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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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2877 clicks; posted to Main » and Discussion » on 01 Nov 2018 at 3:57 AM (2 years ago)   |   Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook



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2018-10-30 11:11:37 AM  
Grandma's Hovercraft

Many years ago, we would spend our Summer's on Oklahoma's Grand Lake O' the Cherokees. Grandma owned a cabin there. Now, by "cabin", I don't mean a quaint little house. This was a rather large structure, 60' x 40'. with just two very long rooms. The front room was a combined kitchen/dining room/living room and the back room with seven beds separated by sliding curtains. The back room also had a tiny bathroom.

This one particular Summer, my folks had taken My three brothers and me up there to spend some time with Grandma and Aunt Dorothy and her three kids. All of the kids were teenagers at this time. From the front porch of the cabin, we could see a dock owned by Grandma's friend, Bea. Grandma had a habit of leaving the cabin at midnight to go down to the dock and do some night-time crappie fishing ' She did this mainly to avoid the heat of the day.

One bright, sunny morning, Grandma came in the front door with her fishing pole, tackle box, and a basket with a dozen or so nice sized crappie. We congratulated her on her catch and asked if she'd had a good night. She said it had been a great night and the she began to tell us about the hovercraft.

She said she'd noticed what she thought was a brightly lit bass boat about a mile south of the dock. It moved up the lake quietly until it stopped about 150 feet across from her. She realized it wasn't a boat when she saw that it was hovering a few feet above the surface. She rationalized that this must have been one of those "hovercraft" she'd heard about.

Now, if anyone knows anything about hovercraft, you know that they make the most God-awful racket as they skim across the surface of a body of water. We told her that we hadn't heard anything. She assured us that it didn't make any noise at all. We asked her to describe this hovercraft. She said it was a pretty little thing about twenty feet long and made of a polished aluminum with several banks of red, blue, and purple lights. She sat there and watched it for a few minutes then it just slowly lifted off and floated up and over the hill to the West.

Knowing that Grandma wasn't one to lie or come up with fanciful tales, Dad called the Delaware County Sheriff's Office to inquire if they'd received any calls of anything strange the previous night. The dispatcher said that they'd received more than twenty calls about weird lights on and around the Bernice area that night.
 
2018-10-30 11:14:09 AM  
Honestly most of my ghost stories aren't scary, they're comforting.
 
2018-10-30 11:28:50 AM  

xanadian: 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


It's Halloween here in Japan right now.

/kids trick or treat the weekend before in the shopping district though
 
2018-10-30 11:28:59 AM  
My then father in law died in 2009, he had Lewy Body.  Horrible way to go, horrible thing to see.  But he and I got along, and we were both sad that he wouldn't be around to meet any grandchildren we might have.  He died in March, the following September I got pregnant.  Had a baby boy in June 2010, give him his late grandfather's name as a middle name.

Almost immediately weird stuff starts happening.  As soon as he's able, our kid is pointing and laughing at nothing.  Once when he was really small and I was on maternity leave, the then-husband came home and I asked him to take the baby, so I could take a shower.  He says yes, just let him get something to eat really quick.  I say ok and go into the office, which has a computer desk chair that rocks.  The baby is asleep on my chest, I've got my head leaned back and my eyes closed, just rocking.  I feel someone walk into the room, stand behind me and put their hands on the back of the chair.  Of course I think it's the hub, but he doesn't say anything.  It was an old house and the chair was in the corner diagonal to the door, the floorboards were creaky, no way I imagine this.  So for minutes I have my eyes closed, the hands are still on the back of the chair, but he's saying nothing.  So I think "Oh, he thinks I'm asleep too, and he's going to try to sneak out without taking his turn with the baby" so I pretend I'm asleep to catch him.  I feel the hands lift off and the person move away, and I spin around super fast to be like GOTCHA.

But there's no one there.  There is no way someone could have been standing there and have gotten out the door and out of my line of sight in the time it took me to turn around.  I get up and walk out, and the hub is sitting on the couch, in the middle of eating.  I say "Were you just in the office?" and he looks at me like I'm crazy and says no, I'm right here eating, like I told you.  I walk into the office and I realize I can smell cigarette smoke.  Neither of us smoke, but FIL did.

So much stuff happened.  The big thing even the ex can't deny is that our son, when we were sleep training, would throw things out of his crib and then cry to try to get us to come back in.  He'd throw his pacifier, or his stuffed animals.  So many times we'd hear them hit the floor, he'd cry and call for his stuff, we'd do nothing, and after he fell asleep, we'd go in and check on him and whatever he'd thrown would be back in the crib.

The last thing from when he was small, I had him in his little exersaucer, we're home alone, i hear footsteps and smell cigarettes, and he looks up, like he's looking at an adult, starts waving and laughing and making faces.  I say "Wayne, we miss you.  You can visit Henry anytime you want, but please don't scare him."  I walk away, and hear a man's cough behind me.
 
2018-10-30 11:31:30 AM  
I was performing the critical study for my doctoral research. If successful, it would have formed the cornerstone of field-altering paper. It was an experiment that took almost two months to prepare and required going into the lab daily for 6 hours, even through major holiday weekends. Finally, I collected the measurements from the final trial and analyzed the overall results.

P = 0.055.
 
2018-10-30 11:32:01 AM  
Even weirder, I go to get a psychic reading just for fun with a girlfriend seven years later, and as soon as I walk in, the guy starts describing my FIL.  He tells me all sorts of stuff about my divorce, and how my ex reacted, and things my kid had done-and I'd told him nothing.  Nothing about me, nothing about ever being married.  He knew crazily specific stuff that I'd told no one.  Finally I said "Does he know I talk to my son about him?'  And the guy is quiet for a minute, and he looks at me and says "He says this child is his namesake."
 
2018-10-30 12:01:46 PM  

darkeyes: 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.


Happens to me about once a month.

/earthquake country...
 
2018-10-30 12:25:04 PM  
This is a scary bookmark 🔖 💀
 
2018-10-30 12:26:15 PM  

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


Clatuu Verata Necktie
 
2018-10-30 12:34:41 PM  
Staying at my mom's place a few winters ago with my SO, we usually take the back guestroom since it's off of the garage, has it's own bath and entrance from the back deck. A little more private. Anyway, my mom lives with her boyfriend who is 80 and they've been together for about 10 years, they met three or four years after his wife passed away of cancer. His ex wife convalesced at the house in her last days, hospital bed and all, oxygen, chemo... not pretty for the rest of his kids and grand kids.
We pull in one evening after a long road trip, have a few drinks and dinner, catch up on the latest, and make plans for the week. My wife and I decide to get to bed somewhat early maybe 10:30-11:00 since it has been a long day.
It's about 3:00 a.m. and I wake up. Blinking a few times I was wondering why there was so much light on the side of the room. Was the moon out and coming through the window, I don't know... I looked over toward the wall and corner, and what was coming into focus was what I can only explain as a long draped table of wavy lace and urns. Looked like something in a funeral home, all in this translucent glow. I remember sitting up, just staring at it and to myself I actually uttered "Woah!... no way! WTF?"
Then I thought, "Okay, my wife has to see this!" Without taking my eyes off of this weird apparition, I grabbed my wife's arm and gently shook it.
"Honey! Wake up! Wake up! Look!"
"What? I'm sleeping."
"Look! Look! In the corner! See it?"
"Where? I don't see anything"
"Right there! The whole corner is glowing!"
She turns on the light, and Bam. Gone. Just the dresser, a lamp and a few figurines my mom collects.
I couldn't get back to sleep for a while wondering what the hell just happened. Some time later, actually on a Fark thread the discussion came up of sleep paralysis and I told this story. It seemed to check out that it may have been sleep paralysis but I had never experienced it before. Funny, I felt coherent and awake, not frozen and terrorized like most people. Oh well.
The next summer we visited my mom and were talking about my mom's BFs ex wife and how the family dealt with her passing. It came up that her last days were spent in that back room because it was quiet and private.
We still stay back there. I'm waiting...
 
2018-10-30 12:37:34 PM  
The Senator's New Job, Part 1

"No, really!" laughed Lisa,"Five times. They say if you say his name five times in the mirror, he appears and drags you back to his swamp to devour!" she smiled, wildly."Dare you."

Kylie looked at Lisa through the bathroom mirror, and giggled as they bumped shoulders back and forth, kicking each other's legs. "Ok, ok." She paused and steadied herself.

"Ted Cruz. TedCruzTedCruzTedCruz... no no no, I can't do it!" She crouched, grabbed Lisa's teddie straps and growled into her eyes,"He's just tooooooo CREEPY!!!" They collapsed into one another, laughing.

Picking each other off the bathroom floor, Lisa screamed,"Drinks! I'll go set them up."

Kylie gave Lisa a little spank as she left, and nudged the door closed with her foot. Being student digs, the bathroom was neither especially big, nor especially clean. There was no bath, just a shower stall with glass sides and a spotted curtain, closed.

She stared intently into her own eyes, pursed her lips, wiggled her eyebrows, smiled a tiny, little smile, and whispered into the mirror,"Ted Cruz."

She briefly held her own breath, and turned to leave.

A squeak. She stopped and laughed. Another squeak, from behind the shower curtain.

To be continued
 
2018-10-30 12:43:58 PM  

Resident Muslim: 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


Sorry, gonna be that:  so WHAT exactly did you uncover about the body?
 
2018-10-30 12:46:40 PM  
There is something in my house.  We, my wife and I, have only seen it a handful of times, never during the day.  During the day we just hear it.  It makes these noises that are almost frustrating to describe. Like a fingernail on rotting drywall, a growling hush sort of sound where you think there might be words involved but you can't quite make them out.  You focus on this noise, this whispering not-quite-gibberish, and it can go on and on before you realize you've been staring at the wall just trying to figure out what it's saying, if it's saying anything -- and it's been 10 minutes doing this.  I'll walk in from the garage and see my wife standing at the end of the hallway, looking away from me with her head cocked, unmoving, and I know what she's doing immediately.

At night, things are different.  It's always different when you can't see into the shadows, where every cracked doorway makes you wonder if that's where it is tonight.  We close all our hallway doors and put the canned lights on back there.  If we have to go into a room, we talk about it first.  We never go into a bedroom at night alone.  We aren't afraid of the dark -- we have no problems taking walks at night or camping in the woods.  But we don't know what is in our house, and that's something else entirely.

The first time we saw it my wife had gotten up from the couch to turn on the hallway lights.  It was just dusk so it was time.  It's really just a few steps around the corner to the light switch and I watched her go.  The glow from the hall lights hit the living room and she shrieked, and one of the bedroom doors slammed.  I was by her side in an instant.  Her hand was over her mouth and her eyes were bulging.  "I saw it," she whispered.

I stepped past her, my manly bravado somehow overcoming the pounding of my heart, and looked down the hall.  All the doors were closed, just like they'd been all day.  As I watched, the second bedroom door handle turned, and the door inched open.  And stopped, just open enough for a crack of shadow between the door and jam.

We heard, briefly, the hushing noise coming from behind the door.  We don't know what it said, we didn't go into the room again that night.  We stayed at a hotel in the city.  When we came back in the morning, the door was closed again.

This happens, now and again.  Maybe it's the closet in the master bedroom, maybe it's the bathroom in the back hallway.  Once it was even the pantry right in the kitchen.  The door will be open, just a crack, and when it knows we're watching, it will say whatever it says.  And it waits.

We've never gone into those rooms when the door was ajar.  Those nights we close our bedroom door, put the chair up against it, and turn on all the lights and try to sleep.  Only once did we hear the door handle move but it didn't come in.
 
2018-10-30 12:47:22 PM  
The psychic also told me that my FIL leaves heads up pennies for my son and was like "yeah, I know everyone finds coins but your kid finds them ALL THE TIME."  And he does.

One day I was home and my kid was with his dad, and my dog, who is the nicest animal ever, looks at the hallway like she's watching someone walk back and forth, and does that slow, low menacing growl with her hackles up.  I look up, say "Sorry, Wayne, your boy is at his dad's house."  Dog looks again, then lays down and goes to sleep.

A little bit later I walk into the hall and right in front of the bathroom is a bright heads up penny. I KNOW it wasn't there before because it was my cleaning day, and I'd washed the floors.
 
2018-10-30 1:11:49 PM  

ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: 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

Sorry, gonna be that:  so WHAT exactly did you uncover about the body?


It appreared to be the back of his head.
Just the bald head.
I kept expecting to lower the wrap and see a face, but no. Nothing. Just bald head, and freaked out when I saw the tufts of hair and my mind kept trying to rationalize that it's his beard, and I'm like "there is NO FACE ABOVE IT"

Otherwise I'm a fairly solid, adventurous guy.

