I know this has been posted ages ago but I just wanted to add:rescuer86 said:
The grammar GESTAPO more like.
The scary thread
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The grammar GESTAPO more like.
The cold, wet street makes my bones ache. The smell of dampness and cigarette butts, carelessly discarded on the ground, makes me nauseous. I feel like vomiting.
The buzzing, flickering street light above me brings no comfort either. As the adrenaline begins to flush itself out of my system, I once again look at the scene before me from my perch against the cold steel of the lamp. The crumpled body sprawled chaotically on the ground, the stained knife and the small pool of blood uniting all the elements together. "How did it all go wrong?"I desperately need a hit. I begin to cry.
After a few minutes, I raise myself up on my feet and wipe the tears from my face. I don't know why but I start thinking of my mother and how she would always talk about God. "Dios te ayudar hijo. God will help you". Of course I never believed her. There was a time I used to make fun of her and her superstitions. Me, the big college boy. Where did it all go wrong?
The words echo through my head and out of desperation I look up at the street light and for a few minutes try to pretend as if God washing my sins away, but it fails. I still can't wipe the memory of what's happened out of my head. Though I shut my eyes tightly, the events are still so clear and they hound me.
I'm walking down this very street, the knife in my pocket is heavy and the handle is covered in my own sweat. I continuously tell myself "I need the money, I need the money" as I scratch and agitate the sores on my neck and my chest. "This will be the last time", I try to tell myself in my most convincing voice, but it's a lie. For a few months now that's all that's ever really came out of my mouth.
As I dart my eyes, scanning the street I see her walking on the opposite sidewalk. Long red hair, tight blue sweater, denim jacket. Even in the dim light I can see the gold chain hanging loosely from her neck. It looks old, probably a family heirloom. I know a pawn broker over on Holland Street who could give me money for it. I wait for her to past by before I cross the street and make my move. The street light is only a few blocks away; the adrenaline starts to kick in. I followed her for a while and briefly study her; the way her hips sway with each step, like they had some sort of orbit of thier own. Her legs are great, dressed in skin tight jeans that only excentuate their curves. For a split second I find myself smiling when I see her shoes. Lime green All-Stars. I quickly hide the smile, I need the money. Forgive Me.
Through sheer force of will I bring myself to the present. I walk to the cold lifeless body before me; its partly opened lips are blue, its hands and stomach covered in blood. I begin to cry again and the memories come flooding back, there much more intense this time. It all goes by so fast.
As I approach myself behind her, I pull out the knife and grab her arm, she fight back harder than I thought she would. As we dance violently, trying to take control of the knife, our bodies come closer together and for a brief moment, silence fills our small world. We both realize what's happened. As we look at each others fear bleached faces, we back away slowly, like lovers from the old movies. She starts to cry, blood is on her hands and stomach. My legs feel like jelly. She slowly turns and walks away, stumbling. I attempt to follow...I fall.
What happens next is a blur of visions and sensations, in truth I don't remember what happened as I hit the concrete, but I didn't see any lights, no familiar faces. Only darkness. I wake up, staring at what is now a lifeless cllection of meat and bones, what was once my body. Words cannot describe the sensation. My lifeless lungs gasp for air and I sit, stunned. That was five minutes ago. I lean on the steel of the streetlamp and bath myself in its artificial halo.
What's going to happen to me? To her? I don't blame her...for what she did, if she ever had to face a court she'd get let off. Self defence against some junkie with a knife, a beautiful girl like her. It shouldn't have been like this.
The cold emanating from my own bones is making them ache. The smell of this horrible, surreal new existence and my own lifeless body is making me nauseous. I feel like vomiting.
The buzzing, flickering street light above me brings no comfort either. As the adrenaline begins to flush itself out of my system, I once again look at the scene before me from my perch against the cold steel of the lamp. The crumpled body sprawled chaotically on the ground, the stained knife and the small pool of blood uniting all the elements together. "How did it all go wrong?"I desperately need a hit. I begin to cry.
