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(Fark)   It's that time of year again. So turn off the lights in your mom's basement and huddle 'round the flickering glow of your computer screen. It's time for this year's Spooky Story thread   ( divider line
    More: Scary  
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3341 clicks; posted to Main » on 31 Oct 2013 at 6:00 AM (8 years ago)   |   Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook

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2013-10-30 3:48:43 PM  
Quagmire: "And when he woke up in the morning, she was still in his bed! AAAAAAHHHH!!!! AHHHHH!!!!"

Chris: "That's it?"

Quagmire: "Yeah. Then she wanted to make him eggs! AAAAAHHHH!!!! AHHHH!!!

But he said I don't have time, I have a meeting at 12:30

And she said I'll drive you there! AAAAHH!!!

And he said no, no, It's at my office, it's like a half hour commute

And she said I don't mind, it's on the way to my kid's preschool! AAAAHHH! AHHHH! AAHHHH!!!!"
2013-10-30 4:01:22 PM  
I love the spooky story thread. There isn't one already greened?
2013-10-30 4:06:26 PM  
One night I was sitting in my basement just drinking a beer watching a game when I hear an eerie voice behind me "Honey, we need to talk". The hair on the back of my neck stoop on end as I turned around to see my wife holding this
kleinbergtng.comView Full Size

a feeling of doom crept over my soul
2013-10-30 6:48:23 PM  
In before some cock who doesn't understand the word story starts spouting off about "this day and age" and "not real".

My favorite bit of creepypasta...

The Russian Sleep Experiment Orange Soda

Russian researchers in the late 1940's kept five people awake for fifteen days using an experimental gas based stimulant. They were kept in a sealed environment to carefully monitor their oxygen intake so the gas didn't kill them, since it was toxic in high concentrations. This was before closed circuit cameras so they had only microphones and 5 inch thick glass porthole sized windows into the chamber to monitor them. The chamber was stocked with books, cots to sleep on but no bedding, running water and toilet, and enough dried food to last all five for over a month.The test subjects were political prisoners deemed enemies of the state during world war II.Everything was fine for the first 5 days, the subjects hardly complained having been promised (falsely) that they would be freed if they submitted to the test and did not sleep for 30 days. Their conversations and activities were monitored and it was noted that they continued to talk about increasingly traumatic incidents in their past, and the general tone of their conversations took on a darker aspect after the 4 day mark.After five days they started to complain about the circumstances and events that lead them to where they were and started to demonstrate severe paranoia. They stopped talking to each other and began alternately whispering to the microphones and one way mirrored portholes. Oddly they all seemed to think they could win the trust of the experimenters by turning over their comrades, the other subjects in captivity with them. At first the researchers suspected this was an effect of the gas itself...After nine days the first of them started screaming. He ran the length of the chamber repeatedly yelling at the top of his lungs for 3 hours straight, he continued attempting to scream but was only able to produce occasional squeaks. The researchers postulated that he had physically torn his vocal cords. The most surprising thing about this behavior is how the other captives reacted to it... or rather didn't react to it. They continued whispering to the microphones until the second of the captives started to scream. The 2 non screaming captives took the books apart, smeared page after page with their own feces and pasted them calmly over the glass portholes. The screaming promptly stopped.So did the whispering to the microphones.After 3 more days passed. The researchers checked the microphones hourly to make sure they were working, since they thought it impossible that no sound could be coming with 5 people inside. The oxygen consumption in the chamber indicated that all 5 must still be alive. In fact it was the amount of oxygen 5 people would consume at a very heavy level of strenuous exercise. On the morning of the 14th day the researchers did something they said they would not do to get a reaction from the captives, they used the intercom inside the chamber, hoping to provoke any response from the captives they were afraid were either dead or vegetables.They announced: "We are opening the chamber to test the microphones step away from the doors and lie flat on the floor or you will be shot. Compliance will earn one of you your immediate freedom."To their surprise they heard a single phrase in a calm voice response: "We no longer want to be freed."Debate broke out among the researchers and the military forces funding the research. Unable to provoke any more response using the intercom it was finally decided to open the chamber at midnight on the fifteenth day.The chamber was flushed of the stimulant gas and filled with fresh air and immediately voices from the microphones began to object. 3 different voices began begging, as if pleading for the life of loved ones to turn the gas back on. The chamber was opened and soldiers sent in to retrieve the test subjects. They began to scream louder than ever, and so did the soldiers when they saw what was inside. Four of the five subjects were still alive, although no one could rightly call the state that any of them in 'life.'The food rations past day 5 had not been so much as touched. There were chunks of meat from the dead test subject's thighs and chest stuffed into the drain in the center of the chamber, blocking the drain and allowing 4 inches of water to accumulate on the floor. Precisely how much of the water on the floor was actually blood was never determined. All four 'surviving' test subjects also had large portions of muscle and skin torn away from their bodies. The destruction of flesh and exposed bone on their finger tips indicated that the wounds were inflicted by hand, not with teeth as the researchers initially thought. Closer examination of the position and angles of the wounds indicated that most if not all of them were self-inflicted.The abdominal organs below the ribcage of all four test subjects had been removed. While the heart, lungs and diaphragm remained in place, the skin and most of the muscles attached to the ribs had been ripped off, exposing the lungs through the ribcage. All the blood vessels and organs remained intact, they had just been taken out and laid on the floor, fanning out around the eviscerated but still living bodies of the subjects. The digestive tract of all four could be seen to be working, digesting food. It quickly became apparent that what they were digesting was their own flesh that they had ripped off and eaten over the course of days.Most of the soldiers were Russian special operatives at the facility, but still many refused to return to the chamber to remove the test subjects. They continued to scream to be left in the chamber and alternately begged and demanded that the gas be turned back on, lest they fall asleep...To everyone's surprise the test subjects put up a fierce fight in the process of being removed from the chamber. One of the Russian soldiers died from having his throat ripped out, another was gravely injured by having his testicles ripped off and an artery in his leg severed by one of the subject's teeth. Another 5 of the soldiers lost their lives if you count ones that committed suicide in the weeks following the incident.In the struggle one of the four living subjects had his spleen ruptured and he bled out almost immediately. The medical researchers attempted to sedate him but this proved impossible. He was injected with more than ten times the human dose of a morphine derivative and still fought like a cornered animal, breaking the ribs and arm of one doctor. When heart was seen to beat for a full two minutes after he had bled out to the point there was more air in his vascular system than blood. Even after it stopped he continued to scream and flail for another 3 minutes, struggling attack anyone in reach and just repeating the word "MORE" over and over, weaker and weaker, until he finally fell silent.The surviving three test subjects were heavily restrained and moved to a medical facility, the two with intact vocal cords continuously begging for the gas demanding to be kept awake...The most injured of the three was taken to the only surgical operating room that the facility had. In the process of preparing the subject to have his organs placed back within his body it was found that he was effectively immune to the sedative they had given him to prepare him for the surgery. He fought furiously against his restraints when the anesthetic gas was brought out to put him under. He managed to tear most of the way through a 4 inch wide leather strap on one wrist, even through the weight of a 200 pound soldier holding that wrist as well. It took only a little more anesthetic than normal to put him under, and the instant his eyelids fluttered and closed, his heart stopped. In the autopsy of the test subject that died on the operating table it was found that his blood had triple the normal level of oxygen. His muscles that were still attached to his skeleton were badly torn and he had broken 9 bones in his struggle to not be subdued. Most of them were from the force his own muscles had exerted on them.The second survivor had been the first of the group of five to start screaming. His vocal cords destroyed he was unable to beg or object to surgery, and he only reacted by shaking his head violently in disapproval when the anesthetic gas was brought near him. He shook his head yes when someone suggested, reluctantly, they try the surgery without anesthetic, and did not react for the entire 6 hour procedure of replacing his abdominal organs and attempting to cover them with what remained of his skin. The surgeon presiding stated repeatedly that it should be medically possible for the patient to still be alive. One terrified nurse assisting the surgery stated that she had seen the patients mouth curl into a smile several times, whenever his eyes met hers.When the surgery ended the subject looked at the surgeon and began to wheeze loudly, attempting to talk while struggling. Assuming this must be something of drastic importance the surgeon had a pen and pad fetched so the patient could write his message. It was simple "Keep cutting."The other two test subjects were given the same surgery, both without anesthetic as well. Although they had to be injected with a paralytic for the duration of the operation. The surgeon found it impossible to perform the operation while the patients laughed continuously. Once paralyzed the subjects could only follow the attending researchers with their eyes. The paralytic cleared their system in an abnormally short period of time and they were soon trying to escape their bonds. The moment they could speak they were again asking for the stimulant gas. The researchers tried asking why they had injured themselves, why they had ripped out their own guts and why they wanted to be given the gas again.Only one response was given: "I must remain awake."All three subject's restraints were reinforced and they were placed back into the chamber awaiting determination as to what should be done with them. The researchers, facing the wrath of their military 'benefactors' for having failed the stated goals of their project considered euthanizing the surviving subjects. The commanding officer, an ex-KGB instead saw potential, and wanted to see what would happen if they were put back on the gas. The researchers strongly objected, but were overruled.In preparation for being sealed in the chamber again the subjects were connected to an EEG monitor and had their restraints padded for long term confinement. To everyone's surprise all three stopped struggling the moment it was let slip that they were going back on the gas. It was obvious that at this point all three were putting up a great struggle to stay awake. One of subjects that could speak was humming loudly and continuously; the mute subject was straining his legs against the leather bonds with all his might, first left, then right, then left again for something to focus on. The remaining subject was holding his head off his pillow and blinking rapidly. Having been the first to be wired for EEG most of the researchers were monitoring his brain waves in surprise. They were normal most of the time but sometimes flat lined inexplicably. It looked as if he were repeatedly suffering brain death, before returning to normal. As they focused on paper scrolling out of the brainwave monitor only one nurse saw his eyes slip shut at the same moment his head hit the pillow. His brainwaves immediately changed to that of deep sleep, then flatlined for the last time as his heart simultaneously stopped.The only remaining subject that could speak started screaming to be sealed in now. His brainwaves showed the same flatlines as one who had just died from falling asleep. The commander gave the order to seal the chamber with both subjects inside, as well as 3 researchers. One of the named three immediately drew his gun and shot the commander point blank between the eyes, then turned the gun on the mute subject and blew his brains out as well.He pointed his gun at the remaining subject, still restrained to a bed as the remaining members of the medical and research team fled the room. "I won't be locked in here with these things! Not with you!" he screamed at the man strapped to the table. "WHAT ARE YOU?" he demanded. "I must know!"The subject smiled."Have you forgotten so easily?" The subject asked. "We are you." "We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind." "We are what you hide from in your beds every night. We are what you sedate into silence and paralysis when you go to the nocturnal haven where we cannot tread."The researcher paused. Then aimed at the subject's heart and fired.The EEG flatlined as the subject weakly choked out "so... nearly... free..."
2013-10-30 8:19:50 PM  
Once upon a time, my girlfriend said "You don't need condoms; I'm on the pill. Trust me."
2013-10-30 8:31:12 PM  
2013-10-30 8:31:40 PM  

