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Any night, around 10 or 11 pm, take yourself to a flat, open area where you can walk in a straight line for two minutes or so without running into anything. Once there, face in the direction you plan to walk, with your arms at your sides and your hands relaxed. Close your eyes, and take a deep breath. At precisely 11:09 and 20 seconds, start walking. Be sure to take one step every second, no more, no less. Do not open your eyes, and do not hesitate. Count your steps in your head as you go. On the one hundred and eleventh step, say the word "One" out loud, and stop.

Your breath will catch in your throat, and your hair will stand on end. For the next ten seconds, you will be unable to move a single muscle in your body, no matter how hard you try. After these ten seconds, you will be able to move and breathe again – however, you will then start to feel the sensation of cold metal claws seizing each of your fingers by the base and plucking them clean off of your hand. It will not hurt. You will surely be horrified, but do not open your eyes, and do not move. If you move or open your eyes, all that anyone will ever find of you is your two fingerless hands, severed cleanly at the wrist.

Once the claws have stopped, and all of your fingers have been plucked off, stay still for another ten seconds. It may help to count. After these ten seconds have passed, you may open your eyes. You will find that your fingers are still quite firmly attached to your hands. Go home immediately, and go directly to bed. Speak to no one for the rest of the night, and enter no building that you do not consider your home.

The next day, you will have become One of Them. Once per day, as long as there is even a sliver of sunlight, you may point at someone and speak the word "One." That night, he will face the same trial that you faced. If you see that person the next day, you will know that he, too, has become One of Them. If not, then do not be alarmed if you do not feel hungry the rest of the day.

It's rumoured that in Singapore, there's a bus 444. It comes once every month, stopping at stops which have buses 12 and 21 there. It's said that on the bus, there's always a man. He never gets off, and is forever awake. Next to him, there's always a nun. The nun will forever be trying to preach him to turn good. She will never go until he does as told. He will never leave until she leaves. There's also a very pretty girl who boards the bus every now and then. If you get on board with the sole purpose to look at the people there, you will die. Halfway through the ride, a little girl in Gothic Lolita clothes will come and get you. You'll find yourself paralyzed in fear. The next thing you know, you're back where you boarded the bus, repeating what happened to you over and over again for 15 minutes before you die. If you boarded the bus on accident, the girl will spare you. She has red eyes, and she'll turn her eyes to you. You'll feel a part of your body paralyze. It will never move again. If the pretty girl who boards the bus every now and then is there, the little girl will not harm you, no matter what your intention is.

Some of those are pretty good.
It seems now that there's not many stories left I haven't read.

A SCARY STORY FOR THE MASSES.

WARNING< WALL OF TEXT

Raw Head and Bloody Bones
retold by
S. E. Schlosser


Way back in the deep woods there lived a scrawny old woman who had a reputation for being the best conjuring woman in the Ozarks. With her bedraggled black-and-gray hair, funny eyes - one yellow and one green - and her crooked nose, Old Betty was not a pretty picture, but she was the best there was at fixing what ailed a man, and that was all that counted.


Old Betty's house was full of herbs and roots and bottles filled with conjuring medicine. The walls were lined with strange books brimming with magical spells. Old Betty was the only one living in the Hollow who knew how to read; her granny, who was also a conjurer, had taught her the skill as part of her magical training.


Just about the only friend Old Betty had was a tough, mean, ugly old razorback hog that ran wild around her place. It rooted so much in her kitchen garbage that all the leftover spells started affecting it. Some folks swore up and down that the old razorback hog sometimes walked upright like man. One fellow claimed he'd seen the pig sitting in the rocker on Old Betty's porch, chattering away to her while she stewed up some potions in the kitchen, but everyone discounted that story on account of the fellow who told it was a little too fond of moonshine.


"Raw Head" was the name Old Betty gave the razorback, referring maybe to the way the ugly creature looked a bit like some of the dead pigs come butchering time down in Hog-Scald Hollow. The razorback didn't mind the funny name. Raw Head kept following Old Betty around her little cabin and rooting up the kitchen leftovers. He'd even walk to town with her when she came to the local mercantile to sell her home remedies.


