Ewww... thats just creepy. Share some stories, bishes!

[Miss Grumpy Panda]

Mr. Widemouth

During my childhood my family was like a drop of water in a vast river, never remaining in one location for long. We settled in Rhode Island when I was eight, and there we remained until I went to college in Colorado Springs. Most of my memories are rooted in Rhode Island, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we had lived in when I was much younger.
Most of these memories are unclear and pointless– chasing after another boy in the back yard of a house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on the creek behind the apartment we rented in Pennsylvania, and so on. But there is one set of memories which remains as clear as glass, as though they were just made yesterday. I often wonder whether these memories are simply lucid dreams produced by the long sickness I experienced that Spring, but in my heart, I know they are real.
We were living in a house just outside the bustling metropolis of New Vineyard, Maine, population 643. It was a large structure, especially for a family of three. There were a number of rooms that I didn’t see in the five months we resided there. In some ways it was a waste of space, but it was the only house on the market at the time, at least within an hour’s commute to my father’s place of work.
The day after my fifth birthday (attended by my parents alone), I came down with a fever. The doctor said I had mononucleosis, which meant no rough play and more fever for at least another three weeks. It was horrible timing to be bed-ridden– we were in the process of packing our things to move to Pennsylvania, and most of my things were already packed away in boxes, leaving my room barren. My mother brought me ginger ale and books several times a day, and these served the function of being my primary from of entertainment for the next few weeks. Boredom always loomed just around the corner, waiting to rear its ugly head and compound my misery.
I don’t exactly recall how I met Mr. Widemouth. I think it was about a week after I was diagnosed with mono. My first memory of the small creature was asking him if he had a name. He told me to call him Mr. Widemouth, because his mouth was large. In fact, everything about him was large in comparison to his body– his head, his eyes, his crooked ears– but his mouth was by far the largest.
“You look kind of like a Furby,” I said as he flipped through one of my books.
Mr. Widemouth stopped and gave me a puzzled look. “Furby? What’s a Furby?” he asked.
I shrugged. “You know… the toy. The little robot with the big ears. You can pet and feed them, almost like a real pet.”
“Oh.” Mr. Widemouth resumed his activity. “You don’t need one of those. They aren’t the same as having a real friend.”
I remember Mr. Widemouth disappearing every time my mother stopped by to check in on me. “I lay under your bed,” he later explained. “I don’t want your parents to see me because I’m afraid they won’t let us play anymore.”
We didn’t do much during those first few days. Mr. Widemouth just looked at my books, fascinated by the stories and pictures they contained. The third or fourth morning after I met him, he greeted me with a large smile on his face. “I have a new game we can play,” he said. “We have to wait until after your mother comes to check on you, because she can’t see us play it. It’s a secret game.”
After my mother delivered more books and soda at the usual time, Mr. Widemouth slipped out from under the bed and tugged my hand. “We have to go the the room at the end of this hallway,” he said. I objected at first, as my parents had forbidden me to leave my bed without their permission, but Mr. Widemouth persisted until I gave in.
The room in question had no furniture or wallpaper. Its only distinguishing feature was a window opposite the doorway. Mr. Widemouth darted across the room and gave the window a firm push, flinging it open. He then beckoned me to look out at the ground below.
We were on the second story of the house, but it was on a hill, and from this angle the drop was farther than two stories due to the incline. “I like to play pretend up here,” Mr. Widemouth explained. “I pretend that there is a big, soft trampoline below this window, and I jump. If you pretend hard enough you bounce back up like a feather. I want you to try.”
I was a five-year-old with a fever, so only a hint of skepticism darted through my thoughts as I looked down and considered the possibility. “It’s a long drop,” I said.