Snarcoleptic_Hoosier: Once upon a time, my girlfriend said "You don't need condoms; I'm on the pill. Trust me."

2013-10-30 8:32:51 PM  
I tried to get on the ACA exchange website... and IT TOOK A BIT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED! booga booo
2013-10-30 8:51:46 PM  
There once was a man named Vick.
Who killed lots of dogs like a dick.
They stopped him once.
But Uncle Sam is a dunce.
So now he can own dogs again-ick.

2013-10-30 9:08:04 PM  
... and then President Palin took the podium...
2013-10-30 9:16:20 PM  
Pale Luna

In the last decade and a half it's become infinitely easier to obtain exactly what you're looking for, by way of a couple of keystrokes. The Internet has made it all too simple to use a computer to change reality. An abundance of information is merely a search engine away, to the point where it's hard to imagine life as any different.

Yet, a generation ago, when the words 'streaming' and 'torrent' were meaningless save for conversations about water, people met face-to-face to conduct software swap parties, trading games and applications on Sharpie-labeled five-and-a-quarter inch floppies.

Of course, most of the time the meets were a way for frugal, community-minded individuals to trade popular games like King's Quest and Maniac Mansion amongst themselves. However, a few early programming talents designed their own computer games to share amongst their circle of acquaintances, who in turn would pass it on, until, if fun and well-designed enough, an independently-developed game had its place in the collection of aficionados across the country. Think of it as the 80's equivalent of a viral video.

Pale Luna, on the other hand, was never circulated outside of the San Francisco Bay Area. All known copies have been long disposed of, all computers that have ever run the game now detritus buried under layers of filth and polystyrene. This fact is attributed to a number of rather abstruse design choices made by its programmer.

Pale Luna was a text adventure in the vein of Zork and The Lurking Horror, at a time when said genre was swiftly going out of fashion. Upon booting the program, the player was presented with a screen almost completely blank, except for the text:

-You are in a dark room. Moonlight shines through the window.

-There is GOLD in the corner, along with a SHOVEL and a ROPE.

-There is a DOOR to the EAST.


So began the game that one writer for a long-out-of-print fanzine decried as "enigmatic, nonsensical, and completely unplayable". As the only commands that the game would accept were PICK UP GOLD, PICK UP SHOVEL, PICK UP ROPE, OPEN DOOR, and GO EAST, the player was soon presented with the following:

-Reap your reward.


-You are in a forest.There are paths to the NORTH, WEST, and EAST.


What quickly infuriated the few who've played the game was the confusing and buggy nature of the second screen onward - only one of the directional decisions would be the correct one. For example, on this occasion, a command to go in a direction other than NORTH would lead to the system freezing, requiring the operator to hard reboot the entire computer.

Further, any subsequent screens seemed to merely repeat the above text, with the difference being only the directions available. Worse still, the standard text adventure commands appeared to be useless: The only accepted non-movement-related prompts were USE GOLD, which caused the game to display the message:

-Not here.

USE SHOVEL, which brought up:

-Not now.

And USE ROPE, which prompted the text:

-You've already used this.

Most who played the game progressed a couple of screens into it before becoming fed-up by having to constantly reboot and tossing the disk in disgust, writing off the experience as a shoddily programmed farce. However, there is one thing about the world of computers that remains true, no matter the era: some people who use them have way too much time on their hands.

A young man by the name of Michael Nevins decided to see if there was more to Pale Luna than what met the eye. Five hours and thirty-three screens worth of trial-and-error and unplugged computer cords later, he finally managed to make the game display different text. The text in this new area read:


-There are no paths


-The ground is soft




It was another hour still before Nevins stumbled upon the proper combination of phrases to make the game progress any further; DIG HOLE, DROP GOLD, then FILL HOLE. This caused the screen to display:


-- 40.24248 --

-- -121.4434 --

Upon which the game ceased to accept commands, requiring the user to reboot one last time.

After some deliberation, Nevins came to the conclusion that the numbers referred to lines of latitude and longitude - the coordinates lead to a point in the sprawling forest that dominated the nearby Lassen Volcanic Park. As he possessed much more free time than sense, Nevins vowed to see Pale Luna through to its ending.

The next day, armed with a map, a compass, and a shovel, he navigated the park's trails, noting with amusement how each turn he made corresponded roughly to those that he took in-game.

Though he initially regretted bringing the cumbersome digging tool on a mere hunch, the path's similarity all but confirmed his suspicions that the journey would end with him face-to-face with an eccentric's buried treasure.

Out of breath after a tricky struggle to the coordinates, he was pleasantly surprised by a literal stumble upon a patch of uneven dirt. Shoveling as excitedly as he was, it would be an understatement to say that he was taken aback when his heavy strokes unearthed the badly-decomposing head of a blonde-haired little girl.

Nevins promptly reported the situation to the authorities. The girl was identified as Karen Paulsen, 11, reported as missing to the San Diego Police Department a year and a half prior.

Efforts were made to track down the programmer of Pale Luna, but the nearly-anonymous legal gray area in which the software swapping community operated inescapably led to many dead ends.

Collectors have been known to offer upwards of six figures for an authentic copy of the game.

The rest of Karen's body was never found.

2013-10-30 9:18:44 PM  
Here's mine.

A good friend of mine's sister was living in a haunted house. She is married to a high ranking officer in the police department, so they never really told people outside the family. But my friend told me what was happening throughout the years.

They recently moved, but they lived in the same house for about 8 years. They had doors closing in the middle of the night. All the sounds and bangs. Knocking on the door at 2 am, and no one would be there. But the ones that stood out were one time when the husband was asleep in the living room, no one else was home, and he was awaken by something pulling his feet. He opened his eyes and said he saw a black mist near his feet, then it disappeared.

Another time, a week after one of the daughters' birthday party, there was one balloon that was in the corner of the daughters room, still floating about 3feet off the ground with a colored streamer still hanging from it. They were all in the living room watching tv, when they saw the balloon floating through the hallway very slowly. It went to the living room, then the kitchen, then back to the bedroom, still dragging the streamer. There was no air or heat on. No doors or windows open.
The daughter was saying "mommy, who's doing that?"
The father got his gun and went through the whole house and outside. Nothing.
The next day the balloon was gone. The daughter was looking everywhere for it, and it could not be found.

This one always gets me.

When the youngest girl was a baby, they had a baby cam pointed at her from her desk, the kind with a intercom. One night, the mother woke up to the sounds of voices coming from the intercom. (I know, that was in a movie) but when the mother looked at the intercom, the blanket had been pulled up and was hanging on the wall next to the baby.

The mother woke up the father, when they looked again, the blanket was back down next to the baby, bunched up into a ball shape that looked like a contorted old persons face. When they went into the room, the blanket was back on the baby, like nothing had happened.

