tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31106233638776965472024-02-08T16:55:39.238+01:00Daily Creepypasta | Database of scary and disturbing short journals, letters and storiesAn ever-growing database of creepy, scary and disturbing short journal entries, letters, stories, legends and myths about artifacts, beings, death, specific locations, madness, rituals and the unknown. Collected from the all over the internet and presented here in the best experience possible.Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-37101430236625156652011-03-03T18:10:00.000+01:002011-03-03T18:10:59.309+01:00The Mechanical Book<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">There is a book that has only been spoken of in terrified whispers behind closed and locked doors. It is said that only seven people have ever seen this book over the course of all of human history and only four have opened it. Only one man has ever read it.<br />
The book…isn't really a book at all, but a machine. The binding opens and locks, with a grate in the center where the pages can slide through. When the book is opened, and the pages lie flat, they can be shifted into different positions. Each page is made of metal, the words embossed on it. On each edge of the page is a specially cut design; no two designs are the same.<br />
<br />
It is said that one must find the proper arrangement of each of the five hundred and thirty six pages and go to the "Rock of Chaos", where time is the only constant. It is a place of madness where lightning moves from all directions and the sky itself burns with an insane blue fire. The Rock is the face of an immense cliff, the bottom of which can never be seen by mortal eyes lest they go blind and mad. Somewhere on the face of the rock there is a single hole, an opening just the right size for the book. Properly aligned, the book must be brought to this "keyhole" at the exact moment specified by the stars and spoken of within the book. One places the book in the hole at the exact moment, and unlocks the Chaos Chain. This is a chain of pure ether, which runs from our world deep into that of the Void, and there, at the Throne of Darkness, the Chain binds that dark soul who rules the Void and would wreak apocalypse on us all: Unenon, the Blind Angel of Darkness.<br />
<br />
What the book says…well, only one man ever read it, and it is said that he locked himself in his room for thirty days before emerging, tome in hand, and swore to take the book to the ends of the earth before he died. He has never been seen or heard from since.</span></span></span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-51107699391536190932011-03-01T18:46:00.002+01:002011-03-01T18:49:37.288+01:00Polly the Staring Dolly<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">On my eighth birthday, I got a present that would change my life forever. It was a beautiful doll that looked a lot like me. That is why my grandmother bought it for me. I named her Polly. However, days after I got the doll, things began to get weird, but I didn’t notice.<br />
<br />
I slowly became unsocial, never having friends over. All I needed was Polly to make me happy. She was my best and only friend. All I would do was go to school, and come home to play with Polly. I never bothered to make friends, or talk to teachers. I even stopped trying in school. I had been a perfect student until I got the present. Nobody really noticed, though, so I didn’t mind.<br />
<br />
After about a week of having Polly, I stopped eating real food. I just didn’t feel right eating normal food, so I would always go out to the backyard (we lived in a forest area), after telling my mom I wasn’t really hungry that night, and find some woodland creature to hunt and kill for dinner. My mom didn’t notice me not eating much, until week three. She even took me to the doctor a few times, asking about what was wrong with me. The doctor always had the same answer. I was at a healthy weight and was not sick. After our third visit to Dr. Cortez, my mom decided I was fine and just going through a “stage” as she called it.<br />
<br />
After a month of having Polly, my mom noticed me sleeping in my closet instead of my usual place: my bed. And when she would come to check on me, not only would I be in the closet, but Polly would be in my bed. I would also sleep with my eyes wide open. My mom just ignored it, also saying it was a “stage”.<br />
<br />
Three months later, I got a haircut. I wanted a bob, and that is what I got. The creepy thing was, after I got my haircut, Polly’s hair started to fall out. It only stopped when her hair was exactly like mine. My mom then knew things were not right with the doll, but I would not part with it because Polly was my friend. She was the only one who understood me.<br />
<br />
My mom also told me that when she was about to fall asleep, she would find Polly right next to her bed. Polly would stare at her intently. My mom would put her back in my room, but always find Polly in the same spot when she went back to bed. Eventually, my mom ignored it. I now know that Polly was checking to see if my mom was still awake.<br />
<br />
After almost a year, things got stranger. My skin, hair, and eyes started to turn a glowing green. This resulted in another doctor visit, but he said there was nothing he could do. This, my mom finally decided wasn’t a “phase”. She watched me as much as possible. She even quit her job, a crazy move for a single mother, so she could home school me and make sure nothing happened to me.<br />
<br />
Then the worst night of both of our lives happened. My mom woke up in the middle of the night, after hearing the backdoor open and slam shut. She ran outside, after noticing that I wasn’t in my bed, and neither was Polly. Once outside, she spotted us immediately. We were walking towards the lake, hand in hand. She ran after us, and was almost too late. Polly was leading me into the water, clearly trying to drown me. Polly turned her head, all the way around, towards my mom. She smiled a sick, malevolence grin that sent shivers down her spine. My mom knew she had to act now, before it was too late.<br />
