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(Fark)   Welcome to the 2018 Fark Halloween Scary Story thread! Does your story scare more people than this week's news? Prove it! Top 10 Scariest (SMART) and Funniest (FUNNY) voted stories will earn their writer a month of TotalFark   (fark.com) divider line
    More: Scary, spooky stuff, 2008 singles, 2007 singles, time, Vincent, Lucy, Rebecca, Ruh ruh ruh  
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2018-10-29 9:38:20 PM  
Halloween is coming up, and it's time to start scaring the hell out of yourself. We'd like to help. Every year, Fark has a Halloween thread where Farkers share their own spooky stories. These are always fun threads, and a great way to kill some time at work. Here are the first 13 Fark scary story threads - now go creep yourself out.

2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017
 
2018-10-29 9:53:21 PM  
Donald Trump is President of the United States of America.

The end.
 
2018-10-29 9:54:09 PM  
About twenty or so years or so ago I moved across the country for a job.

When I left, it was a case of leaping for the brass ring: the dot com crash had wiped out all of the tech jobs in the area I was in, and after a year and a half of practical unemployment and crushing poverty I gave up on ever finding a decent job where I lived.  Leaping for the brass ring, or maybe leaping out of the window of a burning building, but either way it was a blind jump into the unknown.  I accepted a job offer at a place in the middle of nowhere, packed what I could and gave everything else away.

Picture the scene: you're a young kid, giving up everything you know and everyone around you just for the chance at making a living.  You've got maybe a couple of hundred bucks to your name, everything you own is stacked in the back of your car, and you drive off into the sunset.  There's not much keeping you above the ground; a breakdown that takes more money than you have to get fixed, any kind of medical issue, any kind of rough wave could upset your unsteady boat and then you're lost, in the middle of nowhere with no one to help you.  The stress is almost unimaginable if you haven't gone through something like that.

I made it to where the job was, found a place to live- a nasty, cheap apartment next to a liquor store and a bar that seemed to have police cars pulling in with flashing lights almost all night long.  The people upstairs screamed at each other in broken English all through the day.  Meth heads panhandled the lot whenever the cops weren't around.   The only way I could get any sleep in all of that was with a combination of sleeping pills and hard liquor, the cheapest I could get.  Anyone who's been there before can tell you that this is a bad idea.

At some point early in the morning on one of those first days on the job, the phone rang, waking me up.  You know how when you're bleary with broken sleep, booze and pills, everything seems unreal?  This was back before smart phones were big, and the cell phones you could get were expensive.  I had a crappy land line, with a ten dollar phone plugged into the wall.  There was no clock on it, and I didn't know what time it was, only that it was still dark and that no one calls at that level of darkness unless someone's dying or dead.

I answered the phone still half-drunk.  Some part of me knew my parents had died.  How could you know something like that?  The person on the phone was my parent's next door neighbor, who must have been pushing ninety.  I had cut her grass once a week when I was a kid.  Adding to the unreality of the moment was that she'd been diagnosed with Alzheimer's nearly a decade before; the last time I had seen her, so little of her mind had been left that she probably wouldn't have been able to hold a telephone handset unassisted.

"Johnny?" she said.

Remember how I said I had mowed her lawn as a kid?  I must have been the only person she ever saw for that last decade of her life that she knew.  Every Saturday, I'd come by with the lawnmower, watching her slow decline into mindlessness as she waved to me more and more feebly.  She didn't have any family, as far as anyone could tell, only an endless stream of nurses feeding her and taking care of her.  I was probably the only person whose name she still remembered at the end.  Looking back now, that must have been why she . . . called me, of all people.

"Mrs -------? What's wrong?" I knew the next words that were going to come out of her mouth.  Car crash, house fire, some kind of tragedy -

"I'm so cold," she said.  "I think there are -"

". . . what?"  I was fighting through the pills and booze and panic and could barely hold on to the phone.

"Worms," she said.  "I think there are worms crawling on me."

I couldn't answer.  I literally didn't know what to say.  Then she hung up and the phone went to that beep beep, beep beep sound you only get when you've had the phone off of the hook for too long without ever dialing.  Maybe I had hallucinated the whole thing; everything was a fog and a dark haze.  I hung the phone up.  I remember hearing an ambulance siren off in the distance.

I didn't call my parents right away.  I didn't want to panic them with a phone call in the middle of the night, over what was probably just a bad dream or a night terror of some kind.  Instead, I spent three hours drifting in and out of a daze, staring out the window at the lights of the bar, watching the police cars drift in and out of the darkness like ghosts.  When the sun finally came up, I knew that my parents must have finally been awake, and called them.

My mom answered the phone.  I tried as hard as I could to sound as normal as possible, but she immediately knew something was wrong.

"Is Mrs. ------- okay?" I finally asked.

"Honey, she died last Wednesday," she said.  "We didn't want to tell you until you were settled in, but she faded out almost the day you left.  The funeral was just yesterday."

In a way, it was a relief.  Ghosts don't make phone calls; Casper shouldn't have to rely on Ma Bell.  It must have been a bad dream with coincidental timing, or more likely, some deep part of my subconscious had detected Mrs. ------- slowly failing and wasting away, and kept it hidden, only to bring it out later like a skull being washed clean from a grave after a flood.  We can choose what we want to believe, that's all I'm saying, and I had enough problems as it was.

When my phone bill came in almost a month later, I had almost forgotten the whole thing.  The money almost seemed a waste; I hadn't used the phone at all, other than to call my parents, and to be terrorized by it in the night.  Also, other terrible things had swamped it out of my memory.  I'd seen a guy get gunned down in the parking lot of the bar across the street.  I almost lost my job, the one thing that was making all of this worthwhile, over someone else's stupid mistake; at the last moment the truth came out and I was spared.  The horrors of the real had completely washed out the terrors of the night.
I remember sitting at the cheap, peeling Formica table in the corner of the apartment that was my combination desk and kitchen table, staring at the bill.  Forty-eight dollars for a telephone that I had only used twice to call my parents and that no one had ever even called-

But the bill said otherwise.  One incoming call was listed.  Without even thinking, I threw the bill away without looking at the number.  I did not want to know.

