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(Fark)   It's almost time kids. It's Fark's annual "Scary Story Thread" a day early due to the weekend. Don't miss it. Don't forget to wear your mask.The clock is ticking, it's almost time. Silver Shamrock   (fark.com) divider line 567
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3954 clicks; posted to Main » on 30 Oct 2009 at 2:23 PM (4 years ago)   |  Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook   more»



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2009-10-30 10:05:57 PM
My scary stories are less scary and more annoying, but only because I know they are dreams.
For the past 5 years, when I am particularly stressed or running on not enough sleep, I have tended to have these awful waking dreams within only 15 minutes of falling asleep (I know the timing because I always check the clock when I wake up). I have them so often that I've trained myself to realize that what I'm seeing is false, even though I appear to be seeing solid, actual objects and people. I usually let myself "wake up" for a full 30 seconds and then the images fade away, but before those 30 seconds are up, I can poke the hallucinations and see my finger go right through them.

A short history of some things I have seen:
-Horseshoe crabs crawling on my walls and ceiling
-Mice crawling over my arms and face, nipping at my nose
-Jellyfish floating in the air as if it were water (that one was actually pretty cool)
-Three men crouching at the foot of my bed with crowbars and masks on
-A small black child with white irises standing at the head of me bed, looking at me, then laughing and running into the kitchen
-My bed tipping at a 45 degree angle and a putrescent hand grabbing at me from under the mattress
-A large man jumping sitting on my bed with a baseball bat, and swinging at my face (that one I actually woke up before he "hit" me, thank goodness)
-Two cats on opposite sides of my bed (I have only one)

So, not really a story. But sort of a daily horror freak show.
Le sigh.

/Unfortunately, this is ll 100% true.
//And sometimes I talk to these images in my sleep, freaking out anyone who may happen to be in the bed with me
 
2009-10-30 10:06:09 PM
dead_dangler: The scariest story I ever heard was about the supposed "adults" who still believed in ghosts and the paranormal.

I'd be scared but I don't believe in trolls so.....
 
2009-10-30 10:06:39 PM
Man I have been reading for a couple of hours now. Good stories.

I was pretty sure I remembered this story but I called my uncle to make sure I got it right.


This was in the late 1950s. My Mother was attending university in Halifax Nova Scotia. Her family is from a small fishing community east of Halifax. One weekend she brings a date named Peter with her to go see the family. As they had only been going out about a month and this being the 50s they had separate rooms to sleep in. Turns out her date got to stay in the room that was my great great grandparents.

Apparently in the middle of the night Peter woke up to the sound of what sounded like chains. He swore that he looked up and saw my grandfather in fishing gear holding chains and motioning towards him. He was very spooked and needless to say he did not end being my father.

There is a book called Ghosts of LaHave. Think my great great grandfather made it in there. Damn will now have to go find that book.


Don't forget to do the following tomorrow. My buddy told me about it. Go to your friendly neighbourhood store or grocery. Purchase only two items. A bag of apples and some razor blades. I am told the look on the checkout persons face is priceless...

/KIDDING HUGE but damn it would be funny to see that look.
 
2009-10-30 10:12:11 PM
Ahoytheship: My scary stories are less scary and more annoying, but only because I know they are dreams.
For the past 5 years, when I am particularly stressed or running on not enough sleep, I have tended to have these awful waking dreams within only 15 minutes of falling asleep (I know the timing because I always check the clock when I wake up). I have them so often that I've trained myself to realize that what I'm seeing is false, even though I appear to be seeing solid, actual objects and people. I usually let myself "wake up" for a full 30 seconds and then the images fade away, but before those 30 seconds are up, I can poke the hallucinations and see my finger go right through them.

A short history of some things I have seen:
-Horseshoe crabs crawling on my walls and ceiling
-Mice crawling over my arms and face, nipping at my nose
-Jellyfish floating in the air as if it were water (that one was actually pretty cool)
-Three men crouching at the foot of my bed with crowbars and masks on
-A small black child with white irises standing at the head of me bed, looking at me, then laughing and running into the kitchen
-My bed tipping at a 45 degree angle and a putrescent hand grabbing at me from under the mattress
-A large man jumping sitting on my bed with a baseball bat, and swinging at my face (that one I actually woke up before he "hit" me, thank goodness)
-Two cats on opposite sides of my bed (I have only one)

So, not really a story. But sort of a daily horror freak show.
Le sigh.

/Unfortunately, this is ll 100% true.
//And sometimes I talk to these images in my sleep, freaking out anyone who may happen to be in the bed with me


Slightly envious. Since you already know they're not real you do realize your half way to dreaming lucidly and those men in masks can be replaced with a roving gang of Lucy Liu clones with a just few right thoughts.
 
2009-10-30 10:19:00 PM
I experienced sleep paralysis growing up, but I never knew what it was until much later. It was mostly waking up from a nap and "knowing" that there was someone in the room, but I couldn't turn my head to look at them. One time a few years ago, I had an experience that was by far the most terrifying of all of them.

I sleep on my stomach most times, so this was the position in which I awoke. It felt that someone was sitting on my back. "She" talked to me in my girlfriend's (now wife's) voice. She was scratching my back, but then it began to hurt and the voice changed to this really scary, demonic type voice. It felt like I was pulled out of bed and onto the floor and then was dragged for what seemed like five minutes. I then fully woke up and was able to convince myself that none of it actually happened. Thankfully, I had experienced lesser versions of that experience. I can only imagine how freaked out I would have been if that had been the first time.
 
2009-10-30 10:21:08 PM
Well I'm sitting here reading these for the last 45 minutes or so. My 5 year old keeps saying it's time for bed and I was just ignoring him.

He came in here with his marshmallow gun and I didn't even notice him. He had it all pumped up and just shot it off behind me. It made a huge "BOOM". I swear, my asshole clenched so tight, you couldn't get a needle up it with a 90lb jackhammer.
 