Great. Now I feel the blood draining from my face again.
 
2018-10-30 1:16:00 PM  

Resident Muslim: ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: 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

Sorry, gonna be that:  so WHAT exactly did you uncover about the body?

It appreared to be the back of his head.
Just the bald head.
I kept expecting to lower the wrap and see a face, but no. Nothing. Just bald head, and freaked out when I saw the tufts of hair and my mind kept trying to rationalize that it's his beard, and I'm like "there is NO FACE ABOVE IT"


Beard without a face
Got no human grace
Your beard without a face
 
2018-10-30 1:16:09 PM  
I live in an old creaky rental house from 1925. Since I moved in a couple years ago, I sometimes hear doorknobs rattle and doors squeak and other minor things. It never freaked me out because it's just an old house and well honestly, I don't really care. It doesn't bother me except sometimes I'm trying to sleep and I'll hear a door latch or something. Mildly freaky but meh.

A couple days ago I heard from the room next to me the sound of something big and heavy falling. It sounded like a bookcase full of books or something like that. Of course I ran over to look and there was nothing. Not terribly interesting, I know. But it's a true story and I've got to bookmark the thread somehow.

Happy Halloween!
 
2018-10-30 1:19:48 PM  

Resident Muslim: ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: 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

Sorry, gonna be that:  so WHAT exactly did you uncover about the body?

It appreared to be the back of his head.
Just the bald head.
I kept expecting to lower the wrap and see a face, but no. Nothing. Just bald head, and freaked out when I saw the tufts of hair and my mind kept trying to rationalize that it's his beard, and I'm like "there is NO FACE ABOVE IT"

Otherwise I'm a fairly solid, adventurous guy.

Great. Now I feel the blood draining from my face again.


Occam's razor would rather dictate that it *was* the back of his head, no?
 
2018-10-30 1:20:01 PM  
Someone complained that I didn't re-post this last year, so here it is again.

=================

Danny Doesn't Live There Anymore


Danny Nero shot my brother in the belly. I was 9 or 10, so my brother, Mark, was about 11, and Danny was maybe 13. Danny was crazy, but not in the way people like; and though his weapon was a Daisy air rifle, I'm sure if he'd had a real rifle he would have used it. Even before he shot Mark, I knew what he was: I had a dream that he blinded and killed a midget just for fun. When I woke up, I wasn't sure if it was a dream or a memory. I don't know where Danny is now, but if I had to wager, I'd put my money on prison. If I had to hedge my bet, I'd put a few bucks on dead.
Danny's dad came home from work that day and smashed the pellet gun against a tree. I never met his dad, but other kids said Danny was his father's son, so I'm guessing his dad smashed the gun not because what Danny did was wrong, but because it was dumb, and they both could have got into trouble. I feared for Danny's little brother, David, who was about my age, and his little sister, Danielle, who was maybe six. Normal kids. Some of the scariest people start out as normal kids.
A few weeks after the air rifle incident, the Neros moved away. It was such a relief, I couldn't adapt to it at first. Their house had been a hazard to avoid when I visited that block. Now I wouldn't have to walk on the other side of the street. I kept telling myself: "It's just a house. It's just a house. Danny doesn't live there anymore." Let's say it was out of habit that I kept walking on the other side, anyway.


img.fark.netView Full Size
img.fark.net

###

Our best friends, the Welches, lived between us and Danny's house. The Kaliczeks, Rick and Matt, were farther up the hill. They had older ties to the Welches, and they were a little older than Mark and me, so they were friends of ours, but mostly just friends of friends.
Rick was going places; you could tell. A little before this story happened, Rick went house to house selling raffle tickets for a tie-dye-colored bundt cake he hadn't baked yet. My mom was sick in bed but she bought a ticket, and a few days later he came over to give her the cake. I'm pretty sure he let her win just to cheer her up. That was Rick.
This was also Rick: He found, in the street, a key that could unlock most GM vehicles. I don't know why it existed. Maybe a car thief made it; maybe GM made it. What's important is that Rick loved to use it, but only because he could. He didn't steal anything--he just liked being able to. He'd unlock a door and lock it again, and walk away smiling because he possessed the key.


###

It was a Saturday soon after Danny's family had moved away. I went to the Welches' to see if anyone wanted to hang out. No one was home, but Rick was on their porch, also looking for company.
"Hey, Rick."
"Hey, Adam."
We determined we were on our own and Rick asked if I wanted to see something cool. "OK," I said. Why not? I hadn't hung out with Rick alone before, but he was the best thing going on this vacant afternoon, so I followed him up the street. Halfway to his house, he veered toward Danny's house.
"Want to see what's inside?"
"Sure," I said, not at all sure. Danny was gone, but it was still his house. Logic and curiosity won out, and I followed Rick to Danny's back yard. He opened the storm door and fiddled with something and opened the back door. He didn't need a skeleton key for that.
"Come on," he said. My heart pounded in my throat. Ah, adrenaline: the fuel of my childhood.
The back door opened into the kitchen, a duplicate of the Welches'. In the corner to the left was a quarter-circle padded bench behind the breakfast table; the fridge to the right, then the sink, and the stove against the far wall. Past the breakfast table, on the left, was the door to the dining room. Strange, seeing it vacant: It looked like the Welches' kitchen, but something was missing, or I was missing something. It was just... off.  I could faintly smell cigarette smoke, and what about strawberries? Before I could figure out what, I was following Rick through the dining room and into the living room. Empty. Into the family room. Barren. The main bedroom. Nothing. The bathroom. Clean. Then back to the dining room and up the stairs to the kids' room. Up the same half-spiral stairwell the Welches had.


###

We stood in a familiar but foreign bedroom. Aside from a few stickers on the walls and some old, yellowed curtains, the room was anonymous. Rick opened the drawers built into the wall beside the door. Empty. So were the closets. We went to the bathroom.
The bath mat was still there, a nudie photo from a Playboy was taped to the mirror; opposite it a smutty cartoon of a museum cleaning lady doing detail work on Michelangelo's statue of David. I examined it closely and for the life of me I couldn't see what the joke was. I still don't, but apparently Danny liked it enough to save it; not enough to take it with him.
We tossed the rest of the bedroom and found nothing.


###
All that remained to explore was the attic. It had been to our left as we came in, so it was to the right on the way out. Two steps led to a short, wide door. Rick opened it and flipped the light switch.
Toys covered the floor: board games, puzzles, toy guns and rifles, toy cars and trucks, Hot Wheels tracks, stuffed animals, a doll house, a Slinky, Mr. Potato Head, boxes stacked against the walls, and children's clothes everywhere. I could see brightly colored plastic blocks and balls and model airplanes . Paydirt! I started to rummage through this bonanza, but in less than a minute Rick said
"Let's go."
"What? We just got here."
"Ah, it's all crap."
"Let's take a look. This is what we came for."
"I don't have time. Come on." He sounded more nervous than I felt when we first entered the kitchen.
"But..."
"I'm going. You can stay if you want." Nope. Not alone in Danny's house, abandoned or otherwise. I followed Rick downstairs, through the kitchen where strawberries smelled like cigarettes, and out the back door. We went up the block to Rick's house and upstairs to the room he shared with Matt. It, too, was a copy of the Welch kids' room.
"I have things to do," he said.
"Can I hang out for awhile?"
"If you want to watch me do homework," he said. I didn't, but I did hope to pester him into going back to Danny's house.
"OK. Whatever," I said. Rick sat down at his desk and opened his math book and started copying problems to his notebook. I watched him for a few minutes, still thinking about all those toys. Rick was right; they were mainly for younger kids, but I didn't care. They were there for the taking; surely some treasure must be buried in the trash. I just needed someone to keep me company in Danny's house, where something was wrong.


###

"Let's go back," I said.
"No. I told you, I have to do homework." I had never seen a kid so eager to do homework, especially on a weekend.
"Just for a few minutes. We barely got to see what's in there."
"Go, then. I left the door unlocked. Just walk in."
"I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Ghosts." I knew it was childish, and I wanted to look cool to an older kid, but that place seriously creeped me out.
"There's no such thing as ghosts."
"I know. I'm still afraid of them."
"Just keep telling yourself, 'there's no such thing as ghosts; there's no such thing as ghosts.'"
"It doesn't work that way, Rick. Come on, it won't take long, and then I'll leave you alone."
"Tell you what: Go without me. Give me a few minutes to do some of these problems, and I'll meet you there."
"OK." No sense arguing, especially with Rick. I went downstairs and out into the sunshine. I knew there were no ghosts; I also knew the place was lousy with them. If I went back alone I could get over my fear of ghosts and also score some points with Rick. I edged down the hill to Danny's house and lurked behind a tree, looking at the house, trying to work up the courage and also kill some time till Rick was done with his math. The sunshine made the ghosts seem less and less probable, so I walked around back.


###
A kid about my age was standing on the patio, looking at the door. He scared me for a second, but I thought I recognized him from the neighborhood. His blond hair was buzz-cut, and he wore a white t-shirt and blue jeans: a nondescript kid who must have had strict parents who wouldn't let him wear his hair long like most of my friends did in the early 70s.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I said back. "What are you doing here?"
"I was about to go inside," he said. "You want to see something cool? There's a lot of toys upstairs." Well, Hell. Competition.
"Yeah, I know," I said. "I was about to go take a look."
"Go on, then."
I hesitated.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Honestly? This place scares me."
"There's nothing to be scared of." I wasn't so sure of that, but I'd had enough of being the coward, so I just said
"I'm Adam."
"I'm Danny."
"That's the name of the big kid who used to live here," I said.
"I know. He was mean. I'm glad he's gone."
"Me, too."
"You gonna go inside?" he asked.
"If you go with me," I said. The idea of sharing the loot didn't seem like such a bad arrangement anymore. Ghosts will only appear when you're alone; at least that was my theory. Besides, half the fun was in exploring.
"OK. Go ahead," he said. I opened the door and walked into the kitchen. Danny followed me.


###

"I hope my mom likes you," he said. What? I'd just met this kid, and he was already inviting me to his house? I didn't say anything. Again, in the kitchen, something seemed amiss. The image of a strawberry smoking a cigarette flashed through my mind. We walked through the kitchen to the dining room and up the half-spiral staircase to the kids' room.
"Go ahead," Danny said. "Open it." I climbed the two wooden steps and pulled the door open, reached to the right and flipped the light switch. The toys and boxes and clothes spread out before us. Why would the Neros leave this stuff behind? They could at least have given it to Goodwill.
I walked into the playroom, Danny still behind me. I waded a few steps into the tide of toys and began to survey. Rick was right; most of this stuff was worthless. Little kids' blocks and trinkets. Dolls and stuffed animals.  Lincoln Logs and Legos. Tinker Toys. And clothes. So many clothes. Maybe the good stuff was in the boxes. I kicked some toys aside and reached the first box. Empty. I knocked it off the box under it and opened that one. Also empty. And the next box, and the next. They were as empty as the rooms of this house. Some boxes had boxes in them. There were probably enough to hold all of these toys and clothes, but for some reason they were unused. Then I saw: each was marked "Toys: Goodwill" or "Clothes: Goodwill." Meaning the Neros never bothered to pack them up? Behind me Danny said
"We could play in here forever." From what I had seen so far, that didn't seem likely. I returned my attention to the toys. I found some plastic soldiers, like the ones I had at home, and started to gather them up. It was a start. I showed them to Danny, and he said
"My dad died in the war." I looked him in the eye for the first time since we entered the playroom.
"That's too bad, man. I know some kids at school whose dads are over there." It wasn't much of a consolation. We all had friends with dads in Vietnam. I was lucky mine got out on 4-F. Danny forced a half-smile and bent down to sift through the jetsam.
"So, you live with your mom?" I asked.
"Mmm... Yeah, and my sister. We got some money after Dad died. Mom bought a house and we moved here from Tulsa and we've been here ever since." I didn't say anything. I didn't want to know too much about this kid I had just met, and I definitely didn't want to let him unload on me about his dead dad.
"It hit her really hard. She didn't know what to do with me and my sister. She sort of... I don't know, I guess she just had to get away from everything and take us with her," he said.
"Hmm," I said. I picked up a small box and put the soldiers into it. Danny pointed to a rubber Godzilla and said
"Let's see that." I was jealous: I wanted it. I handed it to him. He made little gestures with it, like it was stomping Tokyo.
"Cool!" I said. "I wish I had found that!" Danny handed it to me.
"It's yours."
"Really? That's the coolest thing yet. Thanks." I put it into the box. I found a pair of glow-in-the-dark plastic vampire fangs, and handed them to Danny. He put them into his mouth and raised his arms like Count Dracula and leaned forward, baring the fangs. We laughed. He handed the teeth back to me. They were dry.
"All yours," he said. Into the box. We rummaged to the back of the playroom. I found a parking lot of Matchbox cars and put them into the box. So far, Danny hadn't saved anything. I came to a plastic rocking horse suspended by springs from a metal frame. I was too big for it, so of course I sat on it. The springs croaked their protest.
"Don't," said Danny. "My sister wants that. You'll break it." Fair enough. I dismounted.
"You know," I said, "I saw some Legos back there. I know someone who would want them." I turned to look back where we came in, and the room seemed different. Less colorful.
"Here's another door," said Danny. He pointed to a small hatch about two feet high and 18 inches wide, near our feet. It was white with a green knob. Strange, the details you remember. It was white with a green knob at the end of the attic, and Danny said
"You should see what's in there."
"Why?" I asked. "What's in there?"
"I don't know, you should see."
"My friends have the same door in their playroom," I said. "It's just some pipes and boards and stuff."
"I bet we could both fit in there," he said.
"I could barely fit," I said.
"Show me," he said.
"My friends found a stuffed eagle in theirs. It almost filled it."
"A real eagle?" he said.
"Yep. Mounted on a branch on a board. It was pretty cool."
"Definitely. I wonder if there's something stuffed in this one?"
"Why don't you go in there?" I challenged. He dropped it.
"I'm gonna go find those Legos," I said, and turned to wade through the toys and clothes.
"OK," he said. "I think I saw a stuffed rabbit over there. Save it for my sister."
"I'll keep an eye out for it," I said, and negotiated a path back to where we came in.


