CRAPPYPASTA

For those pastas that are smelling less than fresh…


February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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The Traveller

I can remember when I was younger my granddad used to tell me ghost stories, and his experiences. My granddad was a lorry driver delivering different products all around Scotland but he always told me how his heart used to drop to his feet when he was told by his boss he had a delivery in the highlands.

For those who have never been to the Highlands in Scotland they have the most beautiful scenery but at night its like hell roams, as my granddad used to say, the beautiful mountains would disappear and become eery and misty, fields full of green grass would become miles of darkness and lost souls still searching for that one piece of light, lakes would glisten underneath the moonlight seeming like the monstrous creatures moving underneath. My granddad couldn’t decline or he would be out of work, so he travelled during day but the delivery took longer than expected and the sun started to set.

As night struck so did the nightmares. As my granddad was driving he noticed a man at the side of the road signalling for a ride, the traveller had a ragged long robe on covered in dirt, he wore a bag pack that looked like it it had broke many times but had been badly repaired but my granddad still to this day remembers something very vividly,his eyes, his eyes were clear like flowing water, the man had no pupil just clear and when the lorry got closer his eyes reflected, like cat eyes in the night. My granddad sped up hoping that it was just his exhaustion getting the better of him. 8/9 miles ahead there was the man again still signalling for a ride, there was no way any human could have travelled 8 miles on foot in the space of half a hour so instantly my granddad sped up him a few hours he reached his port to where he was delivering to unfortunately he had to wait until morning again to supply his goods meaning he would be sleeping in this lorry.

Granddad awoke to a noise coming form outside his lorry , he sat up and listened its sounded like someone as scratching at his lorry, he tried to ignore it but it kept getting louder then all of a sudden there was banging coming form the outside suddenly it all stopped, he thought it was over until he heard the most haunting voice that would traumatise even the toughest of men ‘your not the only one who travels the highlands at night’.immediately my granddad jumped in the drivers seat and drove home in his bare feet that night.

Not once did my granddad ever look back to see who it was because as he always said ‘curiosity may just kill you’.

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February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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Late Night Visitor

I had awoken in the middle of the night. I suffer from a strange phenomenon known as “sleep paralysis.” This happens about once a week. The doctors say there is no cure or anything at all that can be done. They have come to the conclusion that it is Recurrent Isolated Sleep Paralysis, which means it lasts for about an hour and happens frequently. Even if I didn’t live alone, there’s nothing that a roommate could do for me. The only thing that I can do is just lie awake and hope that I will fall back asleep soon.

As usual, I cannot move. I cannot control my muscles or my breathing. But for some reason, I can control my eyes. I search the room while stuck lying on my back. The window is wide open, I always keep the window open and the door closed; that way the cool, fresh air can enter my room and the warm air from the rest of my house stays outside of my room. I begin to look to the right, towards my door. But this isn’t right. My door is open. Not much, just a crack. As I previously stated, I never leave my door open, at all.

The hallway light flashed on. The light illuminated my bedroom through the quarter-of-an-inch gap. I frantically glanced about the room trying to see if anything was out of place. It was all normal. Wait, there’s something on my window sill. It looks like a white cloth.

It can’t be a burglar! My room is on the second floor and all of the other windows and doors are locked. It would be impossible to climb in through the window without a ladder; and even if a ladder was used, I would have heard the intruder stumble in. Oh, god, if only I could move!

The door creaked open a little more… but just as it did, the light went out. I can hear something stumbling around the floor. Oh my god. If I could cry, I would be. If I could do anything I would! It’s crawling towards my bed on the floor. I can’t see it, but I can hear it. And smell it. It smells dead. It’s the most foul smell I’ve ever encountered… worse than the hog-farm I worked at as a teen. It’s under my bed. I can hear it’s hands or feet… or whatever making a small thud each time it moved. It’s moving away now. It’s not as close as it was before.

There’s a pale, feminine hand reaching up at the foot of my bed. I’m helpless! I’m terrified and paralyzed. There’s nothing I can do but watch as it’s other hand reaches up and grasps the foot of my bed. It’s climbing up. I can see her head now… It’s the most pale thing I’ve ever seen. Here hair is long and matted. The eyes on her are pure white. I don’t even recognize pupils! And her mouth… oh god, her mouth. It’s huge. It’s closed, but I can tell by the width of her lips that she could start to swallow me whole, starting at my feet. Oh, shit! What if that’s her plan? She’s crawling up the foot of my bed. I can now see her torso. She’s wearing a white night gown, or maybe it’s a dress. I’m not quite sure.

