have a camera, and the scientists I’ve told my story to greet it with understandable skepticism. I would put all my time into trying to prove it myself, but I just can’t bring myself to go diving any more.
Anyway, once that realization struck, I got excited. The octopus passed the stick back and I began drawing other sea creatures and common sights. We kept on for maybe an hour, and the octopus contributed as much as I. It even drew something I took to be a crude figure of a submarine, with a con tower, propeller screw, and even torpedo holes. Finally, the octopus led me to the other side of the rock, a blank canvas. Far down in the corner, it again drew itself and then me. These figures were very small, maybe an inch or two tall. Then, painstakingly, it went to work on a much larger drawing. At first, I thought it was a whale, but whales are roughly of a size with submarines, so it didn’t seem to justify the scale. Furthermore, the proportions were all wrong: this seemed like something more humped and compact, almost as if it were upright rather than aqualine. And it had weird bits sticking out of out that didn’t seem like fins. I couldn’t place it. An oil platform, maybe? No, the lines were too natural, and an octopus wouldn’t know what the top of a platform looks like.
When the drawing was done, we both sat and looked at it for a while. I took the stick back from the octopus and circled the drawing of us, and then drew a line to the thing. I’m not sure if the octopus picked up on my confusion, because it just sort of sat there for a while. It didn’t try to take the stick back. Then it started swimming away. I followed it at a distance. It seemed to be keeping a pace, leading me on. Then it turned and shot out into the deep area off the shelf. I was a good way through my second tank and wasn’t supposed to go any deeper, so I had to let it go. It stopped once to watch me, and then darted off, dissolving into the dark blue depths. I looked after it for a few minutes to see if it would return, but there was nothing, so I started watching the other fish and making my way slowly back to the boat.
Then, suddenly, there was a low thrumming sound all around me. It wasn’t very loud, but it was *big*, as if it came from the ocean floor itself. I’ve heard of underwater eruptions, but I’ve never been in one, and I wondered if I was about to be. But this didn’t sound like anything natural. It sounded like the call of some animal, slowed down into the virtually sub-sonic range and projected from huge speakers very far away. I’ve had a chance to look over the seismograph recordings for that day, and nothing shows up at that time for that frequency. I have no idea why. The fish were going crazy, darting back and forth and all heading inland. And not just the reef fish, larger ones from deeper in were streaming by me even faster. Suddenly, among them, the octopus appeared again. It or one quite like it. It swam up to me and eyed me strangely, then darted past with the rest. The thrumming sounded again.
Looking out to sea, I gradually became aware of a large dark patch. It was very hard to tell how big or far away it was, but there was plenty of both to go around. It was hard to tell more than just a shadow in the murky water, but it clearly wasn’t a whale or anything man-made. I couldn’t even tell if it was a single creature; there seemed to be long strands like kelp or jellyfish tentacles streaming off it, but immeasurally larger. It looked like nothing so much as an ancient, misshapen section of coral reef broke off and floating. At least the part I could see; it seemed to fade off into the distance as though that mass, immense as it may be, was only a limb to some far larger entity. I’ve never seen a naval carrier from underwater, but I imagine that’s the kind of shadow it would cast.
The thrumming rang out a third time. An unreasoning fear seized me. I didn’t appear to be in danger: though the thing was vaster than anything I’d ever seen, it was too far away to reach me quickly, and it seemed like it wouldn’t fit into the shallows, anyway. Nevertheless, I was gripped by the feeling that if I didn’t get away as fast as I could, I would be dragged down into the abyss and consumed. I could feel the very water itself drawing me down into that black maw. Heedless of the depth or my equipment, I surged upwards. As I rose, of course, I began cramping, but I clawed my way up anyway. I was still far from the boat. When I broke the surface I could barely move; I had to keep my mouthpiece in because I couldn’t keep my mouth above water. I certainly couldn’t call or signal the boat. Far from receding, my panic was worse than ever; from above the water I couldn’t see the thing or tell whether it was coming for me. I thrashed my slow, painful way toward the boat. Finally someone on board noticed my and they came to pick me up. I had the bends bad, and had to stay in a hospital for a few weeks until I was over it. The doctors tell me I was lucky not to get a stroke or some other permanent damage.
So, that’s my story. I’m sorry I can’t give a more satisfying conclusion; I still don’t know myself what I experienced. My friends think it was some form of rapture, but it just doesn’t match the symptoms; narcosis is supposed to reduce anxiety, not stimulate it. And my hallucinations, if that’s what they were, were too vivid and specific. Anyway, since then I’ve been afraid of the water. I tried going out once or twice, but all I can do is stay shaking in the boat. I think there really was something out there, and I don’t think it’s something I ever want to come across again.