I think there are worms crawling on me, she had said.

I cancelled the phone the next day and bought a cell phone I couldn't afford.  I'm sure it was nothing, maybe a wrong number, maybe a telemarketer, who knows.  All I know is, we can choose what we want to believe, and I choose to believe that the call in the night was nothing more than just a nightmare.
 
2018-10-29 10:06:50 PM  

HedlessChickn: Donald Trump is President of the United States of America.

The end.


Winner winner chicken dinner
 
2018-10-29 10:24:12 PM  
Yay! Love this thread.
 
2018-10-29 10:29:55 PM  
Alright, I'll take a stab at it.
I grew up in a small town in New Jersey, in the shadow of a huge mental hospital overlooking us from the side of a mountain. They had two horns. One was for the volunteer fire dept. the other was for escapees. I lived in terror of the second, because it usually went off while I was walking to school or back home. Most of them were harmless, but I didn't know that. Once, I was at a cub scout picnic at the community park, when the horn went off. We didn't think anything about it, and continued cooking the burgers and dogs. A few minutes later, a extremely large black man (I mention this because our town was almost totally white) came running through the park. He saw us and stopped, so we offered him to join us and have a hot dog. About then, the green police cars reserved for the hospital came careening across the park field. The guy started to run. One kid threw a baseball bat through his legs and down he went. They cuffed him and basically dragged him to the car, with one of our dads yelling at the cops to not mistreat him.
I still lived in fear of Overbrook for the rest of the time I lived there, until I was a boy scout and had to go there for Valentine's day. The ladie's ward. I had baby blue eyes and I was mobbed. I was terrified, not of the women, though they were absolutely crazy, but the conditions they lived in. It was the definition of squalor. Turns out that most of the horns were for people that had escaped to get away from the filth and desperation inside. And most died of exposure.
 
2018-10-30 1:37:57 AM  
The Jaunt is a pretty good short story by Stephen King, but it's a lot longer than you think.
 
2018-10-30 8:02:49 AM  

HedlessChickn: Donald Trump is President of the United States of America.

The end.


Dammit.
 
2018-10-30 8:03:22 AM  
Requiem, a short novel by I herbey, etc.

Should the Sun be that bright?

The End.
 
2018-10-30 8:03:24 AM  

HedlessChickn: Donald Trump is President of the United States of America.

The end.


Nightmare fuel. Right out the gate.
 
2018-10-30 8:05:11 AM  
Your mom and I have an announcement to make. . .
 
2018-10-30 8:05:25 AM  
Donald Trump wins re-election bid.

The End.
 
2018-10-30 8:15:25 AM  
I once met a guy that said, "C'mon, gimme $5 a month, it'll be fun.  You can quit anytime you want."  And thus began my descent into hell.
 
2018-10-30 8:16:38 AM  
Whoop whoop! Finally!!
Bring it on!

/I look forward to several hours of this
 
2018-10-30 8:17:01 AM  
Not supposed to be greenlit until Halloween. Someone had a premature ejaculation....of ectoplasm.
 
2018-10-30 8:18:18 AM  

Turing_Machine: Halloween is coming up, and it's time to start scaring the hell out of yourself. We'd like to help. Every year, Fark has a Halloween thread where Farkers share their own spooky stories. These are always fun threads, and a great way to kill some time at work. Here are the first 13 Fark scary story threads - now go creep yourself out.

2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017


So no to to copy pasta others' stories online?
Just trying to understand the rules of engagement.
 
2018-10-30 8:19:49 AM  

Turing_Machine: now go creep yourself out


*looks in the mirror*

AAAAGGH!!!
 
2018-10-30 8:27:50 AM  

Walker: Not supposed to be greenlit until Halloween. Someone had a premature ejaculation....of ectoplasm.


It actually *is* Halloween and you've just been asleep FOR A WHOLE DAY!!11! OOOooOooooOOooooOOOooo....

:-P

/or maybe something something time machine something
 
2018-10-30 8:34:40 AM  

Walker: Not supposed to be greenlit until Halloween. Someone had a premature ejaculation....of ectoplasm.


We're lucky we're still doing Halloween and not the "next" holiday sixty days from now....
 
2018-10-30 8:53:27 AM  

farkingismybusiness: The Jaunt is a pretty good short story by Stephen King, but it's a lot longer than you think.


Very good story, and I see what you did there. Clever.

And threatening people with a month of TF is not a way to get people to contribute. That said, my scary story...
Two people are going to get TF from this...BEWARE!
 
2018-10-30 8:55:44 AM  
Saw this posted on a blog about a month ago....

