The scary thread

[Owlslayer]

Ok well I posted these in the "part 2" thread because I didn't realise this one was still going, so...

Spoiler: I'm quite fond of this one

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 weren't already
aware that this thing was following you, once it got back to your house, it would start
knocking on your door...

Once for you bones, which she'll use to patch her own decaying flesh.

Twice for your muscle, which she'll gnash her teeth on between victimes.

Thrice for your bones, which she'll make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victimes.

Four times for your heart, which she'll wear around her neck.

Five times for your teeth, which she'll polish and keep in a box.

Six times for your eyes, which she'll see the faces of your loved ones through.

Seven times for your soul, which she'll eat whole - you can never pass while you're in her
stomach.

She has to repeat this on any mirror or door between you and her.

You can try to outrun her, but she's faster than the fastest man. And if you leave your home
while she's knocking on your door, she won't be so courteous when she catches up to you.

Now the man was certain that this thing had killed his sister, that he had tried to tell the
police, but they would not listen. Next he had tried to tell his priest, but the priest
turned him away when he saw that the thing was following him now - oh, that's right, I forgot
about that - it can only get you if you tell someone else about it, or you saw it kill
someone else. The man, after finishing his tale, stole a car from the mission, and was never
seen again."

Apparently his mother and father had immediately called his aunt about this when it happened.
They were found in the morning, skinned and dismembered. Their bodies were covered in tiny,
child-like handprints."

His aunt was really drunk the night before, and had told him about that. He told me this
story early in the morning today at school, before the cops arrived. His aunt had been
murdered that night. I called him later that night, and he told me that he was being chased
by someone, and now they were knocking on his door. I told him to stop shitting me.

He held the phone away from his face for a minute, and I could hear slow, deliberate knocking. A moment later, I heard the door rip from its hinges and the dying screams of my friend.

Then a little girl's voice spoke over the line: "WITNESS." I hung up.

Three minutes ago someone started knocking on my door. She has to knock 28 times on my front
door, 28 times on the mirror in the hall, and another 28 times on the door to my bedroom.
She's doing it slowly... I think she wants to scare me some more, let me know that my death
is just moments away. I will not run - I couldn't get to my car in time anyway. She started
knocking on my bedroom door a minute ago, she should be done any moment.

Nice knowing you guys, it's been fuy5
WITNESS

I read that one in the other scary thread. It was fun to read and a bit spooky, but the thing that freaked me out the most was that when i read "Then a little girl's voice spoke over the line: "WITNESS." I hung up." , at that moment my mobile started to ring.
I actually though "oh shit, someone's gonna say "WITNESS" to me now". Luckily it was just a friend asking if i wanted to go cycling.
Man, good thing it's daytime now, i hate when i wander to this thread in the middle o the night. Scary stuff...

 

[interspark]

Go to ED and search creepy pasta.

Spoiler

DAMN YOU TO HELL!!!!!!! *gasp gasp* let me guess, im what? the 20th person to say that?

 

[Optimus Hagrid]

I think we can agree "The scary thread" is "The Basement" which everyone keeps referring to?

 

[David_G]

I think we can agree "The scary thread" is "The Basement" which everyone keeps referring to?

Heh, that's a good idea. But I've heard that the basement is worse, much worse.

Spoiler: This is fucking disgusting

Inhale.

Take in as much air as you can. This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.

A friend of mine, when he was 13 years old he heard about "pegging." This is when a guy gets banged up the butt with a dildo. Stimulate the prostate gland hard enough, and the rumor is you can have explosive hands-free orgasms. At that age, this friend's a little sex maniac. He's always jonesing for a better way to get his rocks off. He goes out to buy a carrot and some petroleum jelly. To conduct a little private research. Then he pictures how it's going to look at the supermarket checkout counter, the lonely carrot and petroleum jelly rolling down the conveyer belt toward the grocery store cashier. All the shoppers waiting in line, watching. Everyone seeing the big evening he has planned.

So my friend, he buys milk and eggs and sugar and a carrot, all the ingredients for a carrot cake. And Vaseline.

Like he's going home to stick a carrot cake up his butt.

At home, he whittles the carrot into a blunt tool. He slathers it with grease and grinds his ass down on it. Then, nothing. No orgasm. Nothing happens except it hurts.

Then, this kid, his mom yells it's supper time. She says to come down, right now.

He works the carrot out and stashes the slippery, filthy thing in the dirty clothes under his bed.

After dinner, he goes to find the carrot, and it's gone. All his dirty clothes, while he ate dinner, his mom grabbed them all to do laundry. No way could she not find the carrot, carefully shaped with a paring knife from her kitchen, still shiny with lube and stinky.

This friend of mine, he waits months under a black cloud, waiting for his folks to confront him. And they never do. Ever. Even now that he's grown up, that invisible carrot hangs over every Christmas dinner, every birthday party. Every Easter egg hunt with his kids, his parents' grandkids, that ghost carrot is hovering over all of them. That something too awful to name.

People in France have a phrase: "staircase wit." In French: esprit de l'escalier. It means that moment when you find the answer, but it's too late. Say you're at a party and someone insults you. You have to say something. So under pressure, with everybody watching, you say something lame. But the moment you leave the party....

As you start down the stairway, then-magic. You come up with the perfect thing you should've said. The perfect crippling put-down.

That?s the spirit of the stairway.

The trouble is, even the French don't have a phrase for the stupid things you actually do say under pressure. Those stupid, desperate things you actually think or do.

Some deeds are too low to even get a name. Too low to even get talked about.

Looking back, kid-psych experts, school counselors now say that most of the last peak in teen suicide was kids trying to choke while they beat off. Their folks would find them, a towel twisted around their kid's neck, the towel tied to the rod in their bedroom closet, the kid dead. Dead sperm everywhere. Of course the folks cleaned up. They put some pants on their kid. They made it look ... better. Intentional at least. The regular kind of sad teen suicide.

Another friend of mine, a kid from school, his older brother in the Navy said how guys in the Middle East jack off different than we do here. This brother was stationed in some camel country where the public market sells what could be fancy letter openers. Each fancy tool is just a thin rod of polished brass or silver, maybe as long as your hand, with a big tip at one end, either a big metal ball or the kind of fancy carved handle you'd see on a sword. This Navy brother says how Arab guys get their dick hard and then insert this metal rod inside the whole length of their boner. They jack off with the rod inside, and it makes getting off so much better. More intense.

It's this big brother who travels around the world, sending back French phrases. Russian phrases. Helpful jack-off tips.

After this, the little brother, one day he doesn't show up at school. That night, he calls to ask if I'll pick up his homework for the next couple weeks. Because he's in the hospital.

He's got to share a room with old people getting their guts worked on. He says how they all have to share the same television. All he's got for privacy is a curtain. His folks don't come and visit. On the phone, he says how right now his folks could just kill his big brother in the Navy.

On the phone, the kid says how-the day before-he was just a little stoned. At home in his bedroom, he was flopped on the bed. He was lighting a candle and flipping through some old porno magazines, getting ready to beat off. This is after he's heard from his Navy brother. That helpful hint about how Arabs beat off. The kid looks around for something that might do the job. A ballpoint pen's too big. A pencil's too big and rough. But dripped down the side of the candle, there's a thin, smooth ridge of wax that just might work. With just the tip of one finger, this kid snaps the long ridge of wax off the candle. He rolls it smooth between the palms of his hands. Long and smooth and thin.

Stoned and horny, he slips it down inside, deeper and deeper into the piss slit of his boner. With a good hank of the wax still poking out the top, he gets to work.

Even now, he says those Arab guys are pretty damn smart. They've totally reinvented jacking off. Flat on his back in bed, things are getting so good, this kid can't keep track of the wax. He's one good squeeze from shooting his wad when the wax isn't sticking out anymore.

The thin wax rod, it's slipped inside. All the way inside. So deep inside he can't even feel the lump of it inside his piss tube.

From downstairs, his mom shouts it's supper time. She says to come down, right now. This wax kid and the carrot kid are different people, but we all live pretty much the same life.

It's after dinner when the kid's guts start to hurt. It's wax, so he figured it would just melt inside him and he'd pee it out. Now his back hurts. His kidneys. He can't stand straight.

This kid talking on the phone from his hospital bed, in the background you can hear bells ding, people screaming. Game shows.

The X-rays show the truth, something long and thin, bent double inside his bladder. This long, thin V inside him, it's collecting all the minerals in his piss. It's getting bigger and rougher, coated with crystals of calcium, it's bumping around, ripping up the soft lining of his bladder, blocking his piss from getting out. His kidneys are backed up. What little that leaks out his dick is red with blood.

This kid and his folks, his whole family, them looking at the black X-ray with the doctor and the nurses standing there, the big V of wax glowing white for everybody to see, he has to tell the truth. The way Arabs get off. What his big brother wrote him from the Navy.

On the phone, right now, he starts to cry.

They paid for the bladder operation with his college fund. One stupid mistake, and now he'll never be a lawyer.

Sticking stuff inside yourself. Sticking yourself inside stuff. A candle in your dick or your head in a noose, we knew it was going to be big trouble.

What got me in trouble, I called it Pearl Diving. This meant whacking off underwater, sitting on the bottom at the deep end of my parents' swimming pool. With one deep breath, I'd kick my way to the bottom and slip off my swim trucks. I'd sit down there for two, three, four minutes.

Just from jacking oft' I had huge lung capacity. If I had the house to myself, I'd do this all afternoon. After I'd finally pump out my stuff, my sperm, it would hang there in big, fat, milky gobs.

After that was more diving, to catch it all. To collect it and wipe each handful in a towel. That's why it was called Pearl Diving. Even with chlorine, there was my sister to worry about. Or, Christ almighty, my mom.

That used to be my worst fear in the world: my teenage virgin sister, thinking she's just getting fat, then giving birth to a two-headed, retard baby. Both heads looking just like me. Me, the father and the uncle. In the end, it's never what you worry about that gets you.