Normally i would have said, Ok, good weed, or they were partying all night. But the mother is an officer with the federal court and the father is a police officer. i've known the mother since she was a baby. These are not the kind of people that would make shiat like this up.
2013-10-30 10:09:38 PM  
Republicans will retain the House in '14

/oh, you said spooky story
//not irl horror
2013-10-30 10:22:45 PM  
YEAY!! I love this thread already. : )
2013-10-30 10:49:57 PM  
Hey guys, what's going on in this thread??

2.bp.blogspot.comView Full Size
2013-10-30 11:03:42 PM  
Fark was just sold to Conde Nast
2013-10-30 11:23:07 PM  
Someone agreed to marry me...

and went through with it.
2013-10-30 11:42:23 PM  
This one still remains my personal favorite. It was originally posted in the 2008 thread by echo5juliet. Still gives me the creeps everytime I read it. For those who missed it the first time around or just want to experience it again, here it is:

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.

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.
2013-10-30 11:54:43 PM  
The morning after Halloween, Billy and his sister Debbie said good-bye to their mother and headed out the door for the bus stop. As the two children walked along the sidewalk, they looked across the street and saw Old Man Tears wheeling his plastic trashcan out to the curb. He hit a bump, the lid bounced, and a severed hand holding a plastic Halloween jack-o-lantern flopped out and landed on his driveway. Some pieces of candy spilled out. Tears swore to himself and stopped to pick up the hand. He policed up the pieces of candy and put them back into the jack-o-lantern. After he stuffed everything back into the trashcan, he looked over and saw the kids standing there staring at him. He smiled weakly, shrugged his shoulders, and tipped the can back slightly so he could continue wheeling it to the curb. To no one in particular, he said aloud, "I told the little bastards to stay off my lawn!"
2013-10-31 12:36:11 AM  
2013-10-31 12:54:03 AM  
My scariest story happens to be true.

'Round abouts 1996 or so, I went to the movies with two of my best buddies. Got our tickets, and went to the arcade to futz around. Took on my boy Tony in a round of Virtua Fighter 3, and as I was preparing to serve up a dose of Lau Chan whoop ass on Aoi, when a mule kicked me in the chest. At least that's what it felt like.

Next thing I know, I'm on the ground. EMTs are there when I come to, and I try to get up, and they quickly nix that idea. One has a pressure cuff on me, and is looking worried. Next thing I know, I'm whisked into the ambulance, and as I was being wheeled out, I realize that it's starting to snow. The ride to Cooley Dick Medical Center in Northampton was not a long trip, and from my vantage, I can see the lights outside the back window, and I realize, we are moving. And that the snow is really starting to come down. Ambulance is swerving a bit, can feel through the gurney that we're not exactly slowing down. The EMTs are telling me to stay with them, and to be honest, I was a bit worried that we'd crack up on the side of the road, and wouldn't that be some ironic sh*t? We get to the hospital, and by this time, I was feeling more than a little woozy, and since the snow was coming down harder, and they were wheeling me into the hospital, I figure, heck, these folks got this, so maybe a nap is order.

Next thing I know, I'm back outside. Or rather, I'm on a gurney and being loaded into ANOTHER ambulance, and that was likewise I bit worrisome. EMTs are continuing to tell me to stay with them, to focus on their voices, by now, I realize, I have a few extra holes in my arm, and very quick trip from the hospital door to the ambulance confirms, that it IS snowing like a motherf*cker. And the ambulance takes off. I mean hauls ass. Sirens blaring, and a LOT of talk among the crew, and all the while, telling me to HOLD ON. All in all, more than a bit confusing. Beginning to wonder how my boys are going to get word to my fiance to go the right hospital, and this seems a bit much for getting woozy and passing out.

A not so long ride, with some skids, some slides, and a LOT of very earnest talk by the EMTs, and I arrive at Bay State Medical Center in Springfield. At this point, again, I figure, it's been a long, somewhat trying day--what with missing the movie, the mule that somehow snuck into the arcade and sucker kicked me out of nowhere, and two quick ambulance rides, and the snowstorm--so when I get into Bay State into the building proper, I decide that a nap is DEFINITELY in order, because they got this.

When I come to, things are definitely wrong. For one, I hurt, a LOT. Chest. Arms. Legs. My hair even hurt--yes, Virginia, Hubie once wore his locks long and flowing. The second thing is my breathing is wrong. There's a tube down my throat, it's doing all the work apparently, and the rhythm is just too damn slow, and with the tube in the way, I can't seem to breathe around the damn thing. Plus, I can't move. Can't open my eyes. Can't move a finger. I can hear, and yes, there is the machine that goes "ping" and a few more. After a bit, I realize that my fiance is there, and I can hear her, but I can't move. She is telling me to keep my heart rate up, and to do it NOW. I'm just glad that she's there, so I concentrate a bit on trying to do exactly that. Biofeedback lessons, are a GO. Not just a hippy class when I was taking jujitsu in college, I guess. There's not a lot else I can, other than try to find a way to move, and after what seems like days I finally got my eyes to flutter open a bit. Took a LOT of effort. Once I got the eyes to sort of open a bit, I realized, that if you are apparently OUT for a long, long, long time, they get really gummy. Hard to see, but there's lights, and everything is a bit out of focus, but since I'm nearsighted, that's not a real surprise. Not being able to move anything other than my eyes, that's a bit more worrisome. At this point, I realize, "Damn, dude, you are f*cked up." I still don't know what happened, but by now, I'm terrified that I'm paralyzed. And from what I have no idea. Just in a lot of pain, with a tube breathing wrong for me, and my bride to be telling me to keep my heart rate up, for hours on end. Since, yeah, I love her, and I have some vague recollections of some very dark places while I was apparently under, I decide, I'mma listen to her. She's the reason, I'm back really. And after some HUGE effort, I realize that I have a tiny modicum of control over my fingertips. Progress, I guess. Luckily, the wife to be catches on that I'm listening, more than just by the heart rate going up on command, but she catches the eye flutters, and the tiny finger pulses, and it about then, that I am REALLY glad that we were enormously cutesy when we were first going out, and had a sort of squeeze code to talk during long, very boring lectures. It takes forever to spell out anything that way, but since the tube is breathing for me, and I'm not really going anywhere, I figure what the heck, I can take the time to squeeze out One-Two-Three, which was our enormously cutesy and somewhat nauseating way of saying "I Love You" without having to say the words out loud.

The girl critter, luckily, caught it. And it takes a while to spell anything else out, but she can at least speak, and I can answer "Yes" and "No" to a lot of her questions, and that speeds things up a bit. And apparently, concentrating on all this stuff, has improved my motor control a bit, because I can start to open my eyes a bit, despite nurses telling her that there is no way in Hell that I am possibly conscious this close to being out of surgery.

The next few hours I get the skinny.

When that errant mule kicked me and disappeared to give my boy Tony a leg up with Aoi over Lau Chan, that wasn't really a mule. That was my aorta splitting like a bad seal. About four inches of tear, that took a part of the valve with it when it went. While I was trying to sit up, and talk with the EMTs, I was pretty much able to, because by that time, my chest cavity had pretty much filled up with as much blood as it could possibly fill with, and momentarily, I was sort of on a relatively even keel, as far as blood pressure went. That didn't really last long, as about the time I went down again, my left lung was filling with blood, and pretty much part of the down time while I was in surgery to replace the ascending aorta, and the valve that ripped, was suctioning my lung a bit from being filled to the tippy top with a fair portion of my blood supply.

267 units of blood, and 26 and a half hours of surgery, and my surgeon called it done. Dr Rousseau had apparently already done a 10 hour day when I showed up, and had his keys in his hands when his pager went off. He came back and did 16 hours of surgery on me, then took a break to get a nap--I don't really begrudge the guy, because he'd done more than a day's work on me already. The girl critter explained, "He came out and said, 'I have no idea how he's still alive, but he is. I'm going to take nap, and if he's still alive when I wake up, I'm going to finish things up, and we'll see how it goes.'" And he did. After four hours, he came back, with a pair of nurses who apparently spent those four hours lining up bags of blood products to pour into me, which they then reset, and poured more, reset, and then poured more in. For four hours. Rousseau came back, did another six and half hours of work, and called it a day.

I apparently work up about 10 hours after the surgery. I was fluttering my eyes at about 12 hours. And I was starting to get a handle on my fingers by 14. The whole, "Am I f*cking paralyzed?" thing was a spinal block, because Hubie is apparently fairly active, even when under anesthesia. So, I WAS paralyzed, but entirely on purpose. At 16 hours, I was croaking out some bare whispers, and that got the nurses to realize that maybe I wasn't entirely brain dead from lack of oxygen to the noggin during the whole, "aorta doing the splits" thing.

