The [Creepy Stories] Thread: Masturbating With One Eye Open

Professor Snugglesworth · July 2010

I got tired of waiting for the next "creepy stories/horror" thread, so I've decided to make my own.

For newcomers, the topic is simple: post any and all creepy or otherwise bizarre situations that you or a friend have encountered in your lives. It could be anything from strange noises to misshapen shadows, to all-too-real close encounters with dangerous individuals or other acts of God (or Satan).

I just want to lay some guidelines to keep this thread from degenerating like it has done so in the past.

1. No bitching or whining about a story not being scary: If you didn't think someone's account was worth the read, then move on. Don't make a debate out of it.

2. No Creepypasta/Screamer Vids: They've run their course. Other spooky vids are acceptable, and in fact encouraged.

3. Strange Dreams are Acceptable: But ONLY if the dream is tangibly related to a real-life occurrence (like, say, dreaming about a dead relative, or predicting a massive accident that actually happens the next day).

4. Drug Trips are also Acceptable: And encouraged, especially if it leads to you winding up in a dumpster or something.

To get the ball rolling, here's some recent horror-related items worth checking out.

Story Archive

A new site has gone up where everyone can post and read previously circulated PA stories. Archive your classic tales for posterity here!

Books

John Dies at the End: A web-series turned novel that's as hilarious as it is horrifying.

House of Leaves: One of the strangest, and creepiest, books you'll ever read.

Uzumaki: We all know how horrifying Japan can be. This is the good kind.

Films and Television

[Rec] 2: Sequel to the awesome Spanish horror movie about a reporter's encounter with a viral outbreak that creates a horde of not-zombies. Opens in limited theaters Friday, 7/9/10.

Highschool of the Dead: Highly stylized Anime adaption of the currently running Manga. Episodes free to watch in link.

The Walking Dead: Upcoming AMC series of the excellent (if over-wordy) comic series. Premieres in October.

Internet:

Marble Hornets: YouTube series dealing with an ongoing mystery involving Slenderman.

Shitty Roommate: A Goon's archived tale of the world's worst roommate.

The SCP Foundation: A frequently updated wiki detailing top-secret oddities and individuals.

The Farmhouse Part 1 and 2: A popular PA story about one former forumer's trip to an abandoned but ominous farmhouse. Copied and edited in my old blog with his permission.

Panda4You · July 2010

Generally excellent bimonthly short-story webzine
Archive goes back to 2006

Nice everything-horror-related news blog
Good for spending short breaks on, I like the "show articles by subject" to browse for new RPG products.

Drake · July 2010

Edit: Never mind. Old news according to the OP.

Nocren · July 2010

I remember the last thread sparked the birth of "manny" and he was going to go viral/big-time.
What happened to that?

Also, am I alone in finding Stephen King books (I'm talking early stuff, pre-Desperation) not very scary?
Creepy at times and realizing that people can and are assholes, yes but not scary.
I don't seem to scare easily unless it's a game (which is the jump-scares) or I'm at a physical location.

Case in point:
Stationed in Guam and there is one big tourist attraction there; "Two Lovers' Point". The story is that when the Spanish were colonizing the island, a chieftain offered his daughter to the Conquistador leader to protect his village. However she loved another, a warrior from the village. The story continues to that they decided to run away together, however the leader gave chase. To escape capture, they jumped off a cliff hand in hand to their death.

Now, I was living with a couple of guys that claimed to be meta-physically aware (I am not here to argue the exsistance of the paranormal here) and we decided, "Hey, we've been stationed here for a year. Let's go to Two Lovers' Point." We had this bright idea at 1am. So we pile into Jay's car and there's me, Ronnie (Jay and Ronnie are the aware guys) and Tony (this guy was like Todd from Scrubs and DiNozo from NCIS, but less charming and tactful then either).

We take the drive up there and get to the visitor's center. We start poking around and not crossing the chain barrier onto the grounds proper because we didn't want to get arrested for trespassing. I'm admiring the sound and night view while Ronnie and Jay soak in the history. At this point an elderly security guard shows up and is smiling at us and explain that we would like to see the murals they have there but we don't like crowds and didn't want to just barge in. The guard smiles and lets us in proper.

Ronnie and Jay are more in awe of the place and come to the conclusion that the story wasn't entirely true. They believed that the Lovers intended to cliff-dive into the ocean and escape to another island together on a stashed boat. However they misjudged the tide since they were being chased.

