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(Fark)   Welcome to the 2020 "Who The Hell Needs To Be More Scared?" Fark Halloween Scary Story thread. In the spirit of the moment, the top vote getter will get a full YEAR of TF. After that, the top nine runners-up will get a month of TF. Reminder: No politics!   (fark.com) divider line
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1332 clicks; posted to Main » and Discussion » on 31 Oct 2020 at 12:03 PM (17 weeks ago)   |   Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook



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2020-10-30 3:48:47 PM  
now that the weed story is done, 100% real story from when I was a kid.

We lived in a house in Michigan where the oldest son had a mental break and killed his mother and father. He claimed that they were "alien pod people" and his real parents lived in their cottage. My parents didnt tell me about this for a while (we moved in during begining of summer, I didnt meet any classmates for a couple months).

After we moved in, my parents learned that they shared the same first and last names as the parents that were murdered (very common names, but none the less, creepy AF). they had a legitimate concern that if the kid was ever released, he would find out people with the same name live there and murder us.

Anyways, lots of shiat happened there, and since both murders happened in my room, I feel like I got the brunt of it. I didnt learn about the murders for months, finding out about it from school, being told I lived in the "murder house"

-right from day 1, i didnt like sleeping in the room. I would always wait until they went to bed, and go sleep on the couch in the living room.
-my door sometimes wouldnt open. the knob wouldnt turn at all. it was like it was jammed, then it would suddenly release fine
-I would hear footsteps on our deck (my window looked outside onto the deck)
-I would often sense that "being watched" feeling.
-I would sometimes hear a "shhhhh" sound. I attributed it to the furnace, but it was an unmistakable hushing noise.

So, when I told my parents about this, dismissed it and said it was just my imagination, but I attributed it to the parents spirits "reliving their last moments" .. ie, trying to hold the door closed, trying to get out the window onto the deck, hushing each other so they could try to hide from their son...

either way, I hated that house and never felt comfortable there. Ever... After I left for college, I went back maybe twice. Always hated it. My parents eventually sold it and moved. About a year later, it burned down, killing the entire family. It was very sad, and I feel just awful about it quite often...

I dont know if/what I believe about the spirit world, but I would like to think that the fire had absolutely nothing to do with any of that, and that they succumbed to smoke, and not flames.
 
2020-10-30 4:20:25 PM  
Growing up in rural Florida in the 70s, there were plenty of dirt roads in the woods out in the middle of nowhere, that you'd never see another soul on. A group of us from the neighborhood would go hiking & exploring, which is how we found a different road, in what we called the Grey Place.

Most dirt roads in our area were white sugar sand & you couldn't even ride a bike on them, or you'd get bogged down & end up pushing it.  We found an area near the St John's River though, where the roads were harder with bits of shells & other debris in them & the sand was grey.  There was a crossroads near an old rusted out truck that we liked to hang out at because a couple of live oak trees provided shade and always made the area cooler, even in the summer.  We started going there every day and exploring the area, and besides the normal garbage people dumped, we found old bricks, rusted out machinery, and just miscellaneous junk that was interesting to play with.

After a couple of days exploring we decided to build a fort & start using some of the junk we were finding.  We picked a spot near an artesian well, that wasn't too far from the road & the old truck, but back far enough to be hidden.  There was also an old chimney nearby where we planned to camp & have a fire if we could convince our parents to let us spend the night there. After a couple of weeks we had a fort built & started stocking it with supplies from our houses & whatever interesting things we could pull from the woods.  Life was good & it was turning out to be one of the best summers ever.  All that changed the day the old man walked down the road.

He looked like a typical old Florida redneck, scraggly white beard, missing teeth, skin like cracked brown leather, beat up back pack & old clothes.  The one thing he had that set him apart though, was a new metal detector.  We watched him from behind the trees & scrub until he started digging in the road not too far away from the old truck.  He bent down & we couldn't see what he found so we decided to creep up behind the truck for a better look.  We heard him muttering & talking to himself & couldn't really make anything out that he was saying but saw him put something in his pack.  My friend Tim, who always ran his mouth, called out to him & asked what he found.  The old man whirled around and glared at us with a definitely unfriendly look. He started grilling us about what we were doing out there, who we were with, what we wanted, etc.

When we told him we were just exploring & lived nearby his attitude changed.  He asked us if we had found anything interesting & if we knew anything about the area.  We told him about some of the junk we'd found & that we had a chimney, built a fort, just stuff that was important to us.  He asked if we had found the cemetery or had dug up any bones or treasure.  No better way to get a bunch of pre teen boys attention really then that.  He then went on to tell us that the area actually used to be a small town called St Francis, but the Indians who used to live here had cursed it & everyone who stayed had died.  He said the settlers had dug up the Indians shell & burial mounds to build the roads and make foundations for their houses, which was why all of the roads were grey.  The settlers had also used the bones they dug up in charms & rituals to make crops grow, water to come from the ground & all kind of other spells.

When we asked him what happened to the town & the people he said the indians sent plagues like out of the bible.  Whole families would be found dead in their beds from mosquito bites, which they blamed on malaria, or snakes would come into the fields & kill everyone with their venom.  He said the people who stayed and survived were some of the ones who were using the charms made of bone to protect themselves from the curses, so a group of indians got together to send a hurricane to wipe out the remaining settlers.

At this point we asked him what he was looking for and he told us his family had lived here & was one of the original families, but had left when a few of them had been killed & saw what was happening.  He said his grandfather had been a steamboat captain and had buried gold & coins around his property, because there wasn't a bank & he was worried about getting robbed.  He had got pulled from the dock by a gator & disappeared, so the family left without all of the money their grandfather had buried.  He asked us if we wanted to help him find it & said he'd pay us for any of his family's treasure or anything interesting that we found. It was getting late at that point, so we told him we'd come back tomorrow with shovels & not to mess with our fort.  He said he was camping nearby & would see us tomorrow.

The next week was spent digging for treasure, we ended up with blisters, a few old bottles & buttons, as well as pieces of pottery the old man had shown us to look for, but nothing else.  We started claiming areas to search as our own & every time one of us would find something, the others would get angry.  The old man fueled the competition & started paying us in quarters, even for piles of broken pottery.  He said he thought the treasure was near the cemetery, so if we found any bones we'd be rewarded even more.  After a week he didn't show up every day, as he was sure we were doing his work for him.  We started hiding what we found until we could show it to him & get paid & were more & more suspicious of each other.

What started out as an idyllic summer in the woods, had turned into a war camp.  When we weren't digging or combing through brush, we were building our defenses.  We put out trip wires, dug small pits & put broken bottles & rusted metal in them.  We all knew that any day we'd find the treasure & we'd be rich, it was an all consuming thought.  Jason, one of our group figured he'd get a jump on the competition & went out by himself one night.  He told us the next day the old man was out there with another guy who looked like had had money & was all dressed up.  We started worrying he was bringing someone else in & spent the whole day digging like madmen.  That's the day Jason found the skull.

It was an old brown skull & when he dug it up he held it aloft & screamed like it was a trophy.  We all came to see it but he ran back to the fort & said we just wanted to steal it from him.  He said he was going to wait there until the old man came so we couldn't take it from him.  We left him there that afternoon & that was the last time anyone saw him alive.  The next day the old man was there & told us he had given Jason his reward & that he was rich now, so didn't need to come back.  We went by his place that afternoon, but the whole family was gone, so we figured they were off on vacation somewhere spending the reward money.

Mike was the next one to find something, some piece of bone jewelry or something we couldn't see, but instead of waiting there he ran home with it.  We didn't see him for a few days until we stopped by his house, no one answered the front door so we went around the side & his bike was still there.  The side door was open & as soon as we walked in we could smell death, no other way to describe it.  Mike was there, hanging from the garage rafters with twine around his neck.  Since it was Florida in the summer he had already started to decay & looked like something from a horror movie.  The police were called & it turns out that his family was away & thought he was staying with his aunt nearby.  She said he had told her he was staying with friends so had actually been home alone all week.

We didn't go back to the woods for a few days & when we did the old man had gifts for all of us, packs, folding shovels, machetes, all things that distracted us from what happened & made us get back to work for him. I started having nightmares though, about finding Mike & started questioning what we were doing.  I told my friends that we were getting cursed by the indians or that the area was cursed & we should stop.  They didn't listen though & my greed got the better of me.

I expanded my search closer to the river thinking a steamboat captain would probably hide something there & I was right.  I found a jar, but instead of coins it was filled with small bones.  I hid it in my pack & acted like nothing happened & went over to where the old man was sitting.  He said he didn't have my reward on him but to come back that night, & to keep the bones until then.  I met him at the crossroads after dark & the rich guy was there too.  They had lit torches around the area & had a table with bones & other artifacts on it & told me to put the jar of bones there too. as I was walking to the table the old man came up behind me & hit me in the back of the head.

When I woke up Mike & Jason were there & we watched the old man & the rich guy sacrifice me to something dark & bloody, I still don't know what.  We're ok, but are trapped here along with the original settlers and even the Native Americans that first lived here.  Turns out it wasn't an Indian curse but something darker that is still here waiting, waiting for the next sacrifice.
 
2020-10-30 4:23:47 PM  
My wife collects dolls. There used to be this joke bumper sticker that said "Pray for me--my wife collects dolls". Well, I wish someone had prayed for me. It wasn't too bad at first, a few in special boxes with glass on them, but she started getting into the really old and expensive stuff, Edwardian and Victorian, some older. She made me put a curio display case for them at the end of the hallway. Then later on, a larger glass case in the living room where a bookshelf had been. Sometimes in the heat of the summer I could smell something off-putting come from them, more than just the stink of old dust, aged fabric, and sawdust stuffing... something dead, like a week-old rotting bluejay carcass left on the lawn by the neighbor's cat.

It got bad when she started kissing them individually goodnight and talking to them. I left the day I could hear them whisper back while she was still talking.
 
2020-10-30 4:42:39 PM  
2021 makes us nostalgic for the good old days of 2020.
 
FNG [TotalFark]
2020-10-30 4:50:52 PM  
When I was in college, we would get all boozed up and go to the American Military Academy in central Virginia late at night. It was an abandoned academy that was said to be haunted, and had caretakers who were satanists. We knew this because several rooms on the bottom floor were filled with occult and satanist propaganda materials, including business cards and handbooks with occult sayings, spells and the like.

There were trivia pursuit-style questions involving satanism in plastic trash bags, and monopoly-style board games that also revolved around devil worship.

The caretakers were known to shoot at anyone they caught in the academy, which was basically a prison, with celled-barracks with bars, and four turrets on the top floor.  We had never actually heard of anyone being shot, but we had seen all the devil worship stuff before (this wasn't our first trip).

One night when we went, there were four of us, and we went through the cells and corridors, looking at all the weird shiat as we made our way up the five floors to the top.  From there was a nice view of the mountains in the moonlight and a middle-of-nowhere star-filled sky.

I wasn't concerned about ghosts.  I was concerned about angry, shoot-y satanists, but before we went in, we had checked their house on the property and there were no lights on but the porch light.

As we made our way to the top floor, there was only a rickety wooden staircase left.  My friend went up first, followed by our girlfriends, and I brought up the rear.

Since I'm last to go up the staircase, no one is behind me, right?

I get to the top of the stairs and someone is stomping up the stairs behind me. No kidding. I know everyone is in front of me. I look behind me and the climbing footsteps keep getting louder and louder as they get closer to the top where I was. Like some heavy, invisible person was coming up behind me, and they weren't stopping.

Everyone heard it, no one could explain it, and we were freaking the fark out.  Everyone darted to hide behind something, and then we all tore down the stairs (the air in the staircase was freezing despite the warm summer air). We bolted down the other staircases and got the hell out of there.

Getting back to the car was probably the fastest half mile I've ever run.

Never went back.
 
2020-10-30 5:05:39 PM  
This was on a pop culture blog called Dinosaur Dracula posted two years ago, not my personal story:

Yay! Free for all thread. I've been waiting for one of these so I can post this!
Who's ready for a really scary story!?!
Gather around everyone, I promise you this is going to be a good one!
Ready? Ok, here we go!
There's something called Anesthesia Awareness Syndrome. Some people say it's an urban legend. There was even a handful of horror movies about it. One of them staring Mannequin Skywalker himself Hayden Christiansen!
But I assure you good readers that no, it's NOT an urban legend. I know this for a fact very well!
I was 5 years old when it happened. This was back in 1982. My surgery was on my eyes.
Due to a congenital birth defect the ocular muscles were paralyzed, atrophied and useless, also they had pulled my eyes crosseyed. So the surgery was to go in, cut out and surgically removed my ocular muscles and set my eyes straight .
So the surgery starts off like routine. they have me count backwards and everything, then I went paralyzed and couldn't move. But I was still awake! Something was wrong! I wanted desperately to tell the doctors "wait hold on! I'm not asleep yet!" But try as I did I could not make myself form the words! The doctors thought I was out like I was supposed to be! They didn't know what was about to happen! But I knew. God help me I knew and I was terrified!
I remember the doctors began slicing into the flesh around my eyes, and then using some sort of tool slipping into the cuts and pulling my eyes out of their sockets! I can still hear the sound of made! Ever squeeze a particularly large pimple near your ear and you can hear the faint juicy pop? It sounded like that.
That's when my memory gets a little hazy as I'm pretty sure for my sanity my mind has blocked out the majority of those memories. But I do remember the doctor having a conversation with one of the nurses because after I was in recovery i repeated the conversation back to the doctor when he came in to check up on me. Needless to say he and my parents were absolutely terrified when the realized the significance of that!
Eventually I was able to retreat into my own mind and basically disassociate myself from my body completely, it's the only way I was able to get through it!
After the surgery. While my eyes were healing i was completely 100% blind for a period of a few months and because of this incident i sank into a severe depression deeper than any 5 year child has any right to go. (It didn't help that on top of this i was still also bound in a wheelchair and had yet to learn how to walk because of all the surgeries on my feet) and had convinced myself that I would be blind and in a wheelchair forever!
To this day I still have major PTSD because of it and will go into panic attacks of anything gets near my eyes. I can never wear contact lenses and even putting eye drops in my eyes is an adventure!
So why am I sharing this with you all?
Because frankly just sharing my story when I can is an incredibly cathartic means of therapy!
 