<br />
She ran to me and grabbed my hand, but I pushed her away. She fought until she had me, struggling, in her arms. She placed me in my bed, and locked me in. She sat there, trying to comfort me. I was hysterical. Then, we heard the tapping. We looked at the window, and found Polly standing there staring at us, with her evil green eyes. My mom opened the window, and grabbed her. My mom ran out of my room and threw Polly in the fireplace.<br />
<br />
It was on my tenth birthday when I got the courage to ask my mom what Polly was doing, and what had happened to me. She said that my grandmother got Polly for free, from a woman that seemed crazy. Her daughter died days before she got rid of the doll. My mom showed me the research she did, and it turned out that the previous eight owners of the doll were all killed in various ways. The first killed was one year old, the second was two years old, the third was three years, the fourth was four years, the fifth was five years, the sixth was six years, the seventh was seven years, and then there was me. I was the only one to survive.<br />
<br />
I am fine now, after much counseling and bed rest, unlike the unlucky seven girls who came across Polly the staring dolly*, which is what my family has called her to this day.<br />
<br />
*Rumour has it that this dolly was created by a crazed Israeli Witch known as Dolly O., who uses the doll's victims's ghosts to hunt teenage boys, which is her real purpose.</span></span></span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-22250285596417833322011-02-28T15:07:00.001+01:002011-03-01T18:49:58.992+01:00The Ringing<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">If you ever are in an area of absolute quiet, still your breathing and move not a muscle. After a few seconds, you will notice that the silence has a sort of "sound" of its own, a kind of empty ringing tone. This is nothing unique, everyone will hear this, given the proper setting. An informed person will tell you that your brain is trying to interpret the lack of stimuli to your hearing and so creates a bit of a filler sound. This ringing sound actually serves a more arcane purpose, covering up a noise we are not meant to hear. This noise is not impossible to hear, and if you are persistent you can effectively "break" the cover-up sound. The next time you are silent and hear the ringing, shout at the top of your lungs for about half a minute, then be abruptly silent.<br />
<br />
It will be different for everyone. Some will hear nothing different for dozens of tries. Others might pick up soft murmuring. A special few auditory heroes might clearly make it out on the first attempt. What you will hear is a voice that relays an account of events about to happen in the immediate future. It's like a sportscaster relaying the events occurring 10 seconds into the future. As time goes on, you will be able to make out this voice under increasingly noisy circumstances, to the point that it can be heard at any time by just concentrating.<br />
<br />
Such an ability would doubtlessly be invaluable, no? You will be able react to any immediate danger, relate to people around you with greater ease. No one would ever surprise you. Now, of course you are wondering what sort of horrible catch this ability entails. Perhaps the tone of the voice is so horrible that it will drive you mad, or maybe the voice will only predict your death over and over again. Of course this isn't the case, though, its a normal voice, your ears receive it no matter what, it's simply a matter of noticing. But there is a danger. For you see, where there is a voice, there is a body. And just like you will notice new sounds, so shall you notice new sights.<br />
<br />
More importantly, you'll be noticed.</span></span></span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-83395903294986137682011-02-27T16:25:00.000+01:002011-02-27T16:25:57.510+01:00Dargaia's Nectar<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">If you ever find dargaia's nectar, you'll probably be one of the ones who have been looking for it all their lives, and thus won't need any instructions on what to do with it.<br />
Just the same, it's pretty simple, at least to start with. Make sure your affairs are in order (in case you have a bad reaction), and then? Bottoms up.<br />
<br />
The coming months are the least pleasant part. You'll find yourself unable to keep food down long before you're far enough along to stop needing it. Same with sleep. The colour of your blood will be off, and your veins will consequently stand out more. Expect a few ingrown body parts; little things, just fingers and ears and teeth, usually pressing up against the skin. Make sure you're caught up on your booster shots because you're never going in for a checkup again. Or wearing anything more revealing than a trench coat in public, most likely.<br />
Eventually, a little cut on your belly will start 'unhealing', becoming a puss-filled wound in a few days. Over the coming week, three things will emerge from this.<br />
<br />
The first object resembles a greasy black beechnut with maybe a tooth or two growing from it. When you're dead someone will eventually find it and use it to make a new batch of dargaia's nectar. Hide it well, make things fun for future generations.<br />
<br />
The second object basically looks like a softball-sized cluster of veins, many of them broken and leaking oily black stuff, all wrapped around something. Then it'll squirm and you'll notice the twisted little skinless fetus in the middle. It will only survive for about twenty seconds. Burn the remains.<br />
<br />
The third object will.. Well, let's just call it "object 3". It's easier that way.<br />