2009-10-30 10:22:11 PM
ive only had a few times were i felt terrified as something i saw. without going into grate detail over them, the first was when i was 17 me and my friends went messing around in an old abandoned mental institution and as i was the oldest i got to enter first. So i got a brand new mag lite out of my car and made sure it worked. As i entered the building my light went dead coouldnt get it to turn on at all so we continued on not seeing anything spooky we left as i got in my car my light turned on.
the second was just a few months ago i moved in whit my gf and her two young kids 3&7. i spent a few years in iraq and did somethings that give me nightmares but nothing like this. anyway one morning i woke up and was standing in the kitchen looking into the dinning room and the 7yr. old on the computer when i saw standing next to her a man in his mid 20's. the man turned looked at me and i reconised as one of the people i saw kia in iraq. i just thought it was lack of sleep.
 
2009-10-30 10:25:37 PM
...and not a bookmark for later.
 
2009-10-30 10:28:14 PM
genner: Ahoytheship: My scary stories are less scary and more annoying, but only because I know they are dreams.
For the past 5 years, when I am particularly stressed or running on not enough sleep, I have tended to have these awful waking dreams within only 15 minutes of falling asleep (I know the timing because I always check the clock when I wake up). I have them so often that I've trained myself to realize that what I'm seeing is false, even though I appear to be seeing solid, actual objects and people. I usually let myself "wake up" for a full 30 seconds and then the images fade away, but before those 30 seconds are up, I can poke the hallucinations and see my finger go right through them.

A short history of some things I have seen:
-Horseshoe crabs crawling on my walls and ceiling
-Mice crawling over my arms and face, nipping at my nose
-Jellyfish floating in the air as if it were water (that one was actually pretty cool)
-Three men crouching at the foot of my bed with crowbars and masks on
-A small black child with white irises standing at the head of me bed, looking at me, then laughing and running into the kitchen
-My bed tipping at a 45 degree angle and a putrescent hand grabbing at me from under the mattress
-A large man jumping sitting on my bed with a baseball bat, and swinging at my face (that one I actually woke up before he "hit" me, thank goodness)
-Two cats on opposite sides of my bed (I have only one)

So, not really a story. But sort of a daily horror freak show.
Le sigh.

/Unfortunately, this is ll 100% true.
//And sometimes I talk to these images in my sleep, freaking out anyone who may happen to be in the bed with me

Slightly envious. Since you already know they're not real you do realize your half way to dreaming lucidly and those men in masks can be replaced with a roving gang of Lucy Liu clones with a just few right thoughts.


Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P
 
2009-10-30 10:28:31 PM
OK here's mine.
When I was a kid I had a generic being chased by some unknown person/monster nightmare. I then woke up and was relieved it was a nightmare. My bed was then swarming with spiders! Then I woke up again. It took me a long time convince myself that I was really awake this time and nothing else was going to happen. false awakings really mess with your head.
 
2009-10-30 10:32:37 PM

The Price

by Neil Gaiman


Tramps and vagabonds have marks they make on gateposts and trees and doors, letting others of their kind know a little about the people who live at the houses and farms they pass on their travels. I think cats must leave similar signs; how else to explain the cats who turn up at our door through the year, hungry and flea-ridden and abandoned?

We take them in. We get rid of the fleas and the ticks, feed them and take them to the vet. We pay for them to get their shots, and, indignity upon indignity, we have them neutered or spayed.

And they stay with us, for a few months, or for a year, or for ever.

Most of them arrive in summer. We live in the country, just the right distance out of town for the city-dwellers to abandon their cats near us.

We never seem to have more than eight cats, rarely have less than three. The cat population of my house is currently as follows: Hermione and Pod, tabby and black respectively, the mad sisters who live in my attic office, and do not mingle; Princess, the blue-eyed long-haired white cat, who lived wild in the woods for years before she gave up her wild ways for soft sofas and beds; and, last but largest, Furball, Princess's cushion-like calico long-haired daughter, orange and black and white, whom I discovered as a tiny kitten in our garage one day, strangled and almost dead, her head poked through an old badminton net, and who surprised us all by not dying but instead growing up to be the best-natured cat I have ever encountered.

And then there is the black cat. Who has no other name than the Black Cat, and who turned up almost a month ago. We did not realise he was going to be living here at first: he looked too well-fed to be a stray, too old and jaunty to have been abandoned. He looked like a small panther, and he moved like a patch of night.

One day, in the summer, he was lurking about our ramshackle porch: eight or nine years old, at a guess, male, greenish-yellow of eye, very friendly, quite unperturbable. I assumed he belonged to a neighbouring farmer or household.

I went away for a few weeks, to finish writing a book, and when I came home he was still on our porch, living in an old cat- bed one of the children had found for him. He was, however, almost unrecognisable. Patches of fur had gone, and there were deep scratches on his grey skin. The tip of one ear was chewed away. There was a gash beneath one eye, a slice gone from one lip. He looked tired and thin.

We took the Black Cat to the vet, where we got him some antibiotics, which we fed him each night, along with soft cat food.

We wondered who he was fighting. Princess, our white, beautiful, near-feral queen? Raccoons? A rat-tailed, fanged possum?

Each night the scratches would be worse -- one night his side would be chewed-up; the next, it would be his underbelly, raked with claw marks and bloody to the touch.

When it got to that point, I took him down to the basement to recover, beside the furnace and the piles of boxes. He was surprisingly heavy, the Black Cat, and I picked him up and carried him down there, with a cat-basket, and a litter bin, and some food and water. I closed the door behind me. I had to wash the blood from my hands, when I left the basement.

He stayed down there for four days. At first he seemed too weak to feed himself: a cut beneath one eye had rendered him almost one-eyed, and he limped and lolled weakly, thick yellow pus oozing from the cut in his lip.

I went down there every morning and every night, and I fed him, and gave him antibiotics, which I mixed with his canned food, and I dabbed at the worst of the cuts, and spoke to him. He had diarrhoea, and, although I changed his litter daily, the basement stank evilly.

The four days that the Black Cat lived in the basement were a bad four days in my house: the baby slipped in the bath, and banged her head, and might have drowned; I learned that a project I had set my heart on -- adapting Hope Mirrlees' novel Lud in the Mist for the BBC -- was no longer going to happen, and I realised that I did not have the energy to begin again from scratch, pitching it to other networks, or to other media; my daughter left for Summer Camp, and immediately began to send home a plethora of heart-tearing letters and cards, five or six each day, imploring us to take her away; my son had some kind of fight with his best friend, to the point that they were no longer on speaking terms; and returning home one night, my wife hit a deer, who ran out in front of the car. The deer was killed, the car was left undriveable, and my wife sustained a small cut over one eye.