The best part of Pearl Diving was the inlet port for the swimming pool filter and the circulation pump. The best part was getting naked and sitting on it.

As the French would say, Who doesn't like getting their butt sucked? Still, one minute you're just a kid getting off, and the next minute you'll never be a lawyer.

One minute I'm settling on the pool bottom and the sky is wavy, light blue through eight feet of water above my head. The world is silent except for the heartbeat in my ears. My yellowstriped swim trunks are looped around my neck for safe keeping, just in case a friend, a neighbor, anybody shows up to ask why I skipped football practice. The steady suck of the pool inlet hole is lapping at me and I'm grinding my skinny white ass around on that feeling.

One minute I've got enough air and my dick's in my hand. My folks are gone at their work and my sister's got ballet. Nobody's supposed to be home for hours.

My hand brings me right to getting off, and I stop. I swim up to catch another big breath. I dive down and settle on the bottom.

I do this again and again.

This must be why girls want to sit on your face. The suction is like taking a dump that never ends. My dick hard and getting my butt eaten out, I do not need air. My heartbeat in my ears, I stay under until bright stars of light start worming around in my eyes. My legs straight out, the back of each knee rubbed raw against the concrete bottom. My toes are turning blue, my toes and fingers wrinkled from being so long in the water.

And then I let it happen. The big white gobs start spouting. The pearls. It's then I need some air. But when I go to kick off against the bottom, I can't. I can't get my feet under me. My ass is stuck.

Emergency paramedics will tell you that every year about 150 people get stuck this way, sucked by a circulation pump. Get your long hair caught, or your ass, and you're going to drown. Every year, tons of people do. Most of them in Florida.

People just don't talk about it. Not even French people talk about everything. Getting one knee up, getting one foot tucked under me, I get to half standing when I feel the tug against my butt. Getting my other foot under me, I kick off against the bottom. I'm kicking free, not touching the concrete, but not getting to the air, either.

Still kicking water, thrashing with both arms, I'm maybe halfway to the surface but not going higher. The heartbeat inside my head getting loud and fast.

The bright sparks of light crossing and crisscrossing my eyes, I turn and look back ... but it doesn't make sense. This thick rope, some kind of snake, bluewhite and braided with veins, has come up out of the pool drain and it's holding on to my butt. Some of the veins are leaking blood, red blood that looks black underwater and drifts away from little rips in the pale skin of the snake. The blood trails away, disappearing in the water, and inside the snake's thin, bluewhite skin you can see lumps of some half-digested meal.

That's the only way this makes sense. Some horrible sea monster, a sea serpent, something that's never seen the light of day, it's been hiding in the dark bottom of the pool drain, waiting to eat me.

So ...I kick at it, at the slippery, rubbery knotted skin and veins of it, and more of it seems to pull out of the pool drain. It's maybe as long as my leg now, but still holding tight around my butthole. With another kick, I'm an inch closer to getting another breath. Still feeling the snake tug at my ass, I'm an inch closer to my escape.

Knotted inside the snake, you can see corn and peanuts. You can see a long bright-orange ball. It's the kind of horsepill vitamin my dad makes me take, to help put on weight. To get a football scholarship. With extra iron and omegathree fatty acids.

It's seeing that vitamin pill that saves my life.

It's not a snake. It's my large intestine, my colon pulled out of me. What doctors call prolapsed. It's my guts sucked into the drain.

Paramedics will tell you a swimming pool pump pulls 80 gallons of water every minute. That's about 400 pounds of pressure. The big problem is we're all connected together inside. Your ass is just the far end of your mouth. If I let go, the pump keeps working-unraveling my insides-until it's got my tongue. Imagine taking a 400-pound shit and you can see how this might turn you inside out.

What I can tell you is your guts don't feel much pain. Not the way your skin feels pain. The stuff you're digesting, doctors call it fecal matter. Higher up is chyme, pockets of a thin, runny mess studded with corn and peanuts and round green peas.

That's all this soup of blood and corn, shit and sperm and peanuts floating around me. Even with my guts unraveling out my ass, me holding on to what's left, even then my first want is to somehow get my swimsuit back on.

God forbid my folks see my dick.

My one hand holding a fist around my ass, my other hand snags my yellowstriped swim trunks and pulls them from around my neck. Still, getting into them is impossible.

You want to feel your intestines, go buy a pack of those lambskin condoms. Take one out and unroll it. Pack it with peanut butter. Smear it with petroleum jelly and hold it under water. Then try to tear it. Try to pull it in half. It's too tough and rubbery. It's so slimy you can't hold on.

A lambskin condom, that's just plain old intestine.

You can see what I'm up against.

You let go for a second and you're gutted.

You swim for the surface, for a breath, and you're gutted.

You don't swim and you drown.

It's a choice between being dead right now or a minute from right now.

What my folks will find after work is a big naked fetus, curled in on itself. Floating in the cloudy water of their backyard pool. Tethered to the bottom by a thick rope of veins and twisted guts. The opposite of a kid hanging himself to death while he jacks off. This is the baby they brought home from the hospital 13 years ago. Here's the kid they hoped would snag a football scholarship and get an MBA. Who'd care for them in their old age. Here's all their hopes and dreams. Floating here, naked and dead. All around him, big milky pearls of wasted sperm.

Either that or my folks will find me wrapped in a bloody towel, collapsed halfway from the pool to the kitchen telephone, the ragged, torn scrap of my guts still hanging out the leg of my yellowstriped swim trunks.

What even the French won't talk about.

That big brother in the Navy, he taught us one other good phrase. A Russian phrase. The way we say, "I need that like I need a hole in my head...," Russian people say, "I need that like I need teeth in my asshole......

Mne eto nado kak zuby v zadnitse.

Those stories about how animals caught in a trap will chew off their leg, well, any coyote would tell you a couple bites beats the hell out of being dead.

Hell ... even if you're Russian, someday you just might want those teeth.

Otherwise, what you have to do is you have to twist around. You hook one elbow behind your knee and pull that leg up into your face. You bite and snap at your own ass. You run out of air and you will chew through anything to get that next breath.

It's not something you want to tell a girl on the first date. Not if you expect a kiss good night. If I told you how it tasted, you would never, ever again eat calamari.

It's hard to say what my parents were more disgusted by: how I'd got in trouble or how I'd saved myself. After the hospital, my mom said, "You didn't know what you were doing, honey. You were in shock." And she learned how to cook poached eggs.

All those people grossed out or feeling sorry for me....

I need that like I need teeth in my asshole.

Nowadays, people always tell me I look too skinny. People at dinner parties get all quiet and pissed off when I don't eat the pot roast they cooked. Pot roast kills me. Baked ham. Anything that hangs around inside my guts for longer than a couple of hours, it comes out still food. Home-cooked lima beans or chunk light tuna fish, I'll stand up and find it still sitting there in the toilet.

After you have a radical bowel resectioning, you don't digest meat so great. Most people, you have five feet of large intestine. I'm lucky to have my six inches. So I never got a football scholarship. Never got an MBA. Both my friends, the wax kid and the carrot kid, they grew up, got big, but I've never weighed a pound more than I did that day when I was 13.

Another big problem was my folks paid a lot of good money for that swimming pool. In the end my dad just told the pool guy it was a dog. The family dog fell in and drowned. The dead body got pulled into the pump. Even when the pool guy cracked open the filter casing and fished out a rubbery tube, a watery hank of intestine with a big orange vitamin pill still inside, even then my dad just said, "That dog was fucking nuts."

Even from my upstairs bedroom window, you could hear my dad say, "We couldn't trust that dog alone for a second...."

Then my sister missed her period.

Even after they changed the pool water, after they sold the house and we moved to another state, after my sister's abortion, even then my folks never mentioned it again.

Ever.

That is our invisible carrot.

You. Now you can take a good, deep breath.

I still have not.

Spoiler

My brother moved out of the house back in 2002 once he got his job as a Computer technician, and he recently went missing. When I went to his house, it was locked, with 3 sheets of printer paper taped to the front door.

"While coming home from work one day, I noticed someone had left their damaged grey laptop laying in the middle of my driveway one day. I got out of my car to examine it more carefully.

The LCD definitely showed signs of user related damage, as there was a large hole on the left side of the screen that fit a standard Phillips Head screwdriver perfectly. There was a webcam above the display as well, and it was also destroyed with the same screwdriver. Other than those, however, everything else on the computer showed minor signs of wear, like almost all of the keyboards keys were faded, but nothing to the extent that it could be considered unusable. I looked at the back of the display to find out what brand it is, and yet, I couldn't find anything. I looked at the entire laptop's shell and there was no text or logo stating what brand it is. In fact, there was no warranty sticker, no "Proof of licence" sticker on the bottom, no text whatsoever. What's even more odd was the fact that the only ports on the laptop was a VGA port for connecting an external display and a USB port. How long could this laptop have possibly run without a charging port to recharge the battery? It must have been a very low end laptop where you had to remove the battery pack and put it into it's own charging dock. Why did it exactly have a web cam, though?

Curious as to what exactly is on the laptop, I ran inside to my basement where my old desktop was currently being stored. The only reason it was down there was because I forgot to bring that behemoth to the local SarCan to recycle it. I would have been currently using it as my regular computer, but it takes 5 or 6 hours to fully boot because the system always goes through recovery mode every time you start it, and the processor is way to slow to "recover" everything on the 500 gb hard drive I had installed on it (A 120mhz Pentium processor doesn't get you far). Well, anyways, I removed the old LG CRT monitor from the desktop and plugged it into the laptop. I went to push the power button when...

... I stopped. There's no way this is going to work, the battery has to be dead by now.

I rummaged around the basement to find my battery voltage tester and immediately withdrew the battery from the laptop and checked the voltage. Low and behold, it had no charge. Well, might as well just leave it down here, I'll bring all of this computer junk to SarCan tomorrow morning. With that, I unplugged the display from the laptop, put it back into the desktop and simply left everything downstairs. After leaving the basement I went to go watch TV for about 3 hours or so before going to bed.