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Creepy
Jun 10, 2009 7:06:07 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 10, 2009 7:06:07 GMT 10
The Drain Lady
My father was a military man. Retired back in ‘95 from the Navy after 20 years of proud service to our country. But before that, we moved often… every 3-4 years or thereabouts we’d pack up and get shipped somewhere new. Early 1989, a wonderful opportunity arose and dad took it. A 16 hour flight later, and we were stationed at N.A.S Sigonella, Sicily. I guess I was about, ohhh 10 or 11 at the time. Those years were blurred save those pinpricks of memory that still haunt me. That still plague my dreams from time to time.
Our first home there was an apartment in a complex called “Bellavista” far from the Naval base. There was a waiting list to move into Base Housing that generally ran for about a year and a half’s wait. Until your time to move, you had to live amongst the locals wherever you could. Bellavista was a beautiful place… we lived on the upper floor of the complex and had a wonderful view of the countryside off our back balcony. At night, one could look up at the night sky and see a thin trail of fiery red lava slowly ebbing from still active Mt. Etna. And in the morning, everything left out in the open was often found to be blanketed ever so slightly in volcanic ash, almost like a light dusting of snow.
But naturally, as perfectly nice as Bellavista was, it wasn’t meant for us for long. The lnadlord’s daughter was pregnant, engaged… and homeless. Guess who got the boot? So we moved, with the landlord’s assistance, into another home. Motta S. Anastasia, a little cobblestone-streeted town near Catania, and much closer to the Navy base. The day we drove up to the new place, I felt ill. Of course, nothing was thought of this at the time, but I’d swear in retrospect I was being told something. The place was a 3 story house with an apartment on each floor. I really don’t remember the neighbors, but both were similarly Navy families. And I can imagine I pissed them off a lot with the screaming.
Dad unlocked the door and proceeded into the small entryway. The cobblestone street gave way to a marbled floor entrance and a matching set of marble stairs up to the second floor, which was our new home. The place was stunningly beautiful. Marble floors… glass french doors into the living room area… balconies attached to nearly every room, save the one that was to be mine. Claw foot bathtub…bidet… all the modern conveniences expected of a home in Europe.
I walked into the room that was going to be mine. Small, simple, square and quite cold. To the left, at the end of the wall was a door covered with a “persiana.” Basically, a form of window blinds made from heavy horizontal flaps that was operated via a cloth strap attached to the wall. I pulled it up to see that the door was mostly glass and beyond it was a very small “room” lined with brick along the floor and walls. I opened the door and stepped into the room and looked up to discover the room extended all the way up through the third floor and up to a hole in the roof. There was no covering on the hole either… it went straight into open air. The shaft allowed a fair amount of light to shine into the only room in the house without a window in it, which I thought was pretty damn cool initially.
The chill seemed to come from the room, despite the glaring sun nearly directly overhead. It was then I heard the first whispers. Like… if you were to take a wire brush and softly rub the stiff bristles against your jeans. At the time, I attributed it to echoes off the brick… but I couldn’t help but feel weird about it. It wasn’t coming from any discernable direction or source… but it surrounded me like a blanket, as if sound could be tangible and touchable. It pressed in gently on my ears like pressure on an aircraft ascending or descending. I turned to leave and I noticed a glinting drain in the middle of the floor. It was obviously for rainwater to drain away but my nausea increased when I saw it. My stomach gnawed at itself as I ran out of there and I swear I saw the drain cover jiggle a bit on my way out. I lowered the persiana quickly and rejoined the family in the living room, shaking and sick as a dog.
Now granted… a little brick room was far from the norm for paranormal ghosty stuff. But try telling that to whatever was in there. Christ. For weeks and weeks, I’d get up the nerve to open the persiana in broad daylight and risk a peek… only to stumble back from the door sick as all hell to my stomach and trembling. I tried telling my parents of course… but an 11 year old’s ramblings about a scary brick room generally get chalked up to too many “Freddy” and “Jason” movies. The whisperings rarely stopped at night. They were persistent from the time I laid down until I finally forced myself into slumber. Often, I’d wake up in the middle of the night to silence, and then the whisperings would start up again, as if it was waiting to make sure I was awake.
There was never any real words to the whispering… just a hollow “ksssh sshhhaww hissssshhhhh haaahhh ooooshhhh aaashhhhh” that seemed to repeat, but never in the same cadence. There was no emotion behind it either that I can remember. It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t sad nor happy. Just there. Always fucking there.