During this entire time we're speaking in hushed tones and showing the same amount of respect we do/did for the Arizona Memorial (all 4 of us were Navy). The Tony says something stupid out loud and Jay and Ronnie panic. To be honest, I'm not sure what Tony said but it was something disrespectful because Ron and Jay got pissed then scared as we ran for the car and Jay was speeding his way back home.

Everyone claimed that they all felt something get really upset with them, Jay felt something against his chest, Ron could feel anger and pain from something, and smelled freshly dug dirt. Which is something I seem to smell whenever I'm around someone that's about to pass on.

So that's my closest encounter with something creepy.

SirUltimos · July 2010

I've got a story, but it's kinda long so I'll tell it in the morning.

Magus` · July 2010

What exactly is 'creepypasta' and why is it bad?

Professor Snugglesworth · July 2010

The kind of stuff like "here's a creepy scenario my cousin's sister's dog's boyfriend told me. Send this message to five other people or the same thing will happen to you".

Corbius · July 2010

I have always found (some) of The Holders series stuff to be good.

http://theholders.org/

Kastanj · July 2010

One day you were sitting at your computer, reading Penny Arcade's forum...

THEN A SKELETON POPPED OUT!

This is not horror, per se, but it is eerie as fuck. Unfortunately, the video takes about a minute to get to the substance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGeWBiLVn8g&

Professor Snugglesworth · July 2010

So this thread hasn't exactly taken off like I'd hope. Are people out of stories, or is it just not the right timing?

I'm gonna try to keep things active by posting Bizarro Japanese Disneyland.

king_sleep · July 2010

Nocren, maybe Tony had pissed off a Taotao'mona. It's an old ancestor, they were supposed to live in the big mangrove trees. Also you had to ask for permission to enter the jungle and use the bathroom there. I miss living in Guam, was good times.

President Rex · July 2010

Kastanj wrote: »

One day you were sitting at your computer, reading Penny Arcade's forum...
THEN A SKELETON POPPED OUT!

This is not horror, per se, but it is eerie as fuck. Unfortunately, the video takes about a minute to get to the substance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGeWBiLVn8g&

If we're going for random natural sounds that "sound freaky" when their pitch changed or slowed down/sped up, the Bloop is famous. Apparently it's supposed to have originated within 500 miles of Cthulu's resting place. The bloop is at least interesting for the fact that it was incredibly loud and able to travel 5000km underwater and remain audible.

Take a listen.

But those are ridiculous. Humans love to find patterns in things and manipulating the audio just means you have something with manipulated audio. Or maybe Cthulu just move 16x slower than us.

McAllen · July 2010

Professor Snugglesworth wrote: »

So this thread hasn't exactly taken off like I'd hope. Are people out of stories, or is it just not the right timing?

I'm gonna try to keep things active by posting Bizarro Japanese Disneyland.

These

Are fucking delicious. If I remember correctly in Korea, they're full of sweet bean paste.

I don't want to sort for my favorites, but this is a nice read to get paranoid over:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hauntings

Kastanj · July 2010

Afraid of Monsters is a well-made but short Half-Life mod/scenario. Hospital setting, ailing protagonist, stock (albeit well-selected) music.

But what sets it apart are the fucking things that come after you. SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpAei_aLCiY&feature=related

Mr Bubbles · July 2010

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhtrG6Z1ofM

Bacon-BuTTy · July 2010

I love these threads and I really hope it does take off.

C'mon folks. Tell us scary things.

I haven't really had any creepy experiences, beyond the usual being in a creepy place and having "group psychology" encounters (where everyone freaks out becasue everyone is freaking out).

I did have a major trip on anesthetic once, which I posted in the dream thread and might copy/paste in here later if I can find it.

MarioG · July 2010

Mr Bubbles wrote: »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhtrG6Z1ofM

Before I shit... tell me what it is Im about to watch.

Also, just finished House of Leaves. It really isn't that scary, not to me at least. It's definitely interesting and unnerving but I was never in fear. But damn that was a great book.

Atlas in Chains · July 2010

Years ago, my buddy was driving us home through some forest preserve area late night. It was 4 lanes wide and pretty well lit, with quite a bit of traffic for the hour, so I didn't have that creepy, alone in the woods feeling. All of a sudden I see some movement out of the corner of my eye and I look left across 4 lanes of traffic. I see a shadowy man-like figure emerge from the forest at a full run. We passed it by as soon as I saw it, but I swiveled my head and saw it run into traffic, across all 4 lanes. It ran right across all 4 lanes of traffic and caught up to our rear left bumper, kept pace with us for a couple heartbeats, then sped up and ran right in front of our car and we passed right through it and it vanished.