“But that’s all a part of the fun. It wouldn’t be fun if it was only a short drop. If it were that way you may as well just bounce on a real trampoline.”
I toyed with the idea, picturing myself falling through thin air only to bounce back to the window on something unseen by human eyes. But the realist in me prevailed. “Maybe some other time,” I said. “I don’t know if I have enough imagination. I could get hurt.”
Mr. Widemouth’s face contorted into a snarl, but only for a moment. Anger gave way to disappointment. “If you say so,” he said. He spent the rest of the day under my bed, quiet as a mouse.
The following morning Mr. Widemouth arrived holding a small box. “I want to teach you how to juggle,” he said. “Here are some things you can use to practice, before I start giving you lessons.”
I looked in the box. It was full of knives. “My parents will kill me!” I shouted, horrified that Mr. Widemouth had brought knives into my room– objects that my parents would never allow me to touch. “I’ll be spanked and grounded for a year!”
Mr. Widemouth frowned. “It’s fun to juggle with these. I want you to try it.”
I pushed the box away. “I can’t. I’ll get in trouble. Knives aren’t safe to just throw in the air.”
Mr. Widemouth’s frown deepend into a scowl. He took the box of knives and slid under my bed, remaining there the rest of the day. I began to wonder how often he was under me.
I started having trouble sleeping after that. Mr. Widemouth often woke me up at night, saying he put a real trampoline under the window, a big one, one that I couldn’t see in the dark. I always declined and tried to go back to sleep, but Mr. Widemouth persisted. Sometimes he stayed by my side until early in the morning, encouraging me to jump.
He wasn’t so fun to play with anymore.
My mother came to me one morning and told me I had her permission to walk around outside. She thought the fresh air would be good for me, especially after being confined to my room for so long. Exstatic, I put on my sneakers and trotted out to the back porch, yearning for the feeling of sun on my face.
Mr. Widemouth was waiting for me. “I have something I want you to see,” he said. I must have given him a weird look, because he then said, “It’s safe, I promise.”
I followed him to the beginning of a deer trail which ran through the woods behind the house. “This is an important path,” he explained. “I’ve had a lot of friends about your age. When they were ready, I took them down this path, to a special place. You aren’t ready yet, but one day, I hope to take you there.”
I returned to the house, wondering what kind of place lay beyond that trail.
Two weeks after I met Mr. Widemouth, the last load of our things had been packed into a moving truck. I would be in the cab of that truck, sitting next to my father for the long drive to Pennsylvania. I considered telling Mr. Widemouth that I would be leaving, but even at five years old, I was beginning to suspect that perhaps the creature’s intentions were not to my benefit, despite what he said otherwise. For this reason, I decided to keep my departure a secret.
My father and I were in the truck at 4 a.m. He was hoping to make it to Pennyslvania by lunch time tomorrow with the help of an endless supply of coffee and a six-pack of energy drinks. He seemed more like a man who was about to run a marathon rather than one who was about to spend two days sitting still.
“Early enough for you?” he asked.
I nodded and placed my head against the window, hoping for some sleep before the sun came up. I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder. “This is the last move, son, I promise. I know it’s hard for you, as sick as you’ve been. Once daddy gets promoted we can settle down and you can make friends.”
I opened my eyes as we backed out of the driveway. I saw Mr. Widemouth’s silouhette in my bedroom window. He stood motionless until the truck was about to turn onto the main road. He gave a pitiful little wave good-bye, steak knife in hand. I didn’t wave back.
Years later, I returned to New Vineyard. The piece of land our house stood upon was empty except for the foundation, as the house burned down a few years after my family left. Out of curiosity, I followed the deer trail that Mr. Widemouth had shown me. Part of me expected him to jump out from behind a tree and scare the living bejeesus out of me, but I felt that Mr. Widemouth was gone, somehow tied to the house that no longer existed.
The trail ended at the New Vineyard Memorial Cemetery.
I noticed that many of the tombstones belonged to children.