###
I found a rubber spider and put it into the box. A few steps away I saw a pile of Legos and slogged toward them. When I got there, most of what I had thought were Legos turned out to be colored wooden blocks. I picked up the remaining Legos. As I put them into the box, I noticed the plastic soldiers looked different, like they were made of metal. Tin soldiers, not plastic.
"Hey, look at that," said Danny. He was pointing to a toy rifle leaning against a doll house near me. "That's the kind the Japs shot my dad with. Lemme see it." This was getting annoying. Why did I have to bring everything to him? But I did, and went back to where I had been.
So many little kids' toys, but not only: About 20 feet of Hot Wheels tracks, and I reached for them, and there in a nest of train tracks, what kids had before Hot Wheels tracks, was a stuffed rabbit, ancient and threadbare, a deep brown stain on one side.
"Here's the rabbit," I said, holding it by the ears so I didn't have to touch that stain. Then I thought: Japs? In Vietnam?
"Great! Toss it here." I did. He almost caught it, but it went through his hands. He stooped to pick it up and I tried to find the Hot Wheels tracks that had been there a moment ago, among the train tracks that had not. I gave up and looked for the Mr. Potato Head I had seen near the door. I see his hand, ear, and eye poking up through some board games and Barbie accessories. When I pick it up, it's a real potato, black and shriveled and hard, and the features don't line up right. I can't decide if I like it or not. My ears pop. I smell cigarette smoke.
"Were you smoking up here?" I ask.
"Oh, that's my mom. She smokes."
"Your mom is here?"
"She's always here. That was her in the kitchen."
The room spins. As he speaks, I remember a woman sitting at the breakfast table with a cigarette in her hand and an ashtray in front of her. A gaunt, haggard woman with lines in her face, none from laughter. She wears a sun dress, once white, now yellowed, printed with strawberries. I have two memories: one of the kitchen empty but somehow wrong, and another of Danny's mom sitting there watching us without moving her head, smoking.
"Hey, Danae," said Danny. "Adam found your rabbit." He was looking toward the back corner where a pile of clothes gathered and stood and became a little girl of about six, blond like Danny. She giggled and stepped toward Danny to take the blood-stained rabbit. She cuddled it to her cheek and cast me a sad smile. She mounted the rocking horse and began to hum a song I didn't recognize. The rocking horse was no longer plastic and spring-mounted, but made of wood, on true rockers. I dropped the box and ran for the door and Danny came toward me, he came toward me and the way his feet moved through the toys on the floor of that attic, the way his toes moved through the toys as he came toward me and I reached for the door and Danny was there and I reached the door first and I didn't push his hand away, I put my hand through his.
I put my hand through his, and that instant I feel decades of loneliness and sadness, and in my head I hear Danny crying in outrage for his sister; he's telling his mother to stop, stop, STOP, MOM! I hear the door bang as I slam it behind me; I hear it bounce back open from the impact, but that's not right; there's a pause between the first bang and the second, and then more banging. I understand: Danny had me open the back door and the door to the attic because he couldn't. He could touch only what I gave him. I remember the door with the green knob, and I'm glad I didn't open it for him.
In two leaps I'm down the half-spiral staircase, charging through the living room for the front door. No way am I going back to the kitchen where Danny's mom has sat smoking for the past 25 years. The door to the attic stops banging. Footsteps are clattering down the stairs, and from the kitchen I hear her call:
"Danny, you did it again!"
The living room is furnished, and I'm about to trip over a coffee table in the middle of it. It's old, from another era, like the sofa and the chairs and the television-size radio against the wall. I'm going to trip over it, but I don't. I kick the table over and across the room; the table stays where it is. I feel nothing. Furniture can be ghosts, too, apparently.
I'm already familiar with this place by way of the Welches', so it takes me exactly 2.17 seconds to undo the bolt and the chain latch on the front door. I shove the storm door open and lunge across the porch and over the far rail. I almost land on someone beside the porch. I can't breathe, let alone scream, so I just flail. Someone grabs my wrist, and turns me around.


###
It was Rick, laughing.
"What did you see, a ghost?" I could only open my mouth and gasp. Rick looked up toward the front door and his smile faded. He kept the grip on my wrist, turned a little too fast, and pulled me after him, down the hill, past the Welches', toward my house. Before we got to the corner, he stopped us and sat us down.
"Jesus Christ, did you..." He couldn't finish.
"I TOLD YOU!" I shouted, and punched him in the chest. He didn't object.
"Jesus Christ," he said again. We crossed the street and went to my house. My folks were in the back yard; Rick and I went to the kitchen and got some Kool-Aid.
"What did you see?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said.
"Bullshiat. You saw it, too."
"No, I mean I saw nothing. Inside the house, inside the door, the house went black. Pitch black. Then it faded to nothing. No black, no white, just nothing. And then it faded back to normal."
"Did you see the kid in there?" I asked.
"Do you know what nothing looks like?" he asked. I didn't care.
"Did you see him?" I asked again.
"I saw a woman, I think."
"What else do you think?" I asked.
"Look, I'm sorry, OK? I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what? What did you do?"
"I didn't know. I didn't know, OK?"
"What?"
"The toys... when I was there before... They were in boxes. Someone came and dumped them after I was there."
"Yeah, well, someone did. It was Danny."
"Danny Nero?"
"No, Danny been-dead-for-twenty-five-years. Danny whose mom killed him and his sister. And herself. You knew, didn't you?"
Silence.
More silence.
"Adam." said Rick, staring at the wallpaper.
"What?"
"I think I remember something," he said. He was almost mumbling.
"What?"
"I think I might have dumped the toys out."
"You think you might have?" I said. "How can you not know?"
"I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"I bet." That was the one time I felt superior to Rick. He knew it, and he let me feel however I wanted. We sipped our Kool-Aid in silence, not looking at each other. A couple of minutes later my mom walked in from the back yard.
"Oh, hi, Rick. How are you?" Rick took a long drink of Kool-Aid and said
"Great. How are you?"
"Much better, thank you. And thank you for the cake. It was beautiful."
"You're welcome."
"A very nice cake."
 
2018-10-30 1:22:24 PM  

TabASlotB: I was performing the critical study for my doctoral research. If successful, it would have formed the cornerstone of field-altering paper. It was an experiment that took almost two months to prepare and required going into the lab daily for 6 hours, even through major holiday weekends. Finally, I collected the measurements from the final trial and analyzed the overall results.

P = 0.055.


You guys can be so geeks sometimes.
:'D
 
2018-10-30 2:13:30 PM  

meg12279: Even weirder, I go to get a psychic reading just for fun with a girlfriend seven years later, and as soon as I walk in, the guy starts describing my FIL.  He tells me all sorts of stuff about my divorce, and how my ex reacted, and things my kid had done-and I'd told him nothing.  Nothing about me, nothing about ever being married.  He knew crazily specific stuff that I'd told no one.  Finally I said "Does he know I talk to my son about him?'  And the guy is quiet for a minute, and he looks at me and says "He says this child is his namesake."


This made me think of what convinced me that my friend who is a psychic is real.
Took the dogs to a dog Expo knowing she was going to be there. Servo and Gypsy got into it in front of her and she saw what their fights were like. So I handed Gypsy off to one of my coworkers and we spoke with servo.
My friend says that animals can understand us and we need to talk to them like we do to each other. They know what we're saying but we don't know what they're saying. So she told me to look him in the face and ask him my questions.
So I asked him if he knew why Tippy wasn't around. Tippi was servos girlfriend. He was two and she was nine when they met in 1997. Her owner had told me a couple of days before that he had to put Tippy down. She was 17.
So then the psychic looks me right in the eye and says Servo told me that to be died. And then she asked me if Tippy was my neighbor's dog. I hadn't said anything about the neighbor. I tried to frame the question in such a way that it could have been that she moved away or was on vacation. But after she told me that, Servo looks right at me and smiled. So I knew that I had been heard and that he had answered me.
She also told me to watch out for when servo would be outside and would just stare at nothing because that was to be coming to visit. She said that he really loved Tippi and no one would ever take her place in his heart.

My husband didn't believe that my friend can really do this until we got Scarlett the cat. After a couple of days in the master bedroom and bathroom, Scarlett figured out how to open one of the doors. She disappeared into the house and we needed to find her to give her her medication. So I messaged my friend and she said that Scarlett was hiding under a couch by a window. So my husband went into the room that has a couch under the window and that's exactly where Scarlett was. So now he believes me.
 
2018-10-30 2:30:33 PM  
The Senator's New Job, Part 2

Kylie pushed her hair behind her ears, tilted her head, and stared at the shower stall. The spotted curtain wafted in a draft Kylie couldn't feel. Squeak. Burp. Sliiide. "Hello?" was the only thing she could think to say.

From below, water, thick and slow and dirty with specks, spilled over the shower lip.

She stepped towards the stall, and hovered her hand inches from the curtain.

Burp. Squeak. Pop. Sliiide.

Curiosity and Disbelief have often made us. Just as often, Curiosity, and Disbelief are the end of us. So Kylie, knowing what she mustn't do, really couldn't help herself.

Kylie pulled the shower curtain open.

Like a fat man stuck in phone booth, Toad Cruz filled the stall. His dark green skin was strangely blanched, squeezed against the glass, and his drooping head was as thick as his body, his toothless mouth as thick as his head.

Pop. Burp. Squeak Squeak. Crack.

Hundreds of little pustules clustered around his skin, bursting, leaking a slime, dirty with specks, that covered his body, pooled in the stall, and flowed over into the room.

Crack.

The shower stall collapsed. As Toad Cruz hit the tiles, a loud Burp echoed around the room, and a draft of foul, humid air grabbed Kylie's legs and crawled up her frozen body. It snaked down her throat and halted her scream.

Sliiide.

As the speckled slime touched her toes, Kylie panicked and tried to run for the door, but her feet went from under her and she fell on her rump, pain shooting up her back, blinding her. As she opened her eyes and propped herself up with her arms, she found herself looking straight into the eyes of Toad Cruz. Weirdly, she found herself thinking,"Can toads have strokes?" The eyes were oval, large and blank, but one drooped lower than the other, as if it was sliiiding of his head. His head. You couldn't really call it a face. It wasn't a face. It was a head. With two eyes. And a mouth. A large, toothless mouth, filled with a pink, fleshy mound. Two slits might have been nostrils. Or they might have been pustules, popping. Slime, dirty with specks covered...

Pop. Burp. Sliiide.

Toad Cruz slide across the floor towards Kylie. She kicked out and backed off, trying to scream, but the putrid air was too thick, too choking.

Burp. Pop. Sliiide. Crack.

Suddenly, Toad Cruz's jaw dislocated. First one side.

Crack.

Then the other. Kylie backed up against the door, and her fingers slipped from the handle. It was then she realised that her hands were covered with slime, dirty with little, wriggling specks, that her legs were covered in slime, dirty with moving, shifting specks.

Burp. Pop. Sliiide.

The pink, fleshy mound in Toad Cruz's mouth, spilled out. A tongue. A relatively ordinary, if oversized, tongue. It licked, tenderly, Kylie's foot. And finally her scream managed to cut through the foul, humid air. Toad Cruz's jaw Cracked a little more. His mouth widened a little more, and he slide forward across the tiles.