By the fourth day, the cat was prowling the basement, walking haltingly but impatiently between the stacks of books and comics, the boxes of mail and cassettes, of pictures and of gifts and of stuff. He mewed at me to let him out and, reluctantly, I did so.

He went back onto the porch, and slept there for the rest of the day.

The next morning there were deep, new gashes in his flanks, and clumps of black cat-hair -- his -- covered the wooden boards of the porch.

Letters arrived that day from my daughter, telling us that Camp was going better, and she thought she could survive a few days; my son and his friend sorted out their problem, although what the argument was about -- trading cards, computer games, Star Wars or A Girl -- I would never learn. The BBC Executive who had vetoed Lud in the Mist was discovered to have been taking bribes (well, 'questionable loans') from an independent production company, and was sent home on permanent leave: his successor, I was delighted to learn, when she faxed me, was the woman who had initially proposed the project to me before leaving the BBC.

I thought about returning the Black Cat to the basement, but decided against it. Instead, I resolved to try and discover what kind of animal was coming to our house each night, and from there to formulate a plan of action -- to trap it, perhaps.

For birthdays and at Christmas my family gives me gadgets and gizmos, pricy toys which excite my fancy but, ultimately, rarely leave their boxes. There is a food dehydrator and an electric carving knife, a bread-making machine, and, last year's present, a pair of see-in-the-dark binoculars. On Christmas Day I had put the batteries into the binoculars, and had walked about the basement in the dark, too impatient even to wait until nightfall, stalking a flock of imaginary Starlings. (You were warned not to turn it on in the light: that would have damaged the binoculars, and quite possibly your eyes as well.) Afterwards I had put the device back into its box, and it sat there still, in my office, beside the box of computer cables and forgotten bits and pieces.

Perhaps, I thought, if the creature, dog or cat or raccoon or what-have-you, were to see me sitting on the porch, it would not come, so I took a chair into the box-and-coat-room, little larger than a closet, which overlooks the porch, and, when everyone in the house was asleep, I went out onto the porch, and bade the Black Cat goodnight.

That cat, my wife had said, when he first arrived, is a person. And there was something very person-like in his huge, leonine face: his broad black nose, his greenish-yellow eyes, his fanged but amiable mouth (still leaking amber pus from the right lower lip).

I stroked his head, and scratched him beneath the chin, and wished him well. Then I went inside, and turned off the light on the porch.

I sat on my chair, in the darkness inside the house, with the see-in-the-dark binoculars on my lap. I had switched the binoculars on, and a trickle of greenish light came from the eyepieces.

Time passed, in the darkness.

I experimented with looking at the darkness with the binoculars, learning to focus, to see the world in shades of green. I found myself horrified by the number of swarming insects I could see in the night air: it was as if the night world were some kind of nightmarish soup, swimming with life. Then I lowered the binoculars from my eyes, and stared out at the rich blacks and blues of the night, empty and peaceful and calm.

Time passed. I struggled to keep awake, found myself profoundly missing cigarettes and coffee, my two lost addictions. Either of them would have kept my eyes open. But before I had tumbled too far into the world of sleep and dreams a yowl from the garden jerked me fully awake. I fumbled the binoculars to my eyes, and was disappointed to see that it was merely Princess, the white cat, streaking across the front garden like a patch of greenish-white light. She vanished into the woodland to the left of the house, and was gone.

I was about to settle myself back down, when it occurred to me to wonder what exactly had startled Princess so, and I began scanning the middle distance with the binoculars, looking for a huge raccoon, a dog, or a vicious possum. And there was indeed something coming down the driveway, towards the house. I could see it through the binoculars, clear as day.

It was the Devil.

I had never seen the Devil before, and, although I had written about him in the past, if pressed would have confessed that I had no belief in him, other than as an imaginary figure, tragic and Miltonion. The figure coming up the driveway was not Milton's Lucifer. It was the Devil.

My heart began to pound in my chest, to pound so hard that it hurt. I hoped it could not see me, that, in a dark house, behind window-glass, I was hidden.

The figure flickered and changed as it walked up the drive. One moment it was dark, bull-like, minotaurish, the next it was slim and female, and the next it was a cat itself, a scarred, huge grey-green wildcat, its face contorted with hate.

There are steps that lead up to my porch, four white wooden steps in need of a coat of paint (I knew they were white, although they were, like everything else, green through my binoculars). At the bottom of the steps, the Devil stopped, and called out something that I could not understand, three, perhaps four words in a whining, howling language that must have been old and forgotten when Babylon was young; and, although I did not understand the words, I felt the hairs raise on the back of my head as it called.

And then I heard, muffled through the glass, but still audible, a low growl, a challenge, and, slowly, unsteadily, a black figure walked down the steps of the house, away from me, toward the Devil. These days the Black Cat no longer moved like a panther, instead he stumbled and rocked, like a sailor only recently returned to land.

The Devil was a woman, now. She said something soothing and gentle to the cat, in a tongue that sounded like French, and reached out a hand to him. He sank his teeth into her arm, and her lip curled, and she spat at him.

The woman glanced up at me, then, and if I had doubted that she was the Devil before, I was certain of it now: the woman's eyes flashed red fire at me; but you can see no red through the night-vision binoculars, only shades of a green. And the Devil saw me, through the window. It saw me. I am in no doubt about that at all.

The Devil twisted and writhed, and now it was some kind of jackal, a flat-faced, huge-headed, bull-necked creature, halfway between a hyena and a dingo. There were maggots squirming in its mangy fur, and it began to walk up the steps.

The Black Cat leapt upon it, and in seconds they became a rolling, writhing thing, moving faster than my eyes could follow.

All this in silence.

And then a low roar -- down the country road at the bottom of our drive, in the distance, lumbered a late-night truck, its blazing headlights burning bright as green suns through the binoculars. I lowered them from my eyes, and saw only darkness, and the gentle yellow of headlights, and then the red of rear lights as it vanished off again into the nowhere at all.