[Miss Grumpy Panda]

Sure it has been posted before but it's still amazing.

The Rake

During the summer of 2003, events in the northeastern United States involving a strange, human-like creature sparked brief local media interest before an apparent blackout was enacted. Little or no information was left intact, as most online and written accounts of the creature were mysteriously destroyed.
Primarily focused in rural New York state, self proclaimed witnesses told stories of their encounters with a creature of unknown origin. Emotions ranged from extremely traumatic levels of fright and discomfort, to an almost childlike sense of playfulness and curiosity. While their published versions are no longer on record, the memories remained powerful. Several of the involved parties began looking for answers that year.
In early 2006, the collaboration had accumulated nearly two dozen documents dating between the 12th century and present day, spanning 4 continents. In almost all cases, the stories were identical. I’ve been in contact with a member of this group and was able to get some excerpts from their upcoming book.
The Rake

A Suicide Note: 1964
As I prepare to take my life, I feel it necessary to assuage any guilt or pain I have introduced through this act. It is not the fault of anyone other than him. For once I awoke and felt his presence. And once I awoke and saw his form. Once again I awoke and heard his voice, and looked into his eyes. I cannot sleep without fear of what I might next awake to experience. I cannot ever wake. Goodbye.
Found in the same wooden box were two empty envelopes addressed to William and Rose, and one loose personal letter with no envelope.
‘Dearest Linnie,
I have prayed for you. He spoke your name.’
A Journal Entry (translated from Spanish): 1880
I have experience the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I see his eyes when I close mine. They are hollow. Black. They saw me and pierced me. His wet hand. I will not sleep. His voice (unintelligible text).
A Mariner’s Log: 1691
He came to me in my sleep. From the foot of my bed I felt a sensation. He took everything. We must return to England. We shall not return here again at the request of the Rake.
From a Witness: 2006
Three years ago, I had just returned from a trip from Niagara Falls with my family for the 4th of July. We were all very exhausted after a long day of driving, so my husband and I put the kids right to bed and called it a night.
At about 4am, I woke up thinking my husband had gotten up to use the restroom. I used the moment to steal back the sheets, only to wake him in the process. I appologized and told him I though he got out of bed. When he turned to face me, he gasped and pulled his feet up from the end of the bed so quickly his knee almost knocked me out of the bed. He then grabbed me and said nothing.
After adjusting to the dark for a half second, I was able to see what caused the strange reaction. At the foot of the bed, sitting and facing away from us, there was what appeared to be a naked man, or a large hairless dog of some sort. It’s body position was disturbing and unnatural, as if it had been hit by a car or something. For some reason, I was not instantly frightened by it, but more concerned as to its condition. At this point I was somewhat under the assumption that we were supposed to help him.
My husband was peering over his arm and knee, tucked into the fetal position, occasionally glancing at me before returning to the creature.
In a flurry of motion, the creature scrambled around the side of the bed, and then crawled quickly in a flailing sort of motion right along the bed until it was less than a foot from my husband’s face. The creature was completely silent for about 30 seconds (or probably closer to 5, it just seemed like a while) just looking at my husband. The creature then placed its hand on his knee and ran into the hallway, leading to the kids’ rooms.
I screamed and ran for the lightswitch, planning to stop him before he hurt my children. When I got to the hallway, the light from the bedroom was enough to see it crouching and hunched over about 20 feet away. He turned around and looked directly at me, covered in blood. I flipped the switch on the wall and saw my daughter Clara.
The creature ran down the stairs while my husband and I rushed to help our daughter. She was very badly injured and spoke only once more in her short life. She said “he is the Rake”.
My husband drove his car into a lake that night, while rushing our daughter to the hospital. He did not survive.
Being a small town, news got around pretty quickly. The police were helpful at first, and the local newspaper took a lot of interest as well. However, the story was never published and the local television news never followed up either.
For several months, my son Justin and I stayed in a hotel near my parent’s house. After we decided to return home, I began looking for answers myself. I eventually located a man in the next town over who had a similar story. We got in contact and began talking about our experiences. He knew of two other people in New York who had seen the creature we now referred to as the Rake.
It took the four of us about two solid years of hunting on the internet and writing letters to come up with a small collection of what we believe to be accounts of the Rake. None of them gave any details, history or follow up. One journal had an entry involving the creature in its first 3 pages, and never mentioned it again. A ship’s log explained nothing of the encounter, saying only that they were told to leave by the Rake. That was the last entry in the log.
There were, however, many instances where the creature’s visit was one of a series of visits with the same person. Multiple people also mentioned being spoken to, my daughter included. This led us to wonder if the Rake had visited any of us before our last encounter.
I set up a digital recorder near my bed and left it running all night, every night, for two weeks. I would tediously scan through the sounds of me rolling around in my bed each day when I woke up. By the end of the second week, I was quite used to the occasional sound of sleep while blurring through the recording at 8 times the normal speed. (This still took almost an hour every day)
On the first day of the third week, I thought I heard something different. What I found was a shrill voice. It was the Rake. I can’t listen to it long enough to even begin to transcribe it. I haven’t let anyone listen to it yet. All I know is that I’ve heard it before, and I now believe that it spoke when it was sitting in front of my husband. I don’t remember hearing anything at the time, but for some reason, the voice on the recorder immediately brings me back to that moment.
The thoughts that must have gone through my daughter’s head make me very upset.
I have not seen the Rake since he ruined my life, but I know that he has been in my room while I slept. I know and fear that one night I’ll wake up to see him staring at me.