I was suddenly awakened from my deep slumber by the sound of the Windows 2000 start up jingle and fell out of my bed. It was so deafeningly loud I swore someone was holding a pair of speakers right next to my ears. After I fell out of the bed, I stood up in a groggy daze, and for a minute or so trying to figure out what that sound was. The desktop! I must have accidentally hit the power switch while trying to switch monitors! I simply walked to the basement, but froze in the middle of the steps. I just remembered there was no way my computer could have started up, because I have Windows 95 installed on my desktop. I was reluctant to go down the steps after that, but my common sense started kicking in and I thought I must be getting my OS's mixed up. When I walked down, I was shocked to see that my desktop wasn't on; in fact, I remembered it wasn't even plugged in. I had to make sure of it though. I checked behind the desktop and everything else was plugged in except for the tower. There's absolutely no chance of that laptop turning on, that's impossible. I removed the battery from the laptop again and re-checked the voltage.

This time, I couldn't get a direct number. The voltage tester was just going insane.

I re-inserted the battery pressed the power button on the laptop. Some indicator lights flashed, meaning the computer definitely started, except this time the start up jingle wasn't played at all. I need to see what's going on here. I connected the CRT monitor back into the laptop. And what I saw...

... Was a bare desktop with 3 icons in the corner. The task bar was empty, and there was no Start menu button.

The wallpaper was black. Why would anyone do this to their desktop? Anyone could remove all the icons, but they must be pretty skilled hackers to remove the Start Menu button. Of all the 3 icons, 1 was a Games folder, 1 was a Videos folder, and the last was the DOS Command Prompt program. Maybe this was a kids laptop. Clicking on the Games folder confirmed my suspicions; it was a little girl who must have owned this laptop. I felt some remorse for the poor girl because there was only 1 game in the folder, and I have no idea what the hell it was. The program name was "princess.exe". I clicked on it just to see what the game was like. A fully animated title screen came up, with various generic fairytale princesses twirling across the screen and the logo flew down with a bunch of sparkly doves holding it. The game was called "Princess Creator: Make yourself Beautiful!" Ah, so it must have been one of those low budget "put .jpgs of various clothing items onto a photo of yourself" games. Well, I was right, as the menu popped up I was given the option to "Dress up" or to "View pretty pictures". I wanted to see what the girl looked like, so I clicked on the 2nd option. She had to have been no more than 5, and on top of that she looked very cute. She was of either Mexican or Spanish origin. She wore a somewhat tattered white dress with small red frills around the sleeves and collar. It had small roses on it. I smiled, as she looked like she had a lot of fun putting a virtual tiara on her head. However, browsing through the photos, about halfway through, there are pictures of a room with nothing else but a bed inside. She must've been dodging the camera for the hell of it, I guess. After that I felt I've seen enough with that program, might as well go see the other 2 files on the laptop. I decided to go into the Command Prompt and see if I could locate any other files on the hard drive.

I simply got a ":\>_" line with no drive letter. Ok, this is really strange, I thought. I typed into the command box "start C:\" to see if I could open the directory I wanted to explore. I pressed enter, and DOS simply gave me the "'start' is not recognized as an internal or external command, operable program or batch file." After a few seconds, the program crashed, bringing me back to the desktop. So I guess the last thing to look at is the videos. As I double clicked the folder...

... The screen faded to black. I thought it had crashed, but I noticed that there was a small "_" flashing in the top left corner.


Suddenly, the text "start :\>videos\001.wmv" flashed briefly, then a video appeared in full screen. It was the girl again. This time, she was smiling, bouncing slightly in excitement. Her happiness made my heart feel warm. My guess was that she must've been recording herself play the dress up game with the webcam. At first she was simply moving her finger across the track pad, clicking, then giggling excitedly for a bit. She must've been laughing at the things she put on herself in the game. After about 2 minutes or so the screen would cut to black for a fraction of a second and it would return to the girl playing the game. This time, however, she was dressed differently, in a simple pink t-shirt with the words "Go Go Girl!" stitched in glitter. I guess the game would simply record her every time she started it, without her knowing. That made me sort of uneasy, I mean, why would anyone program a game to do that? Whatever, I think it's going to be the same sort of thing over and over with this video, I might as well turn off the computer. I reached over and pressed the power button, and...

... It didn't shut off this time. The video continued to play, and I saw the girl this time was wearing an orange tank top with nothing on it. She was smiling and giggling as usual, so I thought maybe I can turn off the computer after the video is done. It couldn't be that long. The video seemed to drag on, with more cuts of her playing the game in a different outfit, and I started to doze off. However, the next cut in the video...

The girl was just staring at the camera with an expressionless look on her face. Wondering what the hell is going on, I become interested in the video again. This one didn't made me smile. It made me extremely uneasy, watching her without her usual smiley face put on. It was dark in the room, and there was 1 desk light on at the side. She was in some sort of night wear. What is she going to do? She sat there for a minute with that blank expression, like she wasn't thinking at all. I started to get really tense, as if something awful was about to happen.

She bent over and picked up a hand saw from the left side of where she was sitting. She held it in front of her, showing it to the camera. Then, she placed the jagged blade on the side of her cheek. I cringed at what I was seeing. What the fuck is going on? Slowly, she began slicing into her right cheek. Blood drizzled down her neck as she did it. Slowly, the side of her teeth began to show after about 10 seconds, as the saw went lower down her face more of her teeth began to show on the side. Blood almost covered everything on the right side of her face. She eventually got to the bottom of her jaw bone, and sawed a tiny piece off of it too. Her cheek fell to the ground with a small thud, and she put the saw in her lap and continued to stare at the camera, emotionless. I couldn't take much more of this and tore the battery out of the laptop, but, the video continued to play.

Then, the next cut began. The girl screamed in extreme pain. I almost fell out of my seat it was so loud. She screamed and put her hands over her now absent cheek. She continued to scream in agony for about 10 seconds, then a knocking was heard from the side. It was a woman, yelling in a language I couldn't understand. She was pounding the door, but not opening it. The girl must have locked it. I tried to unplug the monitor from the laptop but it was stuck in. I didn't want to see what happens next! The screaming continued and the yelling continued up until the next cut.

She was back into her emotionless state again, but her cheek was still missing. The woman was pounding at the door and yelling still. That woman must be her mother. The girl then raised the saw up to her right shoulder, and began cutting just as slowly as last time. I gagged at the sight of this. It was a holocaust of wrong. The blood began to stream out in all directions. The yelling behind the door fell silent. I bet she's trying to get someone to help her, either the father or brother or what not. When she hit the bone, an awful grinding noise could be heard. I covered my ears, but I could still hear it vividly through my hands. I noticed that a piece of her muscle got stuck on one of the steel teeth of the saw. This cut ended a lot faster than before, and the next cut was the same thing. Except the color from her face began to drain, and her pain ridden screams became quickly weaker. Her clothing was completely red with blood on the right side.

Then, she became emotionless again. Oh god, what is she going to cut off next? The mother returned back with what seemed to be 2 other people, and they were all yelling in the same language as before. She raised the saw, and began cutting the right side of her head off. Loud thuds appeared in beat at the door. They were trying to knock it down. She slowly worked her way down, with blood going in all sorts of directions. The thuds still repeated themselves on the door. I was mostly confused as to how she keeps going even after she went through her brain with the saw. Her right eye rolled into the back of her head. Blood began leaking out of it. She eventually made it to the top of her mouth, where she hacked her way through bones and teeth. It was the single worst sound I have ever heard in my entire life. I still hear it in the back of my head some days. The thuds continued, and deep in the back of my mind I hoped they wouldn't be able to break the door down so they didn't have to see such an awful sight. She finally made it through, and with that, the right side of her head fell to the side of her neck, held on only by a piece of skin on her neck. I remember the chilling sound of her jaw being unhinged from her head when it was tugged violently by the force of her half head. She put the saw down to her side.

The cut ended, and the next cut, she simply fell face down onto the desk. Half her brain fell out onto the desk from the impact, and her eye was removed from it's socket. Blood pooled on the desk. The people trying to break down the door finally made it in, and they almost blacked out from what they saw. Their daughter was in pieces. The mother vomited and ran out of the room. The father ran to her daughter, put her head back together and cried, holding her head at the side of his. The other man, presumably the daughter's older brother, simply stared in horror at what he saw.

The horrifying self mutilation finished with that cut, and the screen cut to the empty room with the bed. With a sigh of relief that it was over, I just sat there, breathing heavily and sweating. I didn't realize that the room was so hot until now. I have so many questions to ask. How was it possible? It frightened me, and I spent a good 30 minutes sitting in the chair, and finally, I got the courage to get up out of the seat. I looked at the laptop for what I hoped was the last time. The room with the bed glared on the screen. Then, it cut to something else unexpectedly.

It was a cut of my face, in the basement, using the laptop.

 

[David_G]

Spoiler

He smashed the dark oak desk into shards of stray wood strewn about the chamber with his sledgehammer. He couldn't eat the whole thing in one bite.

As the veins in his eyes pulsed and his teeth ground for individual superiority over the others, he tried to think of something that didn't involve what the guard outside the heavy door was going to watch him eat through the bulletproof glass.

"Blueberries, they're nice, I remember blueberries. The best ones came from the big bushes outside the McCoy house in Michigan. I'm going to eat a desk for a crime I didn't commit. Blueberries."

He laid his hammer down, sat on the floor, and stared for a few minutes at the wall. He eventually picked up a dime-sized chip of wood. He held his nose and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. This is a McCoy blueberry. They'd always be happy to give me their blueberries, and this is one of them."

As he swallowed it whole, he gagged as he felt the edges of the chip cut the lining of his throat. He forced it into his stomach. The back of his mouth became sour with little drops of blood.

"That was a blueberry, a very sweet blueberry, picked at just the right time. I probably liked it."

He choked down more chips. More blood came up, and nausea set in from the wood and its varnish. He couldn't throw up; then he would have to start over.