Gather around everyone, I promise you this is going to be a good one!
Ready? Ok, here we go!
There's something called Anesthesia Awareness Syndrome. Some people say it's an urban legend. There was even a handful of horror movies about it. One of them staring Mannequin Skywalker himself Hayden Christensen!
But I assure you good readers that no, it's NOT an urban legend. I know this for a fact very well!
I was 5 years old when it happened. This was back in 1982. My surgery was on my eyes.
Due to a congenital birth defect the ocular muscles were paralyzed, atrophied and useless, also they had pulled my eyes crosseyed. So the surgery was to go in, cut out and surgically removed my ocular muscles and set my eyes straight .
So the surgery starts off like routine. they have me count backwards and everything, then I went paralyzed and couldn't move. But I was still awake! Something was wrong! I wanted desperately to tell the doctors "wait hold on! I'm not asleep yet!" But try as I did I could not make myself form the words! The doctors thought I was out like I was supposed to be! They didn't know what was about to happen! But I knew. God help me I knew and I was terrified!
I remember the doctors began slicing into the flesh around my eyes, and then using some sort of tool slipping into the cuts and pulling my eyes out of their sockets! I can still hear the sound of made! Ever squeeze a particularly large pimple near your ear and you can hear the faint juicy pop? It sounded like that.
That's when my memory gets a little hazy as I'm pretty sure for my sanity my mind has blocked out the majority of those memories. But I do remember the doctor having a conversation with one of the nurses because after I was in recovery i repeated the conversation back to the doctor when he came in to check up on me. Needless to say he and my parents were absolutely terrified when the realized the significance of that!
Eventually I was able to retreat into my own mind and basically disassociate myself from my body completely, it's the only way I was able to get through it!
After the surgery. While my eyes were healing i was completely 100% blind for a period of a few months and because of this incident i sank into a severe depression deeper than any 5 year child has any right to go. (It didn't help that on top of this i was still also bound in a wheelchair and had yet to learn how to walk because of all the surgeries on my feet) and had convinced myself that I would be blind and in a wheelchair forever!
To this day I still have major PTSD because of it and will go into panic attacks of anything gets near my eyes. I can never wear contact lenses and even putting eye drops in my eyes is an adventure!
So why am I sharing this with you all?
Because frankly just sharing my story when I can is an incredibly cathartic means of therapy!
- Raven Odette
 
2018-10-30 8:56:08 AM  
I'm Scared Shiatless

I'm scared shiatless. She's dead and I just know I'm gonna get blamed.

Wait, lemme tell you how this all started.

Three weeks ago, I was walking home from school. I usually walk down Mission street then take Taft, then Hickory and so on. But on this one bad day I decided to take the creek. You see, there's this creek that cuts diagonally through the middle of our town and it cuts a mile out of my walk. Well, I was walking down the creek in an area that runs behind the glass plant when I stepped on a slippery rock and fell into a mass of leaves. I was expecting to feel the cold of the wet ground-fall but what I landed in was warm and sticky. I pushed myself up so I could see what mess I'd fallen into and immediately threw up.

She was dead. She'd been disemboweled. The brisk autumn air caused little wisps of vapor to rise from the viscera. She hadn't been dead for very long. Her name was Sarah

I knew her. She was a friend of my sister. They went to the junior high school together. I jumped over to the creek to try to wash the nastiness from my face and hands and then climbed out of the creek bed. I intended to run to a nearby house for help but was able to flag down a passing policeman. I guess the bloodstains helped. I quickly told him what happened and he secured me in the back of his unit and radioed for additional officers. I was surprised that they thought I might have had something to do with it but I just chalked it up to them covering all their bases. They decided I had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time

Eleven days later, and old woman was found dead in her bedroom. She went to my church and one of the other ladies had gone to check on her to see why she hadn't been to the Saturday morning prayer group, as she never missed. She too, had been gutted. The cops figured she'd only been dead a coupe of hours before she was found. Due to the similarity in the crimes, I was again questioned but I had a solid alibi. My English teacher, Miss Chaney, told the investigators that I'd spent the whole day with her buying supplies and decorating the gym for the Halloween dance. She left out the stop we made at the seedy motel on Tulsa's west side. And if she wasn't gonna tell 'em, I sure as Hell wasn't going to either.

But it happened again, Another female I knew had been horrifically murdered and this time Miss Chaney couldn't bail me out because this time the victim as in fact, Miss Chaney. Unlike the first two victims though, this time they said they found evidence of rape.

My folks assured the cops that I'd been at home, upstairs in my room, sick with a cold. And that's where I was when the cops again questioned me. I didn't know what to think. It seemed like someone was targeting me by killing people I knew.

And so now here I sit in my car, scared shiatless. My sister was late getting home from basketball practice so my parents sent me back to the school to bring her home. And as I'm waiting, I can see a guy who looks a lot like me rolling a trash barrel out and leaving it buy the back door of the field house. As he was rolling it, I could see what looked like the blue warm-ups the junior high girls basketball team wore. There's something red leaking from a hole in the bottom of the barrel. The guy turns and starts walking towards me and I can see that not only does he look exactly like me, he's covered in blood.

So yeah, I'm sitting here, scared shiatless. She's dead and I just know I'm gonna get blamed.
 
2018-10-30 8:57:03 AM  

envirovore: farkingismybusiness: The Jaunt is a pretty good short story by Stephen King, but it's a lot longer than you think.

Very good story, and I see what you did there. Clever.

And threatening people with a month of TF is not a way to get people to contribute. That said, my scary story...
Two people are going to get TF from this...BEWARE!


Before this night is over?
Or when exactly?


/ooooOoOOoOOoo
//ghosts of TotalFarks past
///bring back Gor Rugb Ghas...
 
2018-10-30 8:57:21 AM  
YAY!!!!! Best thread of the year. One thing though and forgive me if someone above mentioned this:

DO NOT DEBUNK OR SCOFF AT ANYONE'S STORIES!!!

This is the one thread of the year to either suspend your disbelief or STFU. This is fun thread. Don't ruin it.
 
2018-10-30 8:59:04 AM  
So, I just went through a divorce.
We have one kid together, and he's 6.
During the proceedings, we're standing in front of the judge who has seen all evidence and heard all testimony. The woman judge in the state I live in turns to me and says, "Mr. Sadist, we're obviously going to give you custody. How do you want to do her visitations? What will you allow?" (100% true story)
Now the scary part;
In this state, for a woman judge to award the father custody.....well, that should tell you everything you need to know about the mother right there...
Well....I lived with that woman for 7 years!
AAAAAAAAAaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!
 
2018-10-30 9:03:02 AM  

Resident Muslim: Turing_Machine: Halloween is coming up, and it's time to start scaring the hell out of yourself. We'd like to help. Every year, Fark has a Halloween thread where Farkers share their own spooky stories. These are always fun threads, and a great way to kill some time at work. Here are the first 13 Fark scary story threads - now go creep yourself out.