One night, after about 2 months of this, I was awoken by a particularly horrifying dream. I seemed to start having those dreams after we moved in… I had never had constant nightmares prior. But I awoke from the dream with the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Immediately my eyes darted to the door… and saw that the persiana was up. Now, European goons with experience, back me up… Persianas are about the noisiest damn things to have in a house. They’re generally metal slats hooked in with metal hooks that grind and squeak loudly in protest as they’re pulled open. There was no way in hell that the persiana, which was always closed, could have been opened without waking up everyone in the house. But sure enough, it was open about 3/4 of the way up the damned door. A bit of moonlight reflected off the bricks in the shaft and into my room with a dull bluish tone. I lay there for hours, paralyzed in my bed, but unable to look away from the door, lest there be something there when I looked back. Eventually, I just conked out…
The next morning crept up finally and I was freed from my paralysis. I ran to the door amidst a wave of nausea and pulled the persiana shut as fast as I could. There was a light dusting of volcanic ash on the brick floor and I’d swear I could make out footprints or scuffing in it. Mom, still asleep at the time, yelled at me from across the hall after hearing the noise, but I couldn’t care less.
Over the course of the next 3 months, it was the same routine. The whisperings never faltered. The persiana would be found at least 2 to 3 times a week opened, and the blackness of the room would stare out at me in my bed. Then one night, it was different. I still have nightmares of this incident and it makes me cringe and want to curl up in a ball still whenever I conjure it up. I had awoken again in the midst of a terrible nightmare. And sure enough, the persiana was up, but this time it was all the way up. The moonlight was barely filtering in that night, but I’d swear I could make out something there in the room. It felt like I was at just the right angle for me to see whatever it was, and if I were to move the slightest bit, I’d lose sight of it. It was a small sphere that shimmered like a soap bubble does. But it was so faint I could barely make it out. I watched as it hovered there for the longest time. It began to shrink like some TVs used to do when you turned them off… shrink into a tiny dot of light.
But before it winked out, it flashed and expanded. It did so at an alarmingly fast rate and solidified into the form of a woman. She looked to be in her early to mid thirties, dark curly hair… definitely a local Sicilian. When she became “whole” and a solid image, she began shrieking and pounding on the glass doors with both fists. Her head swiveled wrong on her neck, shaking back and forth like if you put a teakettle on a stick and shook the stick around. Her eyes were completely black and full of anger and hatred… The skin around her mouth flapped loosely, giving me glimpses of her teeth and tongue and her hair was tossing around violently. Some sort of liquid oozed in small spurts from the corners of her mouth and flecks of whatever it was flew as she shrieked. Her screaming was horrific and nonsensical, and all I could do was scream back. My dad charged into the room to my bed, thinking I was having a nightmare. She shrank back from the door and… ugh. She slithered down the drain somehow. She twisted and distorted and I’d swear I could hear her bones splintering and cracking as she wound herself down into it. It was awful and to this day, dad says he’s never heard anyone scream so inhumanly before. I often ask him jokingly if he meant from me or her.
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Creepy
Jun 12, 2009 11:36:01 GMT 10
Post by Missing my friends already. :( on Jun 12, 2009 11:36:01 GMT 10
Nice
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Creepy
Jun 14, 2009 19:50:13 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 14, 2009 19:50:13 GMT 10
Those r the reasons it has taken my ages to write up more as i like to post lots at a time as it gives you more to read!
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Creepy
Jun 15, 2009 8:39:28 GMT 10
Post by Missing my friends already. :( on Jun 15, 2009 8:39:28 GMT 10
Still, they're good.
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Creepy
Jun 15, 2009 9:35:53 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 15, 2009 9:35:53 GMT 10
Thanks!
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Creepy
Jun 16, 2009 8:37:18 GMT 10
Post by Missing my friends already. :( on Jun 16, 2009 8:37:18 GMT 10
your welcome
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Creepy
Jun 23, 2009 7:44:49 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jun 23, 2009 7:44:49 GMT 10
I will have some after the holidays!
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Creepy
Jun 29, 2009 10:58:33 GMT 10
Post by Missing my friends already. :( on Jun 29, 2009 10:58:33 GMT 10
looking forward to it.
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Creepy
Jul 2, 2009 12:13:43 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Jul 2, 2009 12:13:43 GMT 10
Good!