After a few minutes, I raise myself up on my feet and wipe the tears from my face. I don't know why but I start thinking of my mother and how she would always talk about God. "Dios te ayudar hijo. God will help you". Of course I never believed her. There was a time I used to make fun of her and her superstitions. Me, the big college boy. Where did it all go wrong?
The words echo through my head and out of desperation I look up at the street light and for a few minutes try to pretend as if God washing my sins away, but it fails. I still can't wipe the memory of what's happened out of my head. Though I shut my eyes tightly, the events are still so clear and they hound me.
I'm walking down this very street, the knife in my pocket is heavy and the handle is covered in my own sweat. I continuously tell myself "I need the money, I need the money" as I scratch and agitate the sores on my neck and my chest. "This will be the last time", I try to tell myself in my most convincing voice, but it's a lie. For a few months now that's all that's ever really came out of my mouth.
As I dart my eyes, scanning the street I see her walking on the opposite sidewalk. Long red hair, tight blue sweater, denim jacket. Even in the dim light I can see the gold chain hanging loosely from her neck. It looks old, probably a family heirloom. I know a pawn broker over on Holland Street who could give me money for it. I wait for her to past by before I cross the street and make my move. The street light is only a few blocks away; the adrenaline starts to kick in. I followed her for a while and briefly study her; the way her hips sway with each step, like they had some sort of orbit of thier own. Her legs are great, dressed in skin tight jeans that only excentuate their curves. For a split second I find myself smiling when I see her shoes. Lime green All-Stars. I quickly hide the smile, I need the money. Forgive Me.
Through sheer force of will I bring myself to the present. I walk to the cold lifeless body before me; its partly opened lips are blue, its hands and stomach covered in blood. I begin to cry again and the memories come flooding back, there much more intense this time. It all goes by so fast.
As I approach myself behind her, I pull out the knife and grab her arm, she fight back harder than I thought she would. As we dance violently, trying to take control of the knife, our bodies come closer together and for a brief moment, silence fills our small world. We both realize what's happened. As we look at each others fear bleached faces, we back away slowly, like lovers from the old movies. She starts to cry, blood is on her hands and stomach. My legs feel like jelly. She slowly turns and walks away, stumbling. I attempt to follow...I fall.
What happens next is a blur of visions and sensations, in truth I don't remember what happened as I hit the concrete, but I didn't see any lights, no familiar faces. Only darkness. I wake up, staring at what is now a lifeless cllection of meat and bones, what was once my body. Words cannot describe the sensation. My lifeless lungs gasp for air and I sit, stunned. That was five minutes ago. I lean on the steel of the streetlamp and bath myself in its artificial halo.
What's going to happen to me? To her? I don't blame her...for what she did, if she ever had to face a court she'd get let off. Self defence against some junkie with a knife, a beautiful girl like her. It shouldn't have been like this.
The cold emanating from my own bones is making them ache. The smell of this horrible, surreal new existence and my own lifeless body is making me nauseous. I feel like vomiting.
*shrugs* I don't know, if I'm honest. I just borrowed some lines from an Ozzy Osbourne song. XD (The very first line is from the same song.)David_G said:
However, this was originally part of a far, far longer fanfic project I was working on. In that case, this unfortunate fellow was the monster of the week; the spiders were literal--and basically tiny eldritch abominations. He clawed at his eyes until he tore them out, at which point the spiders came flooding out. But this current version has been edited a bit from its original appearance in that fanfic. So I don't know whether he's hallucinating or whether he's suffering the same dismal fate.
Seriously... I can't handle this thread... people keep bringing it back...Scarecrow 8 said:
I'm not joking, I've closed my closet door every night since I read that creepy pasta thing. Without even having that thing jump out at me.
Oh my god, now if I saw that picture at first I would be like 'meh' but then BAM! Wow sir I was scared shitlessStandby said:JESUS TITTY CHRIST.Stormz said:When you see it...
That's the first thing in this thread that's ever freaked me out, i was just about to give up looking at it aswell..