I took a look at my pal in the driver's seat and he still looked calm, so my rational mind kicked in. I figured maybe the overhead streetlights had cast some long shadow that my brain just took and spun into generalized fear. Satisfied that was all it was, I laugh at myself for being jumpy and I turn to my friend and ask him if he just hit somebody, just joking around. His reply? "You saw it, too?" We spent the entire ride home describing to each other what the shadow-thing looked like, how it moved, the way it ran hunched forward. We both agreed with each other on every damn point.

I'm sure it was just our minds playing tricks with us, but it still creeps me out thinking about it. How do 2 people see the same hunched man-shadow running in lit traffic. I dunno, gives me the willies still, but rereading it, it sounds super tame compared to some of the awesome stories I've seen in these threads. Sorry, best I got at the moment.

Oliver · July 2010

Vaelor needs to get in here and post the conclusion to the story he'd been telling in the previous creepy/terrifying tales thread.

nstf · July 2010

Mr Bubbles wrote: »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhtrG6Z1ofM

What is this before I click it?

Kastanj · July 2010

nstf wrote: »

Mr Bubbles wrote: »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhtrG6Z1ofM

What is this before I click it?

Decently scary and effectively confusing little short. Nothing that jumps out in an underhanded or overly shlocky way.

Duffel · July 2010

I love the creepy threads.

However, I make a motion to the OP that we change the name of the thread from [Horror] to something that really sticks out on the forum, like [THIS IS THE CREEPY STORY THREAD] that will really grab people's attention. A lot of people have actually registered specifically for incarnations of this thread, but the title makes it look like this thread is strictly about like, horror novels and movies, so I bet a lot of people aren't clicking on it.

Also, do like the last OP did and throw a story or two in the OP to get people inspired.

EDIT:

In the interest of contributing, here's a creepy short film I remember from one of the older threads. I've always liked it for some reason.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9B9Hx5H5MtI

Xagarath · July 2010

Reasonable short, though everything else these guys have done is rubbish:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0z6xGU2_g9s

Whereas this is an excellent short. Don't think I saw it in these threads before either:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhXXeEzwYRQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EFk8wiDCZ8

This is less creepy, more hilarious:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pq3EsyotORM

Whereas this is just amazing:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjgHbRrnjhU

Thesmileyemo · July 2010

This is one of the eeriest things I have ever seen. It's a journal from someone exploring the remains of Chernobyl.

nstf · July 2010

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nir9TjozWvU&feature=related

Mr Bubbles · July 2010

Man, I posted The French Doors last thread!

It kept me wide awake when they screened it on Channel 4 at about 3am, the first time I saw it

EDIT: Top? Bollocks. Try this on for size

Probably NSFW

Duck Children

Idx86 · July 2010

My county's library, which has never been missing a book I've wanted to read, does not have House of Leaves. Go figure.

Chalk this one up to more general fiction than horror, but I am really loving Stephen King's "Under the Dome" right now.

jungleroomx · July 2010

Mr Bubbles wrote: »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhtrG6Z1ofM

Fuck the fuck what the fuck

Kastanj · July 2010

Obligatory:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7iFXyLah2oQ&feature=channel

I find this to be quite unsettling, if a little shlocky:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHOTOA2bLQs

This is another thing I can't call canonical horror, but triggers something in me:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X72xDpv898Y

Lanz · July 2010

I second Duffel's opinion and, also, repost one that still sticks with me

Raiden333 wrote: »

This was by far my favorite one posted last thread:

Gennenalyse Rueben wrote: »

Hmm. Ghostgoons is missing my absolute favorite goon ghost story, so I'll post it for you guys seeing as I don't have anything else to add right now. It's from the SA forum poster Volponi and it's really long and kind of rambling, so I'll be putting it into several spoilers. I really can't tl;dr this thing, so if you're interested you'll need to read it all.

EDIT: it occurs to me that I may've missed unfiltering some of the filtered swears. Oh well, I'm sure you can figure them out.
Prelude
Even today, just hearing the word "basement" still sends a slight shiver down my spine, even though it's been about 35 years since the events in my childhood memories occurred. The word "cellar" provokes a similar response in me, although to a slightly lesser degree.