2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017

So no to to copy pasta others' stories online?
Just trying to understand the rules of engagement.


Well, if people click through to the years past and still vote for you, who am I to judge? I think we'd all prefer to see some new stories, but in all honesty, I'm going to let the people voting decide what they want to see.

If you see someone do a copy-pasta, and want to call it out, go for it. Folks might pull their vote if they know it isn't original, or if it has appeared previously.
 
2018-10-30 9:03:19 AM  

acad1228: I'm Scared Shiatless

I'm scared shiatless. She's dead and I just know I'm gonna get blamed.

Wait, lemme tell you how this all started.

Three weeks ago, I was walking home from school. I usually walk down Mission street then take Taft, then Hickory and so on. But on this one bad day I decided to take the creek. You see, there's this creek that cuts diagonally through the middle of our town and it cuts a mile out of my walk. Well, I was walking down the creek in an area that runs behind the glass plant when I stepped on a slippery rock and fell into a mass of leaves. I was expecting to feel the cold of the wet ground-fall but what I landed in was warm and sticky. I pushed myself up so I could see what mess I'd fallen into and immediately threw up.

She was dead. She'd been disemboweled. The brisk autumn air caused little wisps of vapor to rise from the viscera. She hadn't been dead for very long. Her name was Sarah

I knew her. She was a friend of my sister. They went to the junior high school together. I jumped over to the creek to try to wash the nastiness from my face and hands and then climbed out of the creek bed. I intended to run to a nearby house for help but was able to flag down a passing policeman. I guess the bloodstains helped. I quickly told him what happened and he secured me in the back of his unit and radioed for additional officers. I was surprised that they thought I might have had something to do with it but I just chalked it up to them covering all their bases. They decided I had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time

Eleven days later, and old woman was found dead in her bedroom. She went to my church and one of the other ladies had gone to check on her to see why she hadn't been to the Saturday morning prayer group, as she never missed. She too, had been gutted. The cops figured she'd only been dead a coupe of hours before she was found. Due to the similarity in the crimes, I was again questioned but I had a solid alibi. My English teacher, Miss Chaney, told the investigators that I'd spent the whole day with her buying supplies and decorating the gym for the Halloween dance. She left out the stop we made at the seedy motel on Tulsa's west side. And if she wasn't gonna tell 'em, I sure as Hell wasn't going to either.

But it happened again, Another female I knew had been horrifically murdered and this time Miss Chaney couldn't bail me out because this time the victim as in fact, Miss Chaney. Unlike the first two victims though, this time they said they found evidence of rape.

My folks assured the cops that I'd been at home, upstairs in my room, sick with a cold. And that's where I was when the cops again questioned me. I didn't know what to think. It seemed like someone was targeting me by killing people I knew.

And so now here I sit in my car, scared shiatless. My sister was late getting home from basketball practice so my parents sent me back to the school to bring her home. And as I'm waiting, I can see a guy who looks a lot like me rolling a trash barrel out and leaving it buy the back door of the field house. As he was rolling it, I could see what looked like the blue warm-ups the junior high girls basketball team wore. There's something red leaking from a hole in the bottom of the barrel. The guy turns and starts walking towards me and I can see that not only does he look exactly like me, he's covered in blood.

So yeah, I'm sitting here, scared shiatless. She's dead and I just know I'm gonna get blamed.


I hope you're over the cold and feeling better.
 
2018-10-30 9:04:24 AM  
I once had a home that had some weird things occur, but I could usually explain it away with some reaching logic.  Something happen one night that still confuses me, and I was alone in the house.  I had one of those cheap metal framed canopy beds, and one night I was awoken by the bed rocking back and forth.  It was not violent, but more like someone had a grip on one end and was gently but steadily rocking the bed.  At first I wondered if I was dreaming or maybe having a muscle spasm causing the movement, so I very consciously froze my body in place to make sure I was not moving.  The bed continued to rock, I could feel the movement and hear the metal squeaking.  Strangely, I was not terrified and I think I just fell back asleep.   Maybe I had a night terror or was only half awake, but I clearly remembered when it happened that I made sure I was not dreaming.
 
2018-10-30 9:04:25 AM  
Hey Everyone:

Could we please not make the same mistakes as last year?   Can we just have short, personal POV tales and NOT wall-of-text chapters that no one will read?

Thanks.
 
2018-10-30 9:21:29 AM  
Yay! My favorite thread of the year. This is definitely not a bookmark.
 
2018-10-30 9:21:43 AM  
One word: Gorgor
 
2018-10-30 9:26:50 AM  
A long time ago I was driving through a midwinter storm with my fiancé. The roads were slick, and it was a total whiteout. We were going to some BS party across town and probably should have skipped because of the weather but we were young and stupid and there was going to be karaoke. Who doesn't love karaoke?
Anyway, I was crossing an intersection (clear on my end, stop signs on the cross street) when the world turned sideways and got a LOT more painful than seemed reasonable.
A huge black car came out of nowhere and t-boned the passenger side of my Saturn (Yaaay dent resistant panels yaaay). Best they could tell, my car rolled over, glanced off a power pole, then slid into the ditch. I still remember the black car sitting there for maybe a minute, then it just backed up, turned around, and disappeared into the storm.
I was pinned in my seat and had a broken leg, and some busted up ribs, but Karen got the worst of it. Saving the details, she passed in the ambulance on the way to the ER. I don't blame the EMTs. They worked their asses off and did everything they could. It was all that other driver's fault.
My head was pretty banged up and I only caught a glimpse of him, but his face is burned into my memory: Tall and thin with greasy dark hair and a little Pugsley nose. Weirdest part is where his left eye should have been there was just a wad of white cotton sticking out of the socket. I'll never forget it. The only other piece of ID I could get was he had a vanity plate that said "JOSEF". Even with that, somehow the cops never found the guy. Far as I know, the son of a biatch is still out there bringing destruction wherever he goes.
To this day I still think that if it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe I'd been married a long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?
 