Well, folks in town got so used to seeing Raw Head and Old Betty around the town that it looked mighty strange one day around hog-driving time when Old Betty came to the mercantile without him.


"Where's Raw Head?" the owner asked as he accepted her basket full of home-remedy potions. The liquid in the bottles swished in an agitate manner as Old Betty said: "I ain't seen him around today, and I'm mighty worried. You seen him here in town?"


"Nobody's seen him around today. They would've told me if they did," the mercantile owner said. "We'll keep a lookout fer you."


"That's mighty kind of you. If you see him, tell him to come home straightaway," Old Betty said. The mercantile owner nodded agreement as he handed over her weekly pay.


Old Betty fussed to herself all the way home. It wasn't like Raw Head to disappear, especially not the day they went to town. The man at the mercantile always saved the best scraps for the mean old razorback, and Raw Head never missed a visit. When the old conjuring woman got home, she mixed up a potion and poured it onto a flat plate.


"Where's that old hog got to?" she asked the liquid. It clouded over and then a series of pictures formed. First, Old Betty saw the good-for-nothing hunter that lived on the next ridge sneaking around the forest, rounding up razorback hogs that didn't belong to him. One of the hogs was Raw Head. Then she saw him taking the hogs down to Hog-Scald Hollow, where folks from the next town were slaughtering their razorbacks. Then she saw her hog, Raw Head, slaughtered with the rest of the pigs and hung up for gutting. The final picture in the liquid was the pile of bloody bones that had once been her hog, and his scraped-clean head lying with the other hogsheads in a pile.


Old Betty was infuriated by the death of her only friend. It was murder to her, plain and simple. Everyone in three counties knew that Raw Head was her friend, and that lazy, hog-stealing, good-for-nothing hunter on the ridge was going to pay for slaughtering him.


Now Old Betty tried to practice white conjuring most of the time, but she knew the dark secrets too. She pulled out an old, secret book her granny had given her and turned to the very last page. She lit several candles and put them around the plate containing the liquid picture of Raw Head and his bloody bones. Then she began to chant: "Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones."


The light from the windows disappeared as if the sun had been snuffed out like a candle. Dark clouds billowed into the clearing where Old Betty's cabin stood, and the howl of dark spirits could be heard in the wind that pummeled the treetops.


"Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones."


Betty continued the chant until a bolt of silver lightning left the plate and streaked out threw the window, heading in the direction of Hog-Scald Hollow.


When the silver light struck Raw Head's severed head, which was piled on the hunter's wagon with the other hog heads, it tumbled to the ground and rolled until it was touching the bloody bones that had once inhabited its body. As the hunter's wagon rumbled away toward the ridge where he lived, the enchanted Raw Head called out: "Bloody bones, get up and dance!"


Immediately, the bloody bones reassembled themselves into the skeleton of a razorback hog walking upright, as Raw Head had often done when he was alone with Old Betty. The head hopped on top of his skeleton and Raw Head went searching through the woods for weapons to use against the hunter. He borrowed the sharp teeth of a dying panther, the claws of a long-dead bear, and the tail from a rotting raccoon and put them over his skinned head and bloody bones.


Then Raw Head headed up the track toward the ridge, looking for the hunter who had slaughtered him. Raw Head slipped passed the thief on the road and slid into the barn where the hunter kept his horse and wagon. Raw Head climbed up into the loft and waited for the hunter to come home.


It was dusk when the hunter drove into the barn and unhitched his horse. The horse snorted in fear, sensing the presence of Raw Head in the loft. Wondering what was disturbing his usually-calm horse, the hunter looked around and saw a large pair of eyes staring down at him from the darkness in the loft.


The hunter frowned, thinking it was one of the local kids fooling around in his barn.


"Land o' Goshen, what have you got those big eyes fer?" he snapped, thinking the kids were trying to scare him with some crazy mask.


"To see your grave," Raw Head rumbled very softly. The hunter snorted irritably and put his horse into the stall.