Her hands are on opposites sides of my knees. She’s pulling herself all the way up. With one quick lunge, her face is now inches from mine. Her mouth is opened just enough for her to breathe out of it. All I can smell is her putrid breath. I would be gagging if I could move. No, if I could move, I’d get up and sprinting out of this–

She flung her head back and opened her mouth as wide as she could. She let out the loudest, high pitch, blood-curdling shriek. My ears are ringing with the sound. Her shriek is now turning into sobs. She crying? What the hell is going on? Another shriek. This one also turns into a cry. After a few seconds of crying, looks down at me, then jumps up into a crouching position and lunges out of my window.

I lie there for another twenty minutes before I can calm myself and go back to sleep. I am awoken for a second time. Only now it is from my cell phone. I check the time before I answer. It’s 6:30. Who would call me this early? The number is unfamiliar.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hello, is this David Christoff?” The voice sounded very professional.

“Yes, who are you?”

“This is Officer Duncun with the LAPD. I am calling to let you know that there was a tragedy last night. Your mother was killed in a hit and run accident.”
Credit To – tmanwater
Credit Link – www.randomthingsbytristan.blogspot.com

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February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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I Wish You Could See Me

I wish you could see me. Maybe after you read this, you will.

When you shut your eyes to rinse the soap from your hair in the shower, I’m only just outside the curtain. I press myself against it and scream until my chest aches, but you don’t ever hear me. I gnash my broken teeth and stomp my bruised feet hard upon the linoleum floor, all to no avail. Once or twice, when I’ve really let out a howl, you seem to suddenly grow frantic and struggle to wash away the soap so that you can see again. You throw back the curtain and check the room, but you stare right through me.

I sit at the foot of your bed sometimes and watch as you stick one leg from beneath the sheets to try and find that perfect temperature. I reach out to touch you, but resist and allow my bony hands to merely dance above your flesh. When you finally drift off, I can hardly keep myself from making contact, but you are quick to pull your foot back beneath the blanket. I just want to feel your skin beneath my nails.

In the morning, as you rummage through your piles of discarded clothing, I keep close by. As you pull the t-shirt over your head, I run up quickly in hopes that you will catch a glimpse of me upon resurfacing. Your scent is strong and inviting, causing me to smile so wide that the sores on my mouth split open and ooze. Yet, your body only quivers with that instinctual chill and you hurry to finish dressing.

I get impatient, even though I know I shouldn’t. I tap on your window, scratch at your door, and run up and down your hallway. You are so close to seeing me. You are unaware, but I am that thing in the corner of your eye. I am the cause of the feeling of being watched. I am the reason you look over your shoulder when you are alone. I’ve studied your obsession with scary stories and movies that would make most others terrified of the dark. I can sense your desire to come face to face with things that go bump in the night, but you’ve trained your mind to regard things such as me as fiction.

I am growing weary of this game. If I have not succeeded in capturing your attention by tonight, I will give into my urges. It’s always more fun when someone can see me, but it is not necessary. The taste is the same.

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February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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The Mystery Of The Belchertown State Schools

Hey, my name is Rachel Lavielette. Im here to share what I’ve learned about the Belchertown State Schools, or if you prefer, Mental Hospital.

In the summer of 2012 I was finally introduced to the buildings that made up this overall, very large community. It was hard to obtain much information at first, the police station is visible from most of the buildings so it was hard to get in but in the end I managed to with a pretty high success rate. While doing this I discovered many secrets, evil and twisted secrets. I am here to tell you about some of this brutal history.

First of all you must understand that though these buildings seem like they would have been nice back in the day that’s just how they appeared on the outside. on the inside patients were mistreated and abused. One patient was actually the daughter of my grandmother’s friend. Her name was Rosaline. This girl was brought to the hospital as a teen and ended up being sexually assaulted by a worker who impregnated her. Thankfully, Rosaline was brought to a different facility to be institutionalized until her death in her mid to late thirties.

This school opened its doors in 1922 in Belchertown Massachusetts. The entire school property extended a grand total of about 876 acres. With this much space it had an auditorium, dorms, its own fire department, schools, hospital, kitchen, etc. In 1922 the hospital housed about 400 patients, the 1970s it held a total of 1,500 residents in only 13 dorms. Ages of these unlucky inhabitants ranged anywhere from as young as 1 to 88 years old. As if you thought being crammed into 13 dorms was enough, it gets worse.