He got to his feet and raised the sledgehammer high above his head to make more of these pieces out of the bigger ones.

"I love blueberries, I'm going to eat a lot of blueberries."

The door flung open, and before he could say anything, the guard took his hammer and slammed the door.

"Well, it looks like I'm going to be eating big blueberries."

He sat on the floor and grabbed a foot-long length of splintered oak. He tried to break it, but it would only break in half.

He pointed his face at the florescent light on the ceiling and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. I know it looks nothing like a blueberry, but it is. I'm a sword swallower, I can eat a sword, a sword made out of blueberries."

He nudged the wood past the opening of his throat. He felt it scrape, he felt it slide, gently, gently, gently.

"This is a blueberry. It doesn't taste like one, but it probably is."

He felt his mouth water, and in doing so he gagged. He couldn't breathe. He tried to pull the wood out of his throat but the edges were caught on the inside of him.

With a long scream saturated by his torn throat, he ripped the stick out and threw it to the other side of the chamber. His mouth was a fountain of saliva and blood. His esophagus might as well have been on fire with the pain.

He turned his head, and saw a sturdy board that made the surface of the desk. He only split it in half with the hammer.

"That is no blueberry."

Spoiler

You jolt awake to some noise off in the distance. You look at your red lettered clock: 3:21. You hear it noise again. Someone?s knocking on your door.

There?s no reason to be afraid, you remind yourself, but you can?t imagine any reason why
someone would be up this late. You quietly walk over to the door.

?Hello??

Knock, Knock, Knock

?H-hello? Are you home??

Knock, Knock, Knock

?I? Please be home? Hello??

She mumbles something

?I need your help!?

Knock, Knock, Knock

You recognize her voice and look out the window. It?s your neighbor, she?s wearing her pajamas and some shining pendant around her neck. She sees you.

?Oh!?

She looks afraid at first, and then puts on a worried smile.

?I.. can I use your phone? I need to come in.?

Why can?t you use your phone?

?Mine is Brok-?

She pauses.

??I think someone?s inside my house?

You pause for a moment to look at the fear on her face.

When you open the door it slowly dawns on you?

Whoever it is isn?t inside her house, he?s behind her, and what?s shining by her neck isn?t a pendant.

Spoiler

I have been receiving the letters for well over 50 years, although now it?s more often I will get an email from him. Usually threatening, sometimes cordial or boastful, occasionally almost begging me to return to the small town of Fairview. A few years after they started, he began to claim to have found the little girl and described in vivid detail how he tore her to shreds. I was worried he may have been telling the truth for over a decade, until I managed to track her down in the summer of 71 and discovered she had grown into a lovely young woman residing in Kingsport. When I informed him of her safety in one of my rare replies to him, he responded with a 59 page long diatribe about how he was going to torture me to death. Now, after all these years, I feel that I should return for one, final hunt in a career in the supernatural. It would be fitting that Fairview would be the location of my first and last encounter with the paranormal.

But I am getting rather ahead of myself. In the summer of 54, I had just graduated from high school and decided to take a small vacation on my own. Having never been one for large crowds, I settled on the small town of Fairview, which I had heard had some of the most stirring natural landscapes in the state, especially the lush forests that surrounded it on every side. I had scheduled a two week stay at the Fairview Coyote Inn, and left that morning to enjoy a scenic drive through the countryside. When I finally arrived in town, it was almost evening, but I still took time to stop at the town limits and admire the famous sign which had become a somewhat obscure legend in the surrounding area. The version I had heard from a schoolmate said that it had been stolen from the local (now bankrupt and closed) zoo by a gang of vandals during the first world war and erected in its current position for reasons only a heavily inebriated mind could fathom. The zoo owner apparently never bothered to retrieve it, and so it stood until no one could imagine the town without it. It read:

1. Animals may not leave their habitat.
2. Animals who harm visitors or staff will be punished
3. DO NOT under ANY circumstances feed the animals.

Having satisfied my curiosity, I drove to the hotel and checked in. The owner was extremely friendly, and asked if, since the porter was home sick that day, I might go into the next room and ask the maintenance man, whom he affectionately called ?Old Ralph,? to help me with my bags.

Old Ralph was a large man. Only slightly taller than average, his waist was extremely robust and his arms were well muscled. He had white hair, and a long and extremely shaggy beard. I politely asked for his assistance, and he grudgingly and silently stood and walked to the lobby to help with my bags. Simply trying to make conversation on the way to my room, I remarked on the picture of a coyote in the inn?s logo. He replied, through clenched teeth, that ?It?s no damn coyote you?? after which he trailed off into mumbling. He unceremoniously dumped my belongings outside my door and left without a word. I, tired from my trip, simply moved my belongings inside and went to sleep.

The next day I spent my time in town and exploring the woods. It was utterly remarkable how polite and friendly every person I met was. Every single one was incredibly happy to help me in any way. One man, upon being asked directions to a place which happened to be across town, happily walked me the entire distance. I thought it was unusual, but hardly alarming, and actually found I enjoyed myself in their company. When I returned for the evening I met the family who had moved into the room next to mine. I was surprised to find they were black, and their presence in a white hotel can only be attributed to the townsfolk?s universal desire to help apparently anyone, an attitude I found surprisingly progressive. After a pleasant chat, I turned into my room and settled in to watch television. Unfortunately, the set suddenly stopped working, and I went out to fetch the repair man. The clerk in the lobby happily went to find him when I asked for him, and I was told to return to my room. Some few minutes later Old Ralph knocked on my door and asked, extremely irritated ?Yeah, what?s problem ya got that?s so bad you need wake me up fer?? I pointed to the television and, before I could utter a word, he strode over to it, knocked its side with the back of his hand, and turned in on. ?Works jus? fine ya idjit. ? He then left before I could reply.

A few seconds after him leaving I heard him bump into something and begin cursing loudly. I peered outside and saw him berating Mr. Jackson from the next room. Ralph was absolutely livid, practically foaming at the mouth while hurling insults and curses at him. Jackson looked angry, while his wife and their child stood in the doorway, afraid. I saw that the clerk looked entirely nonplussed, bearing an expression as if to say ?Oh well, best just to ignore it and ride it out.? Ralph continued his ranting for full on five minutes, until Jackson demanded that he stop doing this in front of his daughter. Ralph, with a new glint in his eyes, said, ?What? Want me to shut up so ya ken go back to raping the little slut? Ya dumb ******, just do it out ?ere in the open. Nobody expects any mo? of ya.? Jackson, shaking in rage, punched Old Ralph square on the jaw. I was shocked, both by the display of violence, but also by Ralph?s reaction. He looked like he had just won the lottery. He was grinning ear to ear and laughing like a madman. He merely walked away without another word. I, confused beyond reason and simply wanting to distance myself from the situation, returned to my room and spent the night normally until it was time to sleep.

That night I was awoken by sounds from the next room. It sounded as if someone where beating on the door. This lasted only a few seconds, before being replaced with the sound of a wooden door splintering and human screams. I rushed out of bed and to the next door. I saw a large, brown, hairy creature hunched over the dismembered torso of Mr. Jackson while his wife tried to beat the creature away with the room?s lamp. The creature, approximately the size of a gorilla but with a canine head, most closely resembling that of a hyena, ignored her and continued feasting on Jackson?s limbs. I would like to say I bravely charged in and fought of the beast, but reacted how most people would: by standing paralyzed by fear, trying to rationalize it away as some bizarre nightmare. After finishing Jackson, it turned its attention to his wife, who was by now hysterically beating at it with the remains of the lamp. I watched as it ate her bit by bit, starting with her legs, then arms, and finally her torso and head. It was only when it looked up and began slowly creeping towards the corner the girl was crying in, as if savoring the terror it was inflicting her, that I sprang into action. I jumped in its way just as it was reaching for her, causing it to swat me aside. I was launched across the room and was sure I would see it killing her when I looked up. Instead, the creature was staring at me, with what can only be described as abject terror. ?Nonononononono?.? It pleaded in Old Ralph?s raspy voice. Then it doubled over clutching its stomach. It began vomiting up blood and the remains of the two people it had just ingested. Taking the opportunity, I grabbed the girl in my arms and ran back to my room, locking and barring the door. I could hear it screaming after a few minutes, ?Not fair? he got in my way, he interfered? shouldn?t count? THAT SHOULDN?T COUNT!?

After an hour of the screaming from the next room, the sounds suddenly stopped. After a few more hours, exhaustion overcame my fear, and I must have fallen asleep. Some time later I awoke to two glowing yellow eyes just in front of my face. I screamed as loud as I could, but knew I had nowhere to run. Soon, I realized it wasn?t moving, and was just staring at me. I collected myself as best I was able, and noticed that the door had not been broken, it had been opened normally, and the cabinet had been pushed aside. The monster calmly spoke to me. ?You?d better start fighting back or I?ll kill you and that girl.? Pausing for a moment to give me some chance to respond, he continued. ?Come on, I?m sure you can do it. I?m just an animal after all, right? A big strong human like you can kill me. Just pick up something heavy and bash my skull in. What?s the matter, scared?? I remained mute, praying there was some way I could get away from this horrible thing crouched over me. ?Do you know how hard it is living here? Not one single person in this whole fucking town will touch me. Not when I insult them, or smash their windows, or when I tear someone apart in the middle of the street. They don?t even notice me. But you tourists are different; you?ve got fight in you. Come on, do it! DO IT! I SAID FIGHT ME NOW!? With that it raised a claw to swipe at me, but before it could, it collapsed once again, making hacking sounds, like a man trying to vomiting on an empty stomach. I took the opportunity to run to my car and drive away with the girl.