2020-10-30 5:07:29 PM  
While on Covid lockdown we spent about a month at our cabin. The Mrs. had quit smoking and I was using a vape because I was laid off and nervous about the future. One afternoon I was standing at the toilet peeing and I wasn't holding on to the vape pen. It's one of those that has a cartridge that is held together with a magnet. So I'm standing there and all of a sudden the battery part of the pen drops into the toilet. I'm like that's weird. The very next second the cartridge part that was in my mouth flew into the toilet too. I reached into the toilet quickly to get them out, since that's the only nicotine delivery device I had. I rinsed it off and washed my hands.

I was just stunned. Thought I might have stroked out or something. A few minutes later the neighbors came over and we had a beer on the deck while distancing. The neighbor asked my why I had 2 scratch marks on the left side of my face?? And I was like what? I went in to look in the mirror and sure enough, I had 2 scratch marks on the left side of my face! I told them what happened and he said, he has seen the ghost of a kid in our house on a previous time out of the corner of his eye. Nothing happened since, but It kinda creeps me out re-telling this story. My Dad had died in November of last year, and her Mother died a few years ago. We kinda joke now that it was one of them trying to get me to quit smoking.
 
2020-10-30 5:18:10 PM  
Timmy invited us over for a sleepover weekend in the 4th grade. Our parents were somewhat close with each other so it was all good and arrangements were made. Special notice had been handed down that Timmy's grandfather was living with the family in his old age and that we should leave him be. For the most part we just goofed off, played Atari 2600, ate pizza and cheese balls, rode our bikes, and stayed up late watching dirty "forbidden" movies on HBO when no one was looking. At one point I had asked Timmy about the 3rd floor attic that no one ever went near and he said it was forbidden to enter.  Mike and I dared him to go up and in. We double dared him. We triple dirty dog dared him and almost got into a fight over it but it was on. When we were certain that Timmy's family was out cold, he led the way up the stairs for Mike and myself to follow, trying our very best to seek out and avoid the squeaky, creaky steps. We stopped a lot and waited to see if anyone stirred, but no one ever did, not even Timmy's invisible grandfather that we had never even seen or heard once the entire weekend.

There was a lot of cool stuff in that attic and much of the usual garbage that people stash away to be ignored to death until long after they themselves are gone and forgotten, but the old leather and wood steamer trunk really stood out near the middle of the back of the floor, close to the round attic vent/window. Like a magic magnet the trunk slowly drew us towards it and away from the other treasures of imagination, seemingly inviting us to come and seek out the secret interred inside. At first all three of us crept down and knelt in front of the case with its crackled yet supple exterior, the mostly tarnished brass hinges swinging open silently when Mike had gotten up the courage to be first to act, apparently being well oiled. Timmy began rifling through the rags and scrap papers in the top part, nothing significant standing out as the moonlight glow reflected off his blond head, making it look white in the washout. We worked together to dislodge the insert and that is when the perfectly folded and clean black uniform revealed itself, seemingly seamless and flowing but for the pair of perfectly straight Runic S bars on the shirt collar, and nearby the sharp, stiff cap with the matching silver skull and bones centered between the peak and the bill. As I reached out to touch the skull emblem, the attic door thudded closed, and interrupted by the cross latte shadow patten from the window glare was a hunched old man holding one bony finger over his lips but making no sound. With a dark clarity in his deep set eye sockets, Timmy's grandfather ambled closer and whispered, finger still in place: "Some day this will be yours! It can be ALL OF YOURS!" and the clouds covered the moon until all we could see was his eyes and the Swastika button on his cardigan.
 
2020-10-30 5:26:57 PM  
Okay, two stories. Both true.

My great grandma was a solid presence when I was a kid. Would stay with her sometimes after school waiting for parents to pick me up after work. She had a distinct smell (not bad, just a certain perfume that she always wore).

Fast forward to adulthood, grandma had passed away many years prior. We live in a city, and my afternoon commute seemed to be at that certain time of day, driving into the sun... I was always so sleepy. Anyway, one day I'm driving home and I believe I fell asleep. The next thing I know, I smelled this overwhelming smell of grandma. Woke me right up. Not a bad or scary story, but eerie.

And on the topic of eerie, this is the second story...

Fast forward again to just a few years ago. We have an aunt who is elderly and has undiagnosed dementia (undiagnosed because she refused to cooperate with doctors). We had been battling with her about everyday living for a couple years by then, but had settled her into a house that we felt would give her better access to care. But this move had been a final straw in many ways. We visited her every day, but one day I walked in and she was napping. Not uncommon. So I was sing songing her name to wake her up. She slowly opened her eyes, and they were colorless. She is looking at me with eyes that look like she was dead. She blinked a couple of times, and the color was back. Freaked me out. She passed away a couple weeks later.
 
2020-10-30 6:03:35 PM  
I'll C&P my annual submission from the last 10 years or so.....all a true story. No, I still don't believe in gosts but honest to god true story......


Whatever happened to flying bible guy? I don't recall a followup on that one.....

Anyway, I'm not a believer in ghosts or anything like that, and pretty skeptical to the whole thing, but my story (sorry for the tolstoy):

My first summer after highschool, I worked for my neighbor. He had a contracting business that mainly did light remodels on houses. Painting\general caprentry\basic landscaping\building decks, stuff like that. The usual crew was this guy, his partner, myself and one or two of my friends, and a general laborer or two, depending on the size of the job.

About halfway through the summer we got a job to do some cleanup on a house a few towns over which had been neglected for a while. Repaint inside and out, fix some squeaky floors and water damage, clean up the yard, etc. It was a decent sized house, and needed a ton of work, and the estimate was that it would take about a month to do it right. The homeowners had no problem, as they were not living there, and were planning on selling the place. Everything inside had already been cleared out (for the most part).

The first few days we spent just clearing brush and stuff out of the yards, so we could get equipment in to work on the exterior. Once that was done, we split off into two crews, one scraping the outside of the house, and one doing work on the inside. It was the summer, and the place did not have a/c, so the easier job was the work outside, and we would rotate who was in and who was out.

To give you an idea of the layout of the house. When you walked in the front door, you had large room off to your immediate right and left. Straight ahead of you and to your left you had a staircase that went up to the second floor, to the right a small bathroom, and then straight back to the kitchen and another large room. Upstairs you had 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. There was only one staircase to the second floor.

We started in the front rooms, and within an hour or so our radio started acting up. It was an older boom box type thing, with a manual casette player, and the knob with the slide for tuning the stations. In other words, it was all mechanical, not digital. At least 3 times, the station changed on its own, from 102.7 which we were listening to, to other random stations (sorry, no creepy oldies music or anything). What is interesting is when it changed stations, the station it would end up on would be perfectly tuned in, and the jump between stations was very quick, much quicker than a person could turn the knob and tune in the station so well, and then get away from the radio without being noticed, like, a seconds time, just enough time for the slide to traverse the distance to the other station. No, the radio didn't have the mechanical station presets.

At least twice when this happened I was in the room, and while my back was turned to it, the radio was in a location where it would have been damned near impossible for someone to get to it, turn the station and then get out of there. It was not by a window either. On a few occasions the volume would go WAY up, up beyond a point that I thought this thing was capable of producing. We then moved the radio to a different room, blaming it on bad power, and the problems let up.

Other strange things: Lights would go on or off while you were working, including our own portable floodlights. It wasn't power was cut or anything, but the actual switch was thrown. You could also hear footsteps above you when you were sure nobody was upstairs.

The final kicker, as we were wrapping up the work on the place, I was replacing some molding in a second floor bedroom. I had a large heavy steel toolbox, with a bunch of tools in it, that must have weighed 30 or 40 pounds. One of those big craftsman jobs. I had finished off most of what I was doing, and had most of my stuff put away when our lunch showed up. It was raining outside, so were all sitting in the main entrance way by the stairs, in fact, myself and another guy were sitting on the stairs. EVERYONE was accounted for. By this point we were all always joking around how we were working in a haunted house, due to all the strange stuff that was going on, but noone was taking it real seriously. Everyone was pretty much convinced that it was the combination of an old house, our imagination, and probably a few of us screwing around with eachother causing the stuff. Mid conversation about this, there was a giant crash from upstairs. One of the dudes freaked and just ran for the door. Myself and the dude sitting on the stairs next turned and went up the stairs. At the top of the stairs you had a clear view of the entrance way to all of the rooms, so in the 3 seconds it took for us to climb them, nobody would be able to get out of a room without being spotted.

Inside the room I had been working, my heavy metal toolbox had been tossed across the room, its contents scattered. The time from when it happened to when I got there was so short that stuff was still rolling around. Again, this was a 30-40 pound toolbox, which was sitting on the floor, and had been clearly tossed a good 10 feet. We checked the other rooms and of course found nothing. To go out the window (which was closed as it was raining) would have been a 15 foot drop into some nasty bushes. No ladders were up on the house, or even off the truck for that matter that day, due to the rain. Everyone working there was sitting with us while we ate, and nobody could have gotten past us and down the stairs while we checked the rooms, as there were people watching the stairs.

It was pretty damn scary, and the final couple of days of us working there everyone was really on edge. Nobody would go into rooms alone, and you could tell everyone was pretty much scared shiatless.

The boss mentioned the goings on to the homeowner who was just kind of like "ehh whatever". A few years later, the place burned to the ground, and one of the guys I worked with that summer, who now lived in the town, sent me a story from the local paper. It turns out that the previous owner who lived there was a shut-in type person after his wife died a decade or so prior, Didn't ever really come out much/do much, which explained the neglect. He had died about a year prior to us working on the house, but nobody found his body for at least 6 months. The people who had hired us was his estranged sons family, who had inherited the house and were trying to sell it.

The house had changed hands a couple of times in the several years after we had worked on it, nobody ever staying very long, and it growing a "haunted" legend in the town.

In the intrest of brevity, I left out some of the smaller parts of the story that were strange, or could have been explained away easier, but suffice to say, some weird stuff was going on while we were there. I'm not one that really believes in ghosts or anything, but I have no way of explaining some of the stuff that happened there in any rational way. Thinking about it still gives me the chills. Nobody was aware of the story behind the house when we were working there, and you could tell after the toolbox incident everyone was truly on edge.
 
2020-10-30 6:45:17 PM  
Both of my parents come from a very small town in central Brazil. It is mostly a farming and mining region. The house where my mother grew-up was built in the 1600's. It was the master's house of a large slave-run farm, with a little old church in front of it from the same period.

Maybe to make-up for all the slaves who must have suffered terribly in the house at the hands of my ancestors, my grandmother decided to use the house's kitchen, the main room in the house, as a place to take care of sick and poor people. My mom personally saw many people die in the house during her childhood.

Fast-forward to the early 1980s. Both of my parents had moved to Rio de Janeiro some decades prior, and I was now a 16/17 year-old painfully shy boy with undiagnosed autism, born and raised in a place where machismo ruled. Didn't have many friends growing-up, didn't even begin to talk until my teenage years. And living in a house with 4 older sisters, I longed for some solitude anytime I could get any. When I heard my grandmother had moved in with one of her daughters, I asked her if I could spend my 3-month summer vacation on my own in the old house. She welcomed it.

At first, one of my sisters, the shy one, came with me. The old church was under renovations, and all of the statues and paintings from it were in the room where she was staying. The statues were a bit spooky looking, with glass eyes that seemed to shine in the dark.

The first few nights we had a few spooky moments, but nothing too bad. The space between the walls and the roof wasn't particularly well sealed, so owls, cats, opossum and bats would get in and run/fly around over our heads. We mostly laughed at it.

Then on the 3rd or 4th night, I woke-up to the sound of my sister screaming. I ran to her room, opened the door, and saw her bed in the middle of the room, with all the spooky statues turned around facing it. She was on the first bus back to Rio the next morning. I was very scared as well, but decided to stay. This was my first chance to be on my own. And as a horny 16/17 year old boy, I loved the attention I got from the local girls intrigued to spend time with the boy from the big city. Besides I figured if I left that bedroom's door locked and didn't approach it, everything would be fine. And for the most part it was.