[semi-related]

In the movie "Donnie Darko", Drew Barrymore's character claims that a famous linguist (it was actually J.R.R. Tolkien) once said that the phrase "Cellar Door" is the most beautiful combination of words in the English language.

Well, he was wrong for saying it in the first place, and she was wrong for repeating it and perpetuating the idea that the phrase is somehow beautiful. It's not. It's downright disturbing.

FUCK THAT, and FUCK HER, and FUCK THAT MOVIE and FUCK TOLKIEN (even though I really did actually like the movie, and Tolkien). FUCK ALL of them right up the rear end for using that phrase.

"Cellar Door" is, to me, one of the scariest possible combination of words.

[/semi-related]

The first time I posted this story, another goon in that thread (stinkles1112) posted a 'basement' description earlier, which seems very apt - I'd like to quote an excerpt from that post:

stinkles1112 wrote:

Also, there was a basement which had the whole "evil presence" thing going on. My mother flat out refused to go in there after the first time she did, and that was during broad daylight. My father only did with the door open and every light in the vicinity on. I remember vividly the feeling of abject terror I felt the one time, to my memory, that I went in there, not the kind of scared you feel when you're a kid and your mom turns the light out and shuts your room door, but the kind of scared you feel when every horror movie you've ever seen comes to life and coagulates in the form of suffocating, total darkness punctuated by a hundred eyes all staring at you with a deep burning hatred.

This is a very good (if understated) description of the feelings invoked. There are some differences; stinkles' basement was cold and seemed to affect everyone, while mine was warm and only affected children. Still, there are enough similarities to make me wonder if our basements may have been siblings born from the very same hell, or perhaps they were even connected at a deeper level; some twisted "dionaea basement" in which each of them was only a small part of a larger entity.

OK, That's enough of that particular rant - Here we go, to the much longer ranting....

It's going to be a long story, filled with many irrelevant details that serve no real purpose other than to demonstrate how clearly I remember it; how it has burned itself into my mind.

I don't know how many of you are prepared to read the rambling, incoherent ravings of a madman recounting events from the lunacy of his childhood memories, so at this point you have two choices:

(a) Skip my post and proceed to the next one; there is no "tl;dr"
(b) Sit back, relax, settle in, and prepare yourself for the ride.

The story begins...
During my childhood, my family moved around a lot. My father worked for a government agency that would transfer him to different locations on a fairly regular basis. Every year or two, we'd be in a different city or state, moving into a new home.

I was probably about 7 years old when we moved into the house with "the haunted basement". Perhaps "haunted" isn't even the right word to use - It was never really clear to me whether the basement itself was alive, or if something else, something very evil, was residing within the basement. I suppose the distinction is meaningless, because whatever it might have been, it's energy was always focused in that one particular part of the house.

I'm not certain exactly when, how or why I came to the conclusion that it was haunted. Only that it terrified me to my very core.

At some point within the first week of moving into this new house (before I had become aware of IT), my natural inclinations toward exploring led me toward the basement, just to play around, as children are often wont to do. At the time, the basement was new to me - it was (in my mind) 'unexplored territory', and I was a discoverer.

I was a young child, and I didn't know any better - It wasn't until much later that I realized it's a bad idea to intrude into areas where something might prefer to be left alone - a sleeping beast is best left undisturbed - once awoken, the beast will behave in a manner consistent with it's beastly nature.

Whatever force it was, it had decided I was unwelcome, and I somehow, instinctively knew it didn't want me around. I got the impression that it didn't like me very much at all - or perhaps it did. Maybe it liked me a little too much.

The door to the basement was just outside of the kitchen, in a small utility room/entryway around the corner from the pantry closet. The door's handle was on the left, and hinges on the right. It opened inward toward the stairs, where there was about a 4-foot long platform before the staircase descended along the left wall. Thinking back on it, this was a pretty poor design and potentially dangerous to someone who might have been coming up the stairs. The door opening at the wrong moment could easily knock someone down the staircase, or plummeting over the railing. Of course, I never thought about such things at the time. There was a light-switch on the left wall just inside the door.

From the doorway at the top of the staircase I couldn't actually see much of the basement, even if I flipped on the light-switch. The light illuminated the stairs well enough, but not much of the basement itself. That godforsaken room seemed to be shrouded in perpetual darkness. I could just barely make out the shape of the washing machine at the far right of my field of view.