Burp. Pop.

- -

"Kylie?" Lisa ran to the door after hearing the scream. "Kylie? Are you ok?"

She stopped as the door breathed out, as if a great weight rested upon it. "Kylie?" A slime, dirty with specks, flowed out onto the hallway carpet. The door breathed in.

It wasn't Curiosity. It wasn't Disbelief that made her reach for the door handle. It was simple, human concern. And it would eat her whole.

The End

/have a ghoulish Halloween, farkers!
 
2018-10-30 2:30:48 PM  

misanthropic1: Resident Muslim: ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: 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

Sorry, gonna be that:  so WHAT exactly did you uncover about the body?

It appreared to be the back of his head.
Just the bald head.
I kept expecting to lower the wrap and see a face, but no. Nothing. Just bald head, and freaked out when I saw the tufts of hair and my mind kept trying to rationalize that it's his beard, and I'm like "there is NO FACE ABOVE IT"

Otherwise I'm a fairly solid, adventurous guy.

Great. Now I feel the blood draining from my face again.

Occam's razor would rather dictate that it *was* the back of his head, no?


It would, so options are:
(Take a look at the picture in the grave I posted in the original post before continuing)

1) paranormal
2) someone broke his neck and twisted his face all the way around
3) someone folded his arms BEHIND his back and wrapped him that way AND we didn't notice his feet

Not much better, right?
 
2018-10-30 2:36:16 PM  
Damnit, typo, slid not slide.
 
2018-10-30 2:37:25 PM  

ObscureNameHere: 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....


Hah.  My mother ran a Karaoke show for years, I worked as a DJ for a local entertainment company which offered Karaoke as a service.  I ran my own DJ business for a number of years (no Karaoke service) and I never heard that one before.  I've heard a lot of things but not that.  Veeeeery true though! Haha.
 
2018-10-30 2:39:27 PM  
Mr. Stanton was the terror of the Chaparral Valley Home-Owner's Association. He was a retired book-keeper who lived in a big green house near the gated entrance from Frontier Street. He'd wormed his way into the Compliance Officer position on the HOA board, and had every fiddly detail of the HOA rules memorized. Seriously- he could quote chapter-and-verse every picayune detail of how everyone but him was In Violation. The fines (they were called "assessments", but they were fines) were usually fairly minor, and all the money went into the maintenance fund, so most people just paid and tried their best to ignore him.

He'd hired a service to handle his landscaping twice a week to make sure his property was scrupulously In Compliance, but mostly in a vain attempt to win the annual bragging-rights prize for best-kept property. The HOA committee would judge every yard, assigning a score for neatness and other property-value-enhancing features. This score would be reduced by a set amount for each Violation on the books. Anyone whose property was a contender for the prize somehow ended up with enough Violations to give Mr. Stanton the edge, but he always lost anyway.

The perennial winner was Mrs. Fallon, whose rambling bungalow in the center of immaculate landscaping put everyone else to shame. Her house was located at the end of Jubilee Street, only three blocks from Mr. Stanton's house. She was Mr. Stanton's polar opposite- easy-going, friendly, cheerful, and ready to help her neighbors. She was constantly baking bread, cookies, and cakes, and the smell of her baking set stomachs growling throughout the neighborhood. If she wasn't in her kitchen, she was usually wandering around her flawless yard, checking on her collection of garden gnomes.

The gnomes were amazing. Each one was unique, from their clothing to the faces to their poses. She seemed to have a nearly endless supply of gnomes, posed to look like they were drinking around a campfire, or playing golf, or pushing a tiny lawnmower. They all had different names, which Mrs. Fallon could recite at will. Gerald was always my favorite. He had a silvery-grey beard and dark blue cap, and he carried a little ceramic bow and arrow. Whenever I'd visit Mrs. Fallon (all the neighborhood kids visited- for the cookies, mostly), I'd spend some time searching her yard for Gerald, who'd usually be 'hunting' under some of the perfectly groomed bushes. All the kids had their own favorites, and even the grown-ups enjoyed seeing what new arrangement the gnomes would be in any given day.

Mr. Stanton hated the gnomes. He hated everything about Mrs. Fallon's property, but he hated the gnomes most of all. When he first ascended to his lofty position, he'd tried to fine Mrs. Fallon for having 'Un-approved Statuary' in her yard. At the next HOA Committee meeting, Mrs. Fallon pointed out that garden gnomes were specifically approved under the HOA regulations, and noted she had personally written that exemption into the Rules back when the HOA was first getting organized. Mr. Stanton hadn't liked that, and liked the laughter from the audience (and Committee) at his expense even less. I remember seeing his face as he stormed out of the meeting- he'd looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. After that, he compulsively counted the gnomes every single day, hoping to catch Mrs. Fallon out for having too many gnomes in her yard.

After several years of this, a lot of the neighbors started complaining formally to the Committee about Mr. Stanton. He was peevish, vindictive, and mean-spirited, and he got caught several times trying to re-arrange other peoples' fixtures so they'd get a Violation after they'd annoyed him in some way. The Committee started talking openly about getting someone new, and Mrs. Fallon arranged her gnomes one night before Halloween so it looked like they were sitting around a grave with Mr. Stanton's name on the headstone.

Mr. Stanton- predictably- went bugnuts. He tried to file a complaint with the Sheriff the next morning, claiming the diorama was a threat, but the County wouldn't do anything. He spent all day on Halloween staring at Mrs. Fallon's yard from the sidewalk across the street, visibly seething. His temper wasn't improved by having loads of the neighbors come by and loudly compliment Mrs. Fallon on her yard- and the gnomes. Mrs. Fallon spent most of the day ignoring Mr. Stanton's presence on the sidewalk across the street and preparing for Halloween night. Her house was a favorite Last Stop for the neighborhood trick-or-treaters. The whole neighborhood smelled like heaven flavored with cinnamon.

As soon as the sun crossed the horizon (the traditional start for trick-or-treat time), the streets filled with kids dressed in whatever creepiness they could come up with. The streets in the neighborhood were closed to traffic for two hours after sundown on Halloween, because the kids were everywhere. It was just starting to get actually dark by the time all of the houses had been plundered, and the whole mob of kids started winding their way to Mrs. Fallon's house.

When I came wandering up in my Frankenstein costume, I could see a crowd of kids on the sidewalk. Everyone was being real quiet, and the kids closest to the house were pointing into the yard where the gnomes were. I pushed my way up front and used my flashlight, quickly joined by a couple of other kids whose parents made 'em carry lights.

The lights showed the scene of a massacre. The seven gnomes at the graveside were smashed up, and the headstone was broken in half. A couple of kids started sniffling, and there was a lot of muttering going on when Mrs. Fallon came out to see what was going on.

She saw the destruction, and looked horrified. When some of the snifflers started bawling, she shook her head and hustled everyone down the driveway to her porch, where she loaded everyone up with cupcakes and cookies and candied apples wrapped in plastic. Most of the kids cheered up at that, and Mrs. Fallon was especially cheerful, working hard to keep everyone's spirits up. She did good enough that most of us walked away feeling more-or-less happy. A couple of us looked back, though, and we saw Mrs. Fallon standing next to the shattered gnomes. Her shoulders were slumped, and I thought she might have been crying.

The neighborhood grown-ups heard about it from the kids, and a few of them went to Mrs. Fallon's to help her clean up the mess. Dad was one, and I overheard him telling Mom that Mrs. Fallon was pretty calm about the whole thing. She had even refused to call the Sheriff about it. When he saw me listening in, I asked if Gerald was okay. Dad smiled and said Gerald was fine. He'd been 'hunting' under an azalea, and whoever busted up the others had missed him.

I got sent off to bed with a warning about being a sneak and listening to other people talk. I didn't hear much after that, but I thought I heard Dad say 'Stanton' a couple of times before I fell asleep.

The next morning was Saturday, and a bunch of kids headed over to Mrs. Fallon's to see what was left of the goodies. Mrs. Fallon met us at the door with a bunch of cookies and a big smile. I asked her where Gerald was, and she smiled even wider and took the bunch of us into the side yard, where we were all surprised to see the gnomes all standing around a fresh grave, looking like they were frozen in place while filling the hole. Gerald was standing at one end of the hole, with his bow over his shoulder and a smile on his face. I was really happy to see him. Mrs. Fallon said she'd brought out some new gnomes to replace the ones which got smashed, to keep Gerald company. We all laughed.

Mrs. Fallon didn't let us get too close, saying we should leave the gnomes to finish their work. We all laughed again and followed her back to the house, where she gave us the few goodies she hadn't already given away. I'd dug pretty deeply into my stash before going to bed last night, so I was almost getting tired of candy and cookies. I hauled my share home so I could hide it from Mom and Dad. They were busy talking on the phone in Dad's den, so I managed to get the goodies into the hiding place behind my headboard before they saw me.

The next day, all the gnomes at Mrs. Fallon's house were having a party. They were all sitting around with mugs in their hands, frozen in place around a fake fire like a picture. Gerald was standing under a hibiscus near the party, with his hand above his eyes like he was keeping watch. Kids gradually forgot about the smashing of the gnomes, but the grown-ups were really spooked about something for a long time. Dad sold the house a while later, and we moved to a different town just in time to miss Christmas. Nobody said what they were all worried about, but I overheard Mom talking to Aunt Betty on the phone a couple of weeks before we moved, saying Mr. Stanton had disappeared that Halloween night, and inside his house looked like it had been wrecked. I guess everybody sort of figured Mr. Stanton had just got drunk and left town before he got arrested for smashing the gnomes.

I never saw Gerald again, but I keep remembering the smile on his face as he stood by the new grave.
 
2018-10-30 2:59:08 PM  

Resident Muslim: misanthropic1: Resident Muslim: ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: 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

Sorry, gonna be that:  so WHAT exactly did you uncover about the body?

It appreared to be the back of his head.
Just the bald head.
I kept expecting to lower the wrap and see a face, but no. Nothing. Just bald head, and freaked out when I saw the tufts of hair and my mind kept trying to rationalize that it's his beard, and I'm like "there is NO FACE ABOVE IT"

Otherwise I'm a fairly solid, adventurous guy.

Great. Now I feel the blood draining from my face again.

Occam's razor would rather dictate that it *was* the back of his head, no?

It would, so options are:
(Take a look at the picture in the grave I posted in the original post before continuing)

1) paranormal
2) someone broke his neck and twisted his face all the way around
3) someone folded his arms BEHIND his back and wrapped him that way AND we didn't notice his feet

Not much better, right?


#2 sounds like a very distinct possibility, as it sounds like the people he knew did not like him. Almost wonder if he actually was found dead, or if he was "found dead" like a Muslim Ken McElroy.
 
2018-10-30 3:18:39 PM  
On January 12th 1974, I was on my way to a birthday party. It was dark out, and so cold it made my teeth hurt as I walked across town. There was snow on the ground with a crunchy hard crust on top, and the stars and streetlights glinting off it made it seem even colder.

The party was for Steve Anderson, and even though he was my friend I didn't really want to go. Steve and I got along well; he accepted me as I was. But tonight the rest of his crowd was going to be there, Denise Buechter, Bret Tankesley, Tim Steinbeck and others, and I didn't know them. I mean, I knew them but I didn't KNOW them. I was scared stiff. I had to work hard just trudging along through the snow, and not just because of the cold. I was thirteen, and alone, and frightened.

I finally got there. Snow and nerves had done their worst, but I made it anyway. I rang the doorbell, and went inside when Steve's mom answered. In addition to his mother, Steve had three brothers and a sister living at home; his father had gone the same place mine had, someplace unknown. Like me, Steve didn't seem to mind.

His mother Martha reminded me somewhat of my own mom. About my height, slightly pudgy with dark hair just beginning to gray, and an easy smile.

Two of Steve's brothers were there, the twins Steg and Reese. Those weren't their real names, but that's what everyone called them. They were a few years younger than Steve and I, with sandy hair and bright smiles, just like two miniature Xerox copies of Steve. His older brother Paul and younger sister Becky weren't around, but that was alright. I hardly ever saw them anyway.

Steve was taller than me, and skinnier. He had brown hair lighter than mine, and his two front teeth partially overlapped. He was very bright, and his wit was like sunshine after a summer shower; strong and dazzling and enough to make anyone smile.

As it turned out, I shouldn't have worried about the party. In retrospect it was easily the best I've ever been to. There was cake and ice cream of course, and fruit punch too; and Steve's mom knew better than to try and restrain us with organized party games. Steve took a lot of pictures with a little instamatic camera. At one point we were all sitting on the couch with Denise Buechter lying across our laps. Just as the shutter snapped, someone (me) pushed and she rolled right off onto the floor. We all laughed so hard we couldn't breathe.