It's strange how I attempted to make a thread about the opposite to make you feel better but it died... STOP BRINGING IT BACK! By the time I saw all of this, I'd be fearless.
Heh... mickey mouse...Wolfy1328 said:
So do any of you remember those Mickey Mouse cartoons from the 1930s? The ones that were just put out on DVD a few years ago? Well, I hear there is one that was unreleased to even the most avid classic Disney fans. According to sources, it's nothing special. It's just a continuous loop (like The Flintstones) of Mickey walking past six buildings that goes on for two or three minutes before fading out. Unlike the cutesy tunes put in though, the song on this cartoon was not a song at all, just a constant banging on a piano as if the keys for a minute and a half before going to white noise for the remainder of the film. It wasn't the jolly old Mickey we've come to love either, Mickey wasn't dancing, not even smiling, just kind of walking as if you or I were walking, with a normal facial expression, but for some reason his head tilted side to side as he kept this dismal look. Up until a year or two ago, everyone believed that after it cut to black and that was it. When Leonard Maltin was reviewing the cartoon to be put in the complete series, he decided it was too junk to be on the DVD, but wanted to have a digital copy due to the fact that it was a creation of Walt. When he had a digitized version up on his computer to look at the file, he noticed something. The cartoon was actually 9 minutes and 4 seconds long. This is what my source emailed to me, in full (he is a personal assistant of one of the higher executives at Disney, and acquaintance of Mr. Maltin himself).
After it cut to black, it stayed like that until the sixth minute, before going back into Mickey walking. The sound was different this time. It was a murmur. It wasn't a language, but more like a gurgled cry. As the noise got more indistinguishable and loud over the next minute, the picture began to get weird. The sidewalk started to go in directions that seemed impossible based on the physics of Mickey's walking. And the dismal face of the mouse was slowly curling into a smirk. On the seventh minute, the murmur turned into a bloodcurdling scream (the kind of scream painful to hear) and the picture was getting more obscure. Colors were happening that shouldn't have been possible at the time. Mickey face began to fall apart. his eyes rolled on the bottom of his chin like two marbles in a fishbowl, and his curled smile was pointing upward on the left side of his face. The buildings became rubble floating in midair and the sidewalk was still impossibly navigating in warped directions, a few seeming inconceivable with what we, as humans, know about direction. Mr. Maltin got disturbed and left the room, sending an employee to finish the video and take notes of everything happening up until the last second, and afterward immediately stored the disc of the cartoon into the vault. This distorted screaming lasted until eight minutes and a few seconds in, and then it abruptly cuts to the Mickey Mouse face at the credits of the end of every video with what sounded like a broken music box playing in the background. This happened for about thirty seconds, and whatever was in that remaining thirty seconds I haven't been able to get a sliver of information. From a security guard working under me who was making rounds outside of that room, I was told that after the last frame, the employee stumbled out of the room with pale skin saying "Real suffering is not known" seven times before taking the guard's pistol and committing suicide. The thing I could get out of Leonard Maltin was that the last frame was a piece of Russian text that roughly said "The sights of Hell bring its viewers back in." As far as I know, no one else has seen it, but there have been dozens of attempts at getting the file on RapidShare by employees inside the studios, all of whom have been promptly terminated of their jobs. If you find this film, do not watch it.