The basement stank, as well. Standing atop the stairs, I could smell a very unpleasant musty odor and feel hot, dank air emanating up from within those murky depths. I could also feel a presence, like it was both sentient and secretive. It knew something I didn't, and it wouldn't reveal it's dark secrets unless I went down and succumbed to it's clutches. At times, it seemed only to be playfully mischievous, trying to coax me in. At other times there was no mistaking that it basement had wicked, malevolent intentions.

I never actually even set foot inside it; I was too frightened. Just looking down into it, I could feel the small hairs all over my body standing on end, as if even my very skin could sense the danger that lurked within that subterranean crypt, awaiting my arrival. I distinctly remember standing in the doorway at the top of the stairs, staring down into the emptiness, the dark abyss of the unknown and unknowable, desperately trying to muster up enough courage to descend into what I was convinced must be a magical portal to some other world; simultaneously wondrous and terrifying.

I could never do it. Fear would paralyze me before I could take even the first step down that foreboding staircase. I would stand there in complete and utter horror, sweating, on the verge of tears, until eventually something would snap and I'd regain just enough control of myself to run away. And run, I did. Every single time.

Eventually, my fear of the basement (and whatever unimaginable evils lurked within) extended to even the doorway which lead to that monstrous room. I began to avoid even the door to the basement, as if getting to close to the door would cause me to be sucked in, where I would surely suffer unspeakable atrocities. I would do my best to keep at least five feet away from that malignant, venomous doorway.

Friends visiting
Much like any other child, I had friends who would come to visit, play, or have the occasional sleepover. On a few occasions (when my parents weren't around, or weren't paying attention) I would dare my friends to enter the basement. None of them ever did. I never told them exactly why the basement was a scary place (and to be honest, I really didn't understand it myself - I still don't).

They all seemed very willing to take the dare, but as they approached the door they always faltered. One of them (Paul) came closer than most; and (admittedly) closer than I ever had - He walked down the stairway to almost the halfway point, where he froze. Solid. After a moment, he turned and bolted back up the the stairs. He didn't stop once he reached the kitchen, either. He kept running straight through, and locked himself in the bathroom for 10 or 15 minutes. When he finally came out he was sweating, shaking all over, and unable to maintain eye-contact - with anyone - for the rest of the night. He refused to talk about it.

My parents seemed to think that he might be ill, and they called his parents to express their concerns. I don't know exactly what transpired in that phone call, but I guess it was decided that everything was OK, because Paul's parent's didn't come pick him up. At least, not right then.

In the middle of the night, Paul woke me up and said that he had to go home. I told him to shut up. I wanted to go back to sleep. He started crying and babbling about wanting to go home. After a little while, the noise woke my parents up. It was tremendously embarrassing to me - I was sure they'd never allow another sleepover after this kid woke them up in the middle of the night with his blubbering. After all, he was my friend, I was the one who invited him here, and now he's causing problems, interrupting their sleep. They told me it was OK, sometimes kids get scared for no reason. They said the best thing to do would be to let him call home, and maybe it would help him to feel better.

My father made the phone call. He woke Paul's mother, and explained (as best he could) the situation to her. Then he gave the phone to Paul. Paul immediately started crying, the moment the phone was put into his hand. He begged his mother to come pick him up, that he needed to go home... I can still hear the tone in his voice, and the way he stretched out the vowel "e" in the word "need" and the "o" in "home". He told us all that was feeling sick, but he couldn't look any of us in the eye, and I could see the look of abject terror on his face. I knew it was the basement that had frightened him away from my house. I felt bad for daring him to go down there. He wound up gathering the few belongings he had brought with him, and my father drove him home.

Paul and I never spoke much after that - It was almost like we weren't friends anymore, for some reason. Over the short course of time that I lived there, I'd see him at school and he'd usually avert his gaze, as though there was some unspoken thing which he didn't want to acknowledge. In any case, we were never really friends again after that, he seemed to get very uncomfortable around me and distanced himself - In fact, I don't think I ever saw him have any friends at all for the rest of the time I went to school there.

[unrelated side-story]

It's not really pertinent to the story, but a few years ago, my mother sent me an email containing a web-link to a news story about Paul - She'd stayed in contact with his parents throughout the years. As it turned out, Paul had grown up (as we all do), married a very nice woman, and had 2 children. He also got a job as a schoolteacher in the same town and school district where I