We played music, a lot of it, on the Anderson's little record player. I particularly remember a paper record clipped from MAD Magazine playing over and over. The title was "It's a Gas!" and it was claimed that "Alfred E. Neuman vocalizes!" on it. It mainly consisted of some very talented belching as I recall, and it had us literally rolling on the floor with laughter.

There were gifts, though I can't remember any besides the ones that I brought. Steve's family, like mine, wasn't particularly prosperous, and some of his favorite foods were rather expensive so he didn't get to indulge in them too often. So I brought him food. Two cans of pitted ripe black olives and the two biggest avocados I could find. He was ecstatic; I don't think I could have gotten him a better gift.

I guess at about 10:30 the party wound down and we all said goodbye and went home. But the story doesn't end there.

Sometime during the next week at school, Steve and I were in the English room for seventh hour. The English teacher, Mrs. Brown, used to encourage the class to come to her room during study halls and play word games. Steve and I were hooked on Scrabble, so nearly every afternoon found us in Mrs. Brown's classroom hunched over a Scrabble board.

Our rules for Scrabble were a little different from the printed ones. Proper nouns were out, but obscenities were acceptable, even encouraged. You were also free to make up any likely word from the letters at hand. If the word was challenged and did not in fact exist, the word remained but the opponent scored the points. If the word did exist, then you scored double.

On this particular occasion, Steve came up with a word that I felt confident in challenging; the word was "nard." But when I looked it up in Websters, surprise! There it was, nard, big as life. I think Steve was more surprised than I was.

From then on, nard became our word. "What a nard." "That's a very nardy thing to say," etc. It was fun, particularly because no one knew what the word meant, not even us. Sure, we'd read the definition, but it didn't make sense. Therefore, it meant whatever we wanted it to mean. Our very own word.

A few nights later, on the evening of Sunday the 21st, I was home watching the movie "Skullduggery" on channel nine. It was something about an archeological expedition that found a bunch of throwbacks in some jungle or other. I wasn't paying too close attention, and at one point, I heard the ambulance siren howling. No big deal, you heard that all the time; probably some old geezer at the rest home had a heart attack or something.

After I'd gone to bed, at about 10:30, our phone rang. It was Mark Cheffey, the Methodist preacher's son, calling to tell me that Steve Anderson was dead. He had been shot at close range with a 12-gauge shotgun while he was lying on his bed in the basement of his home. His older brother Paul had been cleaning the gun, and was checking it for "satisfactory shell ejection" when it went off. There were no other witnesses. At 9:45 pm, Steve was pronounced dead on arrival at Memorial Hospital in Lexington, Missouri.

I didn't sleep much that night. I was destroyed, my life was crumbling around me. I cried for hours, and sniffled for what seemed like hours more. I was sad, I was sorry, I was guilty. I was glad it wasn't me. That phase passed quickly, but I still felt guilty. If I'd been there, I could have stopped it. If I'd called, he wouldn't have been there when the gun went off. I should have been able to DO something! I hurt all over; but mostly I felt a knife embedded just under my ribs that someone twisted periodically, hurting me almost enough to make me scream. If only I didn't feel so useless, so unnecessary. After a long time, I think I slept.

The next day at school was a nightmare. I didn't dare cry around my friends. EVERYTHING reminded me of Steve. There's his locker. This is where we stood and talked every morning before class. There's Ellie, the girl he was working up the guts to ask out. Good thing she didn't know he liked her.

All the guys looked the way I imagine I did. Pale as sheets, with red eyes, and very withdrawn. None of us spoke. I guess we were afraid of our voices cracking; I know I was. The girls didn't help any, either. They were all huddled together in a corner, shredding Kleenex and wailing like lost souls. I envied them their open displays of emotion.

Mrs. Brown confided in us that the teachers had been told not to speak of it, and classes were to go on as normal, but nothing got done. The teachers all sounded hollow and distant. It was quite a shock to realize that they were as numb and shaken as the rest of us kids.

The next night was visitation, a morbid tradition if there ever was one. It took more guts and determination for me to walk up there and look at him lying in that casket than it has for anything I've done, before or since. The casket was big and grey, like unpainted steel, and I suppose there were flowers but I don't remember. Steve wore a blue blazer, and I remembered how much he hated to dress up. I didn't get close enough to see if the morticians had done their job well; there was a roaring in my ears and I had that far-off feeling that comes before fainting. I wanted to scream as loud as I could, but I managed to hold it down.

I didn't stay for the speaker, but went through the receiving line and left as soon as possible. Steve's mom looked as though she wanted to die too; maybe she did. But what really shook me up was Steve's brother, Steg. He couldn't have been more that eleven years old, but he looked so serious, and his eyes were older than any I've ever seen. This was the laughing boy who delivered our paper. I sometimes wonder if he ever got to be a kid again.

The funeral was the next day. I think the entire Junior High shut down so everyone could go. Steve was Catholic, and the Catholic Church was big, and it was packed. I'd never known there were crowds at funerals. I would just as soon have skipped it, but I couldn't. I had been named an "Honorary Pall-Bearer," along with three other of Steve's friends. We had to sit in the very front row.

The priest came out and delivered a speech. The only part I remember was about what a good little altar boy Steve had been. I very nearly laughed at that; Steve had considered religion to be a regrettably unavoidable nuisance, and he hadn't regarded the priest highly at all. He had told me outrageous stories about this man talking. It seemed absurd that he didn't realize.

The very worst for me was the graveside service, when they put his coffin in the ground and threw dirt on it. It seemed to me there was a sound like a bank vault door closing, and I finally KNEW that Steve was gone forever. Somewhere inside I had thought that he would jump out at the last moment and yell, "Surprise! Just kidding!" He would find that sort of thing extremely funny, but the jokes were all over now.

In a sane world, the story would end there.As I soon discovered, this world is not sane.

I lived through the next couple of weeks in a daze, not sleeping, just going through the motions.My school work suffered, since I ignored the teachers and spent my class time staring out the windows, and that wound up changing everything.

I remember sitting in Mrs. Brown's English class, pointedly not paying any attention whatsoever to the sentence she was diagramming on the chalkboard.I was staring out the ground-floor window of her class in the middle of the day, and I saw a boy across the street looking at the school. He had brown hair with a cowlick, and the sleeves of his blue blazer weren't long enough to hide his bony wrists.His clothes seemed dirty, and he wasn't wearing any shoes.In February.In Missouri.He wasn't doing anything, just standing on the opposite sidewalk, staring at the school.

It was Steve, without a doubt.

I then did something that I had heard about, and always thought was silly.I pinched myself, because I had to be asleep and dreaming.The sharp pain brought tears to my eyes, and I felt as though I had just woken up.I glanced around the room, and everything seemed normal, but when I turned to look out the window, Steve was still standing across the street.

At that point, I made some sort of involuntary sound, because the room pretty well erupted as everyone turned to look at me.I shook my head, and asked if I could go to the restroom.The empty hall echoed with my footsteps, and there was no one in the boys' room where I splashed cold water on my face.When I finally returned to class, a mere glance at the window was enough to see that Steve was still there across the street, barefoot, hands at his sides, brown hair ruffling in the north wind.Mrs. Brown followed my gaze, and then looked at me quizzically and asked if I was ok.I nodded and returned to my desk.

After school, I didn't look, didn't look (don't LOOK, dammit) toward where he had been and walked straight home and went to my room.I half expected to look out my window and see Steve there too, but the street and sidewalk were empty.

That night, I did something I never did as a kid: I sneaked out after everyone else had gone to sleep.Knitted cap pulled down, hands stuffed in coat pockets, hunched against the north wind, I walked back to the school.

Steve was right where he had been all day, only now he was sitting on the curb.His hair and clothes were dirty, and there was dirt caked under his fingernails.He was wearing the clothes he had been buried in; no coat or cap or gloves, just sitting on the curb and not shivering.

"Steve?" I asked, "Are you real?"

He turned to look in my direction."I think so. How come you can see me? Nobody else can."

"Beats me. What are you, a zombie?You aren't going to eat my brain, are you?"

"Nah, I don't think so. At least I haven't had an urge to eat anybody's brain...yet.Besides people can see zombies, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Maybe you're a vampire.Do you want to drink someone's blood, can you change into a bat? How did you get out of the coffin, did you turn to mist?"

Steve reached into his pocket, and pulled out his buck knife. "Dug my way out with this. Steg must have put it in my pocket at the visitation.Good thing, I'd be scratching the lid with my fingernails for years to come if he hadn't."

He tossed the closed knife to me. "No bats, no mist, no blood thirst so I don't think I'm a vampire." There was dirt in the hinge, and the tip of the blade was broken off.I felt reassuringly real and heavy.Without thinking, I dropped it in my pocket.

"Have you seen your Mom?" I asked.

"Yeah.I didn't want to stay; I could tell that she was upset when I was around.I think she could almost see me.Dude, you have to help me.I don't want to stay like this."

"Why not man? Every kid dreams of being invisible, and you did it!I'd probably be living in the girls' locker room by now." Shivering, I said, "Hey, do you mind if we walk? I'm freezing.You've been dead a couple of weeks; how come you don't stink?"

We were walking west, toward Steve's house.

"You just SAID you were freezing, dumbass.Frozen meat doesn't stink."

"Yeah, right.Maybe you're more like a ghost.Maybe you need to get revenge on the person who wronged you.Maybe we should go see your brother Paul."

"That... feels right."

It didn't take us long to get to the place Steve used to live, and once there we headed through the fenced back yard to the kitchen door.Steve showed me where the spare key was kept, and we crossed the kitchen to the basement door.I headed downstairs to what was now Paul's bedroom with Steve right behind me (which should have creeped me right out, but didn't at the time).

A light was on in the basement, and Paul was lying on his bed, reading a magazine. Or at least looking at the pictures.Steve's bed had been stripped, and the mattress was rolled up at one end; Paul's 12-gauge leaning against it, a morbid accusation.Paul saw me, dropped the magazine and rolled to his feet.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?" he asked, reaching for the gun.

"I know what you did," I said. "Whether you knew it was loaded or not, you pointed that gun at Steve, and you pulled the trigger. You. Shot. YOUR. BROTHER!" Screaming, now.

"Maybe I did, but I KNOW it's loaded now, and I will shoot YOU if you don't get out of here."

Steve brushed past me as Paul began to raise the shotgun, and I felt the rage explode from him like the heat from a nuclear blast. I saw Paul turn pale as his eyes and mouth opened wide, finally able to see Steve, as my own nerve failed and I turned and ran back up the stairs. I heard Paul scream as I crossed the kitchen, "No, stay away from me! I'm sorry!" and the shotgun spoke.

As lights came on all over the house behind me, I ran as I had never before; Paul's anguished scream and the report of the shotgun echoing in my mind the whole way home.

I never saw Steve again, so I suppose he found some degree of peace.

But I still have his buck knife.
 
2018-10-30 3:36:41 PM  
This is always my favorite.  Anyone got a link or cut and paste to the one about the guy who went in the woods and saw all kinds of crazy stuff?
 
2018-10-30 3:44:21 PM  
The Hitchhiker

Along a very long and infrequently used road, you'd find the occasional hitchhiker or hiker who was just looking for a ride.

Or protagonist is driving down the road at night and from the distance, his lights reflect off of a hitchhiker.
"I'll give him a lift," he thinks, "it's been boring, and I'm sure he'll appreciate it."
And he wasn't wrong, they start chatting, with the hitchhiker very appreciative of the ride.

Around 10-15 minutes into the ride the hitchhiker gets comfortable and crosses his leg. That's when the driver sees it.
The hitchhiker's right foot doesn't have a shoe.
It's not a bare foot.
The hitchhiker's right leg simply ended in a cloven hoof.

The driver freezes, eyes forward, driving on autopilot. For 5 long, stretching minutes the driver is just blinking, trying to decide what to do or what to say.
At the end of those 5 minutes, the driver starts slowing the car down until it stops, turns slightly towards his passenger, not looking directly at him and says "I think this is as far as I can take you," he says, not really giving a reason, "and I'd really appreciate if you'd please get out."
The passenger, smiles, still in a good mood and simply says "Sure! Thanks for the ride."

And that was it, just like that.