[Miss Grumpy Panda]

The Thing in the Window

That thing has been there for almost a week. The figure in the window. It looks featureless, only skin on a human frame, and it’s pressing itself against the glass somehow. I don’t know how it got there, and I don’t know how to get rid of it.
At first I thought it was a prank, a doll or mannequin that some jerks put there to scare me. But I realized as I walked out of my house to pull it away… it wasn’t there. I shrugged it off, thinking that someone had hidden it while I was talking through my door. But I went back in and looked out that same window, and it was looking in, staring at me. I walked aruond my house, yelling for whoever it was to come out, but no one was there. The thing is hairless and naked, and it didn’t look like it actually had eyes, or even a face at all. But its head is turned towards me when I enter the room. When I sit on my computer, I can feel its faceless hatred boring into my neck. But when I turn around, it’s innocently turned in a different direction.
Finally on Thursday I tried to open the window, but it’s stuck. I think the thing’s hands are keeping it down. But I got a good look at its face. Its eyes and mouth are behind the skin, pushing outward.
It stared at me, smiling.
Of course, I screamed.
I pulled back a fist and smashed it onto the glass, determined once and for all to get rid of the glaring monster. I know I’m strong enough. That glass should’ve cracked. But it didn’t. It shuddered under my hand, but it didn’t break. And that smile just got wider and wider and wider, until I thought its head would break in half. It raised its own hand and bashed the window with its palm. It was mocking me. But I saw the faintest crack begin to appear where it had hit, and I backed away. No way did I want that smile in the same room as me.
So I got a roll of duct tape, and I started covering the window. I couldn’t look directly at it; I nearly s**t my pants just knowing it was watching me. But I couldn’t help it, I took a quick glance at the skin covered face. A small peek.
It was angry.
That grin was now a gaping frown full of teeth. The skin had ripped away from its mouth and I coul see down its cavernous throat. A menacing rumble started to fill the house, and that hairline crack began to spread like splintering ice. I pulled down the duct tape. The rumble stopped, the split skin healed over, and it began to smile again. Now it’s night, and the noise hasn’t started again. There are no sounds, no rumble, no crackling glass. Everything’s quiet now. I can feel its claws gripping the back of my chair. I can hear its skin stretching as it smiles.
It’s watching me type.

[Miss Grumpy Panda]

This one kinda gets to me...