After it cut to black, it stayed like that until the sixth minute, before going back into Mickey walking. The sound was different this time. It was a murmur. It wasn't a language, but more like a gurgled cry. As the noise got more indistinguishable and loud over the next minute, the picture began to get weird. The sidewalk started to go in directions that seemed impossible based on the physics of Mickey's walking. And the dismal face of the mouse was slowly curling into a smirk. On the seventh minute, the murmur turned into a bloodcurdling scream (the kind of scream painful to hear) and the picture was getting more obscure. Colors were happening that shouldn't have been possible at the time. Mickey face began to fall apart. his eyes rolled on the bottom of his chin like two marbles in a fishbowl, and his curled smile was pointing upward on the left side of his face. The buildings became rubble floating in midair and the sidewalk was still impossibly navigating in warped directions, a few seeming inconceivable with what we, as humans, know about direction. Mr. Maltin got disturbed and left the room, sending an employee to finish the video and take notes of everything happening up until the last second, and afterward immediately stored the disc of the cartoon into the vault. This distorted screaming lasted until eight minutes and a few seconds in, and then it abruptly cuts to the Mickey Mouse face at the credits of the end of every video with what sounded like a broken music box playing in the background. This happened for about thirty seconds, and whatever was in that remaining thirty seconds I haven't been able to get a sliver of information. From a security guard working under me who was making rounds outside of that room, I was told that after the last frame, the employee stumbled out of the room with pale skin saying "Real suffering is not known" seven times before taking the guard's pistol and committing suicide. The thing I could get out of Leonard Maltin was that the last frame was a piece of Russian text that roughly said "The sights of Hell bring its viewers back in." As far as I know, no one else has seen it, but there have been dozens of attempts at getting the file on RapidShare by employees inside the studios, all of whom have been promptly terminated of their jobs. If you find this film, do not watch it.
Might as well give you a link to an awesome site.
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/main
My personal favorite on that site:
[http://img176.imageshack.us/my.php?image=1285530927817.jpg]
Item #: SCP-173
Object class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Item SCP-173 is to be kept in a locked container at all times. When personnel must enter SCP-173's container, no fewer than 3 may enter at any time and the door is to be relocked behind them. At all times, two persons must maintain direct eye contact with SCP-173 until all personnel have vacated and relocked the container.
Description: Moved to Site19 1993. Origin is as of yet unknown. It is constructed from concrete and rebar with traces of Krylon brand spray paint. SCP-173 is animate and extremely hostile. The object cannot move while within a direct line of sight. Line of sight must not be broken at any time with SCP-173. Personnel assigned to enter container are instructed to alert one another before blinking. Object is reported to attack by snapping the neck at the base of the skull, or by strangulation. In the event of an attack, personnel are to observe Class 4 hazardous object containment procedures.
Personnel report sounds of scraping stone originating from within the container when no one is present inside. This is considered normal, and any change in this behaviour should be reported to the acting HMCL supervisor on duty.
The reddish brown substance on the floor is a combination of feces and blood. Origin of these materials is unknown. The enclosure must be cleaned on a bi-weekly basis.
EDIT: I'd also suggest these for reading:
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-914
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/experiment-log-914
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-055
Very interesting.
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/main
My personal favorite on that site:
Item #: SCP-173
Object class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Item SCP-173 is to be kept in a locked container at all times. When personnel must enter SCP-173's container, no fewer than 3 may enter at any time and the door is to be relocked behind them. At all times, two persons must maintain direct eye contact with SCP-173 until all personnel have vacated and relocked the container.
Description: Moved to Site19 1993. Origin is as of yet unknown. It is constructed from concrete and rebar with traces of Krylon brand spray paint. SCP-173 is animate and extremely hostile. The object cannot move while within a direct line of sight. Line of sight must not be broken at any time with SCP-173. Personnel assigned to enter container are instructed to alert one another before blinking. Object is reported to attack by snapping the neck at the base of the skull, or by strangulation. In the event of an attack, personnel are to observe Class 4 hazardous object containment procedures.
Personnel report sounds of scraping stone originating from within the container when no one is present inside. This is considered normal, and any change in this behaviour should be reported to the acting HMCL supervisor on duty.
The reddish brown substance on the floor is a combination of feces and blood. Origin of these materials is unknown. The enclosure must be cleaned on a bi-weekly basis.
EDIT: I'd also suggest these for reading:
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-914
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/experiment-log-914
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-055
Very interesting.
That is genius - if Douglas Adams were alive today, he'd either write that or highly respect it.reg42 said:
For contribution, funny, sort of unsettling GMOD video:
FUCK YOU. I checked to make sure it wasn't a .gif file before examining the picture (as I've learned to do with those kinds of pictures) and yet it was still a fucking screamer.Stormz said:When you see it...
I don't know how you did that but you are a bastard.