The driver controls himself and starts to move slowly away, then picks up speed, and then faster, until he is driving as fast as he can on the dark road. Still freaking out, not believing his luck, talking to himself "What the hell. What THE HELL. No one is going to believe me. Damn! I...he had...shoot!" not even finishing his sentences.
That's when his lights pick up another hitchhiker holding out his thumb.
Relieved to see another human being, the driver stops and picks him up.
"Thanks for the ride, man," the hitchhiker starts saying before the driver interrupts him, "You are not going to believe what just happened to me!"
"What?" The hitchhiker ask, surprised by the guy's energy, relief, yet obvious panic.
The driver continues, "I..I just picked up a hitchhiker, normal looking guy, he...you are not going to believe this, he had a hoof instead of a foot. Dude, seriously."
The hitchhiker just looks at him, blinking twice, and asks "like this one?"
 
2018-10-30 3:49:15 PM  

Resident Muslim: ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: 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

Sorry, gonna be that:  so WHAT exactly did you uncover about the body?

It appreared to be the back of his head.
Just the bald head.
I kept expecting to lower the wrap and see a face, but no. Nothing. Just bald head, and freaked out when I saw the tufts of hair and my mind kept trying to rationalize that it's his beard, and I'm like "there is NO FACE ABOVE IT"

Otherwise I'm a fairly solid, adventurous guy.

Great. Now I feel the blood draining from my face again.


*my best John Cleese voice*  "Sorry, no, still no following you."

Was:
1) His head gone above the beard? (half his head shot-off / cut off)
2) The features of his face ground off with a belt sander?
3) His face above the beard was just blank skin with no features at all so we are now into 'paranormal' territory?
 
2018-10-30 4:03:58 PM  

ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: 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

Sorry, gonna be that:  so WHAT exactly did you uncover about the body?

It appreared to be the back of his head.
Just the bald head.
I kept expecting to lower the wrap and see a face, but no. Nothing. Just bald head, and freaked out when I saw the tufts of hair and my mind kept trying to rationalize that it's his beard, and I'm like "there is NO FACE ABOVE IT"

Otherwise I'm a fairly solid, adventurous guy.

Great. Now I feel the blood draining from my face again.

*my best John Cleese voice*  "Sorry, no, still no following you."

Was:
1) His head gone above the beard? (half his head shot-off / cut off)
2) The features of his face ground off with a belt sander?
3) His face above the beard was just blank skin with no features at all so we are now into 'paranormal' territory?


Remember what was posted upthread. Don't try to debunk or analyze these stories, just enjoy them.
 
2018-10-30 4:08:43 PM  
I'll share some occurances around my mom's passing. Trigger warning for a little too much info, and not all that scary.

My mom and I lived together in a condo. She had had cancer 3 times, was an ex-smoker, and a mess of health issues related to a botched bowel resection. I still can't eat beef because the first thing my brain said, as her wound opened up at home and I stared at her intestine "wow, that looks like a nice eye round". Anyway, she was misdiagnosed as having COPD years ago, and had an endarderectomy on her 95% occluded right ICA. Well her O2 wasn't bouncing back, so they did a chest xray and found a mass in her right lung area. Her pulmonologist insisted it was an enlarged lymph node, which he had biopsied and came back normal, go figure. We let it go a few months, and saw the pulmonologist again, who said "you don't have COPD, you have interstitial lung disease and have 2 years to live...but only God knows". We said "2nd opinion at Yale"  which turned the doc into a pissy little ass. Misdiagnoses and malpractice, scary stuff.

So, end of June 2013, go to Yale, where a battery of tests for ILD revealed a mass in her right lung, and sent for biopsy. She caught pneumonia July 4th, and while in Yale New Haven ER, she got the biopsy results. Go on, guess. During the night July 8 I was home, she was at Yale. I meditated that night, and heard a very distinct female voice say to me "Your mother will die peacefully when it comes" (hail to Her). A while later, got a call - she went into respiratory arrest. Bridgeport to New Haven, normally 35-40 minutes; I got there in less than 20.

It was the next day where the doctors sat me down for "that" consult. Anywhere from a few hours to a few days, that's what they gave her. And I had to sit on that for a day, until the doctor could tell her with family present (almost made it, darn Mom for asking). She bounced back enough, and we did home hospice, I took care of her.

August 4, 2013. Mom was comfortable in the hospital bed in the living room so I went to lay down in my room. It was early evening, and a little rainy. I lay down, and bolted upright suddenly. I heard some woman screaming outside in the rain. Thing is, it sounded like crying and screaming mixed together like a hysterical scream, and either a woman or child. And it didn't stop for 15 or so minutes. I thought "shiat, is someone hurt", and told my mom. She didn't hear it. I thought, if someone is hurt, maybe I should go see if they need help. I go outside, and it stopped.

August 9 mom is suddenly in excruciating pain, like almost delirious. She started crying "Mommy, Mommy help me, I hurt". We go to the local ER. Things go on, I am holding her hand while she's sleeping. Out of nowhere I feel and smell my grandfather, her father. He had this funky cheap cigarette smell, and it overwhelmed the area. I turned to my left, where I could swear he stood, and said "Please Grandpa, not now, don't take her". He stayed for a little while. Then my dad, who died when I was 17, came by to see Mom. Maybe he was asking her forgiveness, who knows. A little bit later, her O2 dropped sharply. Nurse comes in, and they're setting her up for a bipap. I am still by her bed, and her breathing turns rough sounding. Rattling, that is the only way to describe it, and I knew of a death rattle, but never heard it. That sound is haunting. I asked the nurse "do you hear her breathing? Sounds a bit rattly". The nurse looked at me with wide eyes, and said something placating about hooking her up so she will breathe easier.

The scariest thing? Telling my mother we did all we could for her. She was fully awake, sitting up in bed, just on a nasal cannula, and I had to tell her this was the end. The terror and pain and sadness in someone's eyes is the stuff of nightmares. She passed August 12, peacefully.

I still live in the condo. I still smell her perfume out of nowhere (Enjoli). I sometimes just feel her, like she's checking up on me.

/yeah, not scary
 
2018-10-30 4:11:31 PM  

ObscureNameHere: 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.


I love the wall-of-text chapters if they are well told. Since when did reading become a bad thing? (I know, I know, "Welcome to Fark")
 
2018-10-30 4:12:23 PM  

rebelyell2006: ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: ObscureNameHere: Resident Muslim: 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

Sorry, gonna be that:  so WHAT exactly did you uncover about the body?

It appreared to be the back of his head.
Just the bald head.
I kept expecting to lower the wrap and see a face, but no. Nothing. Just bald head, and freaked out when I saw the tufts of hair and my mind kept trying to rationalize that it's his beard, and I'm like "there is NO FACE ABOVE IT"

Otherwise I'm a fairly solid, adventurous guy.

Great. Now I feel the blood draining from my face again.

*my best John Cleese voice*  "Sorry, no, still no following you."

Was:
1) His head gone above the beard? (half his head shot-off / cut off)
2) The features of his face ground off with a belt sander?
3) His face above the beard was just blank skin with no features at all so we are now into 'paranormal' territory?

Remember what was posted upthread. Don't try to debunk or analyze these stories, just enjoy them.


No worries RY, just getting clarity.
ONH, imagine if I was uncovering the wrong side of the head, instead of finding a face, I'd find the bald head.
That's what was happening, except that I could look down the body and verify by the arms placement that this was the front of the body, but I'm uncovering the back of a bald head.
 
2018-10-30 4:28:16 PM  

Keeve: ObscureNameHere: 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.

I love the wall-of-text chapters if they are well told. Since when did reading become a bad thing? (I know, I know, "Welcome to Fark")


I think the point is that if I just wanted scary stories I can google and go to any of the zillion pages on the net.
People still have favorites, and paste them, but last year it ended up with a lot of really, really long copy-pasta that many didn't feel connected to.

That's why the reaction to it.
Not that reading is bad. All we do here is read and make dark jokes.
 
2018-10-30 4:54:15 PM  
It was late, and he walked softly into the study, to avoid waking his wife and children sleeping upstairs. The dim glow of the computer screen saver provided the only meager illumination, and cast twisted, elongated shadows that seemed to twitch of their own accord. He suppressed a curse as he stepped on a goddamn Lego and kicked it into a corner.

He sat, sipped his beer, and carefully placed it where he wouldn't accidentally tip it while using the mouse. He frowned as he opened the browser, and closed the dozen tabs. A bookmark was clicked, and an eldritch pulse of electrical ones and zeros summoned his desire.

But tonight was Halloween, and malevolent spirits had slipped into the realm of the living to skulk, to weep, to taunt, to gibber... and to inflict torment.

He leapt back as a shadowy cloud billowed forth from the screen. Slowly, it took the form of a gaunt, grimacing face. "What the hell- ?"

"THIS IS NO HELL. NOT YET."

"What the Fark- ?"

"SPEAK NOT. I HAVE COME TO WARN YOU. THAT WHICH YOU ONCE LOVED IS GONE FOREVER. ONLY ONCE MAY YOU SAVOR ECHO5JULIET'S DRIVE THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. ONLY ONCE MAY YOU SHIVER AT THE TALE OF QUEXY'S FISHY COMPANION. THE DRAUGHT ONCE DRANK CAN NEVER BE SAVORED IN THE SAME WAY AGAIN."

Another wisp of shadow issued forth, and formed a pointing hand.

"YOU ARE CURSED. NEVER MORE SHALL YOU ENJOY THE HALLOWEEN THREAD, FOR LO! IT IS NAUGHT BUT FILCHED CREEPYPASTA, TRITE POLITICAL JOKES, WALLS O' TEXT, REPOSTS, AND THE DANKEST OF MEMES."

"Spirit! What horror is this...!"

"AND YOUR CHILDREN. YOUR PRECIOUS CHILDREN SHALL ONE DAY READ THIS CRAP, AND THEY WILL DEEM IT FRESH, AND GOOD.  THEY WILL BE N00BS."

"NO! NOOoooOOooOOOooooOOOO!"

"LMAO... GET OFF MY LAAAAAWWWWWNNNnnnnnnnnn..."
 
2018-10-30 4:58:40 PM  
So I contracted this nasty, nasty nerve condition called CRPS (that right there is scary enough-look it up), anyway while I was going through the diagnosis process they were throwing drugs at me trying to get a handle on this beast.  During this time I was told that if I underwent a Ketamine infusion, it would reset my brain and hopefully on the reboot, clean up the messed up nerves.  It didn't work by the way.  I tripped on Ketamine for 5 hours a day for 3 days straight trying to "reset" my brain.  During the second round of treatment the doctor pushed the dose to high and I had a bad, bad, BAD acid trip.  Words do not convey the fear I felt, but I will try:

I was in black.  I don't know if it was a room, space, it could have been coffin sized, or the size of the universe, I had no spacial reference.  That is very unsettling.  Suddenly, a thick black (blacker than the area I was in) appeared and started to gyrate, undulate, and move about.  It was a live entity, and it was moving to me.  To describe this "black being" is hard.  Although it was black I could see swirls of darker black within it and pinpoints of what I can only call nothing black, so black it appeared that there was an absence of matter--but this being was whole.

Suddenly, a thin filament, half the size of a human hair, stretched forth and barely touched me.  I would dare say an "atom to atom" touch it was so light.  Suddenly I was overcome with a crushing sense of dread, sorrow, and a strong will to die.  I recoiled in horror, and those monitoring me in the room said I started to cry.  No just tears flowing, it was an anguished cry everyone in that room monitoring me claimed they had never heard before.  The nurse was so upset that she had to leave the room.  My wife told me it took all her might to stay because she couldn't bare to see me in so much pain and sorrow.  I was told it was a crushing grief that was overwhelming and it flowed from me to everyone in the room.

Then, as suddenly as it overcame me, it was gone.  POOF!

I proceeded to trip until the last of the ketamine wore off, went home and dealt with what I experienced.  I had to fight daily for three weeks not to kill myself because it was so heavy to bare.  I withdrew from life and took a slew of other drugs to try and cope and forget.  I eventually crawled out of the cesspool with a lot of therapy, drugs, and love from my family.  But I barely made it.  I believe you can't walk through hell (best word I can describe where I was) without some of it sticking to you, and I think I brought some back.

This was 6 years ago, and to this day, I can vividly picture what happened and still feel what I experienced with an overwhelming sorrow.  It often hits me as I go to sleep, and when it does hit, I don't sleep that night and sometimes the next night too.  Often, I wonder the house at night around trying to shake this feeling and talk myself down from the ledge.

My therapist calls it PTSD, but I don't know.  I really feel this black entity is out there waiting again to get back to me and let me feel it's full force not just an "atom touch" that I experienced.  It wears me down every time it comes to visit, so I fear that when it comes back again to show me more of its power, I will not be able to stand up to it, hell, even the thought of it coming back gives me a mild panic attack.

So although I love to read the ghost stories and hear what others experienced, to me, nothing compares to what my brain has experienced and what it has in store for me when it unleashed the black again.

True story
CRPS is a biatch!
 