During the next couple of months, a few small things happened here and there. One night while walking past the church, a dead cat fell from the roof right in front of me. It was badly mutilated, apparently from a cat fight, but I didn't hear anything. Cat fights are usually quite loud. I buried the little guy next to the church. On another night an owl landed at the foot of my bed, and it stood there for several minutes staring at me. I couldn't scare it away, but eventually it flew off.

About a week before my departure, is when it all happened.

A distant cousin of mine who was a huge guy with a bad temper, found out his younger brother was dealing drugs, and went batshiat. As I walked past their house, their mom ran out screaming for help. She had blood on her hands. I ran in, and the younger brother was on the floor with his face all smashed in, while the big brother stood over him with a big knife. I managed to talk him into dropping the knife, and going for a walk with me. We stopped at a local grocery store, bought a few sandwiches and beers, then sat on a park bench to chat. We chatted for hours. Somehow I overcame my extreme shyness and desire to be alone, and actually listened, while bringing in a few observations here and there to hopefully help him to think clearer.

While we were chatting, a stray dog came and sat next to us, obviously eyeing some of our left over sandwiches. We gave him what he wanted, and he stayed with us. At one point we decided to head back, and the dog came with us. Dropped my friend off by his house first, then walked home with the dog in tow. It felt good to have some company on my walk home anyway. I saw a goat jump over a wall and onto the street. I never heard of wild goats walking the streets, but there it was. The dog and I just ignored it, and kept on going on our way. As we approached the clearing in front of the church, the dog stopped and started to growl and step backwards. Something I couldn't see scared the hell out of him. I backed-up, then went the longer way around toward the back of the house. As we walked out of the woods and onto the backyard area, the dog went fully berserk. It started to bark aggressively while pacing back and forth, keeping his eyes on the back door. Then it grabbed a stone on the ground and started to chew on it while still growling, with pieces of stone, teeth, and blood coming out of its mouth. Dog ran back into the woods in obvious distress, while I stood there pondering my next move. It was a very cold night, so I went in.

Once back in the house my heart was racing, but nothing seemed unusual. I managed to calm down, and went to bed. Left the window next to me unlocked in case I needed to bail. A while later I heard some extremely heavy footsteps, and the old wooden floor creaking under whatever it was. I opened the bedroom door, and saw a horse walking past the living room towards the kitchen. Bats, cats and owls? That I had no problem with. But how in the world did a horse get in? Opened the back door, and the horse walked out. I couldn't go back to bed.

There was an old black & white TV in the living room, with an antenna attached to the top of a mango tree outside, and at night we could get signal from a small city not too far away. They were showing the 1973 movie "The Horror at 37,000 Feet". It is about a plane carrying some religious artifacts, and it becomes haunted. Too close to home for me! I stood up to turn off the TV, and that's when all hell broke loose. It felt like an earthquake. The house was shaking, all lights flickering, and all the critters running and flying around apparently freaking-out as much as me. Ran into the bedroom, closed the door, got under the covers, and things went quiet. That's when I started to hear some very heavy breathing next to me. Popped my head out to look, and saw the wall inflating and deflating like the belly of a breathing animal. I remembered about the window, and jumped out. Badly sprained my foot, and nearly froze to death spending the rest of the night on a park bench.

Next morning a couple of truckers helped me get back up through the unlocked window some 10 feet above the sidewalk. The wall still looked inflated, but there was no further activity. Spent another week or so in the house, and nothing unusual happened. Went back to the same house many times thereafter over the years, and again, nothing. Sometime in the early 90s I decided to ask my grandmother if she ever witnessed anything unusual in the house. She looked at me, smiled, then offered to cook me lunch. She died a few years after that, and the house got demolished soon after.

I never saw that dog again.
 
2020-10-30 7:11:26 PM  
Way back when I was a very young girl, we used to visit my Grandparents Up North. Now, their house had once been owned by the local Indian nation. In time a barn, stable, feed room and tack room were added adjacent to the house, with connecting corridors. As a kid it was fascinating, and I can remember shimmying under the barn door to look into the gloom..nothing exciting, but off limits for us kids, so definitely a place you haad to go and sneak into.

Frequently while we were up there, the Parents and Grands would go off and do something that was not "kid friendly" and so we would have an early dinner and then be left in the house to enterain ourselves.

I've always been a fairly precociouse reader, so I had grabbed a copy of "The Burnished Blade" from the book shelf in my Mom's old room. Not a 12 yr old book..I was reading and we had some nice light rain..couple of thunder claps, but nothing all that worrisome.

This bedroom had a door to the "attic" which was really just the eaves, which had boards layed across the joists so that you could store things up there and it was way wild creepy..very bad vibe..anyway, while I was reading in the bedroom, there was a ruckus in the attic. Think heavy objects dropped, bangs etc. It was scary, but I really wanted to get back to my very inappropriate book..so I said out loud, "Will you knock it off? I'm not afraid of you." And probably something about wanting to finish the book. Well, the attic was instantly silent. And it remained silent for me..not so much for my brother and his fiance..there was so much noise that they could not sleep in that bedroom.
 
2020-10-30 7:52:21 PM  
My Grandparents house was haunted, and no one ever talked about it. I wish they had, would have kept me from thinking I was nuts. The house had been remodeled, so that there was a very elongated livingroom, that then gave into a dining room. From the dining room there was a bath, and off that a single bedroom.  The Kitchen lived behind a closed door. From another door, you could access the tack room, feed room and on into the stalls and barn.

From the living room, you went through a door and then up to the second floor. It was a big wide wooden staircase. When you topped the stairs there was a huuuge bathroom, claw tub included, a large "Master Bedroom" that had an attic door, then a smaller room to the front of the house, and then a wee tiny room, only big enough for a twin bed, that had an octagonal window in it..

I remember as a child, hearing foot steps on the stairs. They would come up only far enough to see if you were in your bed, and doing your best to fall asleep. I always felt comforted by that. And I always thought it was my folks or my Grand parents...

Fast forward a.few years. I am talking to my Mom, and mentioned the nightly stair climbing. She looked at me and said, "Oh, that's the Native American lady". She'd been seeing her for years as she was growing up. She knew of the sounds, but didn't know I'd heard them. (Turns out my Brother did too, and of course he never said anthing. He is so uptight it amazes me he doesn't shiat diamonds!)

I didn't find the stair climbing scary at all, just had a sense of being watched over and kept safe.

After my Grandmother passed, and my Grandfather was in a nursing home, my Mom and I went up to "Clean out the house"..this was the summer before I was to be married, so we were really thinking about what we would take, and culling out the things that we would sell..so major disruption in the house. And we were up at all hours sorting and opening trunks that had been closed for 50 yrs...fun, but stressful. Much beer was had, as it was really hot! No A/c in the house. Not even a fan!! And you know it's bad when my Mom drinks beer!!

Anyway, I was sleeping in the tiny room. And one night, not long after we had been working, there was a ruckus downstairs. Now, I knew the doors were locked. And it didn't seem to be any human agency involved. I don't know what prompted me. I whispered into the dark, "It's ok. You can leave now. We are selling the home. Thank you for protecting us." Or something to that effect..it was very late. That night the Native American woman took her rest, and we never heard from her again.
 
2020-10-30 8:28:10 PM  
I'm glad this thread is open now.  Seems earlier than some years which I appreciate.
I have always been a believer.  I can remember when I was young how distraught I was about the basement when I was growing up. I am the only person in a family of six children who is not an atheist. The basement in the home I grew up in has always been a dark place for me.  Hard to explain, but always there.  I've had many dreams about the "thing" in the basement.
I have experienced various phenomenon over my life.  Some of it has been wonderful (my dead mother coming into a dream) and some other wild experiences....I moved to Montreal in '85 and I was "pulled" here by the city.
The most recent experience involved the S/O who is Latino.  A complete different realm of belief.
The old apartment had many issues.  The building went from having such wonderful energy to being such a negative place as the residents changed. So many incidents that cannot be explained near the end. So we moved.
The new place has been quite neutral for 6 years.  There are places with energy and those that don't show any.  Until this year.
4 months ago he pointed out that something was keeping him awake.
It would poke him and grab his arm....preventing him from sleeping.
He would sleep with his rosary around his wrist and would then complain that "it" would pull at the rosary.
I kept saying it might be one of his medications.
This lasted for a few months.  I listened but did not understand. My first instinct is to try and prove the experience from a provable realm.
Then one early morning I went to go pee.  The bathroom isn't small.  The toilet is next to the shower.  The bathroom has no window.  As I was peeing I heard a growl coming from the shower stall to my right.  I froze.  I looked in that direction.   I was wide awake.
I freaked out and kept it hidden from him for a few days.  Finally I told him that I heard the growl. He had also heard it prior during some nights.
He had a priest bless our apartment.  I try to believe in all things but I felt a change after the blessing.
Since then no further events.
 
2020-10-30 8:28:59 PM  
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2020-10-30 10:05:29 PM  
Not sure if this will fit:

"Greetings, meddler."

The voice was more felt than heard, leaving a mental aftertaste of rancid butter and rotting meat. The effect was more-or-less familiar to Stone, but the particular flavor of the speaker was new.

"Who speaks?" Stone demanded harshly as he leapt to his feet, his voice echoing from the bare concrete walls.

"Softly, meddler. Softly." the voice remonstrated mildly. "No need for audible speech at all, you know. You can sub-vocalize your thoughts, and I promise I will understand. Wouldn't do to have the neighbors think you're mad, would it?"

Stone rolled his eyes, but said, "Very humorous." as loudly as he could without actually speaking.

"Much better, meddler. You're a good little monkey- you learn quickly."

Another eyeroll, followed by sub-vocalized demand, "Who speaks? Reveal yourself!"

"That would be telling, meddler," the voice replied easily. "Suffice it to say I was once a God in a land located where now exists only desert, in the general area you now call 'sahara'- which means 'desert' in the local language these days."

Stone sighed deeply in exasperation and sank backwards onto the rude cot behind him. "I'm not in the mood for silly games," he didn't quite snarl. "If you won't tell me who you are, go away and leave me in peace."

The laughter echoing in Stone's mind tasted like well-rotted celery. Even with his long experience dealing with the paranormal, the sense of detached amusement combined with the mental stench nearly made Stone gag. He breathed deeply, fiercely forcing his mind to resume its customary cool analysis of the situation. After what felt like several minutes, the contemptuous laughter stopped abruptly.

"You are so content with your predicament, then?" the voice taunted quietly. "You are unwilling to speak to one who can easily disembarrass you of your current problems if he so chose?"

With an effort, Stone answered silently. "I am unwilling to speak to nameless entities from Outside my normal set of dimensions. Name yourself, or begone!"

"As you wish, meddler," the voice replied with a chuckle. "What shall I call myself this time? There have been so many names over the ages since you monkeys arrived to disturb the universe. I cannot use the name you monkeys first gave me, of course. None survive who remember even the name of the language those monkeys used when they first encountered me."

There was a brief pause, then, "I suppose you may call me Kehlom," the voice spoke the syllables harshly, making it sound like 'keh' and 'loam', with an odd catch to the word between the sounds. "This is not dissimilar to one of my names given by a different group of monkeys."

Stone shook his head. The name was not even vaguely familiar, but he was sure it was somehow significant. "What is it you want?" he demanded silently.

"The question is more properly, 'what are you willing to do in exchange for my assistance', meddler. You are in dire need of my assistance, are you not?"

"Not happening," Stone snapped in reply. "I may be in dire straits at the moment, but that does not mean I'll agree to needing your help." He shook his head again. "Why would you even consider helping me, of all people? I've spent my adult life trying to rid the universe of your sort."

"Are you willing to bargain, meddler? You have very little to offer, and you are not over-burdened with options."

Stone lay back on the cot and thought it over. He had little time remaining, and was unwilling to submit to his fate peacefully. But there were very few ways he could possibly exert any control over his circumstances. Kehlom helpfully remained silent while Stone mulled over his few assets.

"What do you want from me?" Stone asked again.

"Nothing more than what you do best, meddler," Kehlom replied instantly. "If you will use your best efforts to eliminate one of my rivals, I will remove you from your present predicament."

Stone didn't allow himself to smile, even internally, but worked hard to keep amusement out of his subvocalized answer. "That brings up a couple of interesting questions," he said. "You said you used to be a God in what is now the Sahara, and no one remains who remembers you. I happen to know creatures like you gain power from human attention. If your original worshippers no longer exist, how can you possibly have any power over my circumstances?"

More nausea-inducing laughter echoed in Stone's mind. "The monkeys who originally named me and knew me are long gone. They all died out so long ago even the name of their language has been forgotten. But I have been worshipped as a God in many lands, in many ages, under many names. Many of those names are still known to you modern monkeys, giving me far more power than might otherwise be available to one such as me. I assure you I am more than capable of removing you from your current situation, after which you can return the favor to me by eliminating an entity with whom I compete for resources."

"Resources?" Stone snorted audibly. "You extradimensional creatures feed upon the attention we grant you. How can there be competition for that sort of 'resource'?" He paused for a moment. "Wait! Are you talking about some servitor of one of the current major deities?"