Knowing no one would believe my story, I left the girl at a police station at a nearby town and told her to tell them she didn?t know where her parents where. I told my parents that I had been very ill and decided to cancel the vacation after only two days. I thought I was finally safe, and spent the next few days feigning illness. It was about a week later the first letter arrived. It was from Old Ralph, who told me in plain terms and colorful language that he was going to hunt me down and kill me, and that I should try to find him before he could find me. I confess, I was frightened, but I reasoned that if he could come for me, he wouldn?t have sent a letter instead of coming himself. That he has spent the last half century harassing ?the one who got away? as he calls me attests that my guess was correct.

I think that after I have passed on all my knowledge of the supernatural to able apprentices, I?ll make my last foray into Fairview. It will be one final mission, after which I will either be retired or dead. I think the world as a whole should be safe either way. I know you?re probably reading this, God knows you stalk me online enough to make up for your inability to do so in reality. But even if I do die, an animal like you isn?t allowed to leave his habitat, right Ralph?

Spoiler

"Mom?" said the little girl , rubbing her eyes, standing in the door opening to her mother's room.
"Mom, the Easter Bunny is eating my candy?" she said.
"Nonsense, baby," the woman replied, "the Easter Bunny gives out candy, it doesn't eat it?"
The woman lightly shook her covers and continued to speak, halfway into her pillow, halfway to her daughter; "Go back to sleep, baby?"
"But, mom?" the girl said, "The Easter Bunny is eating candy!" now in a more serious tone, almost as if she was going to cry.
Her mother sat up and opened her arms, "Baby, I just told you; the Easter Bunny doesn't eat candy, he hands it out to little children. Besides, it's not even Easter yet - go back to sleep," she said in her kindest voice.
"Okay, mom?" the child sighed as she turned to walk out the room.
The woman smiled and though 'Crazy kid with her lively imagination?' and went back to sleep on a whim.
Out in the hallway, the little girl stood for a while staring at the Easter Bunny eating her candy. She then sighed "Mommy said I should go back to bed?"
The Easter Bunny replied "Good idea, child. Turn around and don't look back."
He flicked a shiny metal pendant at the child. She picked it up. She cried as she saw what it was; it was a dog tag, and it read 'Candy'.

Spoiler

Every child fears under their bed. If they don?t, they fear the closet, or maybe that little crack in the almost closed door.

Scientists know that children are more perceptive, they see things adults don?t. They aren?t yet tethered into only accepting what society wants them to accept. They see what is truly there.

They see the monsters.

If you were to borrow a child?s eyes and see through them for a night, you would go insane. To be able to see what you only dimly remember, burrowing into your covers while wearing those train pajamas, hoping to a God you can barely comprehend that ?it? doesn?t see you back?would drive an adult crazy. Because Adults forget the rules.

1) Cover yourself. If you can?t see it, it can?t see you. Even if it makes it harder to breathe.

2) Don?t make a noise. Every whimper can lead to destruction.

3) Don?t move. It attracts their attention.

4) Only light can make them go away. Bright light. Flashlights make it worse.

Teens are caught in the middle. They still feel what?s there, but they cannot see? and they forget the rules?.

Why do you think there are so many insomniacs typing at their computers, subconsciously praying the light from their monitor will be enough to keep them away?

It?s not. Now look behind you with a child?s eyes and try not to scream.

Spoiler

You might be getting yourself ready for bed, hopping out of the shower at night, or running to grab something before a date when you inadvertently find yourself descending a flight of darkened stairs. About halfway down said flight, the urge to go that much faster jolts into your mind and you immediately obey.

What are we running from that dwells in the darkness up the stairs? Is it simply the thought of darkness that causes us to want to leave the situation as soon as possible? Or is there something else? A darker, more sinister force awaiting us to take our time going down the stairs to nab us and take us with them to their hell-hole? Or perhaps is it a force of good, attempting to protect us from the things in the darkness?

Could it be that every time we feel that urge to move faster the very hands of an evil force are grabbing our back, and because of our sudden speed we slip out of its grasp? Who knows. Just remember, next time that you?re going down that flight of stairs, don?t look back and skip some stairs if necessary!

Spoiler

Laura was woken by her father; something that he had not done since she was a child. As her thoughts slowly swam back into focus, she was suddenly sure that she had slept naked and he had seen her, but to her relief she was wearing her baby-blue pyjamas. God, what was he doing in here anyway?

?Come on, you,? he said brightly, opening the curtains and letting the sunlight in. Outside, she could hear a lawnmower running, perhaps in the next street, and what could?ve been birdsong. ?It?s Button Day, remember? Get dressed, put something nice on. We?re leaving in an hour.?

Laura stirred, her voice groggy. ?Dad, what the hell? Couldn?t you just knock? What if I?d slept nude??
He didn?t look at her, he was too busy admiring his garden from the window. ?Oh, you?ve nothing I haven?t seen before. I?m your bloody father, I?ve wiped your arse many a time before now.?

?Not the point, Dad.? Squinting, Laura sat up, rubbing her eyes, and remembered what he?d just said.
?Dad, did you just say ?Button Day???

?Well, yeah. What, did you forget?? He laughed as he crossed the room to the door. ?You were only talking about it last night.?

?Wait - what?? She frowned, not understanding. Something was wrong here. A fine way to start the day, really. She hadn?t even gotten out of bed yet, and she was already getting weird shit. ?What are you talking about??

He shook his head, still smiling as he left the room. ?Get dressed. Breakfast is ready.?

He left her sitting up in bed, holding the covers to her breasts, a look of confusion on her face. Eventually she got out of bed, and began to pull some clothes on that were to hand. Familiar sounds floated up to her from downstairs: pots and pans rattling, the TV on low, the muffled tones of her family talking to each other, a short, harsh laugh - her brother. No doubt laughing at the TV.

She did her zipper on her jeans, and stood for a second before finally saying out loud, ?Button Day??

Downstairs, her mother was washing the dishes, humming to herself. Sunlight filled the room, making it warm and fresh. Her father and brother were sitting at the table, eating toast. There was a plate set for her, and she sat down, pulling it towards her.
Her brother was wearing a crisp white shirt - and he never wore shirts. She doubted that he even owned one. This was one of her father?s, she recognised it.

?What?s with the shirt?? She asked, picking her toast up, and his eyes never left the TV, which was typical of him. A year younger than her at fourteen, he was arrogant and know it all to boot.
?It?s Button Day, isn?t it?? He mumbled through a mouthful of toast, and her mother turned around, and tutted loudly at him.

?Mark, don?t talk with your mouth full.? She saw Laura and sighed. ?Laura, you could dress a little better than that. At least make an effort.?

?What for?? Laura said, then looked at the ceiling, irritated. ?Oh wait, let me guess. Button Day. Am I missing something here??

Her mother shook her head, turning back to the dishes. ?Don?t be so childish, Laura. It doesn?t suit you. Please make sure you get changed into something else before we leave.?

?I wanted to see Michael today. I?m not going with you, sorry.?

A hush fell over the kitchen as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her in surprise. Warily, Laura said, ?What??

?Are you crazy?? Her brother asked. ?You can?t go out today, you?re coming with us!?

?Laura, you made plans? Today, of all days?? Her father asked, and she pushed back on her chair as a dull anger rose in her.

?Yes, I made plans! What the hell is going on this morning??

No-one answered her. They were staring at her as if she?d took a crap on her plate. She got up, pushing her plate away. ?You know what? Forget it.?

?Laura, stop this, right now,? her mother snapped. ?You knew perfectly well what we were doing today. It?s been planned for a long time. Now you can just call Michael and tell him why you?re not seeing him.?

?That?s just it!? Laura yelled. ?What do I tell him? I don?t know why I can?t go! It?s just you telling me I can?t!?

?It?s Button Day,? her brother said. ?That?s why.?

?Button Day?? She cried. ?What the hell are you all talking about? I?ve never heard of Button Day! You?re all acting like-? She suddenly stopped, comprehension dawning on her face. Her family were playing a joke on her. This was all a joke. With a warm rush, a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. Now she understood.

?Very funny, guys,? She said, her voice calm and collected. ?You really had me going there.? She turned and left the room, heading for the front door. As she went, her mother called after her, ?Laura! Please be back in an hour, we can?t leave without you, okay??

?Yeah, yeah,? Laura called back. ?I wouldn?t want to miss Button Day, would I??

The short walk to Michael?s house gave Laura enough time to feel guilty about how angry she had gotten with her family. As she?d gotten older, her temper had shortened. She planned on apologising later - she had an hour, right? Wasn?t that what her mother had said?

I wonder where we?re going, Laura thought, watching a plane a few miles above cut a white line across the sky. Or was that a joke too? Was it that they really were going out, and it had been a planned thing, and she had simply forgotten all about it?

She could see Michaels house from here, with the white fence and broad front lawn. She began to jog, eager to see him. As she crossed his driveway the front door opened and Michael came out with a look of shock on his face. He had seen her coming up the street.

?Hey, what?s wrong?? Laura asked, and to her dismay he suddenly looked a little angry.
?You shouldn?t be here,? he said.

?What, did we fight, and I missed the memo??

?You told me this was your family?s Button Day,? he said, and there was movement behind him.

Laura blinked, her mouth open in surprise. A blonde girl came to the door, squinting in the light, and slinked her arm around Michael. She was wearing a nightshirt and nothing else, and her hair was tousled.

?Go home,? the blonde said, and Laura backed away, blinking back sudden tears. Michael would not meet her eyes, so she turned and ran.

Her mother caught her just as she was about to run into her bedroom.

She pulled Laura close, holding her as she sobbed. ?I know, I know. Let it all out.? She stroked Laura?s hair, rocking her a little. ?Men are bastards, aren?t they??

Laura pulled back to look at her mother, sniffing. ??You know??

?You?ve just come back from his place in floods of tears. It doesn?t take a genius to work out what happened.?

?He?s got himself a blonde. A blonde! I?ll bet that?s why he wanted me to dye my hair!?

She cried for a little longer, and her mother held her. ?There, there. Come on. Let?s get you changed for our trip.?

??So we are going out??

?Of course we are, silly! Here we are, this is a nice blouse. Your best, I think. Put this on, I want us looking our best for our Button Day.?