Patients who had good and strong teeth had them removed, and by removed I mean every tooth was taken from their mouth leaving them with gums. According to workers this made feeding the mentally ill “easier”. Patients who needed assistance to get out of bed, or the severely handicapped were left to lay in their beds all day every single day with no exercise. The severely handicapped were to wear diapers and when they needed to be moved their assistants often caused them injuries by roughly moving them about as if they were trash. This caused patients to moan as they were wheeled down the hallways to their destination which most likely, judging by the help they received wasn’t quite too far away from where they were. To top this off there were also many vermins running loose throughout the facility.

The school closed in 1992 after sexual acts occurred. finally the pain and horror was over but everything that happened in that hospital still lives in the walls. knowing this, I decided to adventure the area and all the while think like an innocent young patient would have years ago.

While exploring along the edge of the woods I found trees with silver tags pinned upon them by a nail. The nail wasn’t a normal nail but had a star on the head of it. I pondered upon what the tag was for a long while. I even found a gazebo type of structure with a concrete floor, around it were old benches and I found more pinned trees. I immediately went home that day wondering what they were for finding out that these represented those who died at the school. I also found a graveyard behind a Tractor Supply co. if you look towards the woods you’ll see a large black gate. I, being my curious young self decided to venture down the path a ways down and took a left. Once again you’ll see a gate. its a small fenced in area and if you enter then you’ll notice about one hundred graves all shining and new looking. Some had no dates of birth, some no last name. This was the saddest part to me, virtually nothing was known about these people.

Along with finding tags I also found two fire hydrants out in the middle of the woods. The woman I was exploring with had told me that assistants would bring the patients to these hydrants and hose them off which made perfect sense to me, as I didn’t see any place to get clean in the buildings other than sinks which still had sanitizer dispensers above them. Documents littered the floors of each building as well as broken glass and tile.

I entered the theater, now fenced in and ready for the demolition set to take place sometime in January of 2015. It was a large room with mostly balcony seats and a stage with red and tattered curtains at the front of the room. a lot of water damage had obviously taken its toll on the building over the years but I could visually see that it once had a very regal appearance. I could picture about 200 patients spilling into the room to enjoy a good show which was probably the only fun times they had. Im not even completely convinced the patients found this entertaining.

Time for more disturbing stories. In 1988 Ken Phoenix was thought to have killed Raymond E. (a grave found at the cemetery mentioned before)The case officially re-opened in March of 2009. The family of Phoenix requested that a DNA test should be run to give him a new trial and have is conviction overturned. By this time Ken had already served 21 years in prison. There is not much known about this other than, someone did in fact murder Raymond, no doubt. but was it truly Ken? Even I have yet to make a conclusion.

In one room there are small kennel like spaces covered by grates which back in the day were called “dog houses”. if a patient freaked out and threw a fit they were put in one of these spaces until they calmed down. I also found a baby restraint chair by a stairwell in one of the buildings which I found sickening, knowing that even little precious children were held back against their own will.

There are many more mysteries I have yet to solve and much more knowledge I have not shared. The State school is said to be haunted by many ghosts which I do believe. They say that if you enter the hospital just after dark you can hear terrified screams and see blood smeared on the walls. I myself have encountered rapid temperature changes as well as smells of death that leave as fast as they entered my nasal passages. Maybe if we all work together we’ll someday know exactly what went on within the brick walls of this spooky and disturbing state school.

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February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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Blood over Grove

The breeze rustles the trees in the dark of the night, as Amanda Hays comes into sight. She’s fierce at her phone, not talking in the best of moods. She comes to this place, to not be viewed. Amanda must be having some sort of complication, up on the gravel mountain she ends her conversation. She pauses and takes in the pine air, a moment like this is very rare. A time of peace with no distractions. She needs some place with no action. Whatever her problems may be, their merely just human. She’ll one day learn how to deal with them.

After a time of silence and aspiration. The woods echo a ringtone, in a loop, in short durations. Amanda looks at her phone. The ringing isn’t her’s, so she stows it away and dares to yell out: “Hello!”. The ringtone continues with no reply. Amanda goes into the dark woods, trying to be kind. The flashlight on her phone shows the way, illuminating the dead leaves like day. She’s close to the phone, she can hear it. She’s been walking for a while now, only by ear.

She reaches a stack of sticks, thin on top with bottom ones being thick. Fog surrounds the ground being slick. Her light on the pile she digs towards the tone. Not a minute later she fishes out a phone. Amanda looks at the thing, with it still singing. Thinking to herself: “Would it be wrong if I answered?”. She’s come down this huge course and thought she’d see who caused this ringing source.