You can plant it anywhere you want. I advise some place where you don't mind spending all your time and no one else would go. Your back yard or under your cellar works if you don't have any roommates; as long as there's fertile soil. Dig at least five feet down. It won't want to be buried, but just keep piling dirt onto it (if you can still hear it when you're finished you didn't go deep enough).<br />
<br />
Its veins (or roots, I guess) will eventually spread in all direction about a foot and a half for every year of your life. Grass and weeds will grow stiff and bony, or black and oily, or take on the colour and texture of a spider bite, or rice paper. Wood will be infected too; you'll hear the arteries in your walls pulsing on quiet nights. The ground will rot with dead insect and animal life. Don't mow your lawn; it bleeds like hell.<br />
<br />
This is your sanctuary.<br />
<br />
No matter what threats or injuries beset you outside, here you will be safe and healthy. Well, what passes for 'healthy' for you now. And if you really hate someone, bring them here. Trick them into coming. They'll get infected, one way or another; a lungful of spore, a thorn prick, a bit of residue on their hand. They will blood-vomit and the blood will have tiny centipedes in it. They'll shit out their own spinal fluids. Their eyes will milk over and hatch; little spines and brambles will grow from the sockets. They'll survive for months or years, doctors will be baffled.<br />
<br />
That's all for starters. You'll learn more as you go. Much more. But if I told you everything now you might not do it.<br />
<br />
Whatever you do, just guard it with your life, with your very soul. If you think you're in danger of losing it, dig it up, kill it with a silver needle, and let someone else make a new one someday. You'll feel as if you've pierced your own heart, but it's better than letting it fall into the wrong hands.</span></span></span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-76547201230886152512011-02-27T13:59:00.002+01:002011-02-27T14:04:59.836+01:00Get Help<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">"GET HELP"<br />
<br />
You start noticing those words when you're going about your day-to-day business - just flipping through the classifieds, or posted on telephones near bridges. Normal places. Just words that seem to be catching your eye.<br />
<br />
Then they start appearing more randomly: the first seven tiles you pick in Scrabble, the first spoonful of alphabet soup, even those stupid spams sent by strangers. You even check a few of them, but they all end up being for the same old pills and promises.<br />
<br />
Now it's getting so everything you read has those words crop up - close-captioned TV shows, book titles, CDs, bus schedules, menus, everywhere. It's distracting, very very distracting, it's so very hard to concentrate when words squiggle out of the corner of your eye, when the keyboard's no longer qwerty but gethelpgethelpgethelp.<br />
<br />
The delusion's taking its toll. Who needs help? Who's sending you this message? Why you? How can you help someone who you don't even know?<br />
<br />
You're trying to type an email to a friend. It's very hard to do. The letters keep swimming and you add an apology in the email, just in case your writing's garbled. You finally hit send.<br />
<br />
Later, you wake up.<br />
<br />
You're in the hospital. Your friend is sitting beside you. I was so worried, he says. When you sent that email. GET HELP GET HELP GET HELP, over and over. I came over and found you on the floor. They had to do surgery. Do you know what they found? A second brain. Tiny but fully formed, growing in your head. It was blocking an artery. You're lucky to be alive.<br />
<br />
But you aren't really listening to your friend any more. You're staring at a fire escape diagram near your bed. It doesn't say anything about fire safety at all.<br />
<br />
"Finally." it says. "It was getting crowded in here."</span></span></span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-92082647091522633302011-02-27T12:41:00.004+01:002011-02-27T12:44:17.418+01:00Evil Paradise<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">There is a small island in the Mediterranean Sea that does not appear on any map. It cannot be seen from any other island, nor can any other land be seen from it. On this island is a lighthouse, rotting from age and sea water, that is never lit. There is nothing inside it, save for a spiraling staircase that leads to the top, and an ancient, dusty bookcase.<br />
<br />
The case is filled with unmarked books, bound in ancient leather, save for a single space. If you remove a book from the shelf, it will fling itself open in your hands, and the words inscribed in it shall start screaming to the air. You must wrestle the book closed and shove it back on the shelf, or the immortal evil contained within its pages shall break free, and you will be forced to take its place, with pages, ink and binding crafted from your own flesh and blood.<br />
<br />
However, if you bring the correct book to the island, and place it in the empty space, the lighthouse will light. As long as it is lit, the world shall enjoy an unending paradise, for all the evil in the world will be contained in the lighthouse. And while it is lit, nothing can go in or out.<br />
<br />
The only problem; you will be trapped for eternity with all the evil ever known or conceived, by man or god. And the only way to escape is to douse the light.</span></span></span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-7826428254474338222011-02-27T12:38:00.000+01:002011-02-27T12:38:25.265+01:00Dark Corners<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">In almost every building, there is one corner, one small enclosure that no one ever looks at. It's the corner in the basement that has been blocked by a disused sofa for years; the thin space in the attic between the wall and the stacks and stacks of crates full of junk you never use, but could never throw away. The space that never sees the light of day, or any other kind of light at all. Where darkness does not merely dominate, but practically oozes out from around the edges of its prison.<br />