The Masked Man

Tuesday, October 11
Today, I drove my seven-year old son, James, and I into town to go Halloween shopping. I didn’t have to buy any candy this year because we live in a cul-de-sac out in the middle of a farming community on the outskirts of the city. I moved there last year because I had divorced my wife and lost my old house along with most custody of James.
It’s okay, though. James and I love Halloween. It’s one of the few times a year that Tracy finds it acceptable for my only son to come visit me. James stays with her on every other holiday through the year: his birthday and everything else in between. I get to see him only on my birthday and the week before Halloween, unless the court finds it suitable for him to come spend the night every once in a while. Frankly, I’m surprised Tracy let him come shopping with me.
He showed an extremely strong attraction to a flamboyant green and purple Buzz Lightyear costume. It’s really typical for a kid to have an eye for the most expensive thing on the rack, but I didn’t have the heart to say no to those profound blue eyes. He also picked out the house decorations. I know we won’t be getting any trick-or-treaters out where I live, but embellishing the exterior of our home was always one of our favorite things to do together.
Friday, October 21
It looks like James and I will be having some competition for the “best Halloween decorations in the neighborhood” award, which sadly, in this community, is only fictitious. When I lived with James and my wife, we won the trophy every year since he was three. Now, my next-door neighbor is really giving us a run for our money. It looks like he did quite the splurge on decorations, just as we did.
He must have ordered everything online, though, because aside from the cliche “Happy Halloween” banners and the like, some of the festive treasures found on his house and lawn were nowhere to be seen in the store that James and I went to – which sold primarily Halloween-related contraband.
The thing that stuck out most to me was the kite string strung from both ends of his garage door that suspended dozens of expensive-looking bones and skulls several feet off the ground. He had also placed several other bones sticking upwards, perpendicular with the edge of his lawn. It almost looked rather sinister. There was no color or detail, just random bones placed here and there, strewn about his overgrown and unwatered lawn. I think James and I have beat him, though.
Saturday, October 22
While walking through my house at dusk, I noticed a quick flicker of movement dash in and out of my peripherals outside my dining room window as I was preparing for James’ arrival the next day. I can’t recall why I chose to inspect was it was, seeing as how I immediately dismissed this movement as a cat or other small animal. I don’t even know if I should be glad that I did.
I walked back in front of the window about a minute later and saw the same animation, but this time in the center of my vision. I walked back away from the window and slowly peeked out from the corner of the glass. I made out the shape of the very top of a person’s head peering over the top of my fence and seemed to be watching me.
Whoever it was ducked down again right after they realized that we had made eye contact. I backed away from the window. I don’t know why. I crawled over to the family room window, which was about fifteen to twenty feet to the left of where I was and facing the same direction as the dining room window.
I stayed, kneeling timidly but curiously grasping the curtain; I ever so slowly pulled back the cloth, only to reveal the masked fellow who was snooping around behind my property. This time, I saw the entire head. The mask had a gaping, dangling mouth, similar to the mask used in the “Scream” series. The only difference was that the jaw of the mask was swaying about in the wind and that it also had teeth.
A lot of teeth of all different shapes and sizes, surrounding the entire perimeter of the mouth. The expression on the mask was plain, and the tone of color was rather pale, with a sight gray discoloration. It didn’t have a goofy smile or an intimidating stare, just a mouth hanging wide open and a couple of perfectly round, beady little chameleon eyes.
After about ten seconds of observation, one of the eyes appeared as if it was steadily drifting off – away from where it was fixated and, very slowly, began to scan to the right – and as soon as the eye seemed to lock onto where I was, he/she quickly disappeared. What a mask.
Tuesday, October 25
I don’t really know my neighbor, much less where he gets all of his decorations. I noticed a new ornament of sorts in front of his door today. It was a ceramic bowl full of guts, strategically placed where one would put a bowl of candy if they were too lazy to answer the door for trick-or-treaters. Behind it was one large white piece of paper bound to the wall of his house with masking tape.
On it was written, in nearly illegible chicken scratch, “TAKE ONE.” The whole sign had bloody fingerprints smeared all over it. Even more convincing was the bloody tape…and the bloody wall. Nearly the entire wall was smeared in brownish red. Spooky. The blood streams all over the place were even dried. I didn’t know they made novelty blood that looked dried like that.