With a click of the button she puts the phone to her ear, a frantic wife is what she hears. The wife is scared for her husband. Who was there, but then he hung up after giving a great scare. Amanda thinks this is some sort of prank, until she sees a dead man with a face that is blank. She covers her mouth in fright and tells the wife with might: “I found your husband, he is dead. He lays on the ground with leaves as a bed.” The wife tells her to run, the killer is still lurking around, perhaps with a gun. Amanda turns the way she came, seeing the killer walk into her frame. She turns the other way and dashes, turning leaves into ashes.

She’s far enough away to find a rocky place where she can stay. The wife still on the phone tells her the police are on their way. Amanda’s breath finally calming down, she asks the wife if she knows which way is a town. The wife directs her right of the rock, to keep walking for about a block. The two of them talk, until they reach another huge rock. Amanda is confused, this is the same path she already used. She asks the wife if she’s sure she knows the way, the wife does not reply, she does not say. The phone goes cold and there is no wife. Amanda looks around scared for her life. She looks at her shoes that are covered with blood and then all around, it is mixed in the mud. Upon closer looking at the red, she sees people all around her which are dead.

She shakes in fright not knowing what to do. Her phone rings with the same tune. It’s her boyfriend with the complication, she answers anyways without hesitation. “Sweety, sweety” she yells “I need help I don’t feel well.” There is no reply from her friend, the wives voice comes through instead: “Have you found my husband?” The connection stops with a chanting, Amanda hears something behind her, someone panting. She turns around slowly in fright, and sees a monster smaller than her height. It opens it’s eyes glowing red, the teeth then shine knowing Amanda is dead.

Credit To – M. Alexander Garcia

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February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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I didn’t sleep last night

You see, my house was the oldest on the road it resides on. Consequently, our address doesn’t fit in with the neighboring homes making it a bear of a place to hunt down if you don’t know what you’re looking for. In such a case as this, you’d be looking for a few dimmed lights of a house about a thousand feet back from the road with a winding gravel driveway. Hell sometimes our address in a GPS will send you to this empty grass lot about a mile down the road. While this is all beside the point, I only hope to emphasize the oddity of my family home in comparison to the surrounding properties.

We moved into the cheerful abode as the outcome of a new marriage and a new stepfather. My older brother and I were excited for it and held no fear in our hearts about anything in our new forested home. There was however, one little catch.

There was an ancient cabin on our property. Now its difficult to find historical records on my property online, and to tell the truth I wouldn’t even know where to begin. All I know is its more than eighty years old It was an eyesore and overall a terrifying structure to approach. The kind of thing eight year olds on pixie stick rushes would dare each other to. The sides of the house had greyed with age and weather, the brick foundation falling in pieces in some places. The windows were only somewhat translucent due to dust and time. It had clearly been a half used storage area of the previous occupants, holding on to old toys of children long grown old and spare furniture, now ravaged by exposure to the more-outdoor-than-indoor cabin. There were three rooms to the cabin, and please forgive me as I try my best to explain the layout. The front door with two shallow brick steps lead into the main bedroom and what I assume was also a kitchen and living room. My knowledge is hazy at best and I write this in the dead of night, praying to god that nothing more will come tonight. The windows of the left wall in relation to the front door face my home. Many times I had looked out my bedroom windows and had a few of a curtain of a bedpost fluttering from inside the home inexplicably. Should you look right upon entering the shack of a building, you’d see a door in the dead center of the right wall. This door would lead you from the hazardous floorboards to some form of hideous green carpeting, an obviously later installment that had been rain damaged into smelling of moss and made similar to walk across. This room was, for reasons unknown, empty. The third room could be accessed through another centered door on the wall directly across from the green room door. Now perhaps many years ago a tree limb decided to say “You know what? Fuck this one space in this world in particular.” And rained down a heavy smiting of pain onto the poor roof of this third room, the bathroom. Whatever may have happened, the entire room itself looks like an earthquake occurred. The floor has a long dangerous divide, the tub lifted upwards at a forty five degree angle. This room had leaves and pine needles and the smell of a swamp. I believe the scariest thing about this room was that long two inch wide uneven crack stemming from the base of the floor to the caved in roof. This gave me my first glimpse inside of this house at the young age of eleven.