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Creepy
Aug 17, 2009 16:47:27 GMT 10
Post by Whisper My Fairytale on Aug 17, 2009 16:47:27 GMT 10
Her Name
It wasn’t a big deal at first, you know? It was just another story online, one you’d read in the comments of a YouTube video, designed to scaring you into posting it on eight other videos. You know the kind, where you die a horrible death or your crush will reject you if you don’t spread the word? I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now it’s the only thing I can think about.
The comment started by saying that “she hasn’t left [the poster] alone in days” and “by reading this, she’ll come for you.” I don’t even remember the exact wording because it was late and I was tired and I’d seen a hundred other comments like it before.
I forgot all about it.
Until she started coming after me.
It started with little things. A flash in the corner of my vision, a strange shadow on the hallway floor. Then it got worse. I started to hear whispering when I was alone in the house, giggling, the sound of footsteps. I now know that she was teasing me. Sort of like how a cat will clamp its paw over a mouse’s tail and bat at it before it kills it.
Mirrors were the worst. She liked to stand just out of frame when I was brushing my hair, so when I shifted my head to get the other side, she would be there, standing next to the bookshelf, with her long, tangled hair, matted with blood, falling down her shoulders. And that grin.
Oh, God, that grin.
Her teeth were always bloody. I was never sure if it was her blood, or… I don’t even know.
Every night it seemed to get worse. I would see her on my way to class, in the rear view mirror of my car, dragging her talon-like fingernails across her own, rotting flesh as I stared in abject terror.
For a while I put it off to sleep deprivation. Finals, you know?
And then she came to me.
It was late, so late it was technically early. I couldn’t sleep because all I could hear was her giggling. I covered my face with the pillow and shut my eyes tight, when I felt something cold on my hand.
I was paralyzed with fear. It was sharp and it was cold and it was moving down my arm towards my elbow.
“Come out to play,” she said in that lilting, upsetting voice I’d heard one too many times before.
I screamed and sat up but she was gone. For the moment.
My biggest mistake was when I talked to her. I’d just stepped out of the shower and she was right there when I opened the curtains. I shrieked and stumbled back and she leaned down to me.
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you doing this?”
She told me why. It was because I knew something about her. That altercation ended with a serious head injury that landed me in the hospital.
That’s where I am now.
I can’t take this anymore. I’m just one person, it’s too much. I know what I have to do. I think I always knew.
God, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
Her name is Nora. She should be there soon.
Primal Fears
In the dark past before history began, humanity learned to fear. Huddled in the darkness on the plains of Africa, our earliest ancestors listened as lions stalked through the night around them. Deep in the caves of Europe, later men kept watch around their fires in the snowy winter, telling stories of horrors living hidden in the gloom outside. In the Middle East, just as the Sumerians began to scratch cuneiform on stone tablets, farmers sacrificed their livestock to demons they believed lived in the desert.
Over time, we’ve learned to control our fears. To take them down to size. The lions in Africa were held back by fences of barbed plants, then hunted down with guns to near extinction. The horrors in the snowy winter of Europe were cast aside by the retreat of the glaciers and by the flaming torch of human progress. The demons living in the sand lost their sacrifices as time went forward.
In the twenty first century, we have the internet, we have half-mile high buildings, we have networks of roads spanning continents and air traffic going around the world. We look to horror stories, thrill rides, and late night television gore-fests to satisfy our psychological need for fear here in the western world. It’s almost like fear is a toy for us now; we only know true fear a few times in our adult lives.
But all of those terrifying stories our ancestors told around fires? All of the things they saw when they looked out into the blizzards of the ancient past? They aren’t gone. Where the lights don’t reach, where the shadows dominate, they still live. They crawl in their eternal crypts, dreaming horrible, dark dreams as the ages pass them by. Outside of the range of cell phones, away from all the commercial flight paths and shipping lanes, where no one can see, they build their kingdoms. Underground, they feast on whatever crawls by them. Nightmarish masses of twisted flesh and muscle, dark even against the darkness, they wait.
Because one day, the lights are going to go out again, and they aren’t ever going to come back on.
Hope
A gentle breeze blew through the little valley, pushing the perfectly formed clouds leisurely across the sky. The tall, green grass echoed the movement in the sky above, swaying gently as the cool sunlight reached across to the distant horizon. Birds sang soothingly in a tree atop a slight hill, casting shade upon a lone figure.
He shifted slightly in his sleep, and gradually awoke. The man stood up slowly, shakily, and gazed around.
He had not seen such beauty in eons.
The man knew this place. He placed one foot in front of the other, and began to move forward. His progress was slow, painful even, but his pace quickened with each step. Soon, he was dashing carefree along the valley, his footsteps light and easy.