I’ve only ever talked to this neighbor once, and it was around the time that I moved in. He seemed rather distraught. Wen I approached him, I asked him if everything was all right. He said that he was late for work, which was odd because it was around 8:30 PM. I asked him where he worked and he revealed to me that he was a biologist and worked for the military, but said nothing more.
It was strange…every time I saw him after that, his pants had always ridden up his ankles a little bit more. He was always stumbling around awkwardly and constantly tripping over his own feet. My other neighbors and I liked to joke about him from time to time. I remember one specific instance when he was watering his shrubbery and one of his knees gave out. Backwards, like the way a bird’s leg works.
It looked excruciating to me, but he just walked it off. I’ve only ever seen him outside again a couple of times after I saw this happen. We stopped making fun of him after that.
Last month, as I walked to the mailbox one afternoon, I had heard his kids crying really loudly and frantically. There wasn’t any screaming to be heard, just horrible crying. The crying stopped later, which I was thankful for. I was having trouble sleeping through that horrifying racket. It’s been several months since I’ve seen him last.
Wednesday, October 26
Ever since James arrived earlier this week, he has simply abhorred the idea of removing his costume. Little Buzz has been running ramped throughout the house quoting “Toy Story” and “Buzz Lightyear of Star Command.” He hasn’t changed once since he put it on, except for the time I demanded that he allow me to wash i because he was rolling around outside in the dirt, so to speak.
I haven’t sen any more of this weirdo in the mask lately. It’s probably some mischievous kid from the neighborhood behind mine. It’s a cul-de-sac too, just a bigger one. There is a dirt road that accompanies an irrigation canal separating the two cul-de-sacs. My house is the farthest house from the main road, and the canal runs parallel to my fence. There’s no bridge that I know of that one could use to cross the water, though. Maybe the guy just runs track in school.
My neighbor bought a new decoration. Why he’s procrastinating so badly, I don’t know. It’s about 200 feet of lights to accompany the 200 feet of intestines he had previously thrown all over the tree in his front yard. The lights don’t coexist with the prior decor, though. All I could smell when I went outside was the burning odor of his literally sizzling ensemble of mix-matched decorations hanging from the tree. When I went outside at night earlier on to go ask him to kindly turn off the lights, most of them appeared to be burnt out, so I went back inside.
Come to think of it, the smell wasn’t so bad. I’d smelt it plenty of times before, I just don’t know where.
Friday, October 28
I’m going insane. No simple words can properly describe what I believe I have witnessed. Today, I got another glimpse of ‘the masked person.’What I saw this time was not at all what I would describe as a mask. I was sitting in my living room reading. The bay window in my living room overlooks the entire street I live on, and I had my blinds open.
I had lifted up my head and looked up and out the window at the nearly dissipated sun because I had heard what sounded to me like an asthmatic individual audibly struggling to inhale accompanied by a restless house cat. After a bit of listening to this unnerving sound, I stood up from my couch and walked casually toward the window. I cupped my hands above my eyes to deter the sunlight and pressed my face against the window…and I saw it.
It was pursuing a small cat. It ran like an ostrich. Its entire figure was covered in thin hair and big blue veins; its long, matted, nauseating black hair closely following its flaky, decomposing head. Its flapping, jawless chin bobbinghappily to and fro, occasionally slapping the sides of its scrawny, pale, indisposed neck. Narrow shoulders rhythmically bounding up and down in harmony with its tree branch-like arms, easily giving it at least a five foot reach.
Mammoth hands were dragging its chopstick fingers, tickling the ground as it ran. Its emaciated, stilt-like legs completed its horrific image. Altogether, I observed an eight-and-a-half foot question mark with greasy hair practically leaping from yard to yard chasing this poor creature for a reason obviously beyond simple sustenance. One could be no less than appreciative that they weren’t in the shoes of this poor feline.
The cat approached a fence on the left side of the street, followed by its lanky predator. It began to scale the fence. The beast then proceeded to effortlessly jump from the sidewalk, clear the 20-foot lawn, and snatch the animal from the top of the fence with its talon-like claws, as a falcon might. The cat didn’t stand a chance, nor did it even manage a voice to squeal.
I saw it for a whole three seconds before it disappeared into the shadows with its prize. That amount of time was more than enough to tattoo my retinas with its grotesque image.
Saturday, October 29
