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 Posted: Mon Oct 05, 2009 11:25 am
It's there - just at the veil of sleep. That dull sensation of falling or spinning just before you fall to sleep. The next time you go to bed, try to hold yourself there. Just as you drift off, hold onto that feeling. Hold on, and listen. Listen close, for you cannot hold onto that edge of sleep for long. There, in the space before sleep, is a sound: a gentle hum, a distant echo; like a sigh in a brick building. Listen well, and remember that sound. That is the sound of your last breath.
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Posted: Sat Oct 10, 2009 7:11 pm
Oooo....this is starting to get big....everybody keep up the work frighting people in the comfort of their homes...
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 11:55 am
Carol was a young film student. She was recently engaged to a nice boy she had been dating for three years. She liked hanging out with her friends, going to the movies and listening to music. Really, she was quite typical for a girl her age.
Every once in a while, Carol liked to take her camera, drive out to her parents summer home in the woods, and film the wildlife. She entered the footage in wildlife photography and video competitions, hoping to make a name for herself.
One spring day, Carol loaded up her car with her camera equipment. She said told her roommate she would be back in a couple of days, and asked the roommate to feed her fish. She called her fiancé and let him know she would be at her parent’s summer home this weekend. She let him know her cell didn’t get signal out there, and that they didn’t keep a landline. She told him she would be out of touch for the entire weekend.
The drive up to the summer home was pleasant enough. She got there with no problems. Her parents were not due to the summer home for another couple weeks, so she had the place to herself. By the time she got unpacked, it was getting late so she went to bed deciding she would start shooting in the morning.
At sunrise the next morning, she gathered her camera equipment and went out to shoot some wildlife. It was a tiring but productive day. She got some great footage of an eagle catching a mouse. At one point she nodded off while waiting for a deer to come to a pond she knew the animals frequented. When she woke up, she found a pair of young deer drinking the water. She spent a little bit of time filming a humming bird darting from flower to flower. She caught footage of a huge rattlesnake resting on a rock. Then she took a long hike up a hill to try and catch some footage of fireflies lighting up a clearing.
By the time she got back to her parents summer home, it was just after dark. She had been lugging her equipment around all day and was very tired. She didn’t even bother showering. She just dropped her hat and camera on the chair next to her bed and passed out.
The next morning she was reviewing her footage on her laptop. The eagle was majestic. Probably some of her best work ever. She watched the footage of the deer. She thought they were very cute. Something in one of the deer shot caught her eye though. It was only there for a second. She thought she saw a very tall man with very pale skin in the bushes. It looked like he was watching her.
She rewound the footage, and looked again, this time in slow motion. She could certainly make out a figure, but she couldn’t tell if there was actually someone standing there, or if it was just a trick of light on some bushes.
Carol put the strange image out of her head and kept reviewing her footage. The humming bird footage didn’t come out well. The little guy was moving too fast, and the light was bad. The rattlesnake was cool though, even if it was a little boring. After she watched the bit with the fireflies, she was pretty sure she was going to win some kind of award. The natural lighting was just perfect. When the firefly footage cut off, she noticed that she still had one video file left to watch. Curious, she opened it. It was a video of her, sleeping in her bed. Her insides turned to ice when she noticed the reflection in her bedroom window. There was a very tall, naked, albino man with a scraggly gray beard wearing her hat and filming her sleeping. He was breathing heavily.
Carol slammed her computer shut, not wanting to see any more. The video stopped. The heavy breathing did not.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 12:19 pm
You get a phone call from your Mother. Since her car has been in the shop, she asks you to go to the grocery store and pick up a few odds and ends for her. Bread, milk, cereal, and chicken breasts.
After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. The lady cashier makes an odd remark to you, "You know, we're in no danger of a milk shortage." Upon arriving at her house you knock several times. No answer. You decide to try the door. It opens. You place the grocery bag on the counter. Strange. There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In a couple, the chicken and the milk has gone bad. "Mom," you call out, but no answer. You make your way thru the kitchen and into the living room. Sitting on the couch, with her head cut off and neatly resting on her lap, is your Mother.
Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime scene investigator. "It's not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into a series of repetitive behaviors," he says.
You think to yourself, "They can't be talking about me. Schizophrenia? Repetitive behavior? Do they think I did this?" Suddenly your cell phone goes off. "Hello?"
"Hi hun, it's me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk. Ohh, and I need some bread and cereal too."
"No problem Mom. I'll be right over..."
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 12:21 pm
I’ve always had a terrible fear of being submerged completely in water. Not that I can’t swim or anything. My dad made me learn; he said I almost drowned when I was really young.
I was afraid of it because, for as long as I can remember, whenever I am under water and look up at the surface I see a woman reaching down to me with a warm smile, with glowing golden hair and dark blue eyes. Even if its just in a bathtub. It always happened, it was just normal for me, but i never got used to it.