2018-10-30 9:29:38 AM  

poorjon: A long time ago I was driving through a midwinter storm with my fiancé. The roads were slick, and it was a total whiteout. We were going to some BS party across town and probably should have skipped because of the weather but we were young and stupid and there was going to be karaoke. Who doesn't love karaoke?
Anyway, I was crossing an intersection (clear on my end, stop signs on the cross street) when the world turned sideways and got a LOT more painful than seemed reasonable.
A huge black car came out of nowhere and t-boned the passenger side of my Saturn (Yaaay dent resistant panels yaaay). Best they could tell, my car rolled over, glanced off a power pole, then slid into the ditch. I still remember the black car sitting there for maybe a minute, then it just backed up, turned around, and disappeared into the storm.
I was pinned in my seat and had a broken leg, and some busted up ribs, but Karen got the worst of it. Saving the details, she passed in the ambulance on the way to the ER. I don't blame the EMTs. They worked their asses off and did everything they could. It was all that other driver's fault.
My head was pretty banged up and I only caught a glimpse of him, but his face is burned into my memory: Tall and thin with greasy dark hair and a little Pugsley nose. Weirdest part is where his left eye should have been there was just a wad of white cotton sticking out of the socket. I'll never forget it. The only other piece of ID I could get was he had a vanity plate that said "JOSEF". Even with that, somehow the cops never found the guy. Far as I know, the son of a biatch is still out there bringing destruction wherever he goes.
To this day I still think that if it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe I'd been married a long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?


img.fark.netView Full Size
 
2018-10-30 9:33:08 AM  

dragonchild: Your mom and I have an announcement to make. . .


You're adopted.
"Ha!  I always knew something wasn't right.  Who are my birth parents?"
We're your birth parents.  Pack up, your new parents will be here in 30 minutes.
 
2018-10-30 9:33:27 AM  

poorjon: A long time ago I was driving through a midwinter storm with my fiancé. The roads were slick, and it was a total whiteout. We were going to some BS party across town and probably should have skipped because of the weather but we were young and stupid and there was going to be karaoke. Who doesn't love karaoke?
Anyway, I was crossing an intersection (clear on my end, stop signs on the cross street) when the world turned sideways and got a LOT more painful than seemed reasonable.
A huge black car came out of nowhere and t-boned the passenger side of my Saturn (Yaaay dent resistant panels yaaay). Best they could tell, my car rolled over, glanced off a power pole, then slid into the ditch. I still remember the black car sitting there for maybe a minute, then it just backed up, turned around, and disappeared into the storm.
I was pinned in my seat and had a broken leg, and some busted up ribs, but Karen got the worst of it. Saving the details, she passed in the ambulance on the way to the ER. I don't blame the EMTs. They worked their asses off and did everything they could. It was all that other driver's fault.
My head was pretty banged up and I only caught a glimpse of him, but his face is burned into my memory: Tall and thin with greasy dark hair and a little Pugsley nose. Weirdest part is where his left eye should have been there was just a wad of white cotton sticking out of the socket. I'll never forget it. The only other piece of ID I could get was he had a vanity plate that said "JOSEF". Even with that, somehow the cops never found the guy. Far as I know, the son of a biatch is still out there bringing destruction wherever he goes.
To this day I still think that if it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe I'd been married a long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?


I'll be angry about this after I finish two-steppin' to the ear-worm.
 
2018-10-30 9:37:05 AM  

poorjon: A long time ago I was driving through a midwinter storm with my fiancé. The roads were slick, and it was a total whiteout. We were going to some BS party across town and probably should have skipped because of the weather but we were young and stupid and there was going to be karaoke. Who doesn't love karaoke?
Anyway, I was crossing an intersection (clear on my end, stop signs on the cross street) when the world turned sideways and got a LOT more painful than seemed reasonable.
A huge black car came out of nowhere and t-boned the passenger side of my Saturn (Yaaay dent resistant panels yaaay). Best they could tell, my car rolled over, glanced off a power pole, then slid into the ditch. I still remember the black car sitting there for maybe a minute, then it just backed up, turned around, and disappeared into the storm.
I was pinned in my seat and had a broken leg, and some busted up ribs, but Karen got the worst of it. Saving the details, she passed in the ambulance on the way to the ER. I don't blame the EMTs. They worked their asses off and did everything they could. It was all that other driver's fault.
My head was pretty banged up and I only caught a glimpse of him, but his face is burned into my memory: Tall and thin with greasy dark hair and a little Pugsley nose. Weirdest part is where his left eye should have been there was just a wad of white cotton sticking out of the socket. I'll never forget it. The only other piece of ID I could get was he had a vanity plate that said "JOSEF". Even with that, somehow the cops never found the guy. Far as I know, the son of a biatch is still out there bringing destruction wherever he goes.
To this day I still think that if it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe I'd been married a long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?


ih0.redbubble.netView Full Size
 
2018-10-30 9:45:06 AM  

poorjon: Who doesn't love karaoke?


Ever hear me do karaoke?  But, that's a horror story for another time.
 
2018-10-30 9:58:53 AM  

xanadian: poorjon: Who doesn't love karaoke?

Ever hear me do karaoke?  But, that's a horror story for another time.


It's not called "Carry No Key" without reason....
 
2018-10-30 10:12:30 AM  
Do these stories have to be personal anecdotes, or can we post fiction?
 
2018-10-30 10:20:20 AM  

HedlessChickn: Donald Trump is President of the United States of America.

The end.


Thread over.  I'll get the lights.
 
2018-10-30 10:25:08 AM  

toraque: About twenty or so years or so ago I moved across the country for a job.