I now thoroughly believe that the aforementioned beast does, in fact, exist. I’ve never thought about calling the police, but we all know how they would never find a “monster.” That is, if they would even respond to such a ridiculous call. I definitely couldn’t call in and report a burglar or anything human for that matter, mainly because they wouldn’t be looking for what needed to be caught.
Earlier tonight, my neighbors threw a street-wide costume party at their place down at the end of the cul-de-sac. I didn’t go because I had to work late, and after I picked up James from his friend’s house, we anticipated having a game night with the two of us. My reclusive neighbor stayed at bay as well.
Some time during the night, James decided to take a bathroom break. He was gone for over fifteen minutes. When he returned, he seemed excited to inform me that he looked out the family room window and saw what he described as a “really tall weird-looking person with a bag” running patiently to the house where the party was being held, empty bag in hand.
They would disappear into the backyard of the house and, seconds later, bolt out of the lawn with a full bag and tear off towards my neighbor’s house, wearing a costume. They repeated this process several times, each time wearing a different costume than before.
He said that on “her” last round, “she” stopped in the middle of the street, cocked “her” head to the right slightly, and “her” right eye slid to the side of “her” head and stared right at him as if there weren’t a window between them. he said that “she” then turned “her” head 180 degrees and locked eye contact with him, and then “her” colossal mouth sluggishly transformed from a probing expression to the widest smile he thought he’d ever seen.
He said that its smile had then hastily collapsed, dropping the chin into a visible free fall which ended with a slinging slap on its chest. It then darted off into a neighbor’s yard and that was when he decided to come alert me of his findings.
I looked outside the window, but I could see multiple figures…standing around inside the house of the party. I thought of that horrid monster smiling at my beautiful boy. I despised the idea. Next, I tried to envision what that particular smile might look like, though I really couldn’t. I didn’t think a jawless maw that gargantuan had any muscle at all to maneuver that flailing chin in the first place.
Lincoln skeleton, so-on; so-forth. Every one of them was strung up by the back of its neck, feet swinging, head looking down. I really wanted to ask this guy how he comes up with all this and where he gets it all. If he knows that last night’s rain washed the color off of most of his little knick-knacks. I have to hand it oto him, though. The slew of morbid decor in combination with his dirty, run-down, cobweb covered home gives it a true horror movie feel to it.
Later that night, I had nearly passed out while finishing up some of my work when my doorbell rang again and again until I reluctantly rose up and walked toward my front door. It was past midnight.
I opened the door. It was my neighbor. No, not whatever lived next door, but the fellow who lived behind me on the other side of the canal. He was disgruntled. He was upset and threatening me about something but none of it sank in because one of the skeletons hanging from my neighbor’s tree was staring right at me, jaw wide open.
It was smaller than the other skeletons around it. A gleam of moonlight revealed that a small string tied through a hole bored in the top of its skull was its support. I got goosebumps when I noticed that its eyes were still intact.
I then tuned in to the man yelling at me.
“You listenin’ over there,” He asked.
“Oh…yeah.”
“The hell you tryin’ to pull? You almost gave my wife a heart attack with that mask.”
So, apparently, my son and I aren’t the only ones who have spotted the neighborhood missing link. How could he possibly confuse that thing with me?
“And don’t try to smooth-talk yer way outta this one, pal. I saw you jump clear over that fence of yours – the hell you managed to do that, I’m still wonderin’ – and crawl right back into yer basement.”
“…I’m terribly sorry…” I improvised. “I don’t know what’s come over me… If there’s anything I can do-”
My heart sank. I thought about what he said.
I don’t have a basement.
“Wait here,” I nearly screamed.
I sped off into my house. I bolted down the hall. I began to spasm as I neared the guest room door. My trembling hands applied their convulsing energy to the doorknob, then turned and flung the door wide open to reveal my son, sleeping, facing the wall, just as I had left him. He normally doesn’t sleep with his head all the way under the blankets, but I was too flustered to notice. I jogged, reassured, back out to my bewildered guest. I didn’t know what to think anymore.
“Sorry…I just-”
He interrupted.
“Aww, save it. I, for one, do NOT care at all about your problems. You just stay the hell away from me and my family. Ya hear?”
“Yeah…sure…”
A calming chuckle dug its way into his angry tone right after I noticed the freshly familiar bottomless blue eyes stuffed inside the head of that skeleton.
“I gotta hand it to ya, though. I nearly died laughing when I saw you runnin’ around wearin’ that little kid’s Buzz Lightyear costume.”