It was unnerving, but also soothing at the same time. She always made me feel like it was okay. I still avoided it, though, because I was just a kid and it was really freaky.
I never told my dad about it as a kid, but I did ask him about my mom. He never wanted to talk about her. Sometimes he even got mad at me for trying too hard to bring it up.
It was only recently that I described this apparition to him. He nearly drove into a telephone pole; obviously he knew something. I asked him, again, about my mom. He still would say much, except that she died when I was very young, and that she loved me very much. He also admitted that her hair and eyes were those colors, just like mine.
So I did some research on my own, looking up her name for myself on my birth certificate and trying to find any references I could, any news clips about a boy nearly drowning, any thing. I mostly wanted a picture, something I could match to my guardian angel.
Today, buried in our town library, I found it.
WINCHESTER: Marie Withie, 28, drowned to death yesterday evening after climbing a razerwire fence and fleeing to a nearby resevoir. A funeral is scheduled by her family for the 25th. Marie was institutionalized just six months ago, after being found “not guilty” of attempted murder on grounds of insanity. Her husband Daniel Withie had acted quickly enough to rescue their infant child when she was found trying to drown him in a bathtub.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 12:26 pm
Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. Harold, the Oakdale gravedigger, upon hearing a bell, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time it wasn't either. A voice from below begged, pleaded to be unburied.
"You Sarah O'Bannon?"
"Yes!" the voice assured.
"You were born on September 17, 1827?"
"Yes!"
"The gravestone here says you died on February 19?"
"No I'm alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!"
"Sorry about this, ma'am," Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. "But this is August. Whatever you is down there, you ain't alive no more, and you ain't comin' up."
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 12:28 pm
Don’t dismiss this outright as the work of some raving lunatic. There’s some sense to this story, if you’ll just hear me out…
Look, we all wonder if time travel is possible, right? Well, let me tell you something… it is. I’m from the future, actually. I know you probably don’t believe that, but seriously, I’m from the future. It’s a really great thing; getting to see the past, watching events unfold… stuff like that. We know more now than we ever would.
Behind all the fun, though, there’s a more serious aspect. We aren’t supposed to go in our own lifetime, and we are never allowed to contact our past selves. Let me tell you, I’m breaking that rule right now. Yes, kid, you’re talking to yourself. Your future self. I’m going to be executed for this, but you know what? I accept that. I’m preventing something by talking to you that is worse than death. I can’t tell you outright what to do, because the filters would catch it. This is the closest I can get, trust me. I can, however, send a little message.
You should probably read the first word of every paragraph, now.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 12:48 pm
During the summer of 1983, in a quiet town near Minneapolis, Minnesota, the charred body of a woman was found inside the kitchen stove of a small farmhouse. A video camera was also found in the kitchen, standing on a tripod and pointing at the oven. No tape was found inside the camera at the time. Although the scene was originally labeled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm's well (which had apparently dried up earlier that year).
Despite its worn condition, and the fact that it contained no audio, police were still able to view the contents of the tape. It depicted a woman recording herself in front of a video camera (seemingly using the same camera the police found in the kitchen). After positioning the camera to include both her and her kitchen stove in the image, the tape then showed her turning on the oven, opening the door, crawling inside, and then closing the door behind her. Eight minutes into the video, the oven could be seen shaking violently, after which point thick black smoke could be seen emanating from it. For the remaining 45 minutes of video, until the batteries in the camera died, it remained in its stationary position. To avoid disturbing the local community, police never released any information about the tape, or even the fact that it was found. Police were also not able to determine who put the tape in the well, or why the height and stature of the woman in the video didn't come close to matching the body they'd found in the oven.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 12:50 pm
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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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 12:57 pm
Ever heard of a philosophical movement known as solipsism? Basically, according to the solipsist, only he exists. Since his only mind is the only thing he knows to be truly real, nothing else is.
Actually, the logic follows quite nicely. If the senses are our only means of processing information, and the senses are ultimately unreliable, then everything in your head must be - and is the only - reality.
And that's where the unsettling implications start to come in. That thing under the bed, in the attic, that your parents told you is "all in your head?" Well, your parents are also "all in your head." Your sight, your only source of reasoning, so reassuring when you turn the lights on and gasp in relief when you see that nothing's there? All in your head.
The thing in the attic, however, is another story. You've never seen it, you've never heard it, you've never sensed it, but your body really wants your mind to believe that it's not there.
Now why might that be?
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 12:59 pm
A passenger in a taxi leaned over to ask the driver a question and tapped him on the shoulder. The driver screamed, lost control of the cab, nearly hit a bus, drove up over the curb, and stopped just inches from a large plate glass window.
For a few moments everything was silent in the cab, and then the still shaking driver said, "I'm sorry but you scared the daylights out of me."