He climbed a hill, and was able to see a small town in the distance. He had made good time. The sun was still high in the sky.
The man ran down the hill, towards the little bundle of houses. The sun sank gradually behind him, and the clouds darkened subtly.
The man’s steps were now huge, bounding leaps. The man soared over serene fields of flowers, full of life and vibrantly colored. The sun sank still lower, shooting the cloudy sky with many beautiful hues.
The man leapt, and flew through the air, surrounded by such indescribable beauty that tears streamed down his face. Still, he pushed towards the town. Still, the sun sank; the clouds gathered.
He was now near enough that he could see the many inhabitants of the little town. All his friends, all his family, merely a heartbeat away. A tiny sob escaped the man’s throat as he saw his wife and children standing at the edge of town, waiting for him. He pushed off from the ground with all his might, propelling himself into their welcoming arms.
The sun met the horizon, and the world was consumed in fire. A pair of hounds rushed out from the flames, and grabbed the man, dragging him back to the earth. The man grasped for his family, but the creatures held him just out of reach. The animals dragged the man back towards the fire, as the clouds blotted out the sky, and began to rain fire down onto the little village, killing its inhabitants and twisting the landscape.
The man sobbed in horror as he watched his world being destroyed again. He had almost made it, this time.
Hell would be easy, if not for hope.
Ground Control to Major Tom
“Did you take your protein pills? Good, now put your helmet on.” Ground Control commanded and Major Tom obeyed. Ground Control droned on as Tom sat in his seat in his cramped capsule and waited. “Commencing countdown, engines are active.” Tom counted down with the man on the microphone as he felt the rush of anxiety flow through his veins. “10… 9… 8…” Tom checked the ignition and heard one final phrase from Ground Control. “May God’s love be with you. LIFTOFF.”
Thats all Tom remembered. He woke up to a deep black outside of his spaceship windows and an eruption of cheers from his headset. “Good work Tom, you’ve really made the grade. Just exit your capsule and pilot the ship.” Tom obeyed and exited his capsule, and floated in a most peculiar way to the pilot’s seat.
Floating through space a hundred thousand miles from Earth was the spaceship of Major Tom. It had been three months since the launch and the only company Tom had was the reiteration of pre-launch instructions in his head, over and over. He looked out his window to observe the moon and stare out to the lonesome lifeless abyss that was deep space. The stars looked very different, Tom thought. More vivid. Bigger, even.
Tom’s view was distracted by a sudden movement. Something had swiftly darted behind the moon. Something quite massive had hidden itself behind the moon. Perhaps an asteroid, Tom thought. But they don’t move that quick. Out from behind the moon jetted what looked like a piece of space itself. It was something very large, black as the night sky and dotted in large glowing lights. And it was coming right for Tom’s ship. Thinking quickly he reversed the thrusters on his ship. The massive space thing had narrowly missed the ship, but had enough momentum to spin the ship rapidly.
Tom was thrown into the ships walls. The familiar voice of Ground Control buzzed in Tom’s ear. “Tom, the ship has received damage all over the hull, what happened?” Tom could only reply “Tell my wife I love her very much.” A different voice from Ground Control echoed “She knows.”
The space thing was coming back for a head-on collision with Tom’s ship. All Tom could do was get into his spacesuit and wait. As the space thing got closer and closer, Tom could see how large it really was. It was snake like and had to be at least a mile long and hundreds of feet wide. As it came within miles of Tom’s ship, it slowed. Eventually it had stopped and just sat there. Staring, it seems. Then, it began to coil itself around Tom’s ship. Metal groaned from the pressure and glass cracked. Tom looked outside his window at the beast. It was just like space itself was tangling itself up around him.
Machinery began to beep and lights started to die. Tom frantically checked everything he could; the energy was slowly being sucked away. It didn’t take long, perhaps a few minutes, for the ship to be rendered completely powerless. Then, nothing. No more metal groaning and no more glass cracking. Tom was stuck floating around in a powerless ship and he could do nothing about it.
Ground Control had buzzed in his ear one last time. “Major Tom, your circuit is dead. Something is wrong.” Tom didn’t reply. “Can you hear me Major Tom?”
Tom still didn’t reply. “Tom, can you hear me? Major Tom!”
Tom turned off his only contact to human life. He turned off his life support systems and stared out his window. He saw a floating bit of space going towards a blue planet. With his last breath Tom sang quietly, “Here I am floating in a tin can, far above the moon. Planet Earth is blue and there’s nothing I can do.”
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