<br />
No one knows quite how long a space must remain concealed for it to acquire this particular property, nor if there are any specific conditions it must meet. But it is a far more common occurrence than you might think.<br />
<br />
In newer buildings, when this happens, the residents often report feeling cold when passing by, even in attics during the hottest of summers. Whenever contemplating taking a quick peek to see if there is anything actually there, an unnatural dread seizes them, and they leave the room quickly, if not quite running. Once left behind, the feeling passes, and it is quickly forgotten, or laughed off.<br />
<br />
What actually happens in these forgotten sanctuaries of the dark? It is impossible to tell. For while many such corners have been exposed to reveal absolutely nothing, some brave souls have lost their sanity through nothing more than an ill-timed glance. The safest thing to do when encountered with such a phenomenon; close your eyes, rip away the area's covering in a single motion, then keep a tight hold on what you've pulled away. No matter what you hear or feel, do not get up, do not look around, and do not try to cover your ears. You might be one of the lucky ones.</span></span></span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-3317440532167822011-02-27T12:21:00.000+01:002011-02-27T12:21:19.245+01:00Time Paradox<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">A baby girl is mysteriously dropped off at an orphanage in Cleveland in 1945. "Jane" grows up lonely and dejected, not knowing who her parents are, until one day in 1963 she is strangely attracted to a drifter. She falls in love with him, but just when things are looking up for Jane a series of disasters strikes: First, she becomes pregnant by the drifter, who then disappears. Second, during the complicated delivery doctors discover that Jane has both sets of sex organs, and to save her life, they most surgically convert "her" to a "him." Finally, a mysterious stranger kidnaps her baby from the delivery room.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">Reeling from these disasters, rejected from society, scorned by fate, "he" becomes a drunkard and a drifter. Not only has Jane lost her parents and her lover, but he has lost his only child as well. Years later, in 1970, he stumbles into a lonely bar, called Pop's Place, and spills out his pathetic story to an elderly bartender. The sympathetic bartender offers the drifter the chance to avenge the stranger who left her pregnant and abandoned, on the condition that he join the "time traveller corps." Both of them enter a time machine and the bartender drops the drifter off in 1963. The drifter is strangely attracted to a young orphan girl, who subsequently becomes pregnant.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">The bartender then goes forward 9 months, kidnaps the baby girl from the hospital, and drops the baby off in an orphanage back in 1945. Then the bartender drops off the thoroughly confused drifter in 1985, to enlist in the time traveller corps. The drifter eventually gets his life together and becomes respected and elderly member of the time traveller corps, and then disguises himself as a bartender and has his most difficult mission: a date with destiny, meeting a certain drifter at Pop's Place in 1970.</span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-80818426452375395592011-02-26T15:01:00.000+01:002011-02-26T15:01:26.088+01:00Peripheral Vision<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">Have you ever gotten a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye? A simple movement caught in your peripheral vision.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">Most will simply dismiss this as a shadow brought about by a flickering candle, or perhaps a pet jumping down from a piece of furniture. Ninety-nine out of a hundred times, these people are right.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">But then there's that one elusive sight. It can easily be explained by the above conditions, but something feels wrong about it. A chill down your spine, a slight pain in your side. Maybe even a complete blanking of your mind, only to recede moments later.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">Should any of these symptoms be felt, there may be cause for worry. Our peripheral vision is designed to catch motion, even in the dark. This was used to defend against predators in our early days, and as with many aspects of our human nature, it has remained, but weakened.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">This view out of the corner of our eyes still alerts us to danger, and although predators have dropped on the list of dangers we may face today, they still exist.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">Should you ever feel that queer chill in your back, try not to focus on that shadow you saw in the corner of your eye. It might be better not to see.</span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-5428987568058583972011-02-25T13:18:00.000+01:002011-02-25T13:18:16.684+01:00Negative Energy<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">Look behind you. What do you see? Invariably, there will be a wall somewhere in your view. Now stare deeply into the space on the wall that lines up best with your eyes. Nothing will happen, but make sure you are clear on where this particular spot is. That spot contains all the negativity in your mind. Whenever you are on your computer, reading scary stories or whatever you do, sometimes you will get spooked. What do you do when this happens? You check behind you, thats what you do. As you read this now, a feeling of dread will come over you. Check the spot. Nothing again, huh? Thats because right now, all the evil is locked safely in your mind.