"Very funny. Ha,ha," The hunter said. When he came out of the stall, he saw Raw Head had crept forward a bit further. Now his luminous yellow eyes and his bears claws could clearly be seen.


"Land o' Goshen, what have you got those big claws fer?" he snapped. "You look ridiculous."


"To dig your grave…" Raw Head intoned softly, his voice a deep rumble that raised the hairs on the back of the hunter's neck. He stirred uneasily, not sure how the crazy kid in his loft could have made such a scary sound. If it really was a crazy kid.


Feeling a little spooked, he hurried to the door and let himself out of the barn. Raw Head slipped out of the loft and climbed down the side of the barn behind him. With nary a rustle to reveal his presence, Raw Head raced through the trees and up the path to a large, moonlight rock. He hid in the shadow of the huge stone so that the only things showing were his gleaming yellow eyes, his bear claws, and his raccoon tail.


When the hunter came level with the rock on the side of the path, he gave a startled yelp. Staring at Raw Head, he gasped: "You nearly knocked the heart right out of me, you crazy kid! Land o' Goshen, what have you got that crazy tail fer?"


"To sweep your grave…" Raw Head boomed, his enchanted voice echoing through the woods, getting louder and louder with each echo. The hunter took to his heels and ran for his cabin. He raced passed the old well-house, passed the wood pile, over the rotting fence and into his yard. But Raw Head was faster. When the hunter reached his porch, Raw Head leapt from the shadows and loomed above him. The hunter stared in terror up at Raw Head's gleaming yellow eyes in the ugly razorback hogshead, his bloody bone skeleton with its long bear claws, sweeping raccoon's tail and his gleaming sharp panther teeth.


"Land o' Goshen, what have you got those big teeth fer?" he gasped desperately, stumbling backwards from the terrible figure before him.


"To eat you up, like you wanted to eat me!" Raw Head roared, descending upon the good-for-nothing hunter. The murdering thief gave one long scream in the moonlight. Then there was silence, and the sound of crunching.


Nothing more was ever seen or heard of the lazy hunter who lived on the ridge. His horse also disappeared that night. But sometimes folks would see Raw Head roaming through the forest in the company of his friend Old Betty. And once a month, on the night of the full moon, Raw Head would ride the hunter's horse through town, wearing the old man's blue overalls over his bloody bones with a hole cut-out for his raccoon tail. In his bloody, bear-clawed hands, he carried his raw, razorback hogshead, lifting it high against the full moon for everyone to see.

Got this from American folklore.net

It was the night before the senior prom, and one girl didn't have a dress to wear. She was poor and lived in a section of town where there were many immigrants from Haiti and other islands in the Caribbean Sea.
She had gone to the neighborhood funeral parlor that same day to pay her respects to the remains of an elderly neighbor. While she was in the funeral home, she had seen a young girl about her age and size lying in state in a casket in one of the many rooms, which she had entered by mistake. As she looked down at the casket, she noticed that the dress was very pretty and brand new. It had been bought just for the burial.
While she was in the room, the funeral director came in and said it was time to close the casket. He sealed it with a big key - kind of like a wrench - and said that the casket would remain closed from then on, and that the burial would take place the next morning. After the director left, the girl went on down the hall to the room where her dead neighbor was laid out.
While she was in the room paying her respects, she heard a lot of crying and wailing down the hall. Someone had collapsed with grief in one of the rooms, and everyone, including the funeral director, ran down the hall to help that family. As the girl ran by the room with the sealed casket, she had an idea. She went into the room, opened the sealed casket with the huge curved wrench, and quickly slid the white dress off the girl. She put the key back in the socket and the casket lid and sealed the lid again. Stuffing the white dress into her school bag, she slipped out past the room where all the crying was coming from. The next night, she put on the dead girl's white dress and went to the dance.
As she danced with several different boys she knew, her joints began to get kind of stiff. As time went by, her muscles began to stiffen, and she began to walk and dance awkwardly. She thought maybe there was something wrong with the dress, so she went into the girl's restroom and slipped into a stall. She took off the dress and searched all over it, but couldn't find anything wrong with it. So she put it back on.
As she danced, she became colder and stiffer until she was as stiff as a board. The ambulance was called, and she was rushed to a hospital. The doctors pronounced her dead - but she was alive! She could hear every word everyone said, and see everything that was happening. She just couldn't move or speak. Soon, she was lying in state in the same funeral parlor, with her family and friends coming by and crying. She tried to move or cry out, but she couldn't.
The funeral director came in and closed the lid on her casket. And the next day, the casket was taken to the graveyard. And she could hear the gravediggers working:
"Did you hear what happened at the funeral home this morning?" said one of them.
"No, what?" said the other as they threw shovel fulls of dirt onto her casket.
"A young mortician's assistant heard a knocking sound in one of the caskets. Well, he opened it up, and a young girl in a slip climbed out. She said she'd been the victim of a voodoo ritual. Someone had given her a dress dusted with that zombie powder, so she seemed dead when she wasn't."
"Huh," said the first gravedigger. "I wonder what happened to that dress."
And then the girl couldn't hear anything else....