The frightened passenger apologized to the driver, and said he didn't realize a mere tap on the shoulder could frighten him so much.
The driver replied, "No, no, I'm sorry, it's entirely my fault. Today is my first day driving a cab. I've been driving a hearse for the last 25 years.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 1:37 pm
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 Muerto blanco, and that he was certain that it was coming for him next. What is a Muerto blanco? 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 werent already aware that this thing was following you, once it got back to your house, it would start knocking on your door
Once for you skin, which shell use to patch her own decaying flesh. Twice for your muscle, which shell gnash her teeth on between victims. Thrice for your bones, which shell make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victims. Four times for your heart, which shell wear around her neck. Five times for your teeth, which shell polish and keep in a box. Six times for your eyes, which shell see the faces of your loved ones through. Seven times for your soul, which shell eat whole - you can never pass while youre in her stomach. She has to repeat this on any mirror or door between you and her.
You can try to outrun her, but shes faster than the fastest man. And if you leave your home while shes knocking on your door, she wont 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, thats 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 girls 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. Shes 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 couldnt get to my car in time anyway. She started knocking on my bedroom door a minute ago, she should be done any moment.
Nice knowing you guys, its been funjklm,.-
WITNESS
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 1:46 pm
I am always with you.
I was there from the time you were born. I stood in the delivery room, staring down at you before you could even open your eyes to see me. Your parents, relatives and doctors couldn’t see me there, in the corner, watching you with cloudy eyes, but I was there from the time you were born.
And I followed you home.
I was with you always, your constant companion. You played with your toys alone while I stared from all angles in nearby mirrors; my matted, clotted hair with oily sweat that hung off my dented forehead like glue. I was always your constant companion, drifting behind your mother’s car on your ride to preschool. You alone in the bathroom, but I was on the other side of the door, wind whistling through the bruised hole in my throat. My arms twisted and hanging in their sockets as I stood hunched on the other side of the shower curtain. I wait and follow you. I follow and drift behind you.
I’m not seen. I’m almost not-there in light. You never saw me that morning as I sat across from you at the breakfast table, a shiny red clot hanging from an empty tooth socket as I gaped grotesquely at you. I wonder sometimes if you know I’m there. I think you are aware, but you’ll never understand just how close I am.
I spend hours of your day doing nothing more than breathing in your ear.
Breathing – gagging, really.
I crave to be close to you, to always wrap my crippled arms around your neck. I lie near you ever single night, cloudy eyes staring at your ceiling, underneath your bed, at your sleeping face in the dark.
Yes. You caught me staring occasionally. Your parents came running down to your room one night when you screamed. You were just beginning to talk, so you were only able to cry out “Man! Man in my room!” You thought you’d never forget the sight of me, with my collapsed jaw hanging to my chest, swinging back and forth. I sank back into your closet and your mother was unable to see me though you pointed and pointed and pointed. You thought you’d never forget when they left that same night. You saw the closet door crack so softly and me crawling across the floor to your bed on all fours, shambling in jerking movements as I pushed myself under your bed on disjointed limbs.
You learned a new word for me: boogeyman. Not quite the monster you thought I was. I’m just waiting and following you always, touching your face with my knotted fingers as you sleep.
You’ll see me again soon. Any day now, I’m coming, blunt and brutal. One day you’ll walk across the road and – I believe I’ll plow into you with loud roar and a screech.
You rolling on the pavement, rolling under wheels, bluntforce metal fenders and my fingers touching your face again and again.
As you stare up from the cold pavement with cloudy eyes; your matted, clotted hair hanging in your face and your jaw unhinged and swinging to your chest.
You’ll see me approaching.
No one else will see me. You will stare past them into my eyes and I’ll leer down at you. For the first time in our life, something like a smile will come over my face. You’ll swear you’re looking into a mirror as clotted red bubbles from our mouths.
I’ll lean down, past the doctors and the oogling people and pick you up in my crooked arms.
Our faces will touch. My wings will unfurl. And then you’ll have to follow me.
And I am always with you.
Your guardian angel.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 1:54 pm
Porcelain dolls, baby dolls, plastic things with vacant eyes that stare at nothing—little girls always get at least one. It's not because they all want to play mommy. Most of them think those dolls are creepy, too.
They're training tools for when the girls grow up and have children of their own. For when they look down into the bassinet and see their baby's smile has grown forced, the laughter turned into a rattle, their eyes too intelligent and cold. They recognize what it is and kill it quick.
It doesn't happen often, but it happens. And when they have a daughter that makes it to childhood, they make sure she has a baby doll of her own.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 1:57 pm
While brushing your teeth in the evening, you catch a glimpse of your wall mirror, covered in fingerprints. Annoyed, you grab a towel and rub at them. They remain. Upon closer inspection, you realize that they seem to be on the other side of the glass…
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