When I raised the binoculars once more there was nothing to be seen. Only the Black Cat, on the steps, staring up into the air. I trained the binoculars up, and saw something flying away - - a vulture, perhaps, or an eagle -- and then it flew beyond the trees and was gone.

I went out onto the porch, and picked up the Black Cat, and stroked him, and said kind, soothing things to him. He mewled piteously when I first approached him, but, after a while, he went to sleep on my lap, and I put him into his basket, and went upstairs to my bed, to sleep myself. There was dried blood on my tee shirt and jeans, the following morning.

That was a week ago.

The thing that comes to my house does not come every night. But it comes most nights: we know it by the wounds on the cat, and the pain I can see in those leonine eyes. He has lost the use of his front left paw, and his right eye has closed for good.

I wonder what we did to deserve the Black Cat. I wonder who sent him. And, selfish and scared, I wonder how much more he has to give.
 
2009-10-30 10:35:52 PM
Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P


A girl on the internet?....I'm dreaming again aren't I....or I'm too lazy to click on profiles.....one of those two.
 
2009-10-30 10:36:09 PM
My wife (girlfriend at the time) and I decided to take a weekend backpacking trip after we graduated high school, before I shipped out. We made all the preparations and set out into the Beartooth Wilderness from the top of Hellroaring Plateau in southern Montana.

We hiked for about 2 1/2 hours until we came to a small canyon about 700 feet deep, that opened up into the deeper valley below, and stopped to take pictures. We decided to go down into the canyon because there was a small stream running through, it was nice and green and lush, and it was a fairly easy climb down (or so we thought). About an hour later, after we stumbled over ankle twisting rocks, we found a place to set up camp. Nice thick grass. Slight breeze. 50 yards from the stream, with good firewood nearby.

3 or so hours later we were sitting around when we noticed the whole canyon was rather quiet. Too quiet. We also noticed there were no bugs, no birds, no wildlife of any sort. An hour or so later it was just barely starting to get dark, and I looked at my wife, and she looked at me, and we knew at that time without even saying anything that we should pack up and get the hell out of there. And that's what we did.

By the time we made it out of the canyon, climbing 700 feet up the walls in the dark with only flashlights it was about 11:00 pm. We hiked 2 1/2 hours back to her truck and slept there for the night.

About a week and a half later after getting the film developed, we were looking at the pictures and noticed that the only picture we took while we were in the canyon that turned out was the one we took from the campsight of the valley. The rest were blurry and distorted.

I still get chills thinking about the strange feelings I got in that little canyon. I'll never go back there again.
 
2009-10-30 10:46:25 PM
genner: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P

A girl on the internet?....I'm dreaming again aren't I....or I'm too lazy to click on profiles.....one of those two.


No clicking of profile necessary. Chicks actually exist on teh interwebs :)
 
2009-10-30 10:53:10 PM
Cytokine Storm: darkmayo: frostbitten: Jster422: Just saw 'Paranormal Activity' last night, and had the entire evening to reflect on just how much my house looks like the one in the film...

So, no kicks...yadda yadda.

After I watched it I spent a lot of time staring at the attic door directly over my bed.

man.. that has to suck, I wouldnt be able to sleep with that thing there.. hope you never watched Ju-On or its counterpart, the grudge.

A couple days after I saw The Grudge I was in my room when I heard this scratching coming from the attic...followed by that horrific deep throated croaking noise from the movie.

I stopped, looked up at the ceiling where the noise came from and said aloud "Oh you got to be kidding me."

I stood there a few more seconds, and the noise started up again. Disappointingly it was just some birds scratching around on the gutters/roof. Still, for those 15 seconds after first hearing the noise and then figuring out what it was, it was hilariously terrifying.


I've only heard squirrels and raccoons playing in the attic. They find their way in there sometimes. I've never seen either of those two movies. If I did start hearing noises that aren't so familiar, I'd probably start crying.
 
2009-10-30 10:55:32 PM
Count_0: The Price



ICK!
Poor kitty!!
That reminds me a little for some reason of "The Man in the Black Suit" by Mr. Stephen King himself.

CREEEEEEEEEPY.
 
2009-10-30 10:57:29 PM
Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P

A girl on the internet?....I'm dreaming again aren't I....or I'm too lazy to click on profiles.....one of those two.

No clicking of profile necessary. Chicks actually exist on teh interwebs :)


Sure they do...prove it!11!!!one!!

We all know everyone on the interwebs lives in their parents basements and are 300 lbs high school drop outs.
 
2009-10-30 10:58:28 PM
FreeBeerClickHere: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P

A girl on the internet?....I'm dreaming again aren't I....or I'm too lazy to click on profiles.....one of those two.

No clicking of profile necessary. Chicks actually exist on teh interwebs :)

Sure they do...prove it!11!!!one!!

We all know everyone on the interwebs lives in their parents basements and are 300 lbs high school drop outs.


No I graduated from highschool.
 
2009-10-30 11:06:10 PM
genner: FreeBeerClickHere: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P

A girl on the internet?....I'm dreaming again aren't I....or I'm too lazy to click on profiles.....one of those two.

No clicking of profile necessary. Chicks actually exist on teh interwebs :)

Sure they do...prove it!11!!!one!!

We all know everyone on the interwebs lives in their parents basements and are 300 lbs high school drop outs.

No I graduated from highschool.


Okay...then according to the interweb rules you must still be living in you parents basement...
 
2009-10-30 11:07:43 PM
For example...I am an astronaut cowboy millionaire


at least on the intertubes
 
2009-10-30 11:08:03 PM
FreeBeerClickHere: genner: FreeBeerClickHere: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P

A girl on the internet?....I'm dreaming again aren't I....or I'm too lazy to click on profiles.....one of those two.

No clicking of profile necessary. Chicks actually exist on teh interwebs :)

Sure they do...prove it!11!!!one!!

We all know everyone on the interwebs lives in their parents basements and are 300 lbs high school drop outs.

No I graduated from highschool.

Okay...then according to the interweb rules you must still be living in you parents basement...


Nope, I moved out before I turned 30......ok it was the day before I turned 30 but still.
 
2009-10-30 11:09:52 PM
Another one.