Not all of them were convinced. While I lay there, a few nurses did give the girl some advice, that I was probably NOT coming back, and if I did, I would be very different, and that was the heavily laden different that a lot of medical personnel adopt when they mean to say, "Boy is goin' be a vegetable so you'd best get used to it, and it might have been kinder if he'd just died." Of course, I was right there, and my hearing was just fine. Couldn't do more than sort of croak, since the spinal block was still keeping me still, and the tube down my throat for a few days apparently, that does a LOT to really mess up the voice and anything looking like breath control for vocal exercises.

I was lucky though. The girl and I could communicate with squeezes, and when I got too tired there, I could at least blink at her, and that got a lot of things answered. Not all the nurses believed that, but they humored her, and by 18 hours after surgery, I got the tube out of my throat, and could sort of croak a bit better. Not all of the nurses were convinced, and I got a few tubes taken out--including two really big drainage tubes out my chest, sans anything like a local anesthetic, because the nurses figured I was just a hunk of barely breathing donor tissue waiting for familial consent for harvest. At about 20 hours or so, post surgery, I asked one of those nurses for a glass of water--I'd been on ice chips, because apparently, when you shut down the body like that for surgery, and with as much trauma as I'd had done to save my life, the organs sometimes take a bit to come back to work. My pancreas was one of those organs, and it was then I realized that the pancreas is the b*tchy little girl of organs, and it pretty much took a two week break before it decided to join the rest of the party. The nurse I asked for a glass of water damn near jumped out of her skin. We both knew that she'd screwed up, but by that time, I was just glad to be able to breathe on my own, without the tube, and the whole, "You know, I'm getting the very strong sensation that I'm REALLY lucky to be alive, so maybe the pain is OK right now." Not great. Not by any means. Having drainage tubes in your side, flesh stitched up to make a seal on them doesn't feel comfy by any means, and having them ripped out of your side without a local REALLY sucks. It set the bar for pain for me, and when I passed a kidney stone about ten years later, it was not even a close second to the drainage tubes getting yoinked.

Fast forward a bit, and the spinal block is removed, I get motor control back, and oddly enough, I didn't get any infections, I do have some mild aphasia from the interruption of blood flow to the brain--not huge, but pathways have definitely been downed for finding some words, and the connections have to be bridged by looking for them in different ways. My family doctor at first gave me six months to live, if I was REALLY careful not to exert myself. Then he gave me a year. Then five. Then seven. It's closing in on 20 years now, and yeah, I'm doing fine. Got married, had a wonderful little girl, got divorced. Dated a bit. Bike about 20 miles a day. Still do martial arts in my spare time. Realized that my drawing style has changed a bit since I had my little "accident" but I still have fine motor control, I write, I sketch, I cook. I eat. I drink a bit. I do carry on at times, and I'm not averse to throwing folks over my shoulders and spinning them around like a top, as is sometimes my wont to do when I am in my cups.

The scary thing is still, those first few hours of consciousness though. Alone. In the dark. With only the pings and compressions from the machines, and the murmuring around me, and the bustling, feeling the machine breathe wrong. And that really is my biggest fear today: going back there. And not recovering. Not coming out of it, and being trapped there. In my body. Time dilates in a funny way, when it's down to breaths, and the wrong breaths.  Not being able to move. Not being able to communicate. Not having my bride to be be there to spur me on to keep my heart rate up. She saved my life. As much as my surgeon and his team. She is my ex-wife, and she and I don't get along for damn near anything any longer, but I will certainly be the first to admit, that I wouldn't be here today, if it weren't for her. She was my reason to come back from that dark. She was the only one who believed that I could be in there. That believed that I heard her. Who caught my flutters for communication. Who got that I was still in there. And when I'm alone, in the dark, late at night, yeah, THAT is my nightmare. Not just the usual "bad things happen and you get tore up!" but the real fear, the one that will bolt me straight out of bed and shaking in the bathroom, with the lights on and breathing hard, is that I'll wind up in that dark place, unable to move, unable to communicate, and there won't be someone there who believes and knows where I am, who I am. And I have that dream, I'm awake for the rest of the damn night and there is no way in Hells I'm going back asleep for fear that I'll slip right back down into that dream again, and that is one I just don't ever risk continuing...
2013-10-31 3:49:07 AM  
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2013-10-31 4:48:49 AM  

calbert: [ image 450x192]

What's that from? I can't tell if it's an actual horror movie or a spoof.
2013-10-31 5:44:51 AM  
webinapage.comView Full Size
2013-10-31 6:02:41 AM  
A dark November night, a flickering television, and the headline Ted Cruz Becomes 44th President
2013-10-31 6:05:27 AM  

Snarcoleptic_Hoosier: Once upon a time, my girlfriend said "You don't need condoms; I'm on the pill. Trust me."

Actually, I "lost" my virginity to a girl who said exactly that.  I miss you, DeAnn ;)
2013-10-31 6:09:44 AM  
* Holds flashlight under chin*

"And then they announced that Romney was elected!"
2013-10-31 6:10:07 AM  
Fine I'll have to share..

In my late teens and early 20's I worked in a retirement home. Lots of weird shiat happened frequently. Had an emergency med kit fly 15 feet off its stand into my work area late at night with the doors locked. Weirdest thing was when one of the elevators was used and came down, and it was pitch black. Not talking dark with light creeping into it, I mean it looked like the light was being sucked into it and disappearing. Decided not to take that one, when it opened a second time everything was normal. Only time I have ever been really and truly weirded the fark out.
2013-10-31 6:16:27 AM  
And as to a follow up, had the chance to meet and get to know this guy..


Jose de Onis of Boulder died of natural causes on Sept. 10 in Bozeman, Mont. He was 92.

He was born Jan. 28, 1911, in Oviedo, Spain, to Federico de Onis and Andrea Rodriguez Bondia. He married Ester Irizarry in New York City in 1937. She died in 1996.

Dr. de Onis graduated from Perkiomen Preparatory School in Pennsburg, Penn., in 1930. He received a doctorate from Columbia University in New York.

He was a professor emeritus of Spanish and comparative literature at CU-Boulder and former chair of the romance languages department. He was the author of several books in Spanish and English, including Melville and the Hispanic World, The United States as Seen by Spanish American Writers, 1776-1890, The Spanish Missions in the United States and The Hispanic Contribution to the State of Colorado, which was commissioned by the Smithsonian Institution.

He traveled in Latin America in 1955 on a Guggenheim Fellowship, and he received a CU Centennial Medal in 1976 and a CU President's Citation in 1987. He started the university's Chicano studies program in the 1960s and was the first faculty advisor for the United Mexican American Students.

He served in the Army in World War II and was an Army intelligence agent in Germany after the war. His book, The Eagle and the Sparrow, written with his grandson Gray Kunkel, includes an account of how he arrested Nazi doctor Karl Gebhardt, who was later convicted in the Nuremberg Trials and hanged for atrocities.

He taught at Vassar College, Lawrence University and Connecticut College. He joined the CU-Boulder faculty in 1948.

He was active in community efforts to prevent development of Dakota Ridge on the west side of Boulder, his family said. "He said, `We are stewards of the land and it is our duty to protect it,' " his family reported.

Survivors include a son, Carlos de Onis of Bozeman, Montana; a daughter, Carmen de Onis of Boulder; a brother, Juan de Onis of Brazil and Chile; and four grandchildren.

Two brothers, Federico de Onis and Arturo de Onis preceded him in death.

A graveside service and memorial were held on Sept. 19 in Boulder.

Guy spoke 5 languages and was arguably the smartest person I had met. Dude was a total freaking bad ass with brass balls so big it took 2 gurneys to move.

/Also met a guy that was a welder on the battleships used in WWII.
//He was also a bad ass, but not to Jose's level.
2013-10-31 6:21:01 AM  
...all their old noses had grown back

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2013-10-31 6:36:21 AM  
One of my favorites:

The Gallery of Henri Beauchamp

If you go into this one tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, and the right bartender is behind the counter that night, you might be able to see a very exclusive gallery show of the lost works of one Henri Beauchamp. But, to get in, you have to prove you're a devotee of the artist.

You'll be asked, in clear and perfect English, "What would like to partake of this glorious night?" Answer "absinthe", no matter what. Any other drink, from whiskey to water, will kill you as you sleep.

The next question will regard the type, and you MUST answer one of two things: "The stuff that Man himself could not bear to take," or, "The good stuff. The best stuff." If you ask for any other absinthe, in any other way, you will be plagued by nightmares for 13 days. Each night's dream will be more horrible than the last, until, upon the thirteenth dream, your nightmare will follow you, every moment of your waking and sleeping life.

Don't try and cheat the barkeep: the door locked behind you. You have to drink what he gives you, doom or not. That such a powerful man granted you audience should be enough. Besides, I've heard that the dying complimented his drinks in their death throes.

If you make it that far before sealing your fate, the bartender will say, "Be sure you handle this with care; this is the finest I have." From here, you may do one of two things: Say, word for word, "I overestimated my fortitude, and I bid you good eve." If the barkeep nods, you may leave the door you entered, unharmed and with nothing gained and nothing lost (except the time spent inside).

Or you can go on.