When I left, it was a case of leaping for the brass ring: the dot com crash had wiped out all of the tech jobs in the area I was in, and after a year and a half of practical unemployment and crushing poverty I gave up on ever finding a decent job where I lived.  Leaping for the brass ring, or maybe leaping out of the window of a burning building, but either way it was a blind jump into the unknown.  I accepted a job offer at a place in the middle of nowhere, packed what I could and gave everything else away.

Picture the scene: you're a young kid, giving up everything you know and everyone around you just for the chance at making a living.  You've got maybe a couple of hundred bucks to your name, everything you own is stacked in the back of your car, and you drive off into the sunset.  There's not much keeping you above the ground; a breakdown that takes more money than you have to get fixed, any kind of medical issue, any kind of rough wave could upset your unsteady boat and then you're lost, in the middle of nowhere with no one to help you.  The stress is almost unimaginable if you haven't gone through something like that.

I made it to where the job was, found a place to live- a nasty, cheap apartment next to a liquor store and a bar that seemed to have police cars pulling in with flashing lights almost all night long.  The people upstairs screamed at each other in broken English all through the day.  Meth heads panhandled the lot whenever the cops weren't around.   The only way I could get any sleep in all of that was with a combination of sleeping pills and hard liquor, the cheapest I could get.  Anyone who's been there before can tell you that this is a bad idea.

At some point early in the morning on one of those first days on the job, the phone rang, waking me up.  You know how when you're bleary with broken sleep, booze and pills, everything seems unreal?  This was back before smart p ...

img.fark.netView Full Size
twlight zone episode called night call-1964
 
2018-10-30 10:26:01 AM  

JJRRutgers: HedlessChickn: Donald Trump is President of the United States of America.

The end.

Thread over.  I'll get the lights.


Umm. No please! Some of us are afraid of the dark, especially after that Cotton Eye Joe story! Where? Where did he go??
 
2018-10-30 10:36:41 AM  
I don't know how scary this is going to be but it's definitely interesting. This might be long so please bear with me.

I believe that everyone is a little bit psychic. Some people are just more sensitive to happenings and some people just have no idea or refuse to believe.

So I'm going to tell you guys about a few of the experiences I've had in my lifetime. I'll try to detail my feelings during each one as best I can.
Up until the last 10 years or so there was a pub in Chicago called the Red Lion. During the financial real estate crisis, they were in the midst of demolishing the old building and replacing it with a new one. The old building had been there since the 1800s. It was so old and beaten up that there was not a straight Corner in the place. Everything was just that old and decrepit. It was also very haunted. It still is even since the reconstruction. It would have taken more money to refurbish the old place then to build a new one.
My friends and I used to hang out there all the time from the 90s through the point that it closed. Every time I would go there, I would run into at least one of their ghosts. Most famous one is named Sharon. She lived in an apartment in the upper level and she died. I think she took her own life. Anyway, every time I would go into the upstairs women's room, which is where her bed was, I would run into her. I could smell her lavender perfume and I would just say hello Sharon. At one point she actually physically locked me into the stall in the women's room. Couldn't open it for anything. I don't know what her problem was but it only lasted about 10 seconds. Felt like forever though. A few minutes later the same thing happened to another woman. But I don't think she knew about the history of the building. I did not freak out but this woman did. She was not happy. When she came out I mention to her that next time she's here and uses that women's room she might want to greet the occupant.
On another visit, we walked into the bar area and the local Ghost Hunter tour was beginning their trip there. The guy was sitting there telling all the stories. It was the middle of winter and heat was cranked in the place. When I saw he was holding Court there, we turned around and went back to the lower level. We usually like the upper level because it was smaller and less crowded and less people to deal with in line at the bar.
As we went down the stairs in this incredibly sweltering building, I walked right through and icy cold spot. That's not Sharon. That's either the cowboy who likes to walk through the upstairs when the lower level is completely empty or it's the malevolent in human spirit. That's actually what they call it.
I continue walking down the stairs and they had actually set up a psychic at a table on the landing of the stairs. Behind this woman was this mirror that had a three-dimensional Lions head on it. Very unique and very creepy. It had been brought over from a pub in England. The thing is, this mirror had been there since I started going there in the late 80s. I never thought much about it. Except for this time is a hit the landing. I probably should have asked the psychic if she could feel the same thing but there was definitely some Evil coming out of that mirror. So I hightailed it down to the lower level. Went there about a year ago and that mirror is gone. So it looks like they might be down to two ghosts. Sharon and the cowboy. I have heard though that the owners dad, who he bought the place from, is also currently haunting the place.

Then there is my late night sojourn to the Crown Point Jail where they held Dillinger. No friend of mine and I were drinking at one of the bars in Crown Point. Actually we probably went to three or four of them. Their entire downtown is full of bars.
So we decided to call it a night and Emily says hey let's take a shortcut through the jail! I said okay why not.
We didn't get two feet inside the door when I yelled out that there was something there and we had to leave now! The air around me felt very heavy, and there was this looming presence in the room. Didn't see anything but definitely felt something. It was not friendly. This was also in the middle of winter and the jail is open to the outside. It's kind of like the shell. It's hard to explain. Anyway it got noticeably colder during this time. We were both pretty drunk but Emily didn't realize that there was anything happening. Not until I told her so. Then she freaked out and ran as fast as she could the other direction. I didn't run but I definitely moved as quickly as I could to get out of there. I don't really see Emily anymore. It's a shame because I would like to go back there during the day time and see what happens.