Not really a scary story and it didn't happen to me.

My father in law last year (in May of '08) woke up one morning and went out to get the paper. Sitting in a tree across the street from his house was twelve large vultures. An uncommon bird for a suburban Montana neighborhood.

The next day he was diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer.

Sadly, he died in March...
 
2009-10-30 11:10:46 PM
...and in the morror the blood spelled MAC TOLIVER
 
2009-10-30 11:12:14 PM
genner: FreeBeerClickHere: genner: FreeBeerClickHere: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P

A girl on the internet?....I'm dreaming again aren't I....or I'm too lazy to click on profiles.....one of those two.

No clicking of profile necessary. Chicks actually exist on teh interwebs :)

Sure they do...prove it!11!!!one!!

We all know everyone on the interwebs lives in their parents basements and are 300 lbs high school drop outs.

No I graduated from highschool.

Okay...then according to the interweb rules you must still be living in you parents basement...

Nope, I moved out before I turned 30......ok it was the day before I turned 30 but still.


Yeah, I guess that counts as escaping. I wish I would have stayed a bit longer at home then pay some slum lord for a few years adding to their equity while draining my paycheck.
 
2009-10-30 11:13:39 PM
FreeBeerClickHere: For example...I am an astronaut cowboy millionaire


at least on the intertubes


Space Ghost: Okay. Why won't women talk to me?

Rich Hall: Well, the first thing that you need to do, is, uh, go all out and lie.

Space Ghost: Lie?

Rich Hall: Use your imagination, just tell women what they want to hear, you know, you can always cover your tracks later.

Space Ghost: But Rich, I always tell the truth.

Rich Hall: That's not what women want to hear. They wanna hear you drummed for Pearl Jam. Yeah.

Space Ghost: That's not a sniglet, Hall.

images.quizfarm.com
 
2009-10-30 11:14:12 PM
My son has apparently spoken with ghosts. When he was old enough to talk, he reminded my wife of the time she went rollerskating with grandma and grandma fell down.

Grandpa died a few years before the kids were born.

He also used to talk about the nice lady in our house. One other friend has reported seeing a woman in white walking our hallway. We hear phantom tv noise from one bedroom.
 
2009-10-30 11:18:46 PM
If you leave the clubs in Denver's LoDo - Lower Downtown that is (must every city's marketing dweebs make up hipster, "SoHo"-sounding acronyms for neighborhoods with decades, even centuries, of their own history?) - and head northwest, across the South Platte, across I-25 toward the (for Denver) somewhat eclectic cluster of coffee and wine shops, boutiques, and sour taverns on 32nd Street a few blocks from Highland Park, you will find yourself on quiet, shady streets lined with sturdy old bungalows, where to this day the lucky gardener might turn up an arrowhead (or even a coup-stick or bludgeon) left by the Pawnee or Arapahoe who for untold centuries encamped here; you might, in fact, pass the unassuming former home of Philip Peters.

It was less than seventy years ago - not a decade before Neal Casady made himself a regular at My Brother's Bar (where you can still get a legendary hamburger) - that Peters, an elderly man at the time, was missed by a neighbor who had invited him to dinner. The neighbor, worried about Peters (whose wife was in the hospital) called the police. The police found Peters' house locked from the inside, all doors and windows secure. With nobody answering their knocks and cries, they broke in the door. There they found Peters' corpse, a bloody, horribly-beaten mess, and not a single clue as to who - or what - had savaged him.

His brave widow eventually returned from the hospital to live in the family home, cared for by her housekeeper. From time to time, however, they were troubled by peculiar, inexplicable noises. The terrified housekeeper at last resigned her position, and the Widow Philips moved away to live with family, leaving the haunted residence. The police repeatedly searched the home, finding nothing.

Months passed. Neighbors whispered of strange sights and sounds at the empty home, of a pale, spindly form glimpsed fleetingly in the windows, and comforted each other with dismissals and rationalizations. But the eerie noises and apparitions continued, and luckless police officers were compelled to make their ever-more cursory and hastily-exited searches of the lightless place.

One day, finally, a patrolman, swinging open a closet door, saw what appeared to be a pair of legs disappearing through a trap door too small for any ordinary human. Heart pounding, he called his partner, and forced himself to push his head into the pitch-black portal. There, in the weak gleam of his tin flashlight, peered back a gaunt, spidery, pale, semi-human form...

The Spider Man of Denver died, so they say, in the Canon City Penitentiary a quarter of a century later. His "grave" has never been examined.

/ True story
 
2009-10-30 11:21:36 PM
helchose: My wife and I were sitting at the kitchen table, discussing religion, no one else was in the house. During the course of our conversation, we both noticed that the kitchen faucet was running. It had not been running prior to our conversation, and neither of us had noticed it being turned on, but both of us noticed that somehow it was on for no apparent reason. I got up and turned it off. To this day neither of us can explain this. THE END.

I like this story, but for some reason, I could not help thinking, at least he didn't stick his hand down the garbage disposal.

If ever there was a time not to do it, this would be it.
 
2009-10-30 11:22:03 PM
FreeBeerClickHere: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P

A girl on the internet?....I'm dreaming again aren't I....or I'm too lazy to click on profiles.....one of those two.

No clicking of profile necessary. Chicks actually exist on teh interwebs :)

Sure they do...prove it!11!!!one!!

We all know everyone on the interwebs lives in their parents basements and are 300 lbs high school drop outs.


Yes, we do exist. We just like to keep our presence unseen, pouncing on Farkers whenever they assume we don't exist. How do you think the epic beefcake thread came to be?
 
2009-10-30 11:23:38 PM
greentea1985: FreeBeerClickHere: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
How do you think the epic beefcake thread came to be?


We didn't ask and no one told.
 
2009-10-30 11:26:07 PM
HAMMERTOE: Our office building is haunted. No special day of the year; no particular scary manifestations, but it is haunted nonetheless. I work in the Empire Building in Augusta, GA. It used to be the Empire Furniture building. Four stories, roughly 125 years old. It has an old spiral stairwell which goes up 3 stories, and an elevator, which goes to all four. My office is on the third floor.