This time, the mental flavor of laughter made Stone double over and empty his stomach onto the concrete floor. "Oh, meddler! You have such an exaggerated idea of how much you understand about us. I faithfully promise you will not ever be asked or forced to act against any entity connected with the Gods you monkeys currently venerate." Kehlom laughed again, sending Stone into spasms of nausea.

Despite his physical distress, Stone was intrigued. Entities such as Kehlom seldom made promises of any sort, as such promises were permanently binding in ways humans could not understand. Even the few remaining Gods of the modern world appeared to be bound by this unshakeable rule.

Kehlom stopped laughing. "Meddler, the entity with whom I contend is one such as I- one who was once a God to local groups of monkeys, but is now vastly reduced in power and influence. This entity continues to exist solely because some among you monkeys still remember some of this entity's names."

Stone recovered from his nausea and nodded. "The gods of past centuries become the demons of later ages."

"Just so, meddler," Kehlom replied sardonically. "Do we have a bargain, then? You slay my rival in exchange for me removing you from the dire circumstances in which you find yourself."

"No." Stone's voice was harsh, even though inaudible to mortal ears. "When dealing with you creatures, word choice is critically important. I prefer the terms you first used to describe what you want of me. I exert my best efforts to remove your rival in exchange for removing me from my present predicament."

Amusement colored Kehlom's reply. "I see there is little chance of pulling the figurative wool over your eyes, meddler," the voice rumbled. "I will even agree to remove you from your present circumstances immediately, transport you to the shrine where you have secured the tools of your craft, and then leave you to use your best efforts locate and destroy my rival. Is this not fair and unequivocal?"

"It's actually a bit too fair and straightforward," Stone muttered. "That is itself suspicious. I suspect your circumstances might be as dire as mine in ways I cannot appreciate." He inhaled deeply as he paused before taking the plunge. "But my circumstances are excessively dire ... and immediate ... and my options seem to be either agree to your terms or suffer personal extinction at the hands of my fellow humans. I agree to the terms as discussed."

Kehlom's voice was silent, but Stone felt the entity's immense satisfaction in his mind. "So be it, meddler," Kehlom said at last. "I will take you close to the hidden shrine so you may retrieve your tools. Once you depart the shrine, merely speak my name aloud. I will help you get close to my rival without revealing any sign of my presence, and you can then locate and eliminate my rival."

Stone instantly grew more suspicious. "Get close to your rival? Who is this rival, and where ..."

Kehlom interrupted him. "Shrewdly guessed. I will transport you across dimensions to get near my rival where 'he' will be vulnerable to you and you will be unaffected by alien environmental conditions. I promise my rival's location will pose you no threat- other than my rival's not-inconsiderable power and the possible presence of some of my rival's adherents. I strongly suggest avoiding causing any harm to any worshippers, lest you fall victim to similar circumstances as your current plight."

Stone snorted. "Yeah. Taking out worshippers is definitely not a good plan." He stood carefully, avoiding the mess on the floor near the cot. "You still haven't told me your rival's name."

"I think it best you not know my rival's name, meddler," Kehlom said smugly. "If you are curious, I promise you can learn the name with little effort as you carry out my task."

"Right. What happens after I've done the deed? Do you leave me in some foreign set of dimensions?"

"Technically, I could do just that, based on our agreement. It occurs to me you might prefer I do so. You might find you will be well-suited to the target dimension's conditions."

"I don't think so," Stone answered shortly. "I like this set of dimensions."

"Are you sure? I'm fairly certain you would find the target dimensions salubrious."

"I'm sure."

Kehlom gave the mental equivalent of a shrug. "If you wish, I can bring you back. To avoid any appearance of unfairness, I will ask you once again after you have experienced the target dimensions."

Stone remained suspicious, but said nothing. Kehlom spoke, but the string of sounds which resulted made Stone resume retching until the sound abruptly stopped and Stone could feel a cool breeze. He straightened and looked around in surprise as he recognized where he now stood.

His feet rested on the faint trail leading down a ridge to the sand-covered ruins of ancient Irem. Several broken pillars were visible above the concealing sands which filled the valley, and Stone's vantage point let him see far into the empty Quarter to the east as night began to descend.

He shivered, the lightweight prison jumpsuit offering no protection from the breeze. From bitter experience, Stone knew the night would be dangerously cold, so he turned his steps up the trail leading out of the valley, eager to reach the hidden Ismaili shrine on the far side of the ridge from the ruined city of pillars.

Night was growing rapidly around him as Stone found the cave entrance concealing the entrance to the outlaw sect's shrine. He gratefully slipped through the hidden door and shut out the cold of the desert night, and set his hand on the small lamp left in a rough-cut niche in the rock wall adjacent to the door. It was only the matter of a few moments before the tiny lamp's feeble flame drove back the darkness within the shrine and revealed the Arabic inscriptions covering every vertical surface, painfully carved by hermit Ismaili adherents over a thousand years as their Sunni hunters drove the sect to near-extinction. Stone sighed and quickly recited a brief prayer in honor of those dedicated men before turning to the stone shelf across the tiny shrine where he'd left his pack before his last, disastrous foray against the outer-dimensional entities men often called 'demons' or 'devils'.

Stone found the extra clothes he'd left in the pack, along with a strangely-curved knife laboriously shaped from solid obsidian. He held the weapon by the hilt for a moment, breathing deeply with a slight smile before setting the blade aside and donning the much sturdier and more desert-appropriate spare clothing and boots from the pack. A thick leather belt was wrapped around his waist, but Stone discarded the empty holster, briefly lamenting the loss of the special pistol he'd lost during his last mission. The blade in its sheath was strapped securely to his thigh, after which Stone returned the lamp to its niche by the door and extinguished it before opening the hidden door by feel.

The night was quite cold, and Stone shivered despite the Bedouin cloak he wore over his clothes. He turned left and hurried back to the trail, then climbed the ridge until the crescent moon shone on the sand-covered ruins. Guessing he was close to where Kehlom had left him, Stone quickly checked for unseen dangers as best he could in the weak light before saying the former God's name aloud- barely above a whisper.

The blazing sunlight blinded him. There was no transition at all. One moment he spoke Kehlom's name in the darkness near Irem, and the next instant he was standing on a road made of clay bricks under a sun not far from directly overhead. Stone shaded his eyes and glanced around before stepping quickly into the shade of a carved stone gate to his left.

He had no idea where he was. The gate opening was perhaps twice his two-meter height and about the same width. The wall surrounding the gate was less than a quarter of a meter thick, and was therefore probably ornamental rather than a serious defense. There were several clay-brick buildings across from the gate, none of which had any windows Stone could see. Two of the three buildings rose a modest two stories above the road surface, but the center building was twice as broad as the others and stood at least four stories high.

The nearly-midday heat was just short of stifling, and Stone guessed that might be the reason none of the locals were visible. After his eyes adjusted to the daylight, Stone stepped across the road and examined the brick wall of the massive building across from the gate. It had been cunningly constructed, but the locals hadn't properly maintained the bricks, and there were lots of small gaps and crevices. The wall sloped away from him as it rose, and Stone reckoned he could climb to the roof without much trouble. Wrapping the Bedouin cloak tightly around himself and tucking it beneath his belt, Stone began to climb.

The heat proved to be more of a hindrance than the wall was. Stone quickly found himself on a large platform covered by a tiled roof. A low parapet surrounded the platform, and a small square structure stood in the exact center of the platform. Stone took a few moments to look out across the landscape from his new vantage point, and caught his breath in wonder.

A massive, mud-brick city spread out in all directions. Crooked lanes ran in all directions between small structures with platforms beneath clay-tiled roofs. Few structures were more than one story high- plus the covered platform- and there were only a few broad avenues imposing any sense of order to the chaotic sprawl of houses and shops. One such road led directly to the gate where Stone had sheltered on arrival, and the far end of the road seemed to be lost in a faint haze which might signify a harbor. Few residents were visible, and none were near enough to determine more than they were more-or-less human shape and wearing loose clothing in mostly drab hues.

Turning away from the city, Stone walked carefully toward the square structure. Walking around the little square revealed it was about three and a half meters on a side, and about the same height. The only openings were single half-meter windows in each wall set a half-meter below the roof. After listening carefully for dangers, Stone decided to take a chance looking through one of the windows. He jumped and managed to get a grip on the lower sill, which proved enogh purchase to pull himself up until he could see inside.

He waited several minutes until his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness within. A steady breeze rose from within the structure and out the window. Stone could smell many disagreeable odors vaguely covered by some familiar-smelling incense, but his attention was fixed on a sharp smell similar to burning gunpowder mixed with decomposing flesh- one of the characteristic  signatures for extradimensional entities laboring to exist in a spacetime for which they were not well-suited.

Stone smiled grimly and pulled himself up until he could rest his upper body on the broad windowsill and look inside. The square room was dressed in worked stone which resembled marble. There was no furniture, but he was surprised to see what looked like a wooden ladder in the left corner, rising to a closed hatch in the roof. A small square opening in the floor in the right corner showed the top of yet another wooden ladder, obviously allowing access to the lower floors.

With a barely-audible grunt, Stone slid to the floor inside and waited to see if he'd raised an alarm. After a brief wait, he crept to the ladder going down and peered carefully into the space below. Several small lamps unevenly lit the room, which was larger than the little room above it. The rising air from the room was strongly scented with the stench of otherworldly life, but Stone couldn't see into the shadows well enough to see if anyone waited for him. Murmuring a brief prayer, he gingerly descended the wooden ladder to the tiled floor below.

A buzzing rasp assaulted his ears, and a foul blast of air from within the room nearly brought Stone to his knees with nausea. As he fought to keep himself from retching, he slipped to a low crouch just as the ladder suddenly snapped in half and fell to the floor.

Choking back vomit, Stone wrenched the curved obsidian knife from its sheath and scuttled to put his back against the nearest wall. A large, dark shape loomed out of a pool of shadow, becoming a caricature of a man nearly three meters tall and broad to match, wearing nothing but a silk loincloth and bearing a massive bronze mace. The figure's eyes burned green in the gloom, and it spoke in the same buzzing rasp heard earlier.

The figure stepped closer, heaving the mace high above its head and shouting like thunder. Stone ducked beneath the powerful blow and stepped closer to the figure behind a violent slash of the obsidian knife. The figure screamed in agony as the obsidian blade tore through unearthly flesh where a man's ribs would be. The figure staggered backward, dropping the great mace and making a strange gesture toward Stone.

Stone immediately rushed forward, slashing wildly with his knife. The figure screamed again each time the obsidian blade found its mark, finally turning and trying to run toward the shadows in a corner nearby. Gasping with effort, Stone stepped quickly forward and made an aimed cut across the figure's right leg.

The figure screamed again and collapsed, dark blood pouring from the figure's many wounds. Beyond the screams, Stone thought he could hear shouts from below, and the slap of sandaled feet on tile floors. Regaining his breath, Stone used his blade one last time, driving the point through the center of the figure's back and abruptly cutting off the screaming. The figure immediately began to liquify, leaving a foul-smelling pool which discolored the tiles before it sent puffs of smoke into the air and then burst into bright yellow flames.

Stone staggered away from the sudden glare and flash of heat, noting in the brief flash of light a familiar set of sigils carved into the walls on either side. Loud shouting rose from a large opening in the nearest corner, sounding vaguely familiar. Stone sheathed his knife and breathed deeply for a moment before running back toward the shattered ladder and leaping to catch the edge of the upper platform. With a spasm of effort and what felt like a torn muscle in his shoulder, he pulled himself up into the small square room. He paused to catch his breath before taking the ladder to the roof hatch and used it to reach one of the windows. As he began to climb onto the windowsill, a familiar voice sounded in his head.

"Done, and well done, meddler. Have you satisfied your curiosity?"

Stone dropped to the platform surface and drew the obsidian knife. "Khelom? Really? That's not particularly clever."

Laughter erupted in his mind, but Stone was somehow not sickened this time. Perhaps the shock of killing a God with a knife had inured him to the effects of communicating with the laughing entity.

"It was sufficient for the purpose, meddler. That name needed only keep you guessing until the deed was done. And now you know the name of my rival."

"I recognized the symbols carved into the walls below. Moloch, right?"

"Well done, meddler! Have you any questions for me?"

"Several, but let me make a couple of guesses first."

The unearthly voice chuckled. "Be my guest, meddler."

"Kehlom is just 'Molek' spelled backward," Stone scowled at his foolishness in accepting the entity's name at face value. "Molek and Moloch were two different creatures, but the centuries passing and garbled accounts from near-contemporaries got them mixed up to the point the names were being used interchangeably in the 21st century."

"Just so. As you noted, my power is based on the attention paid me by you monkeys, I found myself increasingly forced to share that power with the dead being below."

"Let me guess. You sent one of your extradimensional flunkies to cause problems to attract my attention and lure me into a trap. You sacrificed a minion so you could set me up for the murder of those acolytes in Tehran. I was conveniently condemned to death and you just happened to pop into my head and make me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"A bit complicated, I admit. But it worked very well indeed."

"Why am I no longer suffering ill effects from speaking with you?"

"You and I have made a bargain," Molek replied. "Such agreements change the nature of the relationship between God and monkey, which means you suffer fewer ill effects from communicating with me."