And lastly, our house was built in 1991 or so. We've been here since 1997. During that time, we've lost my husband's grandmother who was 102, my grandfather ,his cousin who took his own life, two dogs and a few other relatives. One day I was standing in the kitchen and a package of paper plates flew off of the Shelf they were on. They landed about 3 feet away. There is no way they could have landed that far without having been shoved or thrown. Then a couple of weeks later, one of the cabinets in the kitchen just opened on its own and a bunch of dishes came flying out. None of them broke. It was like this slow motion thing going on. My husband thinks it's because the dishes were too heavy on the Shelf but I don't think so. Because the door opened before the dishes came out not during.
I have no idea who could be in the house causing this kind of Chaos. I guess it's not really chaos it's just things that have happened in the last year or so. I also have a lot of experiences while I am laying in bed. I'll be between the realm of sleep and wakefulness and I will feel as though somebody is there with me. It doesn't matter what room I'm sleeping in. I've heard my name called out loud more than once. It'll just be me and the cats at home and I'll hear my name. And not in my head. I'll hear it from outside of my body.

I have a friend who is an actual psychic. She mostly does pets in readings. I met her when taking my dogs to see her to find out why they hated each other so much. We've kept in touch and occasionally when I have problems with one of my animals I will contact her and ask her. I'm considering asking her if there's a way I can develop any gift I might have. Not sure that I have a gift for this, but it can't hurt to ask. I just feel like I've had so many experiences during the course of my life that there's something there. Your mileage may vary of course.
 
2018-10-30 10:45:34 AM  
Ok, I'm sharing. *inhales*
True story. Many, many years ago.
I've probably only mentioned this story to two, maybe three people in real life.

Working in a Muslim country, I get a call that one of the managers I had closely worked with had been found dead by his kid. Third heart attack, I think, two-pack-a-day smoker. Marlboros.

So flashback, dealing with this guy, very nice guy, earnest, hard-working (seemingly), knew his craft, and every once in while something he'd say wouldn't line up. Stuff like "I hired 6 day-workers" but then you'd find only 4 on site because "one got injured and the other took him to the hospital", or something would cost a certain amount that you'd later find out to cost less. Stuff like that.
He invited me to dinner at his place once, while not extravagant, was above his salary. He mentions how his cousin working in another country (I had met him) was doing quite well and had given or lent him the money.

Flash forward The same cousin after the Manager had died called and asked me if I could help him out because he had been struggling for years. Hmm..
After this Manager had passed away, I'd visit other people who dealt with him and they'd ask me "so, working with this guy...did you notice stuff?" waiting for me to say something to confirm their suspicions, or maybe wanting to share stories of their own. And I'd always play the fool because 1) I don't like bad-mouthing someone already dead 2) I never had any real proof, even though if memory serves I fired him because I couldn't trust him any more.
Met a guy, who said, "hey, did you hear that [name redacted] is dead" and I said yeah. And he said "May God NOT have mercy on his soul."
That shook me. That was probably the only person I have ever heard anyone say that about him/her. It's always an automatic "God have mercy on him" sometimes followed by "but I will never forgive him/her". But to hear it being said "May God NOT have mercy on him," I realIzed 100% that this is a person who had ruined what was between him and others, let alone between him and God.
I could never quote anything he said to anyone for fear that it wouldn't be the truth. I had lost faith in the guy.

So flash-..in the middle, when I heard that he had passed away.
I figure, fine, no matter what I hold in my heart towards this guy, death is death, and I'm not a person that carries grudges, thank God, regardless of what scars I might have.

I drive to the cemetary, and there is no one there, no cars, no people. Bewildered, I drive around, and finally see them, his eldish relative (another one), his two kids and the cemetary caretaker. That was it.
I had been to many funerals in my life, I had NEVER seen such a small gathering.
So we pray, then put the body on its side into the ground in a slot in the grave, with the body facing towards the Qibla, the direction of Mecca. To give you context, Muslims don't use coffins and do not preserve the body, we just wrap it like this:
i.ytimg.comView Full Size


So, by the position of the arms, you know which way is up when carried, and which way it's facing when in the ground.
Being younger than the manager's relative and older than his young kids, I end up in the grave doing what is needed, with an indifferent caretaker looking on. We start to cover the slot in the grave with cross-pieces, and as the upper torso gets covered, his relative reminds me to "uncover his face", as part of the ritual.
So I loosen up the Kafan (wrap) and start to shift the wrap to uncover the face....and...nothing. I get the guy's bald head. He was almost completely bald with only tufts of hair at the back of his neck. So I get that I've uncovered too high, and therefore start lowering the wraps.
Nothing.
Bald head.
Ah! he must have his head leaning forward!
So I uncover lower...lower...lower...and I glimpse tufts of hair.


I looked down at the body, realizing that we had put him in facing the wrong direction!

No.

I could clearly see the arms. The body was facing the right direction.
I can feel the blood in my face draining as I type this and relive the memory.

The group above can't see what I see, the cross-pieces covering the small area that I had uncovered. The relative sees the frantic look on my face and asks me if I'm having problems.
I reply that I can't do this, so I step out of the grave and he steps in. I see him rummaging around, and then says done. I stare at him trying to see any sign if he had seen what I had.
Nothing.
We place the rest of the cross-pieces and bury the grave.

I stopped at the nearest mosque I could find. They had handheld bidets, like mini shower heads, I stripped and start spraying myself.
I felt so unclean.
 
2018-10-30 10:46:40 AM  
This is a story my father told me, hearsay filtered through two different minds that tried to understand it, displaced by over half a century in time.

We have had an uneasy relationship. On his last visit, unwanted while I was still in pain from surgery, he seemed unwell. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin seemed sallow and tight. He had developed a lisp, as if adjusting to a new dental appliance. It can't be dentures, he has braces. At seventy-three! Maybe he has a retainer now. His hair, once an implausible Shinola black from which he tweezed the occasional strand of white with extreme prejudice, has gone the color of dirty snow. It's melting, too. His new wife has cancer, battling chemo and steroidal treatments when they ought to be riding golf carts together or going on cruises or whatever old people in love do, and I'm sure that takes its toll. He was in the middle of a course of heavy antibiotics for an H. pylori infection that just would not die, and vocally unhappy about it.
It's a disquieting feeling, that this man whose existence has encompassed my own, who was there at the very beginning with a stuffed frog and a bewildered expression, taking frantic notes on trivial matters with a pen and a tiny notepad which he saved and later showed me (4:39pm: ice chips), might at last abandon me to go the rest of my life without him. Disquieting, but not entirely devoid of relief.