The coast of South Carolina can be an eerie place, with Spanish moss draped over tree branches, looking like long ghostly fingers reaching out to grab passers by. The fog, the mist, and the sea breeze all complete the perfect setting for ghostly tales - like that of Alice Flagg, a well-known ghost haunting the South Carolina Grand Strand.
Alice's story begins in 1849 at the Hermitage of Murrell's Inlet, S.C., seashore home of the Flagg family, owners of the great Wachesaw Plantation. Alice Belin Flagg lived with her mother and brother, Dr. Allard Flagg, who took over as family patriarch when his father, and Alice's father, died. As the head of the house, it was his responsibility to see to his sister's upbringing. And she was being brought up to marry into the South Carolina aristocracy.
"Every woman must leave her mark on the earth," Alice's mother would say. Indeed, every Georgetown County plantation princess was expected to marry a plantation prince, period - no questions asked, no exceptions made.
But who can control one's heart strings? It would be Alice's fate to fall in love with a common lumber man - handsome and successful in his field, but still far beneath her required station. His name was John Braddock, and he was a man who worked with his hands. He knew nothing about plantation society, other than as his employers.
They met one day while Alice went riding. Alice had a strong rebellious streak, and loved to ride fast, ignoring her family's warnings. Horseback riding gave her a sense of freedom she could not enjoy at home, where there were so many expectations of her as a young Southern belle. On horseback she could be free, and could be the Alice Flagg she wanted to be.
As she rode onto the main path that day, she suddenly spotted some men clearing the road of a fallen tree. One of the lumber men caught her eye. His name was John Braddock, and before they knew it, the two were instantly drawn to one another. Their tragic courtship was about to begin.
When Alice mentioned her newfound beau to her family, her mother and brother became extremely concerned. "How can you possibly carve a place for yourself in this society, if you attach yourself to his common lumber man?" they asked.
But Alice only paid attention to her heart, and she spent her days dreaming of her beloved. She sent secret messages to John by way of loyal servants, who would deliver them and arrange for secret meeting places.
One day, her young man mustered up enough courage to come call on Alice's family. Her brother Allard was furious that Alice would continue to associate with such a commoner and would so blatantly defy his wishes. Despite Alice's pleadings, Allard turned John away.
Alice felt that her very life was being taken from her by her tyrannical brother and unyielding mother. Had they never known love before? Did they not know what it was like to love someone so deeply that it hurt? She was heartbroken, and there was no family member to turn to for a sympathetic shoulder.
But she was more determined than ever to continue to see John. While her mother and brother continued to search for a worthy husband, Alice secretly accepted an engagement ring from her true love. It was a plain gold ring with a simple inscription:
"Love never fails, John."
Alice loved the ring, but she knew she could never wear it openly on her finger. So she placed it on a blue ribbon to wear around her neck, close to her heart. Her family would come around to accepting her love for John and would accept him into the family, she thought - it was just a matter of time.
But as time went on, her brother and mother stepped up their relentless pursuit of a proper husband, and would no longer allow Alice to see her lumber man. Allard finally sent her away to a boarding school in Charleston, providing the school with strict orders to prevent any correspondence between the two lovers.
But time and distance would not make Alice's heart less fervent for her beloved. Although she attended many social events - including the annual St. Cecelia Ball, the biggest coming out party of the season - and was pursued by many suitors, she remained true to John. She wore the ribbon around her neck thin, fingering her ring, reading the beautiful inscription and clutching it close to her aching heart.