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">Some people, upon learning of this "negative spot" resolve to remove the spot in an attempt to remove the negative energy. This is a grave mistake. You must never let harm come to this spot. If you do, you will have released the energy. Now when you sit at your computer at night, you will feel chills even in the summer time. The feeling of dread that only presented itself when you were genuinely scared will now hang in the air constantly. Within a week you and your loved ones will have a string of bad luck. Within a month your computer will begin to act erratic and eventually break down. On the anniversiary of the spots destruction, you will dream of your most horrible fears. The dream will seem to go on forever, and when you wake up you will notice your vision has darkened. Every year on the same day, the dream will repeat itself, and your vision will grow darker and darker. After you go totally blind, dont ever turn your back on that spot again. That is if you can still tell where it is.</span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-74494179957756291762011-02-25T13:10:00.003+01:002011-02-25T13:10:53.730+01:00Howling Wind<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">The howling outside your window: sometimes it's not the wind. Be even more wary when it grows silent. Don't open the curtains during those times; it will finally see you.</span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-30570547192600312572011-02-25T12:53:00.002+01:002011-02-25T12:53:58.518+01:00Fingerprints<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">While brushing your teeth in the evening, you catch a glimpse of your wall mirror, covered in fingerprints. Annoyed, you grab a towel and rub at them. They remain. Upon closer inspection, you realize that they seem to be on the other side of the glass...</span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-16249973387837948572011-02-25T11:48:00.000+01:002011-02-25T11:48:49.432+01:00Three Wishes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">An elderly man was sitting alone on a dark path. He wasn't sure of which direction to go, and he'd forgotten both where he was traveling to...and who he was.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">He'd sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: "Now your third wish. What will it be?"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">"Third wish?" The man was baffled. "How can it be a third wish if I haven't had a first and second wish?"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">"You've had two wishes already," the hag said, "but your second wish was for me to return everything to the way it was before you had made your first wish. That's why you remember nothing; because everything is the way it was before you made any wishes." She cackled at the poor man. "So it is that you have one wish left."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">"All right," he said hesitantly, "I don't believe this, but there's no harm in trying. I wish to know who I am."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">"Funny," said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. "That was your first wish..."</span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-80674765593128295752011-02-23T18:45:00.001+01:002011-02-25T12:47:37.426+01:00Candle Cove<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>Skyshale033</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i><br />
</i> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>Subject: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">Does anyone remember this kid's show? It was called Candle Cove and I must have been 6 or 7. I never found reference to it anywhere so I think it was on a local station around 1971 or 1972. I lived in Ironton at the time. I don't remember which station, but I do remember it was on at a weird time, like 4:00 PM.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>mike_painter65</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i><br />
</i> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">it seems really familiar to me... i grew up outside of ashland and was 9 yrs old in 72. candle cove... was it about pirates? i remember a pirate marionete at the mouth of a cave talking to a little girl</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>Skyshale033</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i><br />
</i> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">YES! Okay I'm not crazy! I remember Pirate Percy. I was always kind of scared of him. He looked like he was built from parts of other dolls, real low-budget. His head was an old porcelain baby doll, looked like an antique that didn’t belong on the body. I don’t remember what station this was! I don't think it was WTSF though.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>Jaren_2005<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
That wasn't the villain, the puppet with the mustache. That was the villain's sidekick, Horace Horrible. He had a monocle too, but it was on top of the mustache. I used to think that meant he had only one eye.<br />
<br />
But yeah, the villain was another marionette. The Skin-Taker. I can't believe what they let us watch back then.<br />
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<i> kevin_hart<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
jesus h. christ, the skin taker. what kind of a kids show were we watching? i seriously could not look at the screen when the skin taker showed up. he just descended out of nowhere on his strings, just a dirty skeleton wearing that brown top hat and cape. and his glass eyes that were too big for his skull. christ almighty.<br />
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<i> Skyshale033<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
Wasn't his top hat and cloak all sewn up crazily? Was that supposed to be children's skin??<br />
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<i> mike_painter65<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