Now bear in mind this was many years ago, and any supernatural experiences are few and far in between, but nevertheless I always had a love for the paranormal. It was one I shared with my friends (against their will at times). Often it was a game to see who could create the most intricate and detailed ghostly account at sleep overs. I held séances and brought my Oujia board into my closet and we talked to the dead, giggling and forcibly moving the center piece in order to “communicate” with the spirits. I’d been warned not to screw around with the board. I wish I had known better. It wasn’t just some cheap plastic pink one that my mother had first attempted to purchase me upon request. Oh no, I had saved my money up for this baby. A nice antique wooden one, purchased off the internet with my mother’s assistance. I often wonder what my mother was thinking about my hobby. She had always seemed so pleased I was interested in otherworldly things, but today I do question her smiles as she came into my room lit only by candles in a circle around an object of a deceased relative. A hairbrush. An old piece of jewelry. On one occasion, there was a doll of my very recently deceased step cousin. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. And I don’t claim to have called any of those spirits into my home, since I can’t necessarily prove that I did. I only intend to share my wild imagination and awareness I felt I had as a child, and hope to delude myself into excusing all events as a child’s paranoid nightmare.

I apologize for being prone to jump around in storytelling, but I have to go back to the cabin once more. I made it through all three rooms only once. Just the once. On a dare. I’d always been fearful of the bathroom of the cabin. I don’t blame myself for having been afraid of it, considering it looked like Lucifer himself had attempted to break down the room. It was something straight out of a Stephen King novel. Have you ever been frozen in time? Have you ever been able to completely grasp what your eyes are gazing upon yet not quite get your mind to click that its so wrong a sight? I so wish I could convey this reaction in better words. I struggle to write it out now. Shortly after moving into the house, spring break was upon us. It was the spring break of fifth grade, and I would be left at home under the “care” of my elder brother and my mother’s friend’s children. We’ll call them Kyle and Cassie. Cassie was only eleven months older than myself, and while I enjoyed her company she had a tendency to be a bit on the cruel side. She was manipulative of my feelings and often talked me into things I didn’t want to do through verbal harassment. It always ended with a fit of giggles and never seemed to tarnish our friendship in any way, but I remember the fight we had on this spring break. Hide and seek had turned scary the moment Cassie eyed the cabin. She was without the fear I had accumulated through two months of imagining moving figures through the dirtied windows of the cabin. At this point I had only ever been in the front room of it. My brother had shut the door behind me and ran, terrifying me from ever wanting to enter again. I remember the frustration, burning hot and wet growing in my eyes as I knew Cass would instantly hide in the cabin on the very first turn. I didn’t want to be called a baby for the second time that day, so I would have to venture inside yet again.