You will be given a glass with a seven-sided rim, with each side twisting ever so delicately around the basin until forming a sleek and simple handle. You will also receive a very, very, very special absinthe spoon, in the shape of a key; the holes at the key's top serve as the draining point for the alcohol to pour over the sugar cube. And, of course, an unmarked bottle, stripped long ago of its label, scraps of paper sticking to its sides, covered in the rot of the decades past.

The spoon is completely flat, but has two distinct sides: one with a groove along the shaft of the key, and one without. Turn the shaft down, so its groove will be face down. If you attempt this face up, your absinthe will taste foul, your nose will burn, and your eyes will shrivel in their sockets as you witness visions of unspeakable horrors not of this world.

Now, if your spoon is the right way up, begin preparing the absinthe as one would (put the sugar on the spoon, and pour the alcohol over so it gains its color and "special qualities").

Say "cheers" to your friend, the barkeep, and bottoms up. If you don't, the absinthe will burn every innard it touches with the power and pain of sulfuric acid.

If you've done it right, the already dim lights will go off, and darkness will consume the bar. Don't be afraid; the darkness is the cue that you've been approved for the exhibit. Wait out the darkness, and keep silent as the dead, lest the bartender decide to make you so.

Eventually (not too long, two to three minutes), a green floodlight will shine brightly on a door on the far wall of the bar. The bar will be bathed in green, and not just from the floodlight. Little luminescent spheres will gently drift through the room, and the barkeep will no longer be there...nor any other unassuming patron inside before.

There's no danger by this point...consider it a safe point. If you didn't finish the absinthe, you don't have to, but you might need the alcohol. Either way, take the spoon and put it in the keyhole of the green-lit portal's doorknob. It will fit perfectly, and reach the end of the keyhole with a resounding click.

Inside is a small elevator, with the most beautiful woman any mortal eyes can imagine, bathed in the green glow in just such an angle that the light refracts beyond her into the shape of wings.

The Green Fairy herself will ask you, "Going up?", and considering all the trouble you went through, it would only make sense to say yes.

Now, you have one more hurdle to clear. She will ask you, as you cross the line from the bar to the compartment, "How would you compare Beauchamp's surrealism to that of, say, René Magritte?" For your reply, you must say, "I've come to see more than art tonight."

If you don't, the green floodlight will blow out, the doors will slam shut, and the elevator will plummet through a seemingly infinite blackness before a red light grows brighter as the elevator nears the very depths of Hell.
Now, if your elevator begins to go up, the green light will also fade, but in its place will be the cool glow of the moon. But, before you even recognize it, the elevator will reach the top of its...well, let's call it a shaft to not get too intricate.

Now, I'm not as sure about this as the rest, but I've heard that, if the Green Fairy kisses you on the cheek as she leaves the elevator, you will always be blessed with a creative inspiration: a permanent, ever-changing muse. You can't ask her, you can't kiss her; she has to do it of her own volition. If not...well, nothing, but no reason to do it anyway and anger the woman who is responsible for keeping the Beauchamp paintings safe for so many years.

You will enter, from the elevator, a turn-of-the-century parlor, with a large poster of Henri Beauchamp on the left side of the opposite wall; on the right is a door.

Taking the time to read the poster is a fairly good idea, as it explains the very significance of Monsieur Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920's, always making art to try to be free of all premeditation, and managed to do so. You see, after one night in a tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, he began to paint...patterns.

First it was geometric patterns. Then complete fractals. Then images that would be in the newspaper the next day. Then next week. Then from fifty years ago. One hundred years in the future, two hundred years in the past...

Then, on his last night of life, he kidnapped three young girls from their homes at night, murdered them, and painted his finest masterpieces in reds and yellows with the blood and bile of virgins.

He committed suicide immediately after painting exactly 13 of these.

These are behind the door.

The first six, from the left, show, from left to right: the genesis of the universe, the only true visage of God as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Jesus Christ, the sprawling clouds of Heaven, every Pope from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of Jesus' appearance in his Second Coming.
The other six, on the right, show, from right to left: the cataclysm of the universe, the only true visage of Satan as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Judas, the sprawling flames of Hell, every human-embodied demon from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of the Antichrist in his Second Coming.

Now, six and six makes twelve. But what of the thirteenth?

This thirteenth painting is turned around on its wall pin, the image facing the wall. The space around it is roped off at a very wide diameter, and under the flipped image is a sign, in three languages. The top is in the scriptures of the Seraphim, the bottom in the runes of the highest demonic orders, and in the middle, in Roman letters.




Now, like the kiss, I can't say this part with as much certainty, but all the same...I heard that, somehow, as he died, Beauchamp flayed his skin, his organs, his very soul, into some sort of collage. How he took his dead body and created such a horrific masterpiece, I could never say, nor would I ever dare to.

So...if you make it, maybe you can flip the canvas over and tell me sometime? You can tell me about it over a drink.
2013-10-31 6:36:23 AM  
This one time I went to the basement and found that there was no beer left.
2013-10-31 6:37:46 AM  
Here's mine. Not that spooky, really, but it's true.

Back in the mid-1980s I was living in an old 2-story farmhouse along with three roommates: John, Sharon and KJ. It so happened that the house was originally built by KJ's grandparents when they were young: his grandpa was a dairy farmer there, they lived their entire lives in that house, and his grandpa actually died there (his grandma was still living in a nearby nursing home.)

One Saturday morning I got up kind of late, around 9, and headed across the hall to pee (the bathroom was upstairs.) The bathroom window looked out onto the back yard, parking area and driveway. I glanced out to see if anybody's cars were there in order to see if anyone else was home and might want to go do something later- nope, all gone. Sharon always took her dog with her whenever she went someplace, and I saw her cat, Alice, walking across the back yard so I knew I was alone in the house.

While I was peeing I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Not the rapid, bouncy footsteps of us young people (all in our 20s) but obviously an old man's steps, slowly climbing the stairs. They came all the way up the stairs, walked down the little hall/landing thingy and stopped right outside the bathroom door.

I just said, in a loud voice: "I'm in here right now, Grandpa, but I'll be through in a sec." Never heard anything after that. When I was finished I went all through the house, looking in all the rooms and closets, and even went outside and looked in every outbuilding- I thought it was one of my roomies playing a joke on me. There was no one there. I guess Grandpa had to pee too. :)
2013-10-31 6:37:48 AM  

lobotomy survivor: This one time I went to the basement and found that there was no beer left.

OK that is farking terrifying man. I am sorry you had to go through that, and as a farker I say we set up a donation fund to make sure there is always beer.

/To me of course, but still sorry for you.
2013-10-31 6:41:39 AM  
My mom's friend Bill and his brother Terry would stay at their grandparents house during the summer. One summer, Terry began to start acting oddly and refusing to sleep in the bedroom. When Bill asked about this, Terry claimed that he had seen four figures walking from one end of the room to the other, three black men and a white man. Bill thought that Terry was just pulling his leg, but throughout the summer, Terry refused to sleep in that bedroom.
Eventually, the house and land were bought by the county and demolished to build an elementary school. While the workers were digging up the foundation, they uncovered four graves, belonging to a confederate officer and three workers, most likely slaves.
2013-10-31 6:42:20 AM  
"First I play with Judd, then mommy came, and I play with mommy. We play daddy, we had a awful good time! Now, I want to play with you..."

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2013-10-31 6:44:27 AM  
ps: Here's that scene btw.
2013-10-31 6:47:23 AM  
I accidentally clicked on the politics tab the other day.
2013-10-31 6:51:51 AM  
The Politics Tab retards ARE IN YOUR HOUSE...

mytaxestoohigh.comView Full Size
2013-10-31 6:54:35 AM  
from The lady of the barge (1906, 6th ed.)
London and New York
Harper & Brothers, Publishers
by W.W. Jacobs