Our ghost is a lady. She is neither malevolent nor playful. She just is. Once in a while, usually a couple of times a month, I will hear the door which communicates from the third floor to the stairwell close, before anybody else gets here. The sound is distinctive. The stairwell does not open to the outdoors, so it's not an air current thing. Besides, it's a steel fire door with a positive closer. That's the limit of my experience with our lady. My co-worker from the second floor, who also gets here before sunrise, has seen her. He got here one morning, and saw a woman watching him out of the third floor window. He comes up to the third floor to see who has gotten to work so early, and not only is there nobody here, the lights aren't even on. Other than that, she's content to let us do our thing, and not raise a fuss.


Duuuude! You're still working there? I've been up and down those stairs, in and out of that attic, even spent a good amount of time up on the roof. I used to come in really early in the mornings and, sometimes, stay until 3 or 4 the next morning. I've never seen or heard anything about a ghost in that building.

/Chuck
//used to work on the first floor
 
2009-10-30 11:27:15 PM
greenapple2step

That is really farked up. You aren't alone. Two girls at my high school, one of whom I knew well from classes and some academic clubs we were in, were at a motel when there was an accident on the highway outside. They heard a loud crash and people yelling and ran out of the hotel room to see what was going on. A guy on a motorcycle had been hit by a truck and killed instantly. The truck had then swerved and flipped and crashed into a concrete building. The people inside the truck were alive and screaming and at least one of them was obviously not going to survive.

One guy had rushed immediately to try to help the people in the truck. He was standing by the truck talking to the people inside. Just a couple of minutes later cops and fire trucks and ambulances showed up and took over, and the guy started walking around in a daze, babbling and cursing. He saw them staring and screamed at them, "Do you find this entertaining?" (ignoring the fact that they were sick and shaking.) Not getting a reply, he demanded to know why they were there. He walked right up in their faces and started accusing them of doing evil things, apparently on the horror movie logic that only evil acts could have caused such a terrible thing to happen.

Well, they got really scared and blurted out what they were actually doing, which was sitting in a motel room drinking beer waiting for the skeezy older guy who rented the room and bought the beer to come back because one of them was going to have to have sex with him. And then he started screaming "YOU CAUSED THIS! YOU CAUSED THIS! YOU WHORES CAUSED THIS! YOU AREN'T EVEN ASHAMED! YOU CAUSED THIS!" He started walking around the parking lot waving and screaming "YOU CAUSED THIS!" pointing at them.

Then the girls had to talk to three different officers in turn, while the other officers talked to various other bystanders and gestured towards them. When you're fifteen and standing in the parking lot of the cheapest motel in a not-very-large town with cops asking other guests questions about you.... Well, I guess that wasn't as bad as watching people (probably) dying.

The cops didn't waste much time on them. They calmed the man down and offered the girls a ride home, which they declined. The skeezy guy never came back, probably scared off by the police presence. He never spoke to them again. The fact that this hurt my friend deeply and still hurt her weeks later when she told me about what happened made this also a kind of personal horror story, because I was fifteen too and not at all ready to understand something like that.
 
2009-10-30 11:30:26 PM
BuckTurgidson : story

D: Ok, that's farked up.
 
2009-10-30 11:32:01 PM
I'd suggest "Jane in the Box", but it's farking horrible and nobody should ever read it.
 
2009-10-30 11:36:52 PM
I work at a Tribal preschool housed in a building built for Korean war vets, if that gives you an idea of its age. It has been used as a school since 1965. Long story short, many people have passed through the doors over the years.

My classroom is on the main floor with a daylight basement below. My room has 20' ceilings and one wall of windows. 2 Fridays ago I was in my classroom getting ready for the day at about 8:15 am. We have no students on Friday, so I was killing time before our 9 am staff meeting. I had all the fluorescent lights on and was knelt down on the side of the room trying to tune in a radio station. While I was messing with the dial I saw my TA walk through the middle of the room and into my office. I gave up trying to tune in a station and decided to follow her into my office to talk to her. About 10 seconds had passed between her walking by and me walking into my office (about 10'away).

I was talking to her as I rounded the corner into my (fully lit) office and realized she was not in there. I stopped and called her name and got silence. My office is at the back of the building and has no other door, no way to get out except past me. I called again and go no response, so I walked to the 2 adjoining classrooms and realized that they were closed and locked still. I was the only one upstairs. There is no way anyone walked back past me.

I heard voices downstairs and went down to ask if anyone had been in my room or office. I found 2 coworkers who had just come in through another entrance, and the cook. The cook has worked there for 15 years and when she saw how confused I was said, "you just saw the ghost didn't you."

Whatever I saw walked right past me, it was wearing a light blue shirt with the sleeve rolled up at the wrist. I only saw from the shoulder to the knee as it walked by, but it was plain as day, with 9 fluorescent lights shining above. 20 min. later we had an all-staff meeting, and not one person was wearing a shirt like I saw. My TA was rearing dark green with a gray vest. After I tole people what I saw I was flooded with staff stories about the building. There are supposedly 3 ghosts there, one little boy and 2 men. Funny thing is I am usually the first one there in the morning and I don't feel creeped out at all. I did have the maintenance/medicine man burn some sage in my room though. I also say "Good Morning" when I open the door to my office.

So that's my story.
/tl;dr, I know
 
2009-10-30 11:43:12 PM
while its all just a mental thing, (nothing paranormal on this story, just kind of crazy) I had a bout of night terrors in college. I have a spider phobia like most people, and this one was horrible.

I remember being in bed, the room covered in spider webs and spiders, and they are all streaming out of the thermostat on the wall. I wake up (never really knowing that I wasnt awake, and frightened because at the time i didnt know what night terrors are) screaming and my roomate runs out of his room to see whats up and wakes me up. He was freaked out and it took me a good 10 minutes to realize that nothing was wrong. of course this made a bit more sense to him, because he'd hear me screaming in my sleep a lot.

Anyway, thats that story. not as neat as the shadow figure stuff I posted earlier.

Oh, and the guy in AZ or whatever, people in the road story, that was freaking nuts. I don't know anything in the world that would be as frightening. I'd be pulling the 9 too!

And the guy thats from indiana and met the weird old man, i'd
love to know where thats at. I'm always up for a road trip.
 