Have you ever had your feet stop listening to you? It’s a strange feeling. It’s your mind’s desire to press forward but your physical self saying “hell no”. There was the tenseness in my muscles as I moved, every fiber of my being wanted to retract to the front door with each new step deeper into the cabin. The second door was so light, so weightless. It grazed across the hideous green carpet soundlessly. The handle was dull and cold, discouraging a touch for more than the two seconds required to press into the room. Cass was nowhere to be found. Now I remember standing in this doorway for the longest time in utter refusal to press forward. I’d seen the bathroom through the two inch gap. It’d only given a view of the porcelain toilet half shattered against the wall at an angle. However if you can imagine the guts it takes for an eleven year old to press her eyeball against the corner of this disheveled hovel you can also imagine how quickly I got the hell away from it as well as the wind blew the leaves across the room. I was a scaredy cat of a child, okay? Perhaps it was for the best. The strides were stiff and forced as I bolted across the green room to the third door, pulling it open and flinging myself back ready for Cassie to pop out and scream at me. I wish she had. The light from the outside should have provided some stark contrast to the scene before me, perhaps made it a little less shocking. There have been several instances in my lifetime where I looked without seeing. This was one of them. There was a body in the bath tub. A corpse with dark straw hair, an arm hanging over the side. This was all I focused on. The skin was torn and holed, looking as if someone had taken some sort of flesh purposed crow bar underneath her skin and pulled upwards. It looked like the flesh had been picked out from the outside or as if something had burst from within. It was caked with blood, the skin turned a sickly brownish green color. What felt like an eternity of staring in reality only could have been a mere second. The arm was all I saw. I turned and hauled ass out of there. Cassie was angry with me for not looking for her. She was hidden behind the canoe at the back of the cabin.
If I were to re-describe the image in my mind today, I fear I would alter it to give it more face or detail than I had at first viewed it with. I don’t want to make up details where there were none in order to keep true to the story. The corpse was undoubtedly mutilated. The flesh was bloated, an effect of what I know to be more humid/wet conditions for a corpse. They blow up like meat balloons, isn’t that lovely? Thank you 11th grade forensics. The figure was small enough to fit curled up in the tub with only the arm protruding. Due to the small stature and the long coarse hair I only caught a glimpse of, I must assume the figure was a woman. While the bathtub buddy corpse was the most significant paranormal occurrence in my new household, there were several other accompanying incidents. As they can all possibly be excused to pets, pesky siblings, or otherwise circumstantial things I believe it best to not include the smaller scares.
Years passed and thought absolutely nothing of the sight I beheld at age eleven, blocking it from my mind and excusing it as a fear induced hallucination. Until in the middle of the night I heard god awful screaming. I must have been about fifteen at the time. Have you ever heard Rob Zombie’s House of a 1000 corpses, the full song? Screaming not unlike that coming from my own front yard. It was the kind of screaming you’d suspect you’d hear from a slasher movie. A woman being slowly sliced apart by her captor maybe. It was a desperate scream for help and mercy which delved into a screeching plea for all to end. This continued for a week, starting up in the middle of the night and always- always- cutting off in the middle of a blood curdling scream. Of course, the ending always echoed, me living in the woods and all. But the scream always cut short of her finishing her breath. This happened so many years ago. I had done my absolute best to push it from my mind (as had my brother, who at the time had a bad drug problem and thought he was hearing things and scared out of his mind, as I later found out).
But tonight…. The fear and anxiety seem too strange to be real. Every dog bark, every deer snapping a twig (I fucking hope thats what it was), and every loud engine careening past my house without knowledge of its existence is morphed into the bloodcurdling screams of that awful week. So wait, if this happened about three years ago why do I bother bringing it all up again now, when I’ve not experienced anything of note since that date? Well yesterday the cabin was demolished Gone. Leveled to the ground… I feel really foolish and too damn old (though I’m not, not really) to be this afraid and expectant of some supernatural occurrence. I don’t consider myself to be a believer anymore. I find it ironic that I, a previous believer, held onto all of these notions of the supernatural until something real reared its ugly head. Now I only have a story. I still hold some hope that the screaming woman was an elaborate prank set up by my brother. I still hold onto the belief that the body I saw when I was younger was just a hallucination. Even I know though that the uneasiness I had was shared. So the story hasn’t been shared either. I know it seems like nothing, especially when people claim to have seen violent apparitions in their life times or tell first hand accounts of interactions with the supernatural. But I can’t express the fear and dread that I feel when I walked through that cabin and as I sat in bed, my chest tightening with panic, listening to the horrendous death of a woman in my very front yard. I can only say how much I dread the next few weeks. And how glad I will be to be gone again from this house.

Credit To – Cori
Credit Link – Notsofast08@gmail.com

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February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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Of the Water

The crate washed up on the beach in the middle of the night. I had been walking along the water, trying to get my thoughts straight. It was a private beach, owned by the same people I had rented the beach house off of. The crate was completely intact and uncovered – or nearly so. Chains swathed the strong wooden box like a straight jacket, clearly saying “Do not open me.”

I had come alone, a recent bachelor after a messy divorce. Since I found myself wandering into a good bit of money after my particularly rich uncle had died, I decided it was a means for celebration. In his life, I’d done him a favor or two more than any of my other relatives and, having no children, he left his entire fortune to me.

The crate was not large, but it was heavy. It did not seem to be empty, but whatever was inside did not seem to be big. My guess was that it was an equipment crate that had fallen off of a shrimping boat. They kept that kind of stuff under lock and key, right?

I took no notice of the carvings etched into the crate or the post marks that covered every inch of it, nor did I take notice to any warning labels. I had remembered seeing old chain cutters in the garage of the beach house, so I went to find them.

When I returned, I found that there was no need for them. The beautiful wooden crate that stood there before looked as though it had been through a wood chipper. Pieces of the chains were scattered throughout the debris, glinting in the light of the moon like pieces of sea glass. Shrugging it off as someone beating me to the treasure – probably some hooligans trespassing – I returned to my beach house.

In retrospect, I should have taken a closer look at the sand. The more I think, the more I wonder if those foot prints leading back to the beach house were mine.
Credit To – Conceived from a story that terrified me as a child – Felic

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February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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Mother

You wake up in the middle of the night. Your cat is cozily nested behind your knees and the weight of your blanket warms your tired body nicely. You sigh happily. When you are about to drift again into a sweet slumber, your cat hisses and runs frantically off your bed and hides behind the curtains.