"That's why interacting with Moloch was still causing me trouble?" Stone asked.

"Of course," Molek answered. "But even then, you suffered less than you might have otherwise, simply through your previous contact with me."

"Lovely. What now?"

"Now, you decide which set of dimensions you wish to remain in. I am certain you would find this set of dimensions both challenging and rewarding- in many ways far more agreeable to you than the one you left."

Stone laughed harshly. "Not sure if you noticed, but we're on the top level of a temple dedicated to a God I've just killed, and there are presumably many armed and angry people eager to have me join their fallen deity."

"You could easily escape them now," Molek answered reasonably. "Once through the gate, you'd quickly get lost among the throngs in the city. You'd have little trouble learning the local languages, and you'll doubtless soon learn this set of dimensions is teeming with undesirable extradimensional creatures such as myself. That should keep you usefully annoyed for the rest of your life."

"And any of those undesirables I eliminated would doubtless increase your power, I gather," Stone laughed wearily. "I'm not keen on remaining your puppet, Molek."

"And what is your choice, then, meddler?" Molek's voice was calm and uninflected. "Shall you remain in this set of dimensions, or shall I send you back to your own set of dimensions?"

Stone sighed heavily. "I'm tired of these games, Molek. You've won. Send me back."

"So be it. I must admit I will miss you, meddler. You are not the least intelligent monkey I have met. I should like to speak with you again. I return you now to your original set of dimensions."

Once again, there was no transition. Stone was standing atop a temple one moment, and the next moment he was standing in a puddle of vomit next to his cot in a bare concrete cell, wearing a tattered prison jumpsuit and slippers. He barely had time to express his surprise when the cell door flew open and four guards rushed in and tackled him. He was quickly subdued and handcuffed before being dragged out of his cell. As the guards dragged him numbly down a long set of steps, a familiar voice appeared in Stone's head.

"Greetings, meddler." The voice was stronger and clearer, and not accompanied by any of the usual nausea.

"You bastard!" Stone raged silently in his head. "You cheating bastard!"

"Calm yourself, meddler. You chose this, remember? I strongly suggested staying at the other set of dimensions."

Stone was struck by a sudden realization. "Oh, shiat. 'Set of dimensions'. Time is a dimension, isn't it?"

"You're only just now figuring it out? That's disappointing."

"What 'set of dimensions' did you send me to?"

Laughter echoed in Stone's mind. "Almost twenty thousand years into your past, after a brief stop a few weeks into your past in order to retrieve your weapon." Molek's laughter died abruptly. "If you had stayed in the past like a good monkey, you would have found me to be a most agreeable patron. In those times, I was a noble and cheerful God, and generous to my servants. It is only the passage of time and the beliefs of modern monkeys which make me less than beneficent to you monkeys."

Stone cursed aloud, only to be beaten into silence by the guards. As the guards dropped his limp form onto a wooden chair and put a strap around his chest to keep him upright, Molek resumed speaking.

"One last facet about our relationship you might have failed to realize, meddler: making agreements with creatures such as myself utterly removes you from the protections of your modern Gods. None of your precious beliefs will come to pass for you because you chose- of your own free will- to make a bargain with Molek."

The God's laughter was still echoing in Stone's mind when the bullets ended his life and began his torment.
 
FNG [TotalFark]
2020-10-31 12:20:33 AM  

Wenchmaster: Not sure if this will fit:


No one read that, or is going to buy your book.  This is the wrong thread for whoring it.

Keep things to personal stories.
 
FNG [TotalFark]
2020-10-31 1:07:20 AM  
Wow, a few years ago this thread had 608 comments, even the fake "timmy doesn't live here anymore" hasn't shown up.
 
2020-10-31 6:34:22 AM  

Turing_Machine: Halloween is coming up, and it's time to start scaring the hell out of yourself. We'd like to help. Every year, Fark has a Halloween thread where Farkers share their own spooky stories. These are always fun threads, and a great way to kill some time at work. Here are the first 15 Fark scary story threads - now go creep yourself out.

2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019


Yay! Finally!
Thanks TM.
 
2020-10-31 6:57:19 AM  
Welp, guess we can't talk about boobies any more.
Fark user imageView Full Size
 
2020-10-31 8:02:15 AM  

hobnail: I don't know if this qualifies, it's not as good as some of these stories but it did happen to me, or at least, in my mind, and it was probably the most scared I've ever been.

It was about 5 years ago, probably about this time of year, and my girlfriend at the time (now wife) had met after work at a sushi/Thai place nearby where we lived for dinner.  We drove separately because we were both getting off work.  Anyway, we ate, and headed home, which was only a couple miles away.  She was driving ahead of me.

If you know South Minneapolis, if you're driving east from Chicago on 46th, there's a Catholic cemetery on one side and the children's home on the other.  As I was driving up the slight rise, I suddenly had a huge chill run up my spine.  I looked in the rearview mirror but couldn't see anything in the dark. But then, not in the mirror, but in my mind, I could see a... thing.  Kind of humanoid but with very long arms, and loping on all fours.  And black, darker than the blackness around it, but with eyes that glittered.  Its head was sort of an inverted triangle; maybe it had horns. I don't know, it was all imprecise and only really perceivable as a blackness that existed in the surrounding dark.  It ran sort of crab like, like a long-legged hound dog.  And the long forelimbs didn't seem to end in hands or claws, they came to a point, sort of like a hermit crab's.  And it was MAD! So much anger and malevolence, and all directed at me!  I could feel it getting closer, so I blew through the stop sign at the bottom of the hill.  In my mind, I could see the thing stop, in frustration, like a dog who chased the car to the end of the property line but then gave up because he couldn't catch it.

I drove as fast as I could, cursing the stoplights and checking the mirror constantly, even though I knew I wouldn't actually see it there if it somehow followed me.  When we got home, I was shaking from head to toe.  In fact I was shaking so badly that I couldn't even pour myself a stiff drink, and when my girlfriend handed it to me I spilled about half of it as I tried to drink it.

A couple years later, I saw the fake trail cam pic of the zombie looking thing and it brought the memory flooding back. It looked a lot like that.  But blacker.  And angrier.


You think that was fake?
Just stay calm in your next night drive.
 
2020-10-31 9:04:59 AM  

FNG: Wow, a few years ago this thread had 608 comments, even the fake "timmy doesn't live here anymore" hasn't shown up.


Maybe it'll pick up today.
 
2020-10-31 9:06:30 AM  

Resident Muslim: Turing_Machine: Halloween is coming up, and it's time to start scaring the hell out of yourself. We'd like to help. Every year, Fark has a Halloween thread where Farkers share their own spooky stories. These are always fun threads, and a great way to kill some time at work. Here are the first 15 Fark scary story threads - now go creep yourself out.

2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019

Yay! Finally!
Thanks TM.


I can't remember if it was in one of these threads or another, but I think you posted one of the most unsettling stories I've read on here. About the burial of a guy who wasn't particularly well-liked?
 
2020-10-31 9:07:04 AM  

FNG: Wenchmaster: Not sure if this will fit:

No one read that, or is going to buy your book.  This is the wrong thread for whoring it.

Keep things to personal stories.


Since you object to reading long texts, I'll keep this short in an itemized list:

1- I've seen several obvious fiction stories posted above mine. You do not appear to have any objection to those.
2- Nowhere does the thread originator say personal stories only. It just specifies "your spooky stories". This is MY spooky story for this year.
3- Anyone who doesn't wish to read it is free to skip it. I do note that at least two people appear to have read it (based on the "SMART" button clicks), so you're obviously and demonstrably wrong. Quelle surprise.
4- I cranked this out in a couple of hours after work, right before posting it. I don't have a book. Nice of you to think I do.
5- If you're not the thread originator, you have no business setting rules for this thread. If Turing Machine objects, I'll ask the mods to remove my story. Your opinion on this subject is worth exactly jack.
6- Many Farkers (including me) have posted fiction stories in several past "Spooky Story" threads. There's usually at least one person who isn't the thread originator whinging about other people's content in these threads. Congratulations! You're the one for this thread.
 
2020-10-31 9:33:18 AM  
What is a true ghost story? It has to be one that a person has experienced. There is no other way to be sure about what someone said, or saw, or felt. That eerie electricity that shakes your heart and makes your eyes tear up. The hair on the back of your neck does the same thing that you see on boars and birds and deer. Anything that feels primal fear knows that feeling, and it is unforgettable.

About 35 years ago, I was just out of college and having a good time in Southern California. My brother had some friends, and they were all right. Just down the highway and fun for movies. Yes they drank and yes they did other things, but I stayed out of it. My brother and I were both living at our parents' house, but we were old enough to have a good time and be out all night, just as long as we called so nobody would be worried.

You have probably seen Poltergeist. Well, this was the community that the movie was based loosely upon. Kind of an upper middle class suburb in Orange County. Built in the early 70s on land that had been used for god knows what for centuries before that. Boring in every sense of the word, until houses start sinking into the ground or a serial killer makes the rounds.

I arrived late to the party. I was the fifth one there, but not necessarily the fifth wheel because some of us were gay. The party was up in a bedroom. There was some wrestling around, some music, and they were drinking. When I got there they were talking about a movie. It was Eraserhead or something artsy for its time. Koyannisquattsi maybe, but that doesn't matter. I just want to give you a feeling for who these people were. Normal OC kids.

They told me the party was going to go all night. I told them I needed to call if I was going to stay. My brother had forgotten that we needed to do that. As usual, I was the responsible one.

So I walked on down the hall and went downstairs. The house was open plan with no doors, but with archways downstairs. Orange County suburban of the mid-80s. Nice place. You had a kitchen roughly in a half circle with a window looking out to the backyard, and a counter separating the kitchen from the expansive living room behind you as you looked into the kitchen. The phone was on the counter, so you would look into the kitchen while you talked on the phone, and your back would be to the TV and sofa. The important point was that once you entered from the hallway leading from the stairs, you could turn left into the kitchen, or you could go right and walk between the sofa and the television to get to another exit far at the other end of the room.

I bellied up to the counter, picked up the phone and dialed home. My dad picked up. And just as he did, a woman with an odd hairstyle from about the 50s came into the kitchen from my left. She was an attractive white blondish woman, I guess. It was odd because my friends were hispanic. I suppose she was in her mid 40s or so, and wearing a nice dress, but pastel and pink. This weird shade of pink. Kind of Jackie Kennedy style.  I smiled and she smiled back, politely. "So Dad, I will probably be watching a movie tonight with these guys and..." She walked through the kitchen, but opening some cabinets and looking inside very quietly. How polite of her. And kind of gracefully. Not bouncing with a gait, but kind of smoothly. My friends came down the stairs making a lot of noise. They hustled into the room behind me and got settled into the sofa to watch the movie. The tape went into the video deck and they waited for the movie to start.

She opened nearly every cabinet and one or two drawers. She made no noise at all.  I was finishing up with my dad. "... and it went ok. I am not sure what they have in mind, but..." She smiled at me again and moved back to the left to the refrigerator and opened it. Then it closed. I finished up the call. "OK. I will see you tomorrow."  Just out of the corner of my eye, I saw her walk into the living room behind me to my left as I turned to my right to hang up the phone.

I hung up the phone, spun around from the counter and said to my friends sitting there, "Done! All set! The parental units have been informed and I am good til tomorrow AM!"

"Yay! Mission accomplished. Have a beer 2far!"

I knew I would not be driving so... "Don't mind if I do!"  Slurp. "By the way guys, you said we had the house all to ourselves, right?"

"Yeah. Parents are out of town."

They HAD said that, but now it made no sense. "So who was that woman?"

"What woman?"

"The one in pink who walked through here."

"There is nobody here but us,  you kook." They started laughing at me until they could see I was horrified.

That feeling never really leaves you. Before you have it, the whole world makes sense. There is no monster in the closet. Everything is cause and effect. But then you get religion, or get insanity, and you run it over and over in your mind trying to figure out who she was and why she floated and why she smiled and why nobody saw her. That woman was there with me in that room, and she never scared me a bit before I knew she was not real.

But she has scared me ever since. I see my old friends from time to time. We don't talk about it.
 
2020-10-31 9:43:03 AM  
I started my first real job at the City of Dallas, at the I.M. Pei building you have likely seen, in RoboCop, as the Omni Consumer Corp. headquarters. (side note: I got to see Peter Weller blow up the ED-209 on the plaza, as they were filming the movie)

What most people don't know is that there is not just L1, and L2 below, that serve as parking garages and storage areas. There is an L3, and I got to know it well.
Terry C, one of the electricians with Building Services, had let me know that the cable going from our place to the Convention Center, just across the street was no longer functioning. I met up with him, and we went down to L2, and, using a tone generator and a probe, went looking for the break in the cable. He went ahead of me, and placed the tone generator while I used the probe, to ascertain that there was a signal coming back.

We had traced it all through the L2 basement area, with no loss. He came back to me, and told me that we were going to have to go downstairs, to L3. "What the hell is L3? It's not listed in the schematics of the building", I told him. "It's there, and that is where the cable was routed through when they first connected City Hall and the Convention Center", he replied.

He led me to a door I had never seen, and we went down a set of rusty, creaking iron stairs lower than I thought the building went. Then Terry opened the door at the bottom, and we were in a far different place from the Brutalist concrete world of City Hall.