yeah i think so. rememer his mouth didn't open and close, his jaw just slid back and foth. i remember the little girl said "why does your mouth move like that" and the skin-taker didn't look at the girl but at the camera and said "TO GRIND YOUR SKIN"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>Skyshale033<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
I'm so relieved that other people remember this terrible show!<br />
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I used to have this awful memory, a bad dream I had where the opening jingle ended, the show faded in from black, and all the characters were there, but the camera was just cutting to each of their faces, and they were just screaming, and the puppets and marionettes were flailing spastically, and just all screaming, screaming. The girl was just moaning and crying like she had been through hours of this. I woke up many times from that nightmare. I used to wet the bed when I had it.<br />
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<i> kevin_hart<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
i don't think that was a dream. i remember that. i remember that was an episode.<br />
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<i> Skyshale033<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
No no no, not possible. There was no plot or anything, I mean literally just standing in place crying and screaming for the whole show.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>kevin_hart<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
maybe i'm manufacturing the memory because you said that, but i swear to god i remember seeing what you described. they just screamed.<br />
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<i> Jaren_2005<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
Oh God. Yes. The little girl, Janice, I remember seeing her shake. And the Skin-Taker screaming through his gnashing teeth, his jaw careening so wildly I thought it would come off its wire hinges. I turned it off and it was the last time I watched. I ran to tell my brother and we didn't have the courage to turn it back on.<br />
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<i> mike_painter65<br />
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?</i><br />
i visited my mom today at the nursing home. i asked her about when i was littel in the early 70s, when i was 8 or 9 and if she remebered a kid's show, candle cove. she said she was suprised i could remember that and i asked why, and she said "because i used to think it was so strange that you said "i'm gona go watch candle cove now mom" and then you would tune the tv to static and juts watch dead air for 30 minutes. you had a big imagination with your little pirate show"</span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-38825379715239678632011-02-23T18:18:00.002+01:002011-02-23T18:18:25.440+01:00Grocery List<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You get a phone call from your Mother. Since her car has been in the shop, she asks you to go to the grocery store and pick up a few odds and ends for her. Bread, milk, cereal, and chicken breasts.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. The lady cashier makes an odd remark to you: "You know, we're in no danger of a milk shortage."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Upon arriving at her house you knock several times. No answer. You decide to try the door. It opens. You place the grocery bag on the counter. Strange. There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In a couple, the chicken and the milk has gone bad. "Mom," you call out, but no answer. You make your way through the kitchen and into the living room.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sitting on the couch, with her head cut off and neatly resting on her lap, is your Mother.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime scene investigator.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"It's not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into a series of repetitive behaviors," he says.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You think to yourself, They can't be talking about me. Schizophrenia? No way. Repetitive behavior? Do they think I did this?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Suddenly your cell phone goes off. "Hello?"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Hi hun, it's me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk. Oh, and I need some bread and cereal too."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"No problem Mom. I'll be right over..."</span></span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-71380465912362682272011-02-23T18:06:00.002+01:002011-02-23T18:06:52.892+01:00The Trap<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She was, naturally, suspicious, so she went to the police.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">When the police paid a visit to the address on the envelope, they made a gruesome discovery, three butchers had been harvesting human flesh and selling it to the starving people.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: serif; font-size: 16px;">And what was in the envelope the man gave to the woman? A note, saying simply "This is the last one I am sending you today."</span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-83559500856658275272011-02-23T17:46:00.009+01:002011-02-23T17:59:28.523+01:00The Last Man on Earth<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The last man on Earth came home one night. He turned the lights off, got into bed, then remembered he had left the TV on.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He reached for a match, and a match was put into his hand.</span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-60091518708610830402011-02-23T17:28:00.003+01:002011-02-23T18:01:22.904+01:00Always With You<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am always with you.