Laura?s stomach rolled lazily. She suddenly remembered Michael mentioning Button Day, too. This wasn?t a joke. This was real. It was all real, and she didn?t have a clue what was happening.

?Mom, listen to me a minute. Something here is very wrong.?

?I know. You really liked him, I know you did. It?s terrible that he?s upset you, on this day, of all days.?

?That?s just it, Mum - I don?t know anything about Button Day. I?ve never heard of it, and since this morning I feel as if I?m the only one who hasn?t the faintest idea what?s going on!?

?Well, to be honest, I?m no expert. I know it was the Governments idea to combat overcrowding, but other than that-?

?No, no. I mean at all. I?ve never heard of it.?

There was an uneasy silence, in which her mother looked at her for a long time. Her mouth was set in a hard line.

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm. ?I know you?re upset, so I?ll play along with your little prank, okay? Just get changed - here?s your blouse - and I?ll see you in the car in five minutes, okay? We?re waiting for you.?

Her mother walked away, leaving Laura alone and frightened, her best blouse in her trembling hands.

The next thing she knew, she was in the car. Everything was flowing by in a fluid, carefree motion that made her feel more and more uneasy. What the hell was going on? Why did she not recall anything about this day that everyone was talking about?

She could see everything in absurd detail, slowed down to super slow motion: The fluff on the back of her mothers headrest. A bit of stubble that her fathers razor had missed. A crack in the pavement as they passed. She suddenly felt more lucid than she had ever felt in her whole life, yet she was unable to speak, trapped inside her own body. It was as if she were a puppet, walking on strings made from fear?s own web.

Somewhere deep inside, she was still clinging to an ocean-battered rock of hope, a charred crater of sense that told her that this was all a massive joke, a huge, elaborate hoax. As they pulled up outside the white, box-like building, squat and stern, that hope faded.

?Here we are,? her father said cheerfully, and she felt herself pull the door handle and step out of the car. She stood trembling in the sun like a baby deer, the building bearing down on her as if it had teeth.

Acting as if they were at the seaside, her family got out of the car, chatting animatedly. They set off towards the main entrance, Laura trailing behind. A sign stood over them: GOVERNMENT PROPERTY - KEEP OUT. She saw the security cameras watching them, and hurried after her family, her footsteps flat and dead.

The door to the building was made of glass, and as they pushed through into the clean lobby, Laura saw a receptionist busily typing on a computer. The receptionist looked up with a professional smile at her father as he approached.

?Hi, we?re the Krandalls. Here for our Button Day,? he said, and she smiled.

?Go on through, sir. Just keep walking that way.?

Her father thanked her, and on they went, down a long brightly lit corridor, lined with brass plaques which gleamed. There was something engraved on them all, blocks and blocks of text, and she drew closer as she walked to see what it was. She saw her own reflection looking back at her, and in the harsh fluorescent lights, she looked haggard.

Names. Hundreds and hundreds of names, thousands of names, one after another. Hogg. Wilson. Carpenter. Buxton. Bell. Palmer. Rowe. Brown. The list went on, seemingly endless.
Her family walked on, still chatting as if they were on holiday, and up ahead the corridor was coming to an end.

The corridor opened up into a large, white room. In this room, four small, waist high pillars stood, each with a red button on the top. Beyond them was a long polished desk, with three Government officials seated at it. The Government insignia hung on a huge banner over it all. The room was silent, and sterile.

Laura watched her family each step up to a pillar, watching the officials expectantly, leaving a pillar for her. Her very own button. Trembling, she stepped up to the pillar, only to notice with a jolt that the floor around them all was on a slight incline, angled towards a drain behind that she hadn?t noticed when she had first arrived. One of the officials spoke, his voice echoing in the open space.

?Krandall family. The Government has deemed this to be your Button Day. We thank you for your sacrifice to your country, and to your people. Your names shall join those in the long Hall in your honour.?

?We?re proud,? her father said, and her mother nodded, sincere. Her brother looked as if he were about to weep with pride.

The official continued. ?Then please, in your own time, push your buttons. May God be with you all.?
Her father turned to his wife, his son, and his daughter, and smiled. ?I?ll go first, to show you how easy it is.? He pushed the button on the pillar, and it depressed with a loud, satisfying click.

As Laura watched, her fathers face turned red, as if he?d been jogging. She remembered how easily flustered he got with exercise, and assumed he?d just walked too fast down the corridor, or something. That was when a crimson teardrop slid down his cheek, and plopped fatly onto the hard, white floor.

Laura watched, frozen, as blood began to pour from her fathers eyes, nose, ears and mouth. It ran down his shirt, over the belt that she had bought him for his birthday, and down his trousers. It splattered onto the floor. All at once, his eyes burst like over-ripe plums and hung on his cheeks, still connected by red strings. Liquefied brain ran from his eye sockets.

As his body crumpled to the floor, her mother and brother looked at each other and smiled, pushing their buttons at the same time. They turned to Laura, holding their hands out, blood seeping from their eyes and noses, tricking from their mouths. They assumed Laura had pushed hers, too.

Laura drew in a breath to scream, but the soft pop of her mothers and brothers eyeballs made it catch in her throat. They fell over backwards, landing on top of each other. Blood was being channeled to the drain, which drank quietly.

All was silent.

?Miss Krandell??

Numb, she saw the officials watching her closely.

?Miss Krandell, overpopulation is destroying our towns and cities. Your country needs your action today.?

She stared wide-eyed at the official. To her side, her brothers hand twitched, the last of the nerve impulses fading. Blood was already congealing in his empty eye sockets.

The official was standing up slowly, and she saw that he was a tall man. Taller than most, no doubt.
?Humanity has called,? he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. The world had faded away to the button under her fingertips. It was smooth and red. Pushable.

??Will you answer??

Spoiler

A couple are enjoying a drive through a mountain. Suddenly they notice a child standing ahead of them. The man slams on the brakes and manages to stop the car. He gets out of the car to check but the child has disappeared into thin air. Then he notices that they are on the edge of the precipice and had the man not put on the brakes they would have been dead. The woman says, "I know now! The child was trying to warn us of the danger. It was a good ghost."

But immediately after she said it they heard a child's voice from behind; "you should have died?."

Spoiler

It was past ten in the evening. I thought I was the only passenger on the bus, but I heard children's voices from behind.

The children were apparently talking about a ghost story.

Child A: "?. and if you turn around, the ghost will snatch you away and carry you to the afterworld!"

I recognized the voice. I often saw these children on the same bus after work. They went to a crammer.

Child B: "Then that's easy. All you have to do is make sure you don't turn around."

Child A: "Yes, but I heard you can't help but turn around. The ghost would try all sorts of tricks on you to get you turn around."

It was nearly the bus stop where these two usually got off.
But it looked like they didn't notice it.
I thought I should warn them because I didn't want them to go home late.
So I turned around and said, "you are getting off here aren't you?"

Child A: "See, I told you so."

Spoiler

A family suicide occured in the surburbs of Gunma Prefecture (we call the family Suzukis just for convenience). A few months later they decided to pull down the house in which the family used to live. A group of university students in Tokyo, calling themselves "The Paranormal Research Group," heard about this and decided to visit the house before it was gone. The group consisted of two boys and two girls.

When the group arrived the house was already in the process of demolition. Inside was a total mess. They went in and with a video camera in hand started exploring. "Hello, Mr and Mrs Suzuki! Please excuse us!" Laughing and joking they shouted in the empty house. "Is this your kitchen?" "May I use your bathroom?"

After sometime, while the rest of the group were having fun, one of the girls began to feel scared and so they decided to call it a day. "Goodbye, thank you for having us!" They shouted again as they left. They stopped the video camera and got into the car. On the way home the other girl said, "Look! I found this ring in the house. We should keep it in our clubroom as a memento."

The next day. The group got together in one of the boys' room to watch the video.

"Hello, Mr and Mrs Suzuki! Please excuse us!"
"Welcome."

They froze. An unfamiliar voice which they did not hear when they were in the house was recorded in the tape.

"Is this your kitchen?"
"Yes."

"May I use your bathroom?"
"Go ahead."

"Goodbye, thank you for having us!"
"Don't go!!!!!!!"

Everyone fell silent. Then suddenly, their mobiles started ringing all at the same time.
They were all very alarmed but managed to calm down and picked up their phones.

"???.."

All that the two boys got was silence. The timid girl's call was also silent.
But the girl who snatched the ring heard;

"?..hi, this is Suzuki. Please can I have my ring back?"

Spoiler

This is a story I heard from my friend at university. A man (we call him "K") got whiplash in a car accident and decided to convalesce at home for a week. K was married but his wife was also working, so he was all alone during the day. For the first few days he enjoyed the freedom, but when the third day came boredom began to set in. Still he had to stay in because his injury kept him from going anywhere.

Then one day past lunchtime he was watching TV absentmindedly when he heard heavy stamping noises and children's voices from upstairs. He didn't pay much attention to it, although he wondered if they were on a school holiday. The next day he again heard the same children's voices, around the same time as the previous day. It sounded like they had two children up there. The place where K lived was a large apartment block but inspite of that it tended to be very quiet during the day; the children's voices, therefore, echoed loudly in contrast to the quietness of the surrounding. K however did not feel annoyed, but was rather glad of the distraction and a break it gave him from the eerie silence.

The next day K, feeling bored and not motivated enough to cook lunch, ordered some pizza. The pizza, which arrived within 30 minutes, turned out to be too much for K that he left one whole pizza untouched. Usually he would keep any left-overs for his wife but this time he remembered about the children upstairs and, willing to do something kind, he decided to take the pizza to them.