She has never acted so weirdly before, and that upsets you. You look around in your room for anything that could have startled her but nothing is out of the ordinary. You stay still and listen for anything unusual. You can hear your cat drinking water from her bowl in the hall, making that disgusting slurping sound that always disturbs you. Relieved that nothing is wrong, you lie back down and pull your blanket up to your chin.

But before you close your eyes, you see the shadowy silhouette of your feline friend ducking under your desk, her hair standing up. You gasp. If it isn’t your cat drinking water then where does the sound come from?

Slowly and as silently as possible you get off your bed. But despite your best efforts, the old wooden framework groans loudly. You freeze. The slurping sound stops for a second before it resumes. Any doubts that this was your imagination’s doing are cast away.

Heart pounding on your chest, you tiptoe your way to the door. You step out of your room and look across the hallway, towards your cat’s bowl. And there you see her.

Your mother, crouching on hands and knees. Her limbs are long and skinny and her fingers are gaunt and bony. Her messy hair covers her pale, distorted face; her skin stretched against her cheekbones. She is licking greedily the water in your cat’s bowl with a tongue black as coal and twice the normal size.

Suddenly, she stops. She slowly turns her head towards you. She stares deeply into your eyes, her pupils two unmoving dots of malice.

You jump in panic and run back into your room while your mother gallops on all fours towards you. You close the door behind you, moments before it starts shaking violently; loud bangs echoing across the house. You quickly throw your body against the door, blocking it. The whole doorframe quakes fiercely, but you hold firm.

Suddenly, the banging stops. An otherworldly sense of stillness hangs in the air. After a few seconds of excruciating silence, the knob starts turning.

“Honey, is something wrong?” you hear your mother’s soothing voice from the other side. “Why did you close the door? I am worried. Please, let me in.”

Credit To – Antoine Dupin

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February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
4 Comments

The Man Who Greeted Death

There are certain nights which we as human beings ,wherever we are in the world will never forget. The Nights which ,through no fault of our own, ones which garnish no lesson, through the ghost of the machine, transpire in only a synchronic melody with the aspects of chance and fate that we are harmoniously, inexorably , and gravely connected to. A juncture which a cruel and grinding system places us, with no preparation to face the harshest realities of the world ,determined to render us infantile in a situation which repeats itself in dreams henceforth. An event set off thousands of years ago by the butterfly effect which pit stop lands in an evening of a stroll of an individual, myself, and the last labored breaths of a moribund stranger met on dire straits. I suppose this confession of my most scarring nights will clarify this surreal turn of events, if for nothing but a cathartic release of the heavy burden anchored to my soul.

I had been living in St. Louis and worked day to day in a packaging plant outside of downtown, and it was during the evenings in most days I would find myself reading a book at the coffee table in the living room of my shabby Spartan apartment while seated in an uncomfortable used chair I found on the side of the road. I hadn’t made friends and going out to socialize and make new ones in this new city of mine wasn’t an option due to how little available funds I had , in fact I was just scraping by with the meager amount of income I settled for. It was my whole life there I knew I was settling for, and life in the city was a lonely one for me, but I was content in this because I lived a life of routine : wake up , work , read , sleep, repeat ad nauseam . The day would sometimes be concluded with pacing the empty midnight streets of the block I lived on in order to mollify my restlessness. This was what would occur tonight because my body was incapable of accepting the surrender of sound sleep.

I tied my shoes and threw on my coat, passed through the door and when I broke the threshold I was greeted by the sobering cool of the fall night, a welcomed contrast to the stagnant air of the apartment I was accustomed to. My feet operated the stairs and pivoted around the landing of the second flight to the first flight and out again until I reached the sidewalk and began my typical route. The trees and the foliage hung languidly in the stillness that dominated the atmosphere , a stillness that belonged to the sleeping hours, a world that was a negative photograph of the bustling of society ,the persistent and long rush hour that would last until after the sun had already set. I passed by several streets and by the time I made it to the diner where I would typically turn back I still felt too awake to do so. I decided id make my way to Stanley park before id turn around , the extra distance, not more than a couple blocks away, would be more than enough to drain whatever lingering vitality I still invested in the day.

Eventually I arrived at 24th street where my trip would make a sharp 90 to the park a few stop lights ahead. It was at that point that my trip through the 7 circles began, unaccompanied. A black Volvo , apparent and uncanny had reared around the corner of 22nd street, as ominous as a crow , or a black cat, or a shade that crosses your view. Almost imperceptibly it remained but only long enough to open up and close a car door and speed off into the night with a ghostly cloud of exhaust fumes. How I still wish that was the only thing it left behind. As the smoke cleared I saw two heaps laying on the corner several paces ahead, one that was reflective , a bin bag, and the other – shuttering replaced curiosity when I realized , only moments later scrutinizing my vision, that one of the piles was reflecting the orange glow of the street lamps off of a polished black shoe. This was not a pile of trash left behind by an errand boy at the end of their shift. This was a man.