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was there from the time you were born. I stood in the delivery room, staring down at you before you could even open your eyes to see me. Your parents, relatives and doctors couldn't see me there, in the corner, watching you with cloudy eyes, but I was there from the time you were born.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I followed you home.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was with you always, your constant companion. You played with your toys alone while I stared from all angles in nearby mirrors; my matted, clotted hair with oily sweat that hung off my dented forehead like glue. I was always your constant companion, drifting behind your mother's car on your ride to preschool. You alone in the bathroom, but I was on the other side of the door, wind whistling through the bruised hole in my throat. My arms twisted and hanging in their sockets as I stood hunched on the other side of the shower curtain. I wait and follow you. I follow and drift behind you.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm not seen. I'm almost not-there in light. You never saw me that morning as I sat across from you at the breakfast table, a shiny red clot hanging from an empty tooth socket as I gaped grotesquely at you. I wonder sometimes if you know I'm there. I think you are aware, but you'll never understand just how close I am.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I spend hours of your day doing nothing more than breathing in your ear.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Breathing and gagging, really.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I crave to be close to you, to always wrap my crippled arms around your neck. I lie near you ever single night, cloudy eyes staring at your ceiling, underneath your bed, at your sleeping face in the dark.<br />
<br />
Yes. You caught me staring occasionally. Your parents came running down to your room one night when you screamed. You were just beginning to talk, so you were only able to cry out "Man! Man in my room!" You thought you'd never forget the sight of me, with my collapsed jaw hanging to my chest, swinging back and forth. I sank back into your closet and your mother was unable to see me though you pointed and pointed and pointed. You thought you'd never forget when they left that same night. You saw the closet door crack so softly and me crawling across the floor to your bed on all fours, shambling in jerking movements as I pushed myself under your bed on disjointed limbs.<br />
<br />
You learned a new word for me: boogeyman. Not quite the monster you thought I was. I'm just waiting and following you always, touching your face with my knotted fingers as you sleep.</span> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You'll see me again soon. Any day now, I'm coming, blunt and brutal. One day you'll walk across the road and I believe I'll plow into you with a loud roar and a screech.<br />
<br />
You rolling on the pavement, rolling under wheels, bluntforce metal fenders and my fingers touching your face again and again.<br />
<br />
As you stare up from the cold pavement with cloudy eyes; your matted, clotted hair hanging in your face and your jaw unhinged and swinging to your chest.<br />
<br />
You'll see me approaching.<br />
<br />
No one else will see me. You will stare past them into my eyes and I'll leer down at you. For the first time in our life, something like a smile will come over my face. You'll swear you're looking into a mirror as clotted red bubbles from our mouths.<br />
<br />
I'll lean down, past the doctors and the oogling people and pick you up in my crooked arms.<br />
<br />
Our faces will touch. My wings will unfurl. And then you'll have to follow me.<br />
<br />
And I am always with you.<br />
</span> <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Your guardian angel.</span></i></span>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3110623363877696547.post-12820539074868531492011-02-23T15:17:00.003+01:002011-02-27T12:47:59.229+01:00The Rake<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">During the summer of 2003, events in the northeastern United States involving a strange, humanlike creature sparked brief local media interest before an apparent blackout was enacted. Little or no information was left intact, as most online and written accounts of the creature were mysteriously destroyed.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Primarily focused in rural New York state, self proclaimed witnesses told stories of thier enounters with a creature of unkown origin. Emotions ranged from extremely traumatic levels of fright and discomfort, to an almost childlike sense of playfulness and curiosity. While their published versions are no longer on record, the memories remained powerful. Several of the involved parties began looking for answers that year.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In early 2006, the collaboration had accumulated nearly two dozen documents dating between the 12th century and present day, spanning 4 continents. In almost all cases, the stories were identical. I've been in contact with a member of this group and was able to get some exceprts from their upcoming book.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"> </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Rake</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A Suicide Note: 1964</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<br />
As I prepare to take my life, I feel it necessary to assuage any guilt or pain I have introduced through this act. It is not the fault of anyone other than him. For once I awoke and felt his presence. And once I awoke and saw his form. Once again I awoke and heard his voice, and looked into his eyes. I cannot sleep without fear of what I might next awake to experience. I cannot ever wake. Goodbye.<br />
<br />
Found in the same wooden box were two empty envelopes addressed to William and Rose, and one loose personal letter with no envelope.<br />
<br />