K had no idea who the occupants of the room upstairs were but rang the bell on the door anyway. He heard something stir inside, but there was no answer. He rang the bell again. He felt someone was looking at him through the peephole. "Who is it?" A faint voice called out from behind the door.
K explained he was from the room below and that he had some pizza left from his lunch and wondered if they wanted it. The door opened a crack. It looked unusually dark inside the room. From the gap about 5 cm wide a woman appeared, revealing only half of her face. "Thank you very much. But we don't want it," the woman said coldly. It was a little too dark to discern her facial expression. K suddenly felt he was somehow out of place, like he shouldn't be there; however he tried to explain to her that he wanted her to give the pizza to the children.

A lukewarm air breezed out of the door. He smelt an unpleasant odour. In an instant two children's faces lined up below the woman's face. The door was open still just a crack. The dull eyes of the children stared at him. The three faces were forming a line.
"I see?. then? I will accept your kindness." The woman said. When K put the pizza box through the gap a hand reached out right from the side and snatched it away.

The three faces were still staring at K. "Thank you?.." He heard the faint voice again. K quickly left the place. He felt spooked. In the corner of his mind he sensed something was seriously wrong. The image of the children's faces had left a burning impression in his mind. Faces?.. He felt a chill down his spine. Faces?they were forming a line? His pace quickened. He wanted to get away as fast as he could. He waited for the lift but it would not arrive. Forming a line?.vertically?.on top of each other?.. He pressed the button again and again, but the lift still did not come. He turned to the emergency stairs. His head throbbed with pain. He began to feel nausea.

Just as he opened the heavy door leading to the emergency stairs, he felt eyes on his back. Turning around, he glimpsed, about ten metres from him, the same three faces looking at him from the corner of the corridor. Like before, they were showing only the half of their faces and staring at him with their dull eyes. The cold day light shining through the windows illuminated their faces.

No longer caring about his neck he frantically ran down the stairs. Although the health-conscious K often used stairs instead of lift and could even run up four floors in one go, he felt as if no matter how fast he ran he would never reach the ground floor. Faces lined up, on top of each other?.that's impossible?that means there are?no bodies??and the strange things I saw behind the faces were?hands?..holding up the heads??

He ran into the nearest convenience store and asked the people there to call the police.
The police came, and searched the flat - and found the bodies of the mother and children in the bath tub. These bodies were headless.

According to their findings, it had been three days since the heads had been chopped off the bodies.
And the husband, who turned out to be the murderer, was found hiding in the wardrobe - insane. He insisted his family was still alive. There was a terror in his eyes; the police did not know the source of his terror.

Spoiler

When I was 8, I stayed up late at night watching television. My mother always told me never to turn on the television exactly at 4:44 am. If you ever did, you would hear clicks and heavy breathing in the next room; If you do check, a black shadow with red eyes will glare at you.

They also told me if I wore another person?s glasses, I will see that person?s death. It?s true. I put on my mother?s glasses, and since then I?ve always been a little fearful of my father.

Spoiler: I don't get this one, someone explain please?

This morning I stepped out of the shower and this bathroom was fine: white walls, white tiles, sink and counter with toothpaste crusted all over. Three out of the four light bulbs over the mirror were still good ? 100 watt, clear bulb, blinding bright in the small white room. Like always I was late, so I skipped shaving. She liked it when I didn?t shave, anyway. I was thinking about doing mutton chops. She'd get a kick out of that.

I passed the mirror and noticed I was grinning. I didn't even know I was grinning.

I?m in the bathroom tonight before bed and there?s something wrong with the lights. All three are on again but they glow kind of brown and don?t really light up the rest of the room. I should get more bulbs from the kitchen. I should, but I?m busy. The date was shit and she shut her apartment door on me.

You?d think that would wipe off the stupid grin from this morning. But I came back in the bathroom and, in the mirror, my face was still doing it. If I touch my face it doesn?t feel like a grin, but there it is in the mirror.

In the brown light it?s hard to make out but ? have you ever actually counted how many teeth show when you smile? I lean in close. One, two, three, four ? I didn?t know my mouth was so wide ? nine, ten, eleven ? I can?t do mutton chops after all. The corners of my lips are out to my ears. It still doesn?t feel like a grin. But I keep counting, for curiosity.

Thirty-six ? thirty-seven ? thirty-eight...

 

[bew11]

Is that Demoman?

It is! With BOTH his eyes! O MY GOD!! AHHH!!

 

[Azure-Supernova]

Spoiler

He smashed the dark oak desk into shards of stray wood strewn about the chamber with his sledgehammer. He couldn't eat the whole thing in one bite.

As the veins in his eyes pulsed and his teeth ground for individual superiority over the others, he tried to think of something that didn't involve what the guard outside the heavy door was going to watch him eat through the bulletproof glass.

"Blueberries, they're nice, I remember blueberries. The best ones came from the big bushes outside the McCoy house in Michigan. I'm going to eat a desk for a crime I didn't commit. Blueberries."

He laid his hammer down, sat on the floor, and stared for a few minutes at the wall. He eventually picked up a dime-sized chip of wood. He held his nose and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. This is a McCoy blueberry. They'd always be happy to give me their blueberries, and this is one of them."

As he swallowed it whole, he gagged as he felt the edges of the chip cut the lining of his throat. He forced it into his stomach. The back of his mouth became sour with little drops of blood.

"That was a blueberry, a very sweet blueberry, picked at just the right time. I probably liked it."

He choked down more chips. More blood came up, and nausea set in from the wood and its varnish. He couldn't throw up; then he would have to start over.

He got to his feet and raised the sledgehammer high above his head to make more of these pieces out of the bigger ones.

"I love blueberries, I'm going to eat a lot of blueberries."

The door flung open, and before he could say anything, the guard took his hammer and slammed the door.

"Well, it looks like I'm going to be eating big blueberries."

He sat on the floor and grabbed a foot-long length of splintered oak. He tried to break it, but it would only break in half.

He pointed his face at the florescent light on the ceiling and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. I know it looks nothing like a blueberry, but it is. I'm a sword swallower, I can eat a sword, a sword made out of blueberries."

He nudged the wood past the opening of his throat. He felt it scrape, he felt it slide, gently, gently, gently.

"This is a blueberry. It doesn't taste like one, but it probably is."

He felt his mouth water, and in doing so he gagged. He couldn't breathe. He tried to pull the wood out of his throat but the edges were caught on the inside of him.

With a long scream saturated by his torn throat, he ripped the stick out and threw it to the other side of the chamber. His mouth was a fountain of saliva and blood. His esophagus might as well have been on fire with the pain.

He turned his head, and saw a sturdy board that made the surface of the desk. He only split it in half with the hammer.

"That is no blueberry."

I don't get this one... am I just missing something blatantly obvious here?

 

[David_G]

Spoiler

He smashed the dark oak desk into shards of stray wood strewn about the chamber with his sledgehammer. He couldn't eat the whole thing in one bite.

As the veins in his eyes pulsed and his teeth ground for individual superiority over the others, he tried to think of something that didn't involve what the guard outside the heavy door was going to watch him eat through the bulletproof glass.

"Blueberries, they're nice, I remember blueberries. The best ones came from the big bushes outside the McCoy house in Michigan. I'm going to eat a desk for a crime I didn't commit. Blueberries."

He laid his hammer down, sat on the floor, and stared for a few minutes at the wall. He eventually picked up a dime-sized chip of wood. He held his nose and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. This is a McCoy blueberry. They'd always be happy to give me their blueberries, and this is one of them."

As he swallowed it whole, he gagged as he felt the edges of the chip cut the lining of his throat. He forced it into his stomach. The back of his mouth became sour with little drops of blood.

"That was a blueberry, a very sweet blueberry, picked at just the right time. I probably liked it."

He choked down more chips. More blood came up, and nausea set in from the wood and its varnish. He couldn't throw up; then he would have to start over.

He got to his feet and raised the sledgehammer high above his head to make more of these pieces out of the bigger ones.

"I love blueberries, I'm going to eat a lot of blueberries."

The door flung open, and before he could say anything, the guard took his hammer and slammed the door.

"Well, it looks like I'm going to be eating big blueberries."

He sat on the floor and grabbed a foot-long length of splintered oak. He tried to break it, but it would only break in half.

He pointed his face at the florescent light on the ceiling and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. I know it looks nothing like a blueberry, but it is. I'm a sword swallower, I can eat a sword, a sword made out of blueberries."

He nudged the wood past the opening of his throat. He felt it scrape, he felt it slide, gently, gently, gently.

"This is a blueberry. It doesn't taste like one, but it probably is."

He felt his mouth water, and in doing so he gagged. He couldn't breathe. He tried to pull the wood out of his throat but the edges were caught on the inside of him.

With a long scream saturated by his torn throat, he ripped the stick out and threw it to the other side of the chamber. His mouth was a fountain of saliva and blood. His esophagus might as well have been on fire with the pain.

He turned his head, and saw a sturdy board that made the surface of the desk. He only split it in half with the hammer.

"That is no blueberry."

I don't get this one... am I just missing something blatantly obvious here?

Not really obvious, but yes, you are missing something. The last thing he ate was actually wood, i.e he was choking and gagging while eating it. Before that, even though it says that he was eating wood, when it says that there was blood coming up, it wasn't his blood.

 

[Azure-Supernova]

Spoiler

He smashed the dark oak desk into shards of stray wood strewn about the chamber with his sledgehammer. He couldn't eat the whole thing in one bite.

As the veins in his eyes pulsed and his teeth ground for individual superiority over the others, he tried to think of something that didn't involve what the guard outside the heavy door was going to watch him eat through the bulletproof glass.

"Blueberries, they're nice, I remember blueberries. The best ones came from the big bushes outside the McCoy house in Michigan. I'm going to eat a desk for a crime I didn't commit. Blueberries."

He laid his hammer down, sat on the floor, and stared for a few minutes at the wall. He eventually picked up a dime-sized chip of wood. He held his nose and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. This is a McCoy blueberry. They'd always be happy to give me their blueberries, and this is one of them."

As he swallowed it whole, he gagged as he felt the edges of the chip cut the lining of his throat. He forced it into his stomach. The back of his mouth became sour with little drops of blood.

"That was a blueberry, a very sweet blueberry, picked at just the right time. I probably liked it."