I broke into a jog, cautious of the black car, the possibility of it returning ringing in my ear ,and apprehensive of what I might find sprawled flat on the street corner. My sense of concern, however, won the debate against my logic or better judgment as I forced myself skeptically toward what discovery I feared I might make. I reached the corner of 23rd where I could see the man who lay more clearly and began to panic as I noticed that the shirt he was wearing was glistening wet with red and that the pool he lay in made a perimeter around his body like a grim satire of a snow angel , with deep blood puddles made black by the darkness of the night.

My Jog became a sprint as I identified the severity of the situation. I ran down the final stretch of asphalt where I stood feet away from the man I had seen dumped here from the black Volvo only a moment earlier. My panic became revulsion, staring down at the man who’s details I no longer had to struggle to see. He wore the tattered remains of a business suit and appeared to be middle aged, he was dark haired and his face wore a bone white pallor due to a substantial amount of his blood being on the wrong side of his skin. I felt a wave of nausea nearly take me when I couldn’t understand where his arms had gone, when I found that they were not behind his back and were missing from his body from just above the elbow on either side, cut surgically clean. In that moment, I Automatically reached for my phone and typed the emergency number, but at the same moment I looked down at the man’s eyes. Before I hit the call button I made two observations: One in that instant being that this man would surely bleed the last of himself before the end of the phone call . What could I possibly do without any preparation for this situation? The other came much slower. His face, in his eyes, you could see, although his breathing was choppy and harsh , that the look on his face was serene, when I noticed my blood turned cold. His half opened eyes saw right through me as I knelt down by his side, I took off my coat and wrapped it tight around his torso as a desperate remedy ,to maybe insulate the last flames of his vitality. The look he gave was unmistakable, every crack and wrinkle in his face showed that he was resigned to the death that would take him soon.

As I crouched by his side holding the coat tight against his fading body, my knees wet with the now cold blood on the ground , I could see his mouth twitch. He had something to say in his final moments, which was now my duty to hear. It was my responsibility now if I had owed this stranger anything. I hovered my face over his and could smell the dried saliva and blood that had gathered in the corners of his mouth as he whispered his last.

In the end I couldn’t say what haunts me more about those last words, the implications of his final utterance or the realization that they were not meant for me.

Credit To – Matthias Bartley
Credit Link – @akindsparrow

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February 26, 2015
by derpbutt
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Too Bright

My brother is a cop, and works long hours. He usually doesn’t return home until around 4am, and everyone is of course asleep by then. Being a cop, and an older brother, he has that natural protective instinct. On his way home he is always alert for any danger, and is always checking that everything is OK.

Me being his little sister of course means extreme caution with everything regarding me, from him, and an overwhelming sense of protection sometimes. Anyway, every night, when he returns home late he shines his flashlight in my room which is always left open. The way my room is set up, I cannot see if someone is in the door way because it is on the same wall as my bed, and unless they were already in the room they are out of my line of sight, so my brother never realized that occasionally it woke me up. I never really understood why, I guess to make sure there was nothing wrong. I did not mind it at the time, so I figured I would deal with it as it rarely woke me up and let him enjoy his sense of being the protector.

I don’t see much of him being that he is still asleep when I wake up for school, but by the time I am home he is off to work again. I often brought up the light thing to the rest of my family, which they found odd because he has never done that to them. Everyone, including me, chalked it up to over-protective big brother stuff and left it at that.

Towards the middle of my senior year of school I started having serious sleeping issues. School 6 hours a day then work on top of that and then all my hard work to be an A student was becoming hard on me, and my sleeping patterns felt it as well. So, when I could sleep I would often be woken up by my brother’s pestering flashlight!

While I appreciated the concern, I needed the sleep and could not continue to be awoken like this. So, on a day my brother was off I simply asked him to stop shining his flashlight in my room every night.
What happened after haunts me to this day.
He looked up, ghostly white, and said the words “I have never done that before in my life.”
I nearly cried. After that night I have slept with my door shut ever since, and my parents installed cameras in the hallway where our rooms are, and nothing has ever showed up and so far have had no disturbances.. But knowing an unknown..thing.. has been peeking in my room every night has left me shaken to the core.

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