L3 was not a garage, but a natural cavern, and had one of the many tributaries of the Trinity River flowing through it. "We have to be careful here", he whispered. We found the cable again, and I attached the tone generator, and we went to the next place where it was spliced. We heard the tone, and I went back to get the tg, and we proceeded from that point.

We followed the cable, testing every 200 ft. or so, and then things went south. The cable went into the water. We had no waders or anything other than the clothes on our backs and our testing equipment and tools.
Terry said, "I'm not going in that. They can suck it and run a new cable". "Yeah, I'm with you", I replied. Just about then, we heard splashing coming from the water. Something poked its head up from the water. I'm not sure what I saw, but it wasn't human. Terry and I ran back the way we had come, running like two fools in a hurry, and beat land-speed records getting back to the access door.

We made our way back up to L2, and then did our best imitation of people who had not seen a God-damned thing. In our reports, which we compared notes on, no mention of anything in the water, just that the cable was a total loss.

And that is why there was a trench, dug at ground level, to connect the Convention Center to City Hall via fiber optic cable. Best money the City of Dallas spent, even if it did take out a portion of Akard Street for a couple of months.

I don't know what was down there, and I don't want to know. Terry and I have done our 25 years with the City, and we both have our pensions. His hair is grey now, and mine is receding faster than I'd like. We have never spoken of what we saw, and just went about our jobs.

I just know that what I saw, I hope that it never makes it up into our world.
 
2020-10-31 9:59:31 AM  
The United States held a presidential election on November 3, 2020. Incumbent President Donald Trump won in an absolute landslide with 538 electoral votes.
 
2020-10-31 10:09:26 AM  
I apologize, this may not have been a ghost or "scary story" in the traditional sense. It happened and I really hope that what Terry (who is a great electrician and a good man) saw was just an illusion. I cannot say that though.

I see that thing in my dreams at times, when vodak has not obliterated my ability to dream. It was there, and I still hope that there is a divine power in this universe to keep it where it lives.
 
2020-10-31 10:28:07 AM  
2021: 2020 2 Electric Boogaloo
 
2020-10-31 10:29:28 AM  
TRUMP WAS RE-ELECTED!
 
2020-10-31 10:32:35 AM  

Honest Geologist: Resident Muslim: Turing_Machine: Halloween is coming up, and it's time to start scaring the hell out of yourself. We'd like to help. Every year, Fark has a Halloween thread where Farkers share their own spooky stories. These are always fun threads, and a great way to kill some time at work. Here are the first 15 Fark scary story threads - now go creep yourself out.

2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019

Yay! Finally!
Thanks TM.

I can't remember if it was in one of these threads or another, but I think you posted one of the most unsettling stories I've read on here. About the burial of a guy who wasn't particularly well-liked?


I hate you for reminding me.
(Not really, but my jaw clenched and is still clenched from that memory.)
Here I was reading this thread and thinking I don't have any really scary stories to share, but that's mostly because I consider this story a religious story, a lesson, rather than a horror story per se, even though how much it freaked me out.
Anyhoo...this is a rewriting, not a copy and paste, to put me into the right state of mind.

In Muslim/ Middle Eastern cultures it's very common when someone who has passed away is mentioned, that a "God have mercy on him" follows directly after the mention.
I HAVE heard some people refrain from saying it when there was really, really  bad blood between them.
However, this guy was the only guy I ever heard someone say, after asking me if I knew that he had passed and I said yes, "May God NOT have mercy on him."
I had a working relationship with the guy, and on several projects I'd feel like the numbers weren't adding up, financially or that whatever day rate he was quoting me for the workers wasn't correct. Even projects that seemed lucrative ended up breaking even on the long run.
He invited me up to his apartment for coffee once and I was actually surprised at how well furnished his apartment was. I didn't say anything but he did; that his cousin who workEd in Saudi Arabia and had a lucrative job helped him out or lent him the money or something. I had met this cousin, and after this guy passed away the same cousin called me up saying how things are difficult for him in Saudi Arabia and if I could lend him money.
I ignored a lot of signs dealing with this guy and holding to my value of that I will only deal with people based on what I have witnessed and can confirm myself.
After he passed away I met a mutual acquaintance who brought him up and then asked if I had..."noticed anything" while working with this guy, in regards to his character. I just gave a frank no, but couldn't stop my gaze from dropping because I knew what he was asking.
The short of it, is that this guy, as amicable (and skilled!) as he was, apparently had dealt with a lot of people who ended up coming up financially short, some more than others, some much more.

This is the set up so that you understand what kind of character this guy was.

When he died, I got a call from his other cousin who at the time also lived in the same country. He had a heart attack, late 30s if I recall correctly from a two-pack a day smoking habit.

I figured that them not being from the country, that there might not be a lot of people for the burial, so out of courtesy and personal obligation, I went.

This was beyond "not a lot of people". Out of all of those years of him living in that country you'd figure friends or work acquaintances would show up.
None did.
I arrived there to find the cousin and the two very young sons. The cemetery caretaker(s?) and that's it. I have never witnessed in my life such a sparse number.
Recalling the story, I don't even recall us performing the Muslim prayer that is done as last rites, I think they did it before I got there.
Whatever.
We get to the grave site and as bodies are usually put into the graves by hand, and the two kids were just too young, I jumped in myself (I was much younger) and received the shroud-covered body.
This is what a shroud covered body looks like:
npr.brightspotcdn.comView Full Size

I would like to bring to your attention two points that will be relevant 1) you can see the string holding the two pieces of cloth in place 2) you can tell which way the body is facing from the arm placements.

So I lower the body into the grave, and start placing the cross pieces over the body that close off the "slot" where the body is placed on its right side, with the grave perpendicular to the direction of Mecca so that the body faces Mecca.
This is how a body in the grave is placed:
i.ytimg.comView Full Size

Again, notice the arms.
After placing the body, I loosened up the strings as per procedure, and after the first few cross pieces were put in place the cousin reminded me to uncover the face, again, as per procedure. Mind you, the first few cross pieces already cover the top of the grave, to give privacy to the face and shield the people there from seeing a dead face.
So I lean over and start loosening up the cloths at the face, they start separating...and I see a bald head. The guy was bald, so I figure that his chin is tucked in low and I need to uncover lower...still more bald head..."Did we lower him backwards into the grave??" I ask myself in panic, I look down and I can clearly see where the arms are, in the correct location, but all I keep uncovering as I go lower is baldness...like his head was twisted the other way around, like God didn't want him facing Mecca. The cousin senses me being distraught and asks if everything is OK, he can't see what I'm seeing because he was standing outside of the grave...and I reply with "I can't uncover his face" in as much a level voice as I can, so he says to let him try, him probably thinking that I couldn't loosen up the strings or cloth or something. I climb out of the grave and he goes in, he fumbles around for a bit, and comes out and I ask him, in as level a voice as I can muster "were you able to uncover the face?" While I tried my best to keep my voice level I'm sure there was a bit of panic in my voice.
Yes, was his simple reply, and I left it at that.

I felt so unclean. I don't ever recall actually feeling so unclean. I didn't/couldn't wait until I got home.
I stopped at the first mosque I could find, feeling sick to my stomach, walked into the bathrooms that had floor level toilets, stripped my clothes and hung them on the door and just frantically washed myself with the handheld bidet/hose.

To this day, and probably to the end of my life, I fear God's punishment more for what I might do to other people than what sins I might do to myself.
 
2020-10-31 10:39:54 AM  
"Please Bobby."

How many times had he heard the voice?  Not that many.  A handful, maybe two. Just enough to make the other kids taunt him when he asked them if they heard it too, make him yell "Shut up!" in a crowded theater, ruin his first kiss, startle him into tripping and falling down the stairs hearing his leg crack like a stick wrapped in a wet blanket.

For some reason that's all his memories were any more. He thought there had been a time when his memory was sharp. But now he was close to retirement and the only real memories he could sort out from the fog of his past were those when the whisper from nowhere had embarrassed or hurt him.  So he knew it was coming but still he watched himself slide his hand forward into the table saw. Hey, some good luck for once, it was only his ring finger. It didn't even hurt this time. Just felt like somebody was sliding a ring down past the knuckles.  Heh, appropriate feeling for a ring finger.

Ah well, maybe this would mean early retirement. No more waking up in pain and falling asleep in pain book ending a day full of painful labor.  Maybe he would have the chance to rest and somewhat numb the pain like he did on the weekends.  Yeah, some life this was.  Always alone, always in pain. But it never farking ended.

.


And 50 years later it still hadn't ended. You would think that for your 110th birthday the news people would be there.  But no, that was for the spry oldsters who still got up at the crack of dawn to feed the birds. You don't want a human interest story about a fellow who lies in his own filth all day entertaining himself by listening to the distant traffic and waiting for somebody to come in and clean him up while biatching about it, then force flavorless gruel down his throat. Not enough to thrive. Just enough to keep him breathing.

Oh and here she was with the gruel, but no cart piled with bedding and sponges. So it was food time but not time to clean up the shiat that was oozing into his bed sores or the pus that was leaking from them.  The ice cold spoon forced its way into his mouth cutting his already raw gums and dropping a glob of blood flavored gruel at the back of his tongue where it slid into his throat forcing him to convulsively swallow. As the breath burbled in his gruel slicked throat he heard the whisper again and wondered if this would ever end.


                        *****

She heard the burbling in his throat and knew that it would stop in a few seconds, that no ambulance could reach them in time.  He was never going to see his baby. He was never even going to turn 20. She squeezed his one uninjured hand and the wedding ring she had forced onto his finger. The wedding ring that would never be used for real now. His eyes were open but glazed. His chest barely moving. "Please Bobby" she whispered. It was the only thing her frozen brain could force out through her numb lips.
 
2020-10-31 11:06:37 AM  
One of the creepiest movies of the 1980s was one called THE HITCHER, with Rutger Hauer. If you have seen it, you know the movie I am talking about, and if you live in the US Southwest, you really know what I am talking about.

The US Southwest has been a playground for serial killers long before Route 66 opened and closed. It can be a creepy place for outlaws of all kinds, and that did not really change when caravans of covered wagons gave way to endless lines of stationwagons full of kids on summer vacation.

I have some stories. I have driven from Denver to different destinations in California 20 times or more. Once I drove from Denver to Santa Ana in 13 hours in a very nondescript vehicle. I achieved that magic by taking no pee breaks. But I have some spooky stories. The fatigue of the trips always lends a patina to the memory that might not color my retelling of it. But weird stuff happens out in the desert that just does not seem to follow me when I get out of it.

On one of the trips, I was in a line of 7 or 8 cars all moving south into Las Vegas through the Valley of Fire. LV was still way over an hour away, but I had made that little passage out of Utah through Arizona and was now getting anxious to get checked into a hotel and play some blackjack at Binions.

Apparently so was everyone else. Once I had passed one or two cars and eased back on the accelerator a little, someone from behind would push the pedal down and pass a few cars to get to the head of the line. After a couple of rounds, everyone was picking up speed. I was in a crapped out Oldsmobile, but there was a Trans Am that was half gray-primer color with headers. Bwaaaaaah.... it would pass. There was the usual prick in a Corvette, and a Pinto and some others. All jockeying and moving down the road.

As they passed, you could get a look at the other guys in the cars. Pretty well everyone was driving alone. But the way the shadows worked in the late morning sun, you could kind of get a silhouette. Big deal. No babes. Nothing interesting. Crank up the stereo and roll on down the line.

Bwaaaaah. There went the Trans Am again. This time he was moving way way out in front. Four car lengths, 10 car lengths, 20 car lengths. Goodbye Trans Am. Leaving the slowpokes behind to limp along at 80 or  so. He was gone. But as I came over a hill, way up in the distance, I saw some white smoke, and moving up fast, I saw huge chunks of rubber shoot up and land on the highway. The Trans Am started to spin but he got control of it and moved it over to the right.

As the cars moved up, I and the Pinto guy stopped to make sure he was ok. I stopped a little in front and the Pinto a little behind. I could see that the guy was kind of shaken. There was no problem with his car other than the tire though. He rolled down his window and we talked a bit.

Then he opened the car door and got out. The guy from the Pinto had a weird reaction and kind of moved away from him. What? Was there a gun? What was going on? The Trans Am guy was wearing a cowboy hat and took it off as he turned to face the highway.

The right side of his face looked as though it had been melted, and the hair on half his head was gone. He had obviously been in some kind of horrible fire or accident at some time in his life. It was shocking. I am not the kind of guy to judge people by appearances, but it was just too weird at that time on that day. All of a sudden I felt really alone and figured that this guy could probably take care of himself well enough without my help.

After I made sure he was ok, I had to get out of there. I left him to the PInto guy. I had had too much caffeine and had driven too long.  I decided I needed to get some sleep and forget about Binions until I had gotten some.
 
2020-10-31 11:34:11 AM  
This was a creepy trip for my aunt, but luckily we can all laugh about it now.

My sweet aunt had recently been widowed and we were trying to think of a way to distract her and maybe cheer her up.    Turns out that week we were all going to be near enough to Prague to make a day trip there.  Since my aunt loves sculpture we knew that art tour there could be the perfect.  On we go.