"Dearest Linnie, I have prayed for you. He spoke your name." </span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A Journal Entry (translated from Spanish): 1880</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<br />
I have experience the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I see his eyes when I close mine. They are hollow. Black. They saw me and pierced me. His wet hand. I will not sleep. His voice (unintelligible text). </span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A Mariner's Log: 1691</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<br />
He came to me in my sleep. From the foot of my bed I felt a sensation. He took everything. We must return to England. We shall not return here again at the request of the Rake. </span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">From a Witness: 2006</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<br />
Three years ago, I had just returned from a trip from Niagara Falls with my family for the 4th of July. We were all very exhausted after a long day of driving, so my husband and I put the kids right to bed and called it a night.<br />
<br />
At about 4am, I woke up thinking my husband had gotten up to use the restroom. I used the moment to steal back the sheets, only to wake him in the process. I appologized and told him I though he got out of bed. When he turned to face me, he gasped and pulled his feet up from the end of the bed so quickly his knee almost knocked me out of the bed. He then grabbed me and said nothing.<br />
<br />
After adjusting to the dark for a half second, I was able to see what caused the strange reaction. At the foot of the bed, sitting and facing away from us, there was what appeared to be a naked man, or a large hairless dog of some sort. It's body position was disturbing and unnatural, as if it had been hit by a car or something. For some reason, I was not instantly frightened by it, but more concerned as to its condition. At this point I was somewhat under the assumption that we were supposed to help him.<br />
<br />
My husband was peering over his arm and knee, tucked into the fetal position, occasionally glancing at me before returning to the creature.<br />
<br />
In a flurry of motion, the creature scrambled around the side of the bed, and then crawled quickly in a flailing sort of motion right along the bed until it was less than a foot from my husband's face. The creature was completely silent for about 30 seconds (or probably closer to 5, it just seemed like a while) just looking at my husband. The creature then placed its hand on his knee and ran into the hallway, leading to the kids' rooms. </span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I screamed and ran for the lightswitch, planning to stop him before he hurt my children. When I got to the hallway, the light from the bedroom was enough to see it crouching and hunched over about 20 feet away. He turned around and looked directly at me, covered in blood. I flipped the switch on the wall and saw my daughter Clara.<br />
<br />
The creature ran down the stairs while my husband and I rushed to help our daughter. She was very badly injured and spoke only once more in her short life. She said "He is the Rake."<br />
<br />
My husband drove his car into a lake that night, while rushing our daughter to the hospital. He did not survive.<br />
<br />
Being a small town, news got around pretty quickly. The police were helpful at first, and the local newspaper took a lot of interest as well. However, the story was never published and the local television news never followed up either.<br />
<br />
For several months, my son Justin and I stayed in a hotel near my parent's house. After we decided to return home, I began looking for answers myself. I eventually located a man in the next town over who had a similar story. We got in contact and began talking about our experiences. He knew of two other people in New York who had seen the creature we now referred to as the Rake.<br />
<br />
It took the four of us about two solid years of hunting on the internet and writing letters to come up with a small collection of what we believe to be accounts of the Rake. None of them gave any details, history or follow up. One journal had an entry involving the creature in its first 3 pages, and never mentioned it again. A ship's log explained nothing of the encounter, saying only that they were told to leave by the Rake. That was the last entry in the log. </span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There were, however, many instances where the creature's visit was one of a series of visits with the same person. Multiple people also mentioned being spoken to, my daughter included. This led us to wonder if the Rake had visited any of us before our last encounter.<br />
<br />
I set up a digital recorder near my bed and left it running all night, every night, for two weeks. I would tediously scan through the sounds of me rolling around in my bed each day when I woke up. By the end of the second week, I was quite used to the occasional sound of sleep while blurring through the recording at 8 times the normal speed. (This still took almost an hour every day)<br />
<br />
On the first day of the third week, I thought I heard something different. What I found was a shrill voice. It was the Rake. I can't listen to it long enough to even begin to transcribe it. I haven't let anyone listen to it yet. All I know is that I've heard it before, and I now believe that it spoke when it was sitting in front of my husband. I don't remember hearing anything at the time, but for some reason, the voice on the recorder immediately brings me back to that moment.<br />
<br />
The thoughts that must have gone through my daughter's head make me very upset.<br />
<br />
I have not seen the Rake since he ruined my life, but I know that he has been in my room while I slept. I know and fear that one night I'll wake up to see him staring at me.</span> </span></div>Stevehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00673391724585603902noreply@blogger.com0