WITHOUT, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire.
  "Hark at the wind," said Mr. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from seeing it.
  "I'm listening," said the latter, grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. "Check."
  "I should hardly think that he'd come to-night," said his father, with his hand poised over the board.
  "Mate," replied the son.
  "That's the worst of living so far out," bawled Mr. White, with sudden and unlooked-for violence; "of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way places to live in, this is the worst. Pathway's a bog, and the road's a torrent. I don't know what people are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses on the road are let, they think it doesn't matter."
  "Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly; "perhaps you'll win the next one."
  Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing glance between mother and son. The words died away on his lips, and he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey beard.
  "There he is," said Herbert White, as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door.
  The old man rose with hospitable haste, and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival. The new arrival also condoled with himself, so that Mrs. White said, "Tut, tut!" and coughed gently as her husband entered the room, followed by a tall burly man, beady of eye and rubicund of visage.
  "Sergeant-Major Morris," he said, introducing him.
  The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly while his host got out whisky and tumblers and stood a small copper kettle on the fire.
  At the third glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the little family circle regarding with eager interest this visitor from distant parts, as he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke of strange scenes and doughty deeds; of wars and plagues and strange peoples.
  "Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. White, nodding at his wife and son. "When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. Now look at him."
  "He don't look to have taken much harm," said Mrs. White, politely.
  "I'd like to go to India myself," said the old man, "just to look round a bit, you know."
  "Better where you are," said the sergeant-major, shaking his head. He put down the empty glass, and sighing softly, shook it again.
  "I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers," said the old man. "What was that you started telling me the other day about a monkey's paw or something, Morris?"
  "Nothing," said the soldier hastily. "Leastways, nothing worth hearing."
  "Monkey's paw?" said Mrs. White curiously.
  "Well, it's just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps," said the sergeant-major off-handedly.
  His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. The visitor absentmindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down again. His host filled it for him.
  "To look at," said the sergeant-major, fumbling in his pocket, "it's just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy."
  He took something out of his pocket and proffered it. Mrs. White drew back with a grimace, but her son, taking it, examined it curiously.
  "And what is there special about it?" inquired Mr. White, as he took it from his son and, having examined it, placed it upon the table.
  "It had a spell put on it by an old fakir," said the sergeant-major, "a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives, and that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate men could each have three wishes from it."
  His manner was so impressive that his hearers were conscious that their light laughter jarred somewhat.
  "Well, why don't you have three, sir?" said Herbert White cleverly.
  The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous youth. "I have," he said quietly, and his blotchy face whitened.
  "And did you really have the three wishes granted?" asked Mrs. White.
  "I did," said the sergeant-major, and his glass tapped against his strong teeth.
  "And has anybody else wished?" inquired the old lady.
  "The first man had his three wishes, yes," was the reply. "I don't know what the first two were, but the third was for death. That's how I got the paw."
  His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group.
  "If you've had your three wishes, it's no good to you now, then, Morris," said the old man at last. "What do you keep it for?"
  The soldier shook his head. "Fancy, I suppose," he said slowly.
  "If you could have another three wishes," said the old man, eyeing him keenly, "would you have them?"
  "I don't know," said the other. "I don't know."
  He took the paw, and dangling it between his front finger and thumb, suddenly threw it upon the fire. White, with a slight cry, stooped down and snatched it off.
  "Better let it burn," said the soldier solemnly.
  "If you don't want it, Morris," said the old man, "give it to me."
  "I won't," said his friend doggedly. "I threw it on the fire. If you keep it, don't blame me for what happens. Pitch it on the fire again, like a sensible man."
  The other shook his head and examined his new possession closely. "How do you do it?" he inquired.
  "Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud,' said the sergeant-major, "but I warn you of the consequences."
  "Sounds like the Arabian Nights," said Mrs White, as she rose and began to set the supper. "Don't you think you might wish for four pairs of hands for me?"
  Her husband drew the talisman from his pocket and then all three burst into laughter as the sergeant-major, with a look of alarm on his face, caught him by the arm.
  "If you must wish," he said gruffly, "wish for something sensible."
  Mr. White dropped it back into his pocket, and placing chairs, motioned his friend to the table. In the business of supper the talisman was partly forgotten, and afterward the three sat listening in an enthralled fashion to a second instalment of the soldier's adventures in India.
  "If the tale about the monkey paw is not more truthful than those he has been telling us," said Herbert, as the door closed behind their guest, just in time for him to catch the last train, "we shan't make much out of it."
  "Did you give him anything for it, father?" inquired Mrs. White, regarding her husband closely.
  "A trifle," said he, colouring slightly. "He didn't want it, but I made him take it. And he pressed me again to throw it away."
  "Likely," said Herbert, with pretended horror. "Why, we're going to be rich, and famous, and happy. Wish to be an emperor, father, to begin with; then you can't be henpecked."
  He darted round the table, pursued by the maligned Mrs. White armed with an antimacassar.
  Mr. White took the paw from his pocket and eyed it dubiously. "I don't know what to wish for, and that's a fact," he said slowly. "It seems to me I've got all I want."
  "If you only cleared the house, you'd be quite happy, wouldn't you?" said Herbert, with his hand on his shoulder. "Well, wish for two hundred pounds, then; that'll just do it."
  His father, smiling shamefacedly at his own credulity, held up the talisman, as his son, with a solemn face somewhat marred by a wink at his mother, sat down at the piano and struck a few impressive chords.
  "I wish for two hundred pounds," said the old man distinctly.
  A fine crash from the piano greeted the words, interrupted by a shuddering cry from the old man. His wife and son ran toward him.
  "It moved, he cried, with a glance of disgust at the object as it lay on the floor. "As I wished it twisted in my hands like a snake."
  "Well, I don't see the money," said his son, as he picked it up and placed it on the table, "and I bet I never shall."
  "It must have been your fancy, father," said his wife, regarding him anxiously.
  He shook his head. "Never mind, though; there's no harm done, but it gave me a shock all the same."
  They sat down by the fire again while the two men finished their pipes. Outside, the wind was higher than ever, and the old man started nervously at the sound of a door banging upstairs. A silence unusual and depressing settled upon all three, which lasted until the old couple rose to retire for the night.
  "I expect you'll find the cash tied up in a big bag in the middle of your bed," said Herbert, as he bade them good-night, "and something horrible squatting up on top of the wardrobe watching you as you pocket your ill-gotten gains."
  He sat alone in the darkness, gazing at the dying fire, and seeing faces in it. The last face was so horrible and so simian that he gazed at it in amazement. It got so vivid that, with a little uneasy laugh, he felt on the table for a glass containing a little water to throw over it. His hand grasped the monkey's paw, and with a little shiver he wiped his hand on his coat and went up to bed.

IN the brightness of the wintry sun next morning as it streamed over the breakfast table Herbert laughed at his fears. There was an air of prosaic wholesomeness about the room which it had lacked on the previous night, and the dirty, shrivelled little paw was pitched on the sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its virtues.
  "I suppose all old soldiers are the same," said Mrs White. "The idea of our listening to such nonsense! How could wishes be granted in these days? And if they could, how could two hundred pounds hurt you, father?"
  "Might drop on his head from the sky," said the frivolous Herbert.
  "Morris said the things happened so naturally," said his father, "that you might if you so wished attribute it to coincidence."
  "Well, don't break into the money before I come back," said Herbert, as he rose from the table. "I'm afraid it'll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you."
  His mother laughed, and following him to the door, watched him down the road, and returning to the breakfast table, was very happy at the expense of her husband's credulity. All of which did not prevent her from scurrying to the door at the postman's knock, nor prevent her from referring somewhat shortly to retired sergeant-majors of bibulous habits when she found that the post brought a tailor's bill.
  "Herbert will have some more of his funny remarks, I expect, when he comes home," she said, as they sat at dinner.
  "I dare say," said Mr. White, pouring himself out some beer; "but for all that, the thing moved in my hand; that I'll swear to."
  "You thought it did," said the old lady soothingly.
  "I say it did," replied the other. "There was no thought about it; I had just----What's the matter?"
  His wife made no reply. She was watching the mysterious movements of a man outside, who, peering in an undecided fashion at the house, appeared to be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental connection with the two hundred pounds, she noticed that the stranger was well dressed and wore a silk hat of glossy newness. Three times he paused at the gate, and then walked on again. The fourth time he stood with his hand upon it, and then with sudden resolution flung it open and walked up the path. Mrs. White at the same moment placed her hands behind her, and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her apron, put that useful article of apparel beneath the cushion of her chair.
  She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband's coat, a garment which he usually reserved for the garden. She then waited as patiently as her sex would permit, for him to broach his business, but he was at first strangely silent.
  "I--was asked to call," he said at last, and stooped and picked a piece of cotton from his trousers. "I come from Maw and Meggins."
  The old lady started. "Is anything the matter?" she asked breathlessly. "Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is it?"
  Her husband interposed. "There, there, mother," he said hastily. "Sit down, and don't jump to conclusions. You've not brought bad news, I'm sure, sir" and he eyed the other wistfully.
  "I'm sorry----" began the visitor.
  "Is he hurt?" demanded the mother.
  The visitor bowed in assent. "Badly hurt," he said quietly, "but he is not in any pain."
  "Oh, thank God!" said the old woman, clasping her hands. "Thank God for that! Thank----"
  She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the other's averted face. She caught her breath, and turning to her slower-witted husband, laid her trembling old hand upon his. There was a long silence.
  "He was caught in the machinery," said the visitor at length, in a low voice.
  "Caught in the machinery," repeated Mr. White, in a dazed fashion, "yes."
  He sat staring blankly out at the window, and taking his wife's hand between his own, pressed it as he had been wont to do in their old courting days nearly forty years before.
  "He was the only one left to us," he said, turning gently to the visitor. "It is hard."
  The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly to the window. "The firm wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss," he said, without looking round. "I beg that you will understand I am only their servant and merely obeying orders."
  There was no reply; the old woman's face was white, her eyes staring, and her breath inaudible; on the husband's face was a look such as his friend the sergeant might have carried into his first action.
  "I was to say that Maw and Meggins disclaim all responsibility," continued the other. "They admit no liability at all, but in consideration of your son's services they wish to present you with a certain sum as compensation."
  Mr. White dropped his wife's hand, and rising to his feet, gazed with a look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words, "How much?"
  "Two hundred pounds," was the answer.
  Unconscious of his wife's shriek, the old man smiled faintly, put out his hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless heap, to the floor.