Tour guide assured us he had a unique list our aunt would love.   So we naively signed up.
And ended up taking our recently widowed aunt to see:
s3.crackedcdn.comView Full Size

-
parenthoodandpassports.comView Full Size

- hanged horse
parenthoodandpassports.comView Full Size

- many faceless babies
s3.crackedcdn.comView Full Size

and the lost man
parenthoodandpassports.comView Full Size

Well - the tour guide was right - they were well made and unique...
Just a shade too macabre for that week.
But like I said earlier - its lucky we can all laugh about it now.  Happy Halloween!
 
2020-10-31 11:43:21 AM  

Wenchmaster: FNG: Wenchmaster: Not sure if this will fit:

No one read that, or is going to buy your book.  This is the wrong thread for whoring it.

Keep things to personal stories.

Since you object to reading long texts, I'll keep this short in an itemized list:

1- I've seen several obvious fiction stories posted above mine. You do not appear to have any objection to those.
2- Nowhere does the thread originator say personal stories only. It just specifies "your spooky stories". This is MY spooky story for this year.
3- Anyone who doesn't wish to read it is free to skip it. I do note that at least two people appear to have read it (based on the "SMART" button clicks), so you're obviously and demonstrably wrong. Quelle surprise.
4- I cranked this out in a couple of hours after work, right before posting it. I don't have a book. Nice of you to think I do.
5- If you're not the thread originator, you have no business setting rules for this thread. If Turing Machine objects, I'll ask the mods to remove my story. Your opinion on this subject is worth exactly jack.
6- Many Farkers (including me) have posted fiction stories in several past "Spooky Story" threads. There's usually at least one person who isn't the thread originator whinging about other people's content in these threads. Congratulations! You're the one for this thread.


There's always at least one.  I stopped submitting stories to these threads because I didn't want to have to deal with it.  Happy Halloween, everyone.
 
2020-10-31 12:07:35 PM  
I have no stories but the tuxedos wish to say Happy Halloween.
Fark user imageView Full Size

/scary bookmark
 
2020-10-31 12:09:43 PM  

Honest Geologist: FNG: Wow, a few years ago this thread had 608 comments, even the fake "timmy doesn't live here anymore" hasn't shown up.

Maybe it'll pick up today.


media0.giphy.comView Full Size
 
2020-10-31 12:16:37 PM  
Ok. So, basically, for some strange reason I get wake up in a cold sweat nightmares, so, I think I'll give one of those. It's the early 2000s or 1990s, but before the treaty that gave south Sudan independence was signed. There's this little boy. One day, he is living his little boy life, having fun, and then he hears a gunshot. Then he hears more gunshots then he sees a helicopter swooping in, guns blazing, rockets firing, he sees his mother get blown in two by a rocket from a mil-24. Then silence. The boy starts running, and than all of a sudden, he hears cars running. His grandfather gets run over by the car. Then the cars start firing their Soviet heavy machine guns at the group. A bullet hits the boy's father who was three feet away from him. It cuts him in two. The father's blood splashes all over the son. The boy is running and he reaches a river. He sees crocodiles in the river. They're looking right at the boy. Mouths open. He sees the cars speeding towards him guns firing. The bullets hit both of the people next to them in their heads and their heads explode brains splattering all over the boy. Even in the boy's mouth. He runs into the river. He sees three crocodiles swimming towards him. I then wake up in a cold sweat.
 
2020-10-31 12:18:05 PM  
Not ghost related but....

#1 Growing up in the 80's there was this house across the street from us that was always empty. One day a family moved in and we were excited to have some new kids in the neighborhood to play with. There was a boy about 10 and a girl about 8. After getting the courage to go over there we find out that they were from Chile and spoke no English. They were nice enough and we would still ride bikes in the neighborhood and do general kid stuff even though we did not understand each other. Then one day we go over to their house and they were gone. Like moved out in the middle of the night gone. We had just seen them the day before and then poof gone. To a little kid this was so odd but later I realized that they were probably illegals that were trying to stay one step ahead of the law. Chile in the 80's was run by a pretty bad dude name Pinochet so getting sent back would have been bad news. I often wonder what happened to them. My parents still live in the same house and they never came back.
#2 In the early 90's I went to SMSU (MO State) for a time. I had a buddy who invited me to a party at his friends house which was a few miles away from the dorm I was living in. I decided to go but I would have to walk since I did not have a car at the time. Even though Springfield is a pretty big town, if you walk for 20 minutes in any direction you may find yourself out in the sticks. So i start walking by myself on a freezing clear winter night. After about 15 minutes of walking down this empty street in the cold I happen to look up at the sky which was crystal clear without a cloud and I see this brown oval shaped thing floating across the sky ahead of me from my right to left. It had no lights and it made no sound. I would say it was about 100 feet up and travelling at a pretty high rate of speed. Again, this was a crystal clear night and there were no clouds out. It was travelling to fast to be a cloud anyway. I finally lost sight of it behind some trees and then ran the rest of the way to the party. I think I begged everyone there for a ride home after so I did not have to walk down that street again. There is probably not a week that goes by that I don't think of that night.
 
2020-10-31 12:22:50 PM  
Fark user imageView Full Size

This is a music box. I've had it since I was too young for school. Recently, even though it is wound down and disengaged, the wooden pin will slide out and it will begin to play.
It was a gift from my uncle, who was a test pilot (P-47) during WWII. He was a daredevil, a prankster, and a delightful man who was buried three years ago with full honors.
He chose this one because I loved Danny Kaye as a wee child and it plays the song "Wonderful Copenhagen." A very cheerful tune...at speed.

But when I hear the pin slide by itself and the mechanisms creak, and that song playing at quarter-speed...it's the creepiest, most melancholy thing I've ever heard.

But I think Uncle Dave knows that and is laughing his ass off somewhere on the other side.
 
2020-10-31 12:29:00 PM  
I don't know how to tell this story even though it is true. The setting is a very small town in western Washington, the kind where there is one store, one restaurant and one gas station.
Kelly used to hang out at that restaurant I worked at. She had been married to someone I knew pretty well from a previous job. Hauled rocks in her own dump truck. Well liked, pretty petite blonde.
One day my bestie was at dinner with one of her friends from work. Right down the street from where the now single Kelly lived. Hubby of friend was creeping friend out, friend has some history of psychic flashes. Knew her dad was dead at age 7. Creepy hubby was bragging about his hunting prowess. Claimed he could dismember a deer faster than anyone around. Showed off his brand new bone saw. Sharp and fast.
A month or so later this is hard to type never put it on paper before. A month or so later Kelly didn't come in to work. A welfare check by the police only made more questions - they found an ashtray with a very long ash in it- the kind you get when you lay down the smoke intending to come right back. They found her dogs, unharmed. They looked around the property and then they started to find pieces of Kelly.
She had been dismembered and body parts strewn about. Some of her was in the river that bordered her property. Not all of her was recovered. I only know this because bestie was friends with a local popo's wife.
They investigated everyone; they creepy guy with the new bonesaw? Yeah, that had mysteriously been sold a few days before. Even more creepy, Creepy guy carved a memorial sign for Kelly.
It's been 16 years and telling this has been harder than I thought it would be. RIP beautiful girl, I still weep for you.

The murder is still unsolved, she is the Ace of Diamonds in the cold case card pack the local sheriffs keep around the jail.
 
2020-10-31 12:40:30 PM  
Another thing.

I don't really believe in ghosts or anything.  I'm an atheist.  But, I will admit sometimes things happen that seem odd.  The rational part of me knows its all likely coincidence.  I posted above about my purportedly haunted house, but really I never saw anything, except for the tap on my shoulder.  Could have been nerves etc.

One time we went to massachusetts to visit my wife's childhood friend.  We were staying at their house they had recently bought and renovated.

We were sleeping in the guest room, and just before I dozed off, I realized something.  The room was eerily still.  At first I shrugged it off as being from nyc and trying to sleep in suburban mass.  But something else seemed off.  Kirk the room was bright and new and renovated.  But I could "feel" that was not the real nature of that room.  As if the renovations were just wall hangings or something, and could not mask the heavy stillness.  Before I dozed off I almost said to my wife "it feels like someone died in this room".


At breakfast the next day we were discussing the house with her friend and how they came to buy the house.  They got it a for a good price, because it had previously been owned by a guy who was a bit of a loner and the neighborhood crank who would tell at kids for riding their bikes in front of his house. Apparently he was also a bit of a hoarder.  They also informed us he had died in the house.  In the room we slept in.
 
2020-10-31 12:47:34 PM  
....and when I got home, there was a bloody hook hanging from the car door!!!
 
2020-10-31 12:56:12 PM  
I would have been about eight or nine when this happened. It wasn't Halloween quite yet, but it was at least a day or so before. It was Saturday night and my parents were invited to a party. Each thinking that the other had taken care of it, they only realized about thirty minutes before they were out the door that neither of them had hired a babysitter.  They were about to cancel their plans but I remember insisting that they go out, telling them that I would be fine by myself and they should go have fun with their friends. Really, I just wanted them out so I could finally watch R-rated movies on HBO. My mother was hesitant but my father talked her into it. So she made a tuna fish sandwich and said she will trust me but under no circumstances was I supposed to leave the house or let anybody else in ("and there better not be any R movies on HBO!"), and I told her that was no problem whatsoever.

They left, and after about a half hour until I felt confident that they weren't coming right back, I put on HBO. Being near the end of October, it was naturally horror movie night. First was Alien, then came The Shining. I was only about a half hour into that second movie when the phone rang. Thinking it was my Mom checking in on me, I answered the phone. I heard some strange unknown voice. First there was laughter, then he finally said, "I know you're all alone, little boy." I slammed the phone down, heart racing. It took me about ten minutes to realize that it had to be my Dad farking with me. My whole life, even close to the day he died of cancer in 2016, he was always farking with me. So I tried to relax and blow it off as a joke. But I was creeped out. At least enough that I couldn't continue watching The Shining so I put on something else in the VHS player. Probably Superman. (Yeah, I'm really showing my age here.)

Thirty minutes later, the phone rang again. I answered it again, this time prepared for Dad's "joke". It was the same voice, this time cackling, "whatsamatter, little boy? Too scared to finished The Shining?" I slammed the phone down again, this time even more scared. I was still convincing myself it was my Dad, but even then, that meant my parents came back to secretly spy on me and the busted me watching R-rated movies.

Then there was a pounding on the door. Not just a regular knock, but heavy relentless pounding that went for about a minute before it stopped.  At this point I knew, this was not one of Dad's jokes. He would not take it this far. So I started going from room to room and turning off all the lights and closing all the blinds. I didn't know about dialing 911 back then, and despite all my mother's precautions, she forgot to give me a number to reach her in case there was a problem. It was at this point that there was a gentle rapping at one of the windows. Somebody was tapping Shave and a Haircut. I hid under the coffee table started crying. Whoever it was, he was going from window to window. One living room window: tap tap tap tap tap shave and a haircut tap tap two bits. Then he did it at the other living room window. Then I could hear him tapping on the kitchen windows next. Shave and a haircut, two bits.

After a few minutes of this, the window rapping stopped. It was quiet for about twenty minutes but I didn't budge from my hiding spot. I was going to stay there until Mom and Dad got home. And that's when it got even worse. There was a loud crash upstairs, which was followed by heavy footsteps. I could hear from which part of the house the noises were coming from. It started from my room, then down the hall, then back again. Running from room to room, laughing "I know you're here somewhere". Yeah, I can come out and admit that I was literally pissing myself at this moment. But despite that, I was able to summon at least a little bit of courage. As long as this creep was upstairs, I could make a break for it and run to the neighbor's house. So I quietly crawled out from underneath the coffee table. There was still noise coming from upstairs, so I felt safe enough to tip toe to the front door, unlock it, and leave. Once out, I started running. I didn't get far.

I heard voice shout, "where do you think you're going?" Then I heard a thud on the ground. This creep had actually leapt from the second floor of my house, landed on the ground below, and started chasing after me without losing a beat. My legs started quivering and became so overcome with fear that I collapsed. I huddled up in a ball, too scared to scream out loud. All I could do was cry. He started taunting, "awwww, you're not gonna cry on me, are you?" I flinched as I felt his hand on my shoulder. "There's no reason to cry," he said as he was laughing, "there's no reason to cry." He flipped me over on my back and I looked straight up at him.

So there I was, a helpless child wearing pee-soaked pajamas and tears pouring down my cheeks, looking up, face to face with Bill Murray. He smiled and said, "no one will ever believe you". He kissed me on the cheek and ran off into the night. I haven't been able to watch Stripes without breaking into a cold sweat since.
 
2020-10-31 1:02:20 PM  

gunga galunga: I would have been about eight or nine when this happened. It wasn't Halloween quite yet, but it was at least a day or so before. It was Saturday night and my parents were invited to a party. Each thinking that the other had taken care of it, they only realized about thirty minutes before they were out the door that neither of them had hired a babysitter.  They were about to cancel their plans but I remember insisting that they go out, telling them that I would be fine by myself and they should go have fun with their friends. Really, I just wanted them out so I could finally watch R-rated movies on HBO. My mother was hesitant but my father talked her into it. So she made a tuna fish sandwich and said she will trust me but under no circumstances was I supposed to leave the house or let anybody else in ("and there better not be any R movies on HBO!"), and I told her that was no problem whatsoever.