He seemed to want to talk. Even about Vietnam, a subject which he rarely broached even when I'd grown old enough to understand that Papa used to kill people and that did not necessarily make him a monster. I told him I was mostly busying myself with documentaries on dangerous animals, since it hurt to laugh. My husband and I had worked our way through Asia and were onto South America. He told me how they shipped him to Panama for training and he encountered a boa constrictor ("I stepped on him, sir! He's out there! I don't know if he's coming back this way!") and piranhas in the river ("They'll only bite you if you're bleeding, so don't bleed!"). And he told me about visiting his extended family in Mexico as a child. He said it was like another world.

"It must've been quite a difference," I said. "Going back and forth between Arizona and the north of Mexico and then getting shipped down to Panama. I can't imagine there was jungle when you were a kid."

"It was like a jungle!" he said firmly. And I thought, to a little barefoot desert kid, it probably was. "There were so many trees! Coffee - they made their own coffee. It was thick. And peaches and avocados and sapote... I don't even know what sapote is, or why they had those. I'll have to ask my mom." She is in her early nineties, still living at home and surrounded by family. My father is her eldest. Second eldest, his sister Maria, is already dead.

"Here, I'll google it for you," I said. (Turns out it's a drupe.)

And I asked him about the story he'd told... I remembered multiple occasions from childhood, but I hadn't heard it in years, maybe decades. We are estranged, but I don't think my father knows it. "Didn't you say you met your guardian angel down in Mexico?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, that's just what they told me."

My father came from a big, boisterous Mexican-Catholic family that eventually numbered thirteen children, and now so many cousins I've just given up trying to remember. There wasn't enough room for all of them at Grandma's house. My father, the eldest, and some of the other boys were farmed out to neighbors in town. And one night someone sent him down the road alone with some food for his grandma.
In my childhood, I pictured it like one of those little European villages in Grimms' Fairy Tales, and my father like Little Brown Riding Hood with a basket and a pie. Now, I can't even imagine. Another world, with trees like a real jungle, lacking streetlights and pavement and other conveniences. (Another story I was told: In Mexico, my dad and his brothers and sisters woke up to a breakfast of chocolate and pan dulce and those little American brats whined for milk and cereal. "Oh, the children want milk!" Grandma said, smiling. "Get milk for the children!" And one of the myriad family, unremembered, promptly milked a goat and presented the results, warm. "Just drink it!" my dad's mom, my grandmother, hissed at the horrified children. "Just drink it!") Mexico was full of communists in those days, my dad said. 'Godless communists' they were always saying in church, back home in America. He never could understand why all the godless communists in Mexico went to church every Sunday.

I suppose it can't have been as bad as it is now, cartel-wise. The War on Drugs hadn't kicked into high gear yet, and crack cocaine wasn't even a thing. But there were robbers and bandits in those days, too, just like the fairy tales.

But it wasn't that far and my dad was a little American brat, even if he occupied substandard housing and his father worked in the fields. (He remembers his father, walking through the house in the morning and shouting, "Get up! Get up! You are not the children of a rich man! You can't afford to sleep in!") He started down the road to his grandmother's house...

But he found the woods were on fire, a huge ball of billowing flames that blocked out the sky. And the fire was right across the path.

He ran back to the neighbor's house. "There's a fire! Grandma's house is on fire!"

"No, it isn't!" And, true. From the neighborhood, not that far away, there was no smoke, no glow, no evidence of fire. My father refused to go back down the road. I imagine one of those godless communists probably gave him a smack for acting a fool, even though his American family had decided spanking was wrong.

In the morning, accompanied and chagrined, he brought Grandma her basket of pie. (Or pan dulce. Or whatever it was.) She cried out and hugged him tightly. "Oh, Salvador, thank goodness! I was so afraid you'd tried to come here last night! There were robbers on my road!" She had seen their lanterns and been afraid, but she had not seen a fire.

"I don't know what it was," he said, many years later, on a couch in my air-conditioned condo in Tucson. "Maybe a gas leak," he offered weakly.

But in Mexico, in that other world, Grandma and his extended family told him that night, that path through the trees to Grandmother's house had lead to his death, and his guardian angel put up a barrier of flames to bar the way. As a child, I believed it. He must have, too.

Imagine! As a child, or even an adult, knowing the path you had walked a hundred, a thousand times before, in daylight and in darkness, might suddenly yawn open before you and drop you off the face of the earth. Forever.

And maybe it's an angel with a purpose you will never understand, not even after seventy-three years and a war and two marriages like wars, or maybe it's a gas leak...

But someday, maybe this day, there won't be any flames across the path.
 
2018-10-30 10:51:38 AM  
Sorry for the wall of text. Couldn't tell my story in a shorter way without context.

God is all merciful and compassionate, I worry about my standing with him, but not as much as I worry of how I have affected or harmed other humans I have dealt with and will be held accountable for. To me, this story represents that.

/now I need to go do something so/until the blood comes back to my face
 
2018-10-30 11:01:36 AM  
There is nothing underneath the sheets. Just tell yourself that over and over again...
img.fark.netView Full Size
 
2018-10-30 11:02:08 AM  

eyeq360: There is nothing underneath the sheets. Just tell yourself that over and over again...
[img.fark.net image 425x566]


That looks nothing like my penis.
 
2018-10-30 11:02:32 AM  
img.fark.netView Full Size
 
2018-10-30 11:07:15 AM  

Walker: eyeq360: There is nothing underneath the sheets. Just tell yourself that over and over again...
[img.fark.net image 425x566]

That looks nothing like my penis.


As I said, there's nothing underneath. So in your case, the sheets are flat.
 
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