  IN the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people buried their dead, and came back to a house steeped in shadow and silence. It was all over so quickly that at first they could hardly realize it, and remained in a state of expectation as though of something else to happen--something else which was to lighten this load, too heavy for old hearts to bear.
  But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation--the hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy. Sometimes they hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to talk about, and their days were long to weariness.
  It was about a week after that that the old man, waking suddenly in the night, stretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the window. He raised himself in bed and listened.
  "Come back," he said tenderly. "You will be cold."
  "It is colder for my son," said the old woman, and wept afresh.
  The sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and his eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him with a start.
  "The paw!" she cried wildly. "The monkey's paw!"
  He started up in alarm. "Where? Where is it? What's the matter?"
  She came stumbling across the room toward him. "I want it," she said quietly. "You've not destroyed it?"
  "It's in the parlour, on the bracket," he replied, marvelling. "Why?"
  She cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek.
  "I only just thought of it," she said hysterically. "Why didn't I think of it before? Why didn't you think of it?"
  "Think of what?" he questioned.
  "The other two wishes," she replied rapidly. "We've only had one."
  "Was not that enough?" he demanded fiercely.
  "No," she cried, triumphantly; "we'll have one more. Go down and get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again."
  The man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes from his quaking limbs. "Good God, you are mad!" he cried aghast.
  "Get it," she panted; "get it quickly, and wish---- Oh, my boy, my boy!"
  Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. "Get back to bed," he said, unsteadily. "You don't know what you are saying."
  "We had the first wish granted," said the old woman, feverishly; "why not the second."
  "A coincidence," stammered the old man.
  "Go and get it and wish," cried the old woman, quivering with excitement.
  The old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. "He has been dead ten days, and besides he--I would not tell you else, but--I could only recognize him by his clothing. If he was too terrible for you to see then, how now?"
  "Bring him back," cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the door. "Do you think I fear the child I have nursed?"
  He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlour, and then to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place, and a horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before him ere he could escape from the room seized upon him, and he caught his breath as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold with sweat, he felt his way round the table, and groped along the wall until he found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome thing in his hand.
  Even his wife's face seemed changed as he entered the room. It was white and expectant, and to his fears seemed to have an unnatural look upon it. He was afraid of her.
  "Wish!" she cried, in a strong voice.
  "It is foolish and wicked," he faltered.
  "Wish!" repeated his wife.
  He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive again."
  The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it fearfully. Then he sank trembling into a chair as the old woman, with burning eyes, walked to the window and raised the blind.
  He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally at the figure of the old woman peering through the window. The candle end, which had burnt below the rim of the china candlestick, was throwing pulsating shadows on the ceiling and walls, until, with a flicker larger than the rest, it expired. The old man, with an unspeakable sense of relief at the failure of the talisman, crept back to his bed, and a minute or two afterward the old woman came silently and apathetically beside him.
  Neither spoke, but both lay silently listening to the ticking of the clock. A stair creaked, and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall. The darkness was oppressive, and after lying for some time screwing up his courage, the husband took the box of matches, and striking one, went downstairs for a candle.
  At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to strike another, and at the same moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door.
  The matches fell from his hand. He stood motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the door behind him. A third knock sounded through the house.
  "What's that?" cried the old woman, starting up.
  "A rat," said the old man, in shaking tones--"a rat. It passed me on the stairs."
  His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through the house.
  "It's Herbert!" she screamed. "It's Herbert!"
  She ran to the door, but her husband was before her, and catching her by the arm, held her tightly.
  "What are you going to do?" he whispered hoarsely.
  "It's my boy; it's Herbert!" she cried, struggling mechanically. "I forgot it was two miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go. I must open the door."
  "For God's sake, don't let it in," cried the old man trembling.
  "You're afraid of your own son," she cried, struggling. "Let me go. I'm coming, Herbert; I'm coming."
  There was another knock, and another. The old woman with a sudden wrench broke free and ran from the room. Her husband followed to the landing, and called after her appealingly as she hurried downstairs. He heard the chain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and stiffly from the socket. Then the old woman's voice, strained and panting.
  "The bolt," she cried loudly. "Come down. I can't reach it."
  But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the floor in search of the paw. If he could only find it before the thing outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through the house, and he heard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in the passage against the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it came slowly back, and at the same moment he found the monkey's paw, and frantically breathed his third and last wish.
  The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in the house. He heard the chair drawn back and the door opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a long loud wail of disappointment and misery from his wife gave him courage to run down to her side, and then to the gate beyond. The street lamp flickering opposite shone on a quiet and deserted road.

2013-10-31 7:03:19 AM  

HindiDiscoMonster: Maybe a Farker can help with this...

I saw a movie when I was a kid... One of the scenes was in a sort of basement dungeon. I think it was a lunatic asylum. Dark, wet, dank, cave-like... bars on the heavy wooden doors to "patient" rooms... one of the nurses was attacked by a patient, and that patient bit her throat out... everything was shown. the nurse was the 1970's style uniform... with those paper hats they wore.

I have been trying to find this movie for years... I even wrote Rob Zombie since he is a big fan of cheese horror... never got a response... :S

I tried looking it up for you, but no luck. :-P Let me know if you find out.
2013-10-31 7:06:33 AM  
It always takes a few hours for these things to get good. See you Farkers tonight.
2013-10-31 7:07:02 AM  
2013-10-31 7:07:18 AM  

HindiDiscoMonster: Maybe a Farker can help with this...

I saw a movie when I was a kid... One of the scenes was in a sort of basement dungeon. I think it was a lunatic asylum. Dark, wet, dank, cave-like... bars on the heavy wooden doors to "patient" rooms... one of the nurses was attacked by a patient, and that patient bit her throat out... everything was shown. the nurse was the 1970's style uniform... with those paper hats they wore.

I have been trying to find this movie for years... I even wrote Rob Zombie since he is a big fan of cheese horror... never got a response... :S

Oh wait was it "Don't Look In The Basement" (Also known as "The Forgotten") ?

Or one of these other horror movies.

2013-10-31 7:10:41 AM  
This is my only ghost story and I tell it every year on Fark, so here goes:

Two very good friends of mine, both respectable professionals, relatively sane, bought a gorgeous, big old Victorian house down by Grangegorman sanitarium in Dublin, the asylum has been closed years, and doesn't really relate to the story in any way that I know.

They rented it out for a few months while they sold their flat, and the tenants reported unusual goings-on, noises etc. which they really didn't pay much attention to.

Anyway, they moved in, and a few years ago the guy of the couple woke one night and saw a shape at the end of their bed, he was a bit freaked out but it disappeared quite quickly and he went back to sleep eventually. A few weeks later he woke up again in the middle of the night and he saw the shape again, but this time it was clearer and a lot closer, it was a young woman, with long hair, and she was about 3' away from him, looking at him. He was completely freaked out. Again she disappeared.

For the following six or seven months they both heard unexplained noises in the house, banging sounds, things moved etc. So his wife contacted a priest friend who had experience with this sort of thing before. He came along and as soon as he entered the house he said he could feel a presence, he somehow came to the conclusion that the young woman's name was Mary, and she wasn't happy with the layout of the house, it had changed from what she used to.

So he blessed the house (apparently there are different levels of interventions priests will make to try get spirits out of houses), and went on his priestly way. Everything seemed fine for a while but then a few months later it all started again, the noises and moved objects. The priest came back and this time he said a mass, and after the mass he 'ordered' the presence to leave the house. As soon as he ordered the spirit out the three of them heard a very loud bang at the back of the house, and that was it. Nothing since.

That was about five or six years ago and the house has been fine since. They said the moment the spirit left the house felt different. I'd possibly discount the sort if the person who witnessed the spirit was the female of the relationship, but the guy is completely normal, not prone to exaggeration and has never changed, or embellished, the story any time I've heard him recount it since.
2013-10-31 7:10:46 AM  

September 2010 I vacationed in Scotland with my wife and, at the time, 3 kids. We stopped in St Andrews to look at my old boarding school. It had quit being a school in 2005 and was waiting demolition (as of today, it's fancy apartments for the elderly). Realizing that breaking in was going to be a little tough, and my kids being 5,3 & 1 at the time, we returned to my parents house and the wife and I went back up to the school the following day, sans kids.

It was a quiet, wet Sunday morning. Did not feel out of the ordinary at all. The only slightly weird thing was walking around a place I hadn't been in almost 30 years. Even so, I knew the place like the back of my hand. I was pointing out stuff to my wife about 'this one time,...' . It was fun.