They left, and after about a half hour until I felt confident that they weren't coming right back, I put on HBO. Being near the end of October, it was naturally horror movie night. First was Alien, then came The Shining. I was only about a half hour into that second movie when the phone rang. Thinking it was my Mom checking in on me, I answered the phone. I heard some strange unknown voice. First there was laughter, then he finally said, "I know you're all alone, little boy." I slammed the phone down, heart racing. It took me about ten minutes to realize that it had to be my Dad farking with me. My whole life, even close to the day he died of cancer in 2016, he was always farking with me. So I tried to relax and blow it off as a joke. But I was creeped out. At least enough that I couldn't continue watching The Shining so I put on something else in the VHS player. Probably Superman. (Yeah, I'm really showing my age here.)

Thirty minutes later, the phone rang again. I answered it again, this time prepared for Dad's "joke". It was the same voice, this time cackling, "whatsamatter, little boy? Too scared to finished The Shining?" I slammed the phone down again, this time even more scared. I was still convincing myself it was my Dad, but even then, that meant my parents came back to secretly spy on me and the busted me watching R-rated movies.

Then there was a pounding on the door. Not just a regular knock, but heavy relentless pounding that went for about a minute before it stopped.  At this point I knew, this was not one of Dad's jokes. He would not take it this far. So I started going from room to room and turning off all the lights and closing all the blinds. I didn't know about dialing 911 back then, and despite all my mother's precautions, she forgot to give me a number to reach her in case there was a problem. It was at this point that there was a gentle rapping at one of the windows. Somebody was tapping Shave and a Haircut. I hid under the coffee table started crying. Whoever it was, he was going from window to window. One living room window: tap tap tap tap tap shave and a haircut tap tap two bits. Then he did it at the other living room window. Then I could hear him tapping on the kitchen windows next. Shave and a haircut, two bits.

After a few minutes of this, the window rapping stopped. It was quiet for about twenty minutes but I didn't budge from my hiding spot. I was going to stay there until Mom and Dad got home. And that's when it got even worse. There was a loud crash upstairs, which was followed by heavy footsteps. I could hear from which part of the house the noises were coming from. It started from my room, then down the hall, then back again. Running from room to room, laughing "I know you're here somewhere". Yeah, I can come out and admit that I was literally pissing myself at this moment. But despite that, I was able to summon at least a little bit of courage. As long as this creep was upstairs, I could make a break for it and run to the neighbor's house. So I quietly crawled out from underneath the coffee table. There was still noise coming from upstairs, so I felt safe enough to tip toe to the front door, unlock it, and leave. Once out, I started running. I didn't get far.

I heard voice shout, "where do you think you're going?" Then I heard a thud on the ground. This creep had actually leapt from the second floor of my house, landed on the ground below, and started chasing after me without losing a beat. My legs started quivering and became so overcome with fear that I collapsed. I huddled up in a ball, too scared to scream out loud. All I could do was cry. He started taunting, "awwww, you're not gonna cry on me, are you?" I flinched as I felt his hand on my shoulder. "There's no reason to cry," he said as he was laughing, "there's no reason to cry." He flipped me over on my back and I looked straight up at him.

So there I was, a helpless child wearing pee-soaked pajamas and tears pouring down my cheeks, looking up, face to face with Bill Murray. He smiled and said, "no one will ever believe you". He kissed me on the cheek and ran off into the night. I haven't been able to watch Stripes without breaking into a cold sweat since.


Username checks out.
 
2020-10-31 1:03:34 PM  
HAPPY HALLOWEEN, Everyone..!!

..seems a little anti-climactic after all the horror the year has already brought..

Alot of great stories/writing above, and a little kerfluffleing too..guess last year's proposal to have a separate thread for 'real,' personal stories and one for creative works never gained any traction..

Sad to see that contribution this year has been so anemic..under 100 posts and a mere 11 hours left in what should be the best holiday of the year..  Only to be understood, with everything we've all been dealing with and going through..    =P    Also sorry to note that the classics don't seem to have made any sort of a showing in this thread.  I guess I'll step up to the plate and start with those..one per post, methinks..

(..if any were already posted and I missed it, my apologies..)

Here's the first, an absolute classic:

Ted the Caver
 
2020-10-31 1:11:52 PM  

CAT-LIKE TYPING DETECTED: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, Everyone..!!

..seems a little anti-climactic after all the horror the year has already brought..

Alot of great stories/writing above, and a little kerfluffleing too..guess last year's proposal to have a separate thread for 'real,' personal stories and one for creative works never gained any traction..

Sad to see that contribution this year has been so anemic..under 100 posts and a mere 11 hours left in what should be the best holiday of the year..  Only to be understood, with everything we've all been dealing with and going through..    =P    Also sorry to note that the classics don't seem to have made any sort of a showing in this thread. I guess I'll step up to the plate and start with those..one per post, methinks..

(..if any were already posted and I missed it, my apologies..)

Here's the first, an absolute classic:

Ted the Caver


I'll be happy to help. I'm sure we all remember this classic from echo5juliet back in 2006 which became the stuff of legends in Fark Scary story threads for years to come.
______________________________________​_______________________________

I was driving a shortcut from Twentynine Palms, CA to Albuquerque, NM. Twentynine Palms is located in the desolate high desert east of LA. The shortcut was all two lane road through total nothingness, except for passing through Amboy, CA. Amboy is a nearly abandoned town nearly as far below sea level as Death Valley, with a dormant volcano and lava field on one side and a salt flat on the other. It was also, at the time, a hotspot for satanic group activity.

So I was driving by myself in the afternoon. I stopped in Amboy and snapped a picture of the city sign, just to prove I was there to friends who dared me to take that route to I-40. I got back in my car and proceeded to drive up into the mountain range between Amboy and I-40.

Once I reach the top I am driving north through a canyon with high grass on both sides of the road. Up ahead I see some stuff in the middle of the road. As I approach I slow down to see a red Pontiac Fiero stopped sideways across both lanes, a suitcase open with clothes scattered everywhere and two bodies laying face down in the road, a man and a woman.

I stop a hundred feet or so away and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. Being a Marine, I reach under the seat and pull out a 9mm pistol and chamber a round. Something seemed very wrong, it looked too perfect as if it were staged. An ambush? Was I being paranoid? Something was just wrong. Getting out of the car seemed unthinkable, it was the horror movie move.

As I scanned the road I saw a line I could drive. Pass the guy in the road on his left, swerve to the right side of the woman, behind the Fiero and I'd be on the other side. I dropped it into first gear, punched it and drove the line I planned.

I passed the back of the Fierro without hitting it or either of the bodies in the road. I continued forward a couple hundred feet and slowed down so I could breathe and let my heart slow down. As I looked up into the rearview mirror I saw that the two bodies had gotten up to their knees and twenty or so people emerged from the tall grass on either side of the road by the car and bodies. One of them, presumably the leader of the group, walked out a few feet ahead of the others and glared at me. It was Bill Murray. He said, "no one will ever believe you".

At that moment my right foot smashed the gas pedal to the floor and did not let up until I had to slowdown for the I-40 east onramp.

I will never know what would have happened to me had I gotten out of the car to check on the bodies or stopped my car closer to them. Somehow I do not think it would have been good. Sometimes real life can be scarier than a movie.
 
2020-10-31 1:12:17 PM  
Sorry.

/not sorry
 
2020-10-31 1:13:09 PM  

Resident Muslim: Honest Geologist: Resident Muslim: Turing_Machine: Halloween is coming up, and it's time to start scaring the hell out of yourself. We'd like to help. Every year, Fark has a Halloween thread where Farkers share their own spooky stories. These are always fun threads, and a great way to kill some time at work. Here are the first 15 Fark scary story threads - now go creep yourself out.

2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019

Yay! Finally!
Thanks TM.

I can't remember if it was in one of these threads or another, but I think you posted one of the most unsettling stories I've read on here. About the burial of a guy who wasn't particularly well-liked?

I hate you for reminding me.
(Not really, but my jaw clenched and is still clenched from that memory.)
Here I was reading this thread and thinking I don't have any really scary stories to share, but that's mostly because I consider this story a religious story, a lesson, rather than a horror story per se, even though how much it freaked me out.
Anyhoo...this is a rewriting, not a copy and paste, to put me into the right state of mind.

In Muslim/ Middle Eastern cultures it's very common when someone who has passed away is mentioned, that a "God have mercy on him" follows directly after the mention.
I HAVE heard some people refrain from saying it when there was really, really  bad blood between them.
However, this guy was the only guy I ever heard someone say, after asking me if I knew that he had passed and I said yes, "May God NOT have mercy on him."
I had a working relationship with the guy, and on several projects I'd feel like the numbers weren't adding up, financially or that whatever day rate he was quoting me for the workers wasn't correct. Even projects that seemed lucrative ended up breaking even on the long run.
He invited me up to his apartment for coffee once and I was actually surprised at how well furnished his apartment was. I didn't say anything but he did; that his cousin who workEd in Saudi Arabia and had a lucrative job helped him out or lent him the money or something. I had met this cousin, and after this guy passed away the same cousin called me up saying how things are difficult for him in Saudi Arabia and if I could lend him money.
I ignored a lot of signs dealing with this guy and holding to my value of that I will only deal with people based on what I have witnessed and can confirm myself.
After he passed away I met a mutual acquaintance who brought him up and then asked if I had..."noticed anything" while working with this guy, in regards to his character. I just gave a frank no, but couldn't stop my gaze from dropping because I knew what he was asking.
The short of it, is that this guy, as amicable (and skilled!) as he was, apparently had dealt with a lot of people who ended up coming up financially short, some more than others, some much more.

This is the set up so that you understand what kind of character this guy was.

When he died, I got a call from his other cousin who at the time also lived in the same country. He had a heart attack, late 30s if I recall correctly from a two-pack a day smoking habit.

I figured that them not being from the country, that there might not be a lot of people for the burial, so out of courtesy and personal obligation, I went.

This was beyond "not a lot of people". Out of all of those years of him living in that country you'd figure friends or work acquaintances would show up.
None did.
I arrived there to find the cousin and the two very young sons. The cemetery caretaker(s?) and that's it. I have never witnessed in my life such a sparse number.
Recalling the story, I don't even recall us performing the Muslim prayer that is done as last rites, I think they did it before I got there.
Whatever.
We get to the grave site and as bodies are usually put into the graves by hand, and the two kids were just too young, I jumped in myself (I was much younger) and received the shroud-covered body.
This is what a shroud covered body looks like:
[npr.brightspotcdn.com image 850x849]
I would like to bring to your attention two points that will be relevant 1) you can see the string holding the two pieces of cloth in place 2) you can tell which way the body is facing from the arm placements.

So I lower the body into the grave, and start placing the cross pieces over the body that close off the "slot" where the body is placed on its right side, with the grave perpendicular to the direction of Mecca so that the body faces Mecca.
This is how a body in the grave is placed:
[i.ytimg.com image 480x360]
Again, notice the arms.
After placing the body, I loosened up the strings as per procedure, and after the first few cross pieces were put in place the cousin reminded me to uncover the face, again, as per procedure. Mind you, the first few cross pieces already cover the top of the grave, to give privacy to the face and shield the people there from seeing a dead face.
So I lean over and start loosening up the cloths at the face, they start separating...and I see a bald head. The guy was bald, so I figure that his chin is tucked in low and I need to uncover lower...still more bald head..."Did we lower him backwards into the grave??" I ask myself in panic, I look down and I can clearly see where the arms are, in the correct location, but all I keep uncovering as I go lower is baldness...like his head was twisted the other way around, like God didn't want him facing Mecca. The cousin senses me being distraught and asks if everything is OK, he can't see what I'm seeing because he was standing outside of the grave...and I reply with "I can't uncover his face" in as much a level voice as I can, so he says to let him try, him probably thinking that I couldn't loosen up the strings or cloth or something. I climb out of the grave and he goes in, he fumbles around for a bit, and comes out and I ask him, in as level a voice as I can muster "were you able to uncover the face?" While I tried my best to keep my voice level I'm sure there was a bit of panic in my voice.
Yes, was his simple reply, and I left it at that.

I felt so unclean. I don't ever recall actually feeling so unclean. I didn't/couldn't wait until I got home.
I stopped at the first mosque I could find, feeling sick to my stomach, walked into the bathrooms that had floor level toilets, stripped my clothes and hung them on the door and just frantically washed myself with the handheld bidet/hose.

To this day, and probably to the end of my life, I fear God's punishment more for what I might do to other people than what sins I might do to myself.


I don't think a lot of the heaviness of this hit me the first time I read it. I am sorry I brought it up. Wishing you peace.
 
2020-10-31 1:14:20 PM  
Another 'oldie but spooky'..

This one's a real rabbit-hole, easy to lose a couple'a three days if you really dig deep into it:

(..unfortunately, it looks like its gone from the web, per se..  It's still available on the 'Wayback Machine' but you'll have to forgive me for not diving right in to see if its all there..)

The Dionaea House
 
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