[Dont_Fear_the_Reefer]

I'm tempted to post the MLP story called "Cupcakes," but my conscience wont let me.

[Dont_Fear_the_Reefer]

http://comic.naver.com/webtoon/detail.nhn?titleId=350217&no=31&weekday=tu

[Lalaworld]

More! scream

[Cordat]

Lalaworld

More! scream

everyone is dead emotion_8c

[Erin_Dracona]

That thing in the window freaked me out

[Its a Styx]

Akuuji

In rural southern Illinois a toy company began selling "realistic" baby dolls to expectant mothers. But apparently after the mother had her child the toy baby would start crying. Eventually the "rocking motion" advertised to calm it down wouldn't work, and you couldn't get it to stop without shaking it. Eventually when it started crying the parent would have to beat it, and the beatings and thrashings would have to get harder and harder to get it to be quiet. The only thing that seemed to shut the baby doll up permanently was the bash its head against the wall to destroy whatever mechanism triggered the crying. On more than one occasion though, neighbours called the authorities to report child abuse, and when the police arrived they found the bloody remains of infants smeared across the walls and the floor. In most cases the mother couldn't understand why the police were there, she just "got rid of the stupid doll" as she rocked a baby-shaped bundle in her arms.

gonk

[TwoDeee]

what the hell is this s**t.

[DevineEssence]

nice to see this thread is still going on after 6 years smile

[GraciePandaFaec]

hallucinogen-cakes

Lets get it straight, I LOVE screepy/scary stories. I'll share one with you to get this started.
One day this little girl was having her 6th birthday party. Her parents knew that she has always wanted a dog. The girl went to open her present and she pulled out a little brown puppy that her parents got her. Well, that night she was getting in her bed and the dog went under her bed.



The girl put her hand under the bed to see if the dog was ok. When she put her hand under the bed the dog licked her hand. Every time she put her hand under the bed the dog would lick her hand.



One night she put her hand under the bed and felt the wet tongue lick her hand. She woke up and started screaming at the top of her lungs. Her parents came in shocked. On the little girl's mirror it said "HUMANS CAN LICK TOO" in her dog's blood!


So GD:
Whats your favorite creepy/scary/lame story?
What used to creep you out?

I KNEW THIS SOUNDED FAMILIAR!
I've heard probably three different versions of this story but with the same ending of the blood on the mirror saying "Human's can lick hands too" ouo