2018-10-30 5:14:00 PM  

gregormendel: This is always my favorite.  Anyone got a link or cut and paste to the one about the guy who went in the woods and saw all kinds of crazy stuff?


That's one of my all time favorites.

/bookmark
 
2018-10-30 5:32:16 PM  
Don't mind me, just bookmarking in hopes that the thread takes off.
 
2018-10-30 5:44:38 PM  
It's freaky.
 
2018-10-30 5:45:17 PM  

Random Internet Persona: gregormendel: This is always my favorite.  Anyone got a link or cut and paste to the one about the guy who went in the woods and saw all kinds of crazy stuff?

That's one of my all time favorites.

/bookmark


Found it, sort of. I copy/pasted it in 2014. User Tharkin posted it originally, I'm not sure what year.

Tharkin:
Note--this is longer than I meant it to be. Sometimes I'm a little long-winded. I think it's worth a read though--it's all true and, in my opinion, pretty frigging creepy.

Here's something recent. Yesterday, actually. I can't say anything paranormal was involved, but I encountered several very strange situations in a short period of time in an unlikely area. Were they related? I don't know. Probably not. But suffice to say some bizzare shiat was happening in the woods behind my house last night.

Some context:

I live on a big hill in rural(ish) Maine. I'm a hunter, and deer season just started. I've been excited for this season because late last season I started hunting behind my house instead of another area that had gotten too crowded. I got a small buck up there at the end of last season, and this year I've seen a big one a few times and some sign that indicate it spends a fair amount of time on the hill behind me. The wife was working from home so I had a rare chance to get out during the week (I'm a stay-at-home-dad.)

Yesterday wasn't great weather--Sandy was not a big deal this far north but we did get some effects from the very outer edge of it--it was pretty windy and alternating from light rain to pounding rain off and on. I had it in my head that even though the deer likely were not moving much, *I* could move and the weather would cover my noise and scent pretty effectively. Also I thought it would be cool to say I went hunting in a hurricane. I'm kind of a dork sometimes. In short, damn if the weather was going to keep me from going out.

Anyway:

I set off at a bit after 3pm. There's an extensive network of snowmobile/ATV trails on the hill and I had only covered a small percentage of it. My plan was to walk along those trails and at least scout some new ground even if I didn't see a deer (I didn't.)

After maybe 45 minutes of walking I was well into an area I had not been before. I started walking a sort of grid pattern through a brushy area hoping to flush out a deer if one was bedded down in there. A little bit into the brush I found a turkey feather standing straight up, the quill pushed into the dirt beneath the leaves. I thought it was interesting that it had fallen in such a way and got stuck, but figured it was just one of those weird things that happen. But then I found another, and another, and another. In the space of maybe 200 square feet I found a dozen of these, all exactly the same--standing straight up, the end pushed into the dirt. They seemed to be evenly spaced. This isn't a spot that Joe Schmoe is likely to just be messing around in--it took effort to push through the brush and there were quite a few thorny plants. But I don't think this could possibly have happened naturally--someone put those feathers there. Weird as hell. But I was there to hunt, so I made my way back to the trail and kept moving.

Shortly after this, the sky opened up and it started absolutely dumping rain. Just pounding. I had put some distance between the place with the feathers and decided to hunker down to see if it would let up in a few minutes. I leaned against a tree and watched the trail behind me in case a deer in the area had the same idea. After about 5 minutes I saw some movement coming up the hill toward the trail. I got my rifle ready, but it turned out not to be a deer. A flock of turkeys walked up the hill, across the trail, and into the trees on the other side. That in itself isn't at all odd. What was odd was the way they were walking. Very calmly and evenly, not really looking around much, all moving the same direction in a tight cluster. If you've seen wild turkeys moving before, you know that this is not normal. It's also not normal (AT ALL) for a fox to be walking along with them, but sure as hell, there it was. Just slowly trotting along parallel to their path in a straight line up the hill not 10 feet from the turkeys, with neither seeming to give the other a second thought. As the last few turkeys came onto the trail a racoon that I hadn't seen crossed the trail between me and the turkeys. Same deal--just walking up the hill in no particular hurry but in a straight line and not paying attention to anything but the ground in front of it. This was not a dense area of woods--I watched these animals walking for several hundred feet and their behavior never varied. At this point I was just astounded. I had different things going through my mind: I've heard stories about animals sensing things like earthquakes and leaving the area. A flood? Not likely--there aren't any real streams or rivers on this hill. A fire? There hadn't been any lightning yet (soon though) and there was no way anything was going to be burning in this rain anyway. Was the whole frigging hillside going to come down in a mudslide or something? But it didn't seem to me that these animals were trying to escape something that was scaring them. If anything, it was some of the calmest behavior I've ever witness in wild animals. If I wanted to get really creepy about it I'd almost say it was more like they were moving toward something than away, but that's editorializing and maybe injecting more strangeness into the situation than is warranted by the facts. At any rate, it was weird as hell and a little bit unsettling.

So at this point I'm a little bit perturbed and the whole "being in the woods during a storm as the light starts fading" thing probably wasn't helping my mindset. I kind of told myself that I was being silly and got up to keep moving, as it didn't appear the rain was letting up in the immediate future. I had also begun seeing flashes of lightning, though it was a ways off yet. I gave myself half an hour before I had to start heading back to the house, because with the cloud cover and rain it was already getting dim and I knew darkness would come early and quickly. I wasn't at all concerned about getting lost, but I didn't really want to be banging around in the dark woods in a storm with a flashlight either. At this point I had pretty much given up on seeing a deer--they would certainly all be hunkered down--but wanted to keep scouting out this new area--it would be my only chance before the weekend when I'd next be able to get out hunting.

A little bit down the trail I came into a large stand of tall pine trees. It had clearly been cut and replanted years and years ago, then selectively cut more recently--all of the trees were in straight rows, all the same species (white pine) and every 5th or 6th one was missing. Areas like this are pretty common out here, and walking through them gives an interesting effect--you can see a long ways down the row you are on and on a diagonal between rows, but not far between those areas or to your sides. Each couple of steps you take shifts it a bit and gives you long views in another direction while blocking the long view you had before. I moved from one row to the next just as lightning flashed and was incredibly startled to see that someone was standing on the right side of the row maybe 150-200 feet away with his back to me, looking up into the treetops. Startled doesn't even begin to describe it, really. It jumped the hell out of me. There was simply no way anyone else was out there. Now if this was a ghost story, you know what would happen next: My eyes would readjust and the figure would be gone. In fact this is exactly what was in my head during that couple seconds of semi-blindness: If that person is not there, I am going the hell home right now. But as my eyes adjusted I could see that he was indeed still standing there.

Now, this area is a minimum of a half-hour walk from the nearest road. I've looked at town maps and google earth many times in the last year to get some idea of the lay of the land. There are not any houses in that area. It's just woods with snowmobile trails going through it. This guy was not hunting--he had nothing in his hands and wasn't wearing orange. He was just out in the middle of nowhere, in the pouring frigging rain, standing with his arms hanging down at his sides and staring up at the trees. No raingear either--he was absolutely drenched. Weird as hell. I stood waiting for him to turn around so I could wave, letting him know I had seen him and wasn't going to mistake him for a deer and shoot. After maybe 20 seconds he walked forward (away from me) to the next tree and looked up that one. I looked too, and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Just regular old pine trees. This went on for maybe a couple of minutes and 4 or 5 trees before he went to the other side of the row and turned my way. We was looking my direction, not up, so I gave him a wave and looked up into the trees myself like "What are you looking for?" and looked back at him. He didn't acknowledge me in the slightest. Just took a few steps to the next tree and looked up. No gesturing, no using his hands to shield his face from the rain, nothing. We were not far apart, there was a clear line of sight, and I was wearing a blaze orange jacket and hat. There is no way he didn't see me, and it should have startled him as much as it had startled me to see him. At that point I had pretty much had enough--I'm going the hell home to dry out, eat some dinner, and clean my gun (not in that order.)

Nothing else happened on the walk back until I had almost gotten home. Next to my house is a large clearing surrounded by a few lines of electric fencing where my neighbor keeps about 30 goats. They are usually out wandering around and pretty spread out, but in inclement weather tend to stay in a sort of barn he built for them. As I walked down the path next to that clearing I saw that all or most of the goats were out--they were just standing in the wind and rain (which was still coming down hard) at the fenceline on the uphill side of the clearing, looking up the hill into the woods. It took me maybe three or four minutes to walk from where I could first see them to get past them. I didn't see any of them take a single step--just standing there, looking up the hill. It made me think of the turkeys, fox, and racoon I had seen earlier--if that fence hadn't been there, would the goats be walking up the hill too? I don't know. Maybe not. But in my current frame of mind (thoroughly creeped out) that was the first thing that came to mind.

So. I got inside, ate dinner with the wife and kids, cleaned the gun, etc. Nothing else the slightest bit out of the ordinary happened. If any of these things had happened in isolation I probably wouldn't have thought anything of it. But the fact that they all happened in just a few hours out in the woods during a storm while it was getting dark--yeah. Creepy. Creepy as hell. I'll be going back into that area this weekend early in the day. I can't say I'm not slightly apprehensive about it, but I did see lots of deer sign last night. It's too good a spot to stay away from. Plus I'm kind of curious--I'm going to try to find those feathers again, and go down the hill where I saw the animals come up to see if I can find anything unusual.
 
2018-10-30 7:26:03 PM  
Yay..!

The best holiday and the best FARK thread o'the year have finally arrived..!!      =)

I won't be reading the thread until t'morrow nite,but wanted to get my story in here early-ish..  Have a Great, Safe, Spooky All Hallow's Eve everyone..!!

(..also, if no-one's said or done it yet, requests for "Fishy," "Ted the Caver" and "Dionaea (sp) House"..   =)

===   ===   ===

My annual, obligatory contribution to the thread..

It's not my scariest or strangest experience, believe it or don't..but it has the singular benefit of having been witnessed by multiple, clear-thinking, very respectable (save fer the whole 'home invasion' angle..  =P  ) individuals..

Enjoy..

***   ***   ***

When I was young (9 - 15, roundabouts), my parents would take the family..mom, dad, me, younger brother..camping/cottaging every year at the very end of the season, so as to get better locations at lower rates. Invariably, we'd go with a couple or couples that were friends of the family and it would be a nice group-event weekend or longer.

One particular couple..Dave and Karen..went along every year and my father and Dave were, and are, fast friends.

The year of this story, we were in a cottage on a small lake (about 2 miles in diameter) during a near-perfect autumn in, I think, the Southern Tier/Finger Lakes region of Western New York. It was only my family and Dave and Karen, this year.

One thing that is of importance to relate is that Dave and my father fancy themselves amateur architectural buffs and love looking at vintage/old/historical buildings/houses.

Bear with me here...

Often, camping/cottaging as late in the season as we did, the 'regulars' would already be gone for the season. Summer homes, fishing cottages and the like would be prepped for the winter and locked up for the season..awaiting the return of the owners the following spring.

To my father and his friend, "looking" meant breaking in to fully check the place out. Never did they do damage, or tamper or take anything..they just found the most interesting deserted home, picked the lock or the latch, let themselves in and looked at all the original woodwork or styling or whatever..then lock everything back up, as it was, when they left.

I don't recall how old I was, but this particular year it was apparently decided that my brother and I were old enough to tag along for the house they'd singled out, halfway around the lake.

I remember everything very vividly..from the outside appearance to the door we entered to the whole of the interior. The rear door was locked with a padlock through a bar latch. However, the securing screws for the bar latch were exposed, rather than covered by the bar..three phillips-head screws out and we were in.

We wandered about the ground floor..I recall the place being a bit musty and darkish, but very nice..if cluttered. There were some comic books lying about, which delighted me, so the owner must have had children.

It took a few minutes, but my father noticed something seemed not-quite-right..it took a bit, but it was realized from an almost inaudible background hum that the fridge was still running. Looking inside it revealed about a half-case of unopened Labatt's beer bottles..an indication that the place may *not* be closed for the season, obviously.

Oh, well..the adults think..we're already here, haven't seen any cars or activity the past couple days, and only have the upstairs to look at..may as well finish up..

So we head upstairs..the layout is simple: Stairway goes up one side of the house and tops off at one end of a hallway that traverses the length of the building. It is the only way up or down. Off this hallway, all to the left, are four evenly spaced doors.

We enter the first room. It's empty save for a MASSIVE brass bedframe. No boxspring or mattress, just the frame..and by massive, I mean just that. My father and Dave marveled over the solidity and craftsmanship of the thing. Wide, high head and footboards with corner-posts that only barely fell short of making it a full-blown four-poster bed..and all welded; no screws/nuts/bolts..the thing was either assembled in the room or the room was built around it. There was absolutely no way it was brought, complete, into that room..I doubt it would fit through patio doors iff'n the entire door assembly was taken out in advance to clear more space.