I'm taking a bunch of pictures and also some video when I remember to. We got to the changing rooms - which were boys only in my day but had been altered at a later date to boys & girls. I take a random shot of the corridor in the changing rooms then switch on the video camera. Now, having broken in, we were hyper-sensitive to anyone seeing us, as this school was on the outskirts of St. Andrews and there were houses on either side of us. We could hear cars passing by the school outside.

Anyhow, we walked all over that place until the rain got harder and it was time to visit Starbucks then back to my parents house. It farkin' rains all the time in Scotland. Vacation ends, we go back to Ohio.

Months later, I'm looking through all the pictures, posting some to FB etc when I look at the corridor long shot. It's full of light orbs. So farkin' what, right? Could be dust. But not one other picture has anything like that in it. I kinda forget about it until I look through the video. The clip where I filmed at the exact same spot, I'm talking to my wife about some mural shiat that was on the walls of the changing room when a voice - a mans voice - starts talking over me. It wasn't me, it wasn't my wife. I can't make out what the fark he's saying but it's creepy. It has an echo like ours did. Thing is, neither of us heard it at the time.

I post it to the school group page on FB and within 30 minutes get an email from another ex-pupil, someone who had attended the school years after me, saying she had a creepy experience (far farkin' creepier than my delayed one) at the exact same spot.

It's there, it's distinct. It makes you wonder what all else you miss every day, creepy stuff that you just don't realize has happened.
2013-10-31 7:11:06 AM  
This one time, in band camp...
2013-10-31 7:11:12 AM  
I heard once upon a time this tale of madness. Whether or not it's true...
A small smattering of immoral businessmen consorted to make as much money as possible while avoiding doing any real work with their own hands. by misrepresenting themselves repeatedly they gained massive lines of credit. they manipulated shylock lawyers and squeezed the shoes of degenerate gamblers, alcoholics, sex perverts, politicians and other troubled souls who had degrees and connections in business, accounting, with inspectors and members of town council - the whole nine yards.

While they were in business massive utility bills went unpaid, the township was left holding the bag for uncollected fees, permit monies, taxes - you name it. Employees payroll deductions never made it to where they were earmarked for as they creeps were quick to point out the many jobs they created for the community. The bulk of these positions were held by minors receiving minimum wage working full time hours as part time employees. Worse yet was the princely sum due many customers for personal damages and even deaths along with emergency service costs and hospital bills not being reimbursed. The bulk of those who suffered were children.

Massive television, radio and print ad campaigns Pied Piper'd the masses throughout the NY tri state area to come for fun and frolic. Come they did in droves. And daily the ambulance took many away. The only adults to be found were the parents of the children that cared enough to try to keep an eye on their young ones somewhere in the maddening crowd.

It was a dual theme amusement park where most every attraction seemed to be designed by incompetents who had little regard for safety or human life. "Waterworld" and Motorworld" were much hyped and promised a day of fun in the sun. Fun...for those who managed to get through the experience unscathed.

"The Alpine Slide" concept was simple enough: you sat on a sled and descended down concrete tracks using a hand brake to control your speed, either slowly or at a speed described by a former park employee as "death awaits." If you were lucky, your injury would consist of some lost skin and the sting of Mercurochrome. Lose control of your cart on the Alpine Slide, however, and it would simply crash through the haybale barriers, your body subject to the laws of gravity and nasty hillside rocks. Take the ride too slowly and you would find yourself rammed by the person behind you. At least 14 fractures and 26 head injuries caused by the slides were reported between 1984 and 1985.
The Alpine Slide was also responsible for Action Park's first death: that of a 19-year-old park employee in 1980. According to the website, "a malfunction caused a wheeled sled to derail from its cement track after it failed to properly negotiate a curve. The victim...was thrown from the car down an embankment. He sustained a fatal head injury when his head struck a rock." On another occasion, some kids supposedly snuck into the park one night to ride the Alpine Slide in the dark. One kid headed down first and just disappeared into the night. His friends could not find his twisted body in the dark until it was too late. If that story is true, it's one death that didn't make the papers.

"The Kayak Ride", which allowed people to paddle tiny boats through white water, was never very successful because it was short and the kayaks would get stuck in their own tracks. It was particularly unlucky for one 27-year-old man from Long Island during the summer of 1982. He fell or got out of his kayak, and in the process of trying to get it back, stepped near an exposed wire that was under water. He was taken to a nearby hospital in New York State, where he was pronounced dead. Two of his family members were also electrocuted, but lived.
Despite park officials' denials, the coroner's report proved that the man died from cardiac arrest due to electrical shock. Action Park was quick to point out that the victim didn't have any burns, but the coroner said, "You don't have burns when you are in the water like that...When you're wet, you're a dead ringer for a good electrical shock." A wiring defect, described as either a "nick" or a seven-inch "gash," depending on whose account of the findings you read, was later determined to be the cause of the electrocution.

"The Tidal Wave Pool" was a huge freshwater pool--100 by 250 feet long and eight feet deep--that could hold 500 to 1,000 people. Four large fans forced air into the pool and created waves, which could reach a height of 40 inches. The waves were generated for 20 minutes at a time, with 10-minute breaks in between. Two people drowned in the "Grave Pool": a 15-year-old boy in 1982, and an 18-year-old man in 1987. Many more have come close, despite the fact that 12 Red Cross-certified lifeguards were stationed at the pool at all times.

"Roaring Rapids"--involving several people riding a "whitewater" raft--and the 'Tarzan Swing', which allowed you to swing over an icy-cold body of water and throw yourself into it. Roaring Rapids, according to accident reports filed by Action Park in 1984, caused injuries such as fractured femurs, collar bones, and noses and dislocated shoulder and knees--kind of like "Deliverance" without the banjo. The Tarzan Swing was known for scraped toe knuckles and also the shock that people would experience when their bodies were immersed in the icy cold water below. The water was so cold that people would forget how to swim once they hit it. A 1984 death at the park was unofficially attributed to the victim not being able to take the shock of the cold, resulting in a heart attack.

The Legend Of The Loop
It is a ride of legend and fantasy, a waterslide that never totally was. Its 360-degree loop loomed over park-goers as they entered Waterworld, taunting them with both its inaccessibility and improbability. It supposedly dismembered test dummies and maybe even a few park employees in trial runs. It was the Cannonball Loop slide, and it was actually open for about a month in 1985 before being closed by the Advisory Board on Carnival Amusement Ride Safety--an act the Herald called "highly unusual." Employees who tested the ride reported that if you entered it going feet first, you'd come out of it head first, and vice versa. One person got stuck in the loop, necessitating the construction of a hatch that could be opened to extract people from that part of the ride. According to one employee who spoke with the Herald, "There were too many bloody noses and back problems".

Motorworld, located across the street from Waterworld, was also capable of injurious fun. Patrons treated the Super Go-Karts like bumper cars, which caused serious head-on collisions. One employee recalls hearing the sick snap of a patron's arm breaking as a result of a crash. While the carts didn't go too fast due to built-in governors that controlled the speed, park employees knew how to override them with tennis balls, which would allow the carts to go up to 50 miles an hour. LOLA cars, which were miniature Indy race cars, cost additional money to ride and could also be adjusted for speed. The Tank Ride, while perhaps not the most dangerous ride for park attendees, was certainly the worst assignment for park employees--not because of the people driving the tanks, but because of the tennis-ball shooting guns that surrounded the ride. Patrons had the fun-filled opportunity to shoot tennis balls at the people in the tanks--so, should a park employee need to go down into the tank "pit" on the occasion of a crash or stuck tank, park attendees could happily fire away at them.

The Super Speedboats could go up to 35-40 miles an hour and were treated like bumper boats by park attendees. They were also set up in a swamp, in the middle of which was a small, rocky island populated by an uneasy alliance of water snakes and lifeguards. One day, two park attendees were driving their boats into each other and they crashed. One of the boats flipped over, its driver strapped in and stuck underneath the water. The lifeguard on duty had to dive into the swamp, where he reports that he was followed by all of the snakes that were keeping him company that day. He flipped the boat over and promptly ripped the wristband off the soggy driver, who may have been too drunk or high to even realize what had just happened to him, never mind the presence of many water snakes all around.

Park officials were always quick to point out that the park had over a million visitors each year--maybe 12,000 on a busy weekend--which makes the actual injury rate statistically small. Regardless, enough injuries occurred that Action Park eventually bought the town of Vernon new ambulances to keep up with the injury volume. In 1987, the Herald also spoke with the director of the ER at a nearby hospital, who said five to 10 people were brought there daily from the park. Injuries included "ankle sprains, cuts and contusions, and...a few broken bones," with injuries most often occurring "from slipping at swimming pools or cuts from water slides." He also noted that many of the injured came into the ER with alcohol on their breath--not surprising, as beer kiosks were more plentiful than ice cream stands at Action Park.



/major thanks to weirdnjdotcom
2013-10-31 7:13:03 AM  
2013-10-31 7:14:56 AM  
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