At times, she would take it off the ribbon, place it on her finger, and would imagine her wedded bliss. Why did her brother fail to see how miserable he was making her? She would then cry herself to sleep.
As she pined away in Charleston, she began to grow frail and thin. Her future seemed dark and unclear. She began to have strange dreams where she was lost in a dark forest. She heard her beloved calling out to her in the darkness and tried walking toward him, but he was always out of reach. The empty blackness enveloped her and she could move no more. She lost sight of John's form, and then she, too, was lost in the void.
When she awoke, she found herself ill with fever - a fever that seemed to overtake her, just as the darkness had. Out of alarm for her health, Allard was summoned to Charleston. He traveled for four days to reach her, and once he arrived, he found her too weak to even acknowledge his presence.
He carried her to his carriage for the long journey home. But the jostling and jolting four day carriage ride made her even more ill. By the time she was placed in her own bed at the Hermitage, she was comatose. She dreamed feverish dreams of her beloved, calling out his name, reaching for the ring around her neck to comfort her. Then she would visibly sigh, her frail body relaxing in sleep.
One night as Alice slept, Allard spotted the ring around her neck. He became enraged, for to him, the lumber man was solely responsible for his sister's illness, and he wanted all reminders of this tragic figure removed from his house and his sister's mind. Without a second thought, he snatched the ribbon from his sister's neck. It only look one small tug to break it, since Alice had worn it down to nothing. In a fit of rage, Allard threw the ring into a nearby creek.
As Alice awoke the next morning, she made the familiar and comforting gesture of clutching the ring to her chest. To her horror, she found that it wasn't there. She deliriously asked for it and made wild searching motions for the ring, pounding and scratching at her chest, leaving clawing marks on her delicate skin. She was panic stricken - if the ring was gone, she thought, then so was she. Hours later, she lapsed into a coma and died.
Alice Flagg was dressed in her favorite dress for her funeral at All Saints Church. As friends viewed the body, they shuddered at the sight. Where had her youth and beauty gone? This was not the face they remembered - it was a cold, pained face, with all its spirit drained away. There was talk that she could not bear losing her true love, and that was the real reason she died. If this story were true, then everyone knew that not even death could give her peace.
She was buried at All Saints' Waccamaw Episcopal Church near Pawleys Island. Allard insisted that no other inscription than her first name commemorate her grave, for he felt that she had disgraced the family unforgivably. He believed that her stubborn rebelliousness had caused her early death, and she did not deserve further acknowledgment.
No one knew what became of John Braddock, since he was not seen at the funeral. Some say he was so grief stricken that he could no longer stay in the place that held so many memories of her. With Alice's death, he, too, seemed to fade away.
But many believe that even in death, Alice did not give up her hope of being united with her one true love. In death, they say, she continues to search for her ring, the symbol of her chosen man's affection.
There are stories about sightings of Alice, followed by strange happenings. Some say when a group of young people stood at her gravesite, a ring suddenly flew off the finger of one of the girls. She had been unable to remove the ring for some time, but it mysteriously flew off. It took much of the day to relocate the ring, which the girl treasured.
Alice has been seen many times near her final resting place, behind the wrought-iron gates of All Saint's Churchyard. Through the years, many guests at the Hermitage have seen a vivid, life-like Alice standing in her old bedroom. She is always wearing a long white dress, as if dressed for a wedding. And always, she appears to be searching endlessly for her lost ring.
You can visit Alice's grave today at All Saints' Waccamaw Episcopal Church. Just look for a plain marble slab engraved with only one word: "ALICE."