So, they ooh and ahhh over the brasswork a bit more and we move on to the next room..which is totally empty. Move to the third room..which is totally empty. It's becoming clear the family only really uses the ground floor while they stay here.

We're getting ready to move to the last room when there's this sudden, loud crash. First thought in all minds: the owners are back and we're waaaaaay busted.

My father moves to the head of the stairs..looks down..goes down..nothing. Nobody there, nothing obviously out of place (from what was remembered, walking in), nothing. Shrugs all around..head off to room four, with the general feeling of 'let's look at this final room, then get out before we really get caught.'
We enter the final room to find it completely empty..save for a huge, welded brass bedframe.

Father looks at Dave, he looks back, Dave runs out of the room and down the hall. A moment later we hear him cry out and we all run back down the hall to the first room..which is now empty.

I don't actually remember us getting out of the house, but I know it was fast and I know they didn't bother to screw the latch back on. To this day, my father and Dave will both acknowledge the event..but won't talk about it and my brother doesn't recall it at all. As far as best I know, that was the last 'house inspection' that they ever attempted.

Trick or Treat..? For me, I somehow think it ended up being both....
 
2018-10-30 8:00:42 PM  

Resident Muslim: Keeve: ObscureNameHere: 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.

I love the wall-of-text chapters if they are well told. Since when did reading become a bad thing? (I know, I know, "Welcome to Fark")

I think the point is that if I just wanted scary stories I can google and go to any of the zillion pages on the net.
People still have favorites, and paste them, but last year it ended up with a lot of really, really long copy-pasta that many didn't feel connected to.

That's why the reaction to it.
Not that reading is bad. All we do here is read and make dark jokes.


All of what you said.

Look, the whole compelling origins of this thread were tales told by Farkers from the first person perspective that actually happened to them or was portrayed that way.  It never was portrayed as a short-fiction contest.

Generic wall-of text pasta is not what it was about, nor was it about chapters of your new novel idea.
 
2018-10-30 8:02:49 PM  
Been a while since I've been on here. Lost my job back in April this year, got decent severance though so I was not risking homelessness or anything for a few months. Got a new job back in August though, at a significantly higher rate than I was making before. Not a fan of the whole "unemployed" thing which can be scary enough in its own right, so thankfully that's over for a while. That said, I have a few stories I like to share in these threads once a year. So I've crawled out of my work-induced stupor to share again some tales from my past, all of which are true.

The first one dates back to when I was living in Northern California in 1990-92. I am a navy brat, and so spent most of my childhood shuttling from place to place as my parents got assigned to different bases. Well, my Dad got out but my Mom was still in and got assigned to a little hydrophone base in Ferndale California. We moved there and soon settled in at a place up the eel river, around Carlotta. On weekends my Dad liked to "ramble", basically loading us all into the car to drive through the redwoods or go fishing, or just wander back roads.

Anyway, we wound up traveling up the south fork of the eel river one weekend, and we stopped for lunch at this little diner way back up in the hills. We went in and sat at a booth to order lunch and talk about where we were going to go next, when this dude walks into the diner. He was skinny, about 6' tall, had dirty long brown hair, and a bulky motorcycle jacket on that looked like it belonged to someone three sizes bigger than him. He gave everyone a weird smile, weird enough that even I, little kid I was at the time, could tell there was something off about the man. He walked up to the counter and asked for a coffee, then sat in a booth next to ours.

The next thing he did was really weird: He kept smiling nervously and kept reaching inside his partly unzipped jacket and fondling something that he seemed to be concealing in a large inner jacket pocket and staring at us. We wolfed our meals down and the guy kept sitting there, staring at us, then at the people working behind the counter, and in particular, the two people (both women) by the register. My Dad suddenly whispered to us that we needed to leave. He went up to the counter with us and paid for our meal, then warned the lady at the register that he was going to call the cops because he thought that the guy who had been next to us was about to try and rob the place. We went out to the car and Dad used a pay phone to call the cops and tell them about the guy. We then left and continued our ramble.

Fast forward to the following Monday. We are listing to the local news on the radio, and a bulletin came on announcing that thanks to an anonymous tip, a wanted murderer had been apprehended in the middle of an attempted robbery at a diner on Saturday- the same diner we had been at that day! Turned out the guy had gone nuts and had killed his brother and his sister in law, and he had been carrying a hatchet under that baggy coat the whole time he was in the diner. We left just before he attacked the people in the diner and demanded the contents of the register. From what the news bulletin said, that was about when the cops my Dad called showed up and took the guy in. We all were a bit shocked that we had been that close to a killer, and even more surprised that it was my Dad's call that saved the folks at the diner.

It wasn't too long after this that my Mom got out of her tour in the Navy, and my Dad decided he wanted to move to Tennessee where my grandparents (his parents) lived. I stayed in the place we had moved to until about 8 or 9 years ago, when I moved to Nashville. During my time on the small farm we moved to I had the second and third bizarre events happen. I started sleepwalking when I was about 7 years old, and haven't ever really quit. I don't do it as much as I used to, but I still wake up standing in my kitchen or on the living room floor from time to time. I mention this, because it ties to my second tale directly.

When I was 15, I started sleepwalking a LOT more than before. Usually it was just me walking up and down stairs, or getting out of bed and standing staring blankly at the wall for hours on end (yes, with my eyes wide open). But there was one night I woke up chilled to the bone, drenched in dew, standing in the grass in the middle of a pasture in my tighty whities  and bare feet while staring up at the full moon. What woke me up I have no idea, only that based on how cold I was and how soaked I was I had been out there for a while. I remember my eyes burned from staring so long without blinking, and that based on the fact that my night vision was shot I had been staring at the moon for a long while. I walked all the way back to the house and slipped back inside and went to bed. I never again woke up outside like that, but it certainly was weird.

My next weird tale can only be described as scientifically impossible, and has more than a hint of the supernatural about it. I had just graduated high school at the age of 18, and was looking for secondary schools I could afford. My parents were quite adamant that their eldest son go to some form of secondary school, but couldn't afford to help me financially and ruined my chances to get good grants by claiming me as a dependent on their taxes when I asked them not to. On paper, my Dad made enough that my expected family contribution was high enough to preclude me from getting any good scholarships or grants. But we had just had a house fire that took everything, and since the house was not insured due to being technically under construction, they lost it all. No money could be spared to assist in college plans I might have had, and I was adamant I was not going to rack up an enormous debt. The compromise that we reached was that I would go to (a significantly cheaper) technical school to learn about networking and computer administration (which is what I wanted to learn anyway).

Around the time all this was going on, I started having a recurring nightmare. In the nightmare, I was in an unfamiliar room with drop ceilings (the white acoustic tile sort) and desks everywhere. You know how you don't ever really see the faces of people in dreams distinctly, and you can't really recall them when you wake up? This was different. I saw all the people except one person clearly, and I heard them talking among themselves clearly, and even learned a few of their names. The dream always sort of intensified, and I would realize I was sitting at one of the desks and I would look up just as the faceless guy would attack the teacher and a couple students. The faceless guy would punch a student and his glasses would fly across the room and hit my computer monitor. Then I would wake up. I had this dream every night for two weeks before it finally went away.

Fast forward two months. I have been accepted at a nearby tech school, and I am supposed to go in on my first day. I step foot through the door, and immediately get hit with a strange sense of Deja Vu as I recognize the room and a few of the people, despite having never seen them before in my life. I notice a few empty desks around, and after introducing myself the teacher tells me to pick a desk. I find myself drawn to one and I go to sit down and the Deja Vu sense hits me hard as soon as my butt hits the seat... I know I've forgotten something important and I find myself frantically trying to remember what I had forgotten.

At the end of the day after the lessons are over, I am gathering up my books and stuff, still feeling a bit freaked out over the sense that I had been here before. One of the guys steps over to me and introduces himself :" Hi, I'm Skyler. What's your name again?" Another one stepped over kind of interrupting and said "Yeah, I'm Steven. Skyler and I hang out a lot. What do you like to do?" Before I can say anything, I remember the dream. It all comes rushing back, the room, the people, the names, my desk, everything. I notice the only girl in the class standing up to come over, and I know her. I know her name, what her voice sounds like, what her favorite hobbies are, everything. Before she can say anything, I blurt out: "your name is Sabrina."  It is important to note, I had not heard any of their names up til now, and she hadn't even started talking yet.

She gets this weird expression and looks at Skyler and Steven and says "did you tell him?" but they shake their heads. "No, we didn't." "How did you know my name?" she asked, " I know I haven't seen you before, so how did you know my name?" I told her she wouldn't believe me if I told her. She and the guys are intrigued now, and press me a bit until I admit that I saw it in a dream. They think I am full of shiat, but I point out other students around the room and rattle off their names. I had them all exactly right. I was freaking out and so were they, naturally, I thought I would be ostracized because I was "weird", but the opposite happened. I became part of their little group.

Three semesters later, we get a new student, and the guy is unstable and has a penchant for screwing with other people's computers. It being a computer sciences type class, this is encouraged to a point as it helps teach security concepts and networking. Hell, I was as guilty as anyone when it came down to messing with people's systems, but even I knew who not to mess with. But this guy takes it too far and gets warned not to pick on a student who complained about it. He screwed up and messed with the student again, and the student caught him red-handed and got the teacher involved. The teacher called the new guy over and as soon as he saw he had been made, he socked the other student in the face. The teacher tried to restrain him, along with other students, but he broke free and socked the student again, and his glasses flew across the room and smacked into my computer monitor.  I knew right then that it was over, that the dream's events had all happened- and had happened exactly as I had seen in my dream. The student who had committed the assault was expelled and we never saw him again. I finished school with full honors, graduating at the head of the class. I lost touch with half the people I used to know from tech school, but I still keep in touch with some of them and we meet occasionally to talk about the old days . I haven't had any further visions happen since then, but you can bet I pay attention to my dreams now.
 
2018-10-30 8:44:51 PM  
All that we've shared together, all that love has brought us. I think of it wistfully, as I let my fingers circle your lips, watching with a curious sense of detachment.

But time waits for no one, and this moment too must pass.

With my remaining thumb, I press "liquify", and the blender draws fingers and lips down to their final union.
 
2018-10-30 8:49:32 PM  

ObscureNameHere: 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.


YES THIS PLEASE. It should be the opposite of Halloween candy: short and nasty, save the full-sized and sweet for another thread
No worries about repeats, I don't mind getting the Twentynine Palms cultists, Fishy, Dead Daniel down the street, Lost in a Cave, Turkey Feathers in the Maine woods and other such popular favorites.
 
2018-10-30 8:55:44 PM  
One winter, when it was below freezing, I had this weird experience.

I was alseep in bed with my watch on my left wrist and my head is pointed at the top of my bed. My right leg starts to spasm and I wake up. That's when I notice things are all wrong and not quite the same.

For one thing, I am on top of the covers and I'm facing the opposite direction. I didn't kick the covers off, as they're perfectly smooth, as if I had mad the bed. My watch is upside down and on my right wrist. To top it off, my shirt is soaked in sweat, but I'm freezing cold.

I check the time. It's a little after midnight. I'm sitting on the side of my bed. I turn on the lights and sit back down.

My shirt is now red and it's on backwards. The shirt I was wearing was green and it's now in the laundry basket. And it's bone dry.

The time is now 2:30 AM. I don't remember changing my shirt. I don't remember anything that happened at all during that time. I was the only person in the house, so it wasn't someone playing a trick.

I still wonder how any of that happened.
 
2018-10-30 8:57:21 PM  
My house is on a road that is about three feet below the actual ground level, and I get to my driveway by a side street.  Towns built on hills can be weird that way.  There is a stone retaining wall along the road.  I prefer walking along the opposite side of the road, as the stone retaining wall has a lot-and-a-half of unmaintained front yard with grass a few feet high, leading to a vacant house with a smashed roof.  It is a little creepy, and at least I have seen the people living in the houses across the street.

One night, I was stumbling home from the bar on the retaining wall side of the street, and I approached that lot.  I heard a noise.  As I got closer to my house, it got louder.  It was then suddenly next to me, and without warning a skunk dashed out of the grass a foot in front of me, face-planted onto the road after almost flying a few feet, and quickly got up and scampered away.  I was stunned, and started laughing.  And then I heard more noises in that grass, and realized whatever scared a skunk must not be pleasant, so I ran like hell for the next fifty feet to my front door.
 
2018-10-30 9:02:54 PM  
One upon a time, we elected Donald Trump, and have him the nuclear button.

/Mic drop
 
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