2009-10-30 11:44:25 PM
I hear that Brittney is releasing a new album.
 
2009-10-30 11:50:29 PM
When I was in college, I worked as a student worker in the administrative offices for an Infectious Diseases Clinic. The offices were previously a hospice for people dying of cancer. So, obviously hundreds of people had died or were dying at one time in our building. The job was flexible with hours, so if I had a late class, i could come in and make copies, etc after everyone else had left.

One night I came in after everyone had already left. After making some copies, filing research studies, etc, I had to hit up the bathroom. Our bathroom was in the middle of the hall with 8 offices on each side of it. All of the offices were previously the patients' cancer hospice rooms. I closed the door for the bathroom, all of the sudden, the lights started to flicker and bright lights started to swirl around me. I didn't exactly freak out, but it was an uncomfortable feeling. I figured that was about time to pack it in for the night and leave the building for the night.

That was the only experience I had there, but my coworkers told me about cabinets opening, doors closing, seeing "people" walking down the halls at night. Creepy stuff.
 
2009-10-30 11:50:42 PM
Xhan: I'd suggest "Jane in the Box", but it's farking horrible and nobody should ever read it.

Oh. My. God. You bastard. I have never in my life read anything so horrible and sick. WTF WTF WTF
 
2009-10-30 11:50:51 PM
I love these threads every year. I suppose I'll delurk, as I have one.

My mom's always wanted a hutch, so a few years ago, she got one. It has a glass-fronted upper cabinet space for glasses, and there is a light inside that you turn on by tapping the hinge. Each time you tap it the light gets brighter and then it turns off again. My mom's mom died about fifteen years ago, but she's always believed her presence will visit us. Once, apparently, a musical mug on the bookshelf began playing "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" without being touched, that sort of thing.

When she got the hutch (in a new house), she began to occasionally come into the dining room and find that the light inside the cabinet was on, and no one claimed to have done it. This, of course, became Grandma visiting. I figured it was faulty wiring, myself, and later my sister confessed that she would turn it on sometimes when she was there to make my mom feel good. I suppose the other members of the family living there could be doing it also, but they all seem to regard it as kind of creepy, and I don't touch it myself, because if it ever is real I want to observe and not affect anything.

Well, it's all my sister, I figured, until one day when I was visiting my parents, as my aunt (my mom's eldest sister) had come from out of state. I did laundry, since my machine is broken, and we spent some time upstairs on the computer working on our family tree, with my aunt adding some new things we hadn't known before. My mom had told my aunt about the hutch, but of course it didn't light on demand.

So my laundry was done and it was time to go. I gathered up my stuff and headed for the door, passed the dining room, and I saw that the hutch light was on, and my sister hadn't been there all day, as she was working. I yelled up the stairs that the light was on as I left, I wonder what their reaction was... I still think it's the wiring, but it certainly does like to come on at significant times!
 
2009-10-30 11:51:22 PM
I work in a Theatre that is haunted. Often you hear women singing, people walking around, see people out of the corner of your eye when no one is there. For a while things have been quiet but in the last month or so, things have been busy. I saw a guy wearing a really dreadful yellow plaid shirt recently, plain as day, before he disappeared. The other night I was there alone, listening to someone hum and jingle their car keys. Not really scary, just kind of spooky.
 
2009-10-30 11:51:31 PM
When my wife and I were first married I already had my own house for a couple of years and really had no supernatural occurrences. My wife on the other hand was different. It first started with her snoring very loudly during the night. I said something to her the first night and she swore up and down that she never snored. I called her parents and they verified that she never snored when she lived with them. So we thought it might be the bed. We changed it out, but the snoring continued for a couple of months.

One night we had went out for Mexican food fairly late in the evening and when we both got home we were fairly worn out. We decided to hit the hay early. That night I heard my wife scream and she sat straight up in the bed. I asked her what the matter was, and she said she woke up smelling one of the most foul odors she has ever smelt. She said it smelled like fresh death. She said that wasn't the weirdest thing though. When she had awoke the covers were completed over her face and tucked behind her head. She never slept with the covers over her head. The other strange thing is that I also noticed a strange, yet familiar sulfur-like smell in the air.

The next day was the weekend and we had spent all day at a sauerkraut and bratwurst festival. Feeling very tired we went to bed early again that night. Almost the same time as before, my wife awoke screaming. She said the smell had come back and it was worse than before. Also the covers were over her face and tucked underneath her head again. I did notice again a strange sulfur-like smell in the room.

This went on for a few more nights before my wife just up and decided to sleep in the other room. I decided to stay in the room to see if the phenomenon would happen to me. Every night I would stretch out on our king size bed underneath all the warm, warm covers wondering if it would happen to me. It never did.

My wife still refuses to sleep in the bedroom, choosing instead to sleep across the hall. She says she never has woken up with the sheets over her face and that putrid smell in her nose since she moved out. But, she has closed the door to her room because she said she could occasionally catch the death smell coming from the bedroom like it was trying to seek her out.
 
2009-10-30 11:52:47 PM
Once I almost voted for a democrat.
 
2009-10-30 11:55:53 PM
greentea1985: FreeBeerClickHere: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship: genner: Ahoytheship:
Hmm, I've never thought to try that. I might pick Ryan Reynolds instead, but I get the gist :P

A girl on the internet?....I'm dreaming again aren't I....or I'm too lazy to click on profiles.....one of those two.

No clicking of profile necessary. Chicks actually exist on teh interwebs :)

Sure they do...prove it!11!!!one!!

We all know everyone on the interwebs lives in their parents basements and are 300 lbs high school drop outs.

Yes, we do exist. We just like to keep our presence unseen, pouncing on Farkers whenever they assume we don't exist. How do you think the epic beefcake thread came to be?


I just assumed it was all an elaborate trick ;)
 
2009-10-30 11:57:49 PM
besides I think some of us like to be pounced that way multiple times if it is required
 
2009-10-30 11:58:10 PM
CaesarSneezy: Xhan: I'd suggest "Jane in the Box", but it's farking horrible and nobody should ever read it.