He choked down more chips. More blood came up, and nausea set in from the wood and its varnish. He couldn't throw up; then he would have to start over.

He got to his feet and raised the sledgehammer high above his head to make more of these pieces out of the bigger ones.

"I love blueberries, I'm going to eat a lot of blueberries."

The door flung open, and before he could say anything, the guard took his hammer and slammed the door.

"Well, it looks like I'm going to be eating big blueberries."

He sat on the floor and grabbed a foot-long length of splintered oak. He tried to break it, but it would only break in half.

He pointed his face at the florescent light on the ceiling and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. I know it looks nothing like a blueberry, but it is. I'm a sword swallower, I can eat a sword, a sword made out of blueberries."

He nudged the wood past the opening of his throat. He felt it scrape, he felt it slide, gently, gently, gently.

"This is a blueberry. It doesn't taste like one, but it probably is."

He felt his mouth water, and in doing so he gagged. He couldn't breathe. He tried to pull the wood out of his throat but the edges were caught on the inside of him.

With a long scream saturated by his torn throat, he ripped the stick out and threw it to the other side of the chamber. His mouth was a fountain of saliva and blood. His esophagus might as well have been on fire with the pain.

He turned his head, and saw a sturdy board that made the surface of the desk. He only split it in half with the hammer.

"That is no blueberry."

I don't get this one... am I just missing something blatantly obvious here?

Not really obvious, but yes, you are missing something. The last thing he ate was actually wood, i.e he was choking and gagging while eating it. Before that, even though it says that he was eating wood, when it says that there was blood coming up, it wasn't his blood.

I kind of get it... though I'm feeling my blond power kicking in because I'm failing to see the creepypasta-ness of it. I'll read it a couple of times and see if I can work it out. Thanks anyway haha.

 

[David_G]

Spoiler

He smashed the dark oak desk into shards of stray wood strewn about the chamber with his sledgehammer. He couldn't eat the whole thing in one bite.

As the veins in his eyes pulsed and his teeth ground for individual superiority over the others, he tried to think of something that didn't involve what the guard outside the heavy door was going to watch him eat through the bulletproof glass.

"Blueberries, they're nice, I remember blueberries. The best ones came from the big bushes outside the McCoy house in Michigan. I'm going to eat a desk for a crime I didn't commit. Blueberries."

He laid his hammer down, sat on the floor, and stared for a few minutes at the wall. He eventually picked up a dime-sized chip of wood. He held his nose and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. This is a McCoy blueberry. They'd always be happy to give me their blueberries, and this is one of them."

As he swallowed it whole, he gagged as he felt the edges of the chip cut the lining of his throat. He forced it into his stomach. The back of his mouth became sour with little drops of blood.

"That was a blueberry, a very sweet blueberry, picked at just the right time. I probably liked it."

He choked down more chips. More blood came up, and nausea set in from the wood and its varnish. He couldn't throw up; then he would have to start over.

He got to his feet and raised the sledgehammer high above his head to make more of these pieces out of the bigger ones.

"I love blueberries, I'm going to eat a lot of blueberries."

The door flung open, and before he could say anything, the guard took his hammer and slammed the door.

"Well, it looks like I'm going to be eating big blueberries."

He sat on the floor and grabbed a foot-long length of splintered oak. He tried to break it, but it would only break in half.

He pointed his face at the florescent light on the ceiling and opened his mouth wide.

"This is a blueberry. I know it looks nothing like a blueberry, but it is. I'm a sword swallower, I can eat a sword, a sword made out of blueberries."

He nudged the wood past the opening of his throat. He felt it scrape, he felt it slide, gently, gently, gently.

"This is a blueberry. It doesn't taste like one, but it probably is."

He felt his mouth water, and in doing so he gagged. He couldn't breathe. He tried to pull the wood out of his throat but the edges were caught on the inside of him.

With a long scream saturated by his torn throat, he ripped the stick out and threw it to the other side of the chamber. His mouth was a fountain of saliva and blood. His esophagus might as well have been on fire with the pain.

He turned his head, and saw a sturdy board that made the surface of the desk. He only split it in half with the hammer.

"That is no blueberry."

I don't get this one... am I just missing something blatantly obvious here?

Not really obvious, but yes, you are missing something. The last thing he ate was actually wood, i.e he was choking and gagging while eating it. Before that, even though it says that he was eating wood, when it says that there was blood coming up, it wasn't his blood.

I kind of get it... though I'm feeling my blond power kicking in because I'm failing to see the creepypasta-ness of it. I'll read it a couple of times and see if I can work it out. Thanks anyway haha.

OK, so I probably explained it bad, so now, I'll be blunt: He was eating fucking people.

 

[Azure-Supernova]

OK, so I probably explained it bad, so now, I'll be blunt: He was eating fucking people.

You didn't explain it bad, I just didn't get it at first. Now I do, I read it a couple times and I'm now putting my boot to my head on why I didn't see it. How did I get the image of him feeding wood to other people? It's one of those days...

 

[Mr.Mattress]

OK, so I probably explained it bad, so now, I'll be blunt: He was eating fucking people.

You didn't explain it bad, I just didn't get it at first. Now I do, I read it a couple times and I'm now putting my boot to my head on why I didn't see it. How did I get the image of him feeding wood to other people? It's one of those days...

I still don't get it... All I know is that the guy is eating wood and bleeding, and this has something to do with him eating people... The author is gonna have to explain to me the story...

 

[Azure-Supernova]

OK, so I probably explained it bad, so now, I'll be blunt: He was eating fucking people.

You didn't explain it bad, I just didn't get it at first. Now I do, I read it a couple times and I'm now putting my boot to my head on why I didn't see it. How did I get the image of him feeding wood to other people? It's one of those days...

I still don't get it... All I know is that the guy is eating wood and bleeding, and this has something to do with him eating people... The author is gonna have to explain to me the story...

I gave up on Blueberries -_-

 

[Megacherv]

A heavy wooden door, so no chance of it being the wind.

Actually, if air's getting in, it can push doors open eventually. It happens all the time at my dad's, you should be scared of all that other shit.

 

[PureChaos]

not sure if it's been don yet but (by the way, the second vid ends with a screamer):

 

[Ekonk]

I like "This Man" [http://www.thisman.org]. It's not really SCARY, but it sure is creepy. Remember to look at the History and stuff. Sorry if someone already posted this, I don't wanna look through seventeen pages.

It's the Gman. Nice. Not scary, but strange and interesting. If it's true, that is.

I like this thread.


Also, I wish I could post whole games here, but instead I'll just post the shortest and most powerful quote I can think of.


The paramedics report they've been unable to find his eyes. We think he may have eaten them.

 

[CarpathianMuffin]

I'll likely be adding a lot to this thread, but for now I'll leave these small anecdotes:

Spoiler

One afternoon after school, I was on the computer as usual, neglecting my schoolwork with music playing. It was Heaven Torn Asunder by Cradle of Filth, for what good that does the story. Not a very well known song.
Anyway, I got a phone call in the other room, and picked it up about two rings in. On the other end, I heard "Thank you for holding", then the music that I had going, at the exact same part, before I heard some shuffling around like somebody was going through some drawers. That went on for another five seconds before the other end hung up.
Reading it over, it probably doesn't make a lot of sense, and was likely something that you had to be there to witness.

Spoiler

A second story happened in my old room. Now, in this room, for whatever reason, I have trouble sleeping. A lot of other people do too, and people who stay over pretty often request not to be situated in that room. For some reason, things look like they're moving, even with the lights on, and you either can't stay asleep or have horrible nightmares.
Now, what I'm about to jot down here happened around four years ago.
In that room, I was asleep one night. I heard my dresser drawer open, which made me bolt up. It has a bit of a screech when it opens, so you can hear it pretty well.
When I did, I heard something shatter, and the dresser drawer slam shut. I turned on my light, and the lamp that was formerly by my bedside was thrown at my closet door, and my drawer was stuck from being slammed shut too hard.

 

[LightOfDarkness]

I was alone in my house because my whole family had gone to a festival. I was lying on my bed, which is a very tall metal bed, and it usually shakes a little bit when I roll over.

However, as I was lying there listening to music, completely still and silent, my bed shook vigorously. The only time it ever shakes that much is if somebody shakes it. I was so sure there was somebody underneath my bed, so I looked and there was nobody there.

To this day, I cannot explain it. It actually scared the crap out of me. Nobody else can get into my house apart from my family, they're the only ones with keys, and they didn't get back until much later in the day.

It honestly cannot shake that much even if I try to shake it. It's only if somebody grabs it and shakes it from below.

Earthquake?

 

[David_G]

I'll likely be adding a lot to this thread, but for now I'll leave these small anecdotes:

Spoiler

One afternoon after school, I was on the computer as usual, neglecting my schoolwork with music playing. It was Heaven Torn Asunder by Cradle of Filth, for what good that does the story. Not a very well known song.
Anyway, I got a phone call in the other room, and picked it up about two rings in. On the other end, I heard "Thank you for holding", then the music that I had going, at the exact same part, before I heard some shuffling around like somebody was going through some drawers. That went on for another five seconds before the other end hung up.
Reading it over, it probably doesn't make a lot of sense, and was likely something that you had to be there to witness.

Spoiler

A second story happened in my old room. Now, in this room, for whatever reason, I have trouble sleeping. A lot of other people do too, and people who stay over pretty often request not to be situated in that room. For some reason, things look like they're moving, even with the lights on, and you either can't stay asleep or have horrible nightmares.
Now, what I'm about to jot down here happened around four years ago.
In that room, I was asleep one night. I heard my dresser drawer open, which made me bolt up. It has a bit of a screech when it opens, so you can hear it pretty well.
When I did, I heard something shatter, and the dresser drawer slam shut. I turned on my light, and the lamp that was formerly by my bedside was thrown at my closet door, and my drawer was stuck from being slammed shut too hard.

That's pretty cool, did you ever find out what really happened?