Oh. My. God. You bastard. I have never in my life read anything so horrible and sick. WTF WTF WTF


Got a link? GIS gave me nothing but amazon
 
2009-10-31 12:03:42 AM
jessicat: CaesarSneezy: Xhan: I'd suggest "Jane in the Box", but it's farking horrible and nobody should ever read it.

Oh. My. God. You bastard. I have never in my life read anything so horrible and sick. WTF WTF WTF

Got a link? GIS gave me nothing but amazon


I googled "jane in the box" -martinez and found it (martinez being the author of the book of the same name). You can find it that way, but you shouldn't. I'm not linking it. You seriously don't want to read it. It's not a scary story per se, it's just a tremendously disturbing fetish story.
 
2009-10-31 12:11:09 AM
My friend from California comes to visit at Texas A&M for the summer. I'm poor as dirt and don't have a car (in Texas that's frightening already). So, we decide to take my dork roommate as driver along to a club on the edge of town. We stay there until the place closes just after midnight, and then the roommate decides to drive us home.

Problem is, the roommate doesn't usually drink, and he's smashed as hell. After driving about a mile this becomes glaringly obvious, and we argue with him to pull over and let one of us drive. No way, he's not having it. Not wanting to die, we both get out of the pickup (it's Texas, you know), and the roommate drives away.

Suddenly I realize we're miles from home, and I have no farking idea where exactly we are. I pick a direction, and we start walking. Hours later we're in familiar territory, and after an exciting encounter with local law enforcement and an attempted drug buy, we make it back to the apartment.

We've been walking for hours, and been through some serious stress, so we're wide awake. The roommate is passed out, and his keys are on the floor next to him. Naturally we decide to steal his truck.

We drive out of town for a while, not really planning where to go. I vaguely remember thinking of selling the truck somewhere and reporting it stolen. Since we clearly were abandoned at the bar, it couldn't have been us, right? Anyway, that didn't happen. Instead, my friend leaned out the window, looks up, and says "Whoa, you have got to stop right here".

I stop, he says "Get in the back". I'm thinking "WTF, is he gay now?", but he just points straight up. I look, and the sky is black with a big cloud running down the middle. Huh, it's not supposed to be cloudy...wait a minute, that's the muther farking Milky Way! I've never seen anything so beautiful. We decide to climb into the back of the truck.

For a while we just talk about the stars and life and all that jazz. Then, we talk about how quiet it is out here in the middle of farking Nowhere, Texas. Then it's not quiet at all, but you can hear the breeze blowing the trees and grass, and little scurrying sounds of things moving around. I don't remember which one said it, but we had seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre a couple of weeks before, and it suddenly came up in conversation. Before we could even finish the thought, I got to thinking about us, in the middle of nothing, defenseless, with Leatherface watching from the woods not 20 feet away, and how fast that son of a biatch could get from there to here and "GET IN THE CAR!", I'm yelling, and he's jumping out the other side at the same time, and we can't get the doors open, and I'm about to break a window but then the door opens, and I'm trying to get in and close the door and start the truck and he's pounding on the window trying to get me to let him in a OH GOD he's going to totally die right there on the side of the road while I watch what was I thinking and the truck starts so I lean over and let him and he jumps in and screams "GO!!!!" and I'm punching it and turning and the truck spins 180 and starts moving and holy shiat was I ever panicked over nothing!

"Ha ha, that was hilarious, we just both totally freaked out - AH GOD WHAT THE FARK IS THAT IN THE ROAD!!!!!!11!". I slam on the brakes, and the class Texas Armadillo wanders in front of us on the road. The relief was amazing after that farked up panic response.

I tried to run it down, but it moved too quick. I didn't know they could do that.
 
2009-10-31 12:14:04 AM
A girl friend some years back, who later became Mrs. Delay, told me a spooky story. Let me post a brief version.

I grew up in SoCal where there are no ghosts. Were a ghost to show up SoCal it would be treated like the old Bill Cosby comedy routine: Ghosts? I pay for this house! There are no ghosts allowed.

Given that background, when I moved to Oregon because the rents are cheaper than California, I had no idea that ghosts thrive there. How did I learn that ghosts thrive in Oregon? My new Oregon girl friend lived with ghosts. Pioneer cemetary ghosts, open field ghosts, empty building ghosts. I had no idea Oregon was sparse with people but crammed with ghosts.

GF and I became more attached and started sleeping in the same bed. Every night she would approach the bed and from about two feet away she would jump in. It became too strange a habit. I asked her why. She said that since a child she had seen the green hand underneath every bed she slept in that would quickly reach and attempt to grab her. She did not want to be grabbed by the green hand. So she jumped. Made sense to me.

Actually no. It seemed batshiat crazy to me but, she was very cute. Anyway, about two nights later I had to go to the bathroom and when I came back I saw in the dark what I thought was a green sock next to the bed and stomped it out of the way.

Girl friend stopped jumping into the bed. She even brought it up. She said she did not feel like she needed to jump into the bed anymore. I asked why. She said, there is no green hand anymore.
 
2009-10-31 12:16:50 AM
I grew up in rural NB in a house that was built three years after I was born, so none of mine have the old victorian house factor. I lived in the first town established in new brunswick, but I don't know if that has any signifcance.

I had a (moderately) new stereo that, after I had finished telling my friend that I believed my house was haunted somehow, turn itself all the way down, slowly, and then click off - it had never done that before, and has never done it since.

I was playing the piano in the living room and stopped for a moment to turn a page or look for a new book and heard three loud claps from the hallway. Nobody else was in the house, and I called my friends to ask if they were playing a trick on me and had come in while I was playing and didn't hear them - they arrive 15 minutes after I had called. And it was not a clicking sound, it was definitely the sound of two hands clapping together.

We lived on a dead end street with another house across the street from us, and our picture windows faced each other. My neighbors called my mother one day and told her, matter of factly, that they had seen my deceased aunt (we were very close neighbors - it was a small town)standing in our picture window the previous evening.

One of my friends told me she heard me get out of the shower and walk upstairs to my bedroom while she was in the living room (we were the only two in the house) and when she got up to my room to see if I was there, I was not there. She came back downstairs and called my name. I was still in the bathroom and had not left it.

There are more instances, and I'm sure they can be explained somehow, but I have become less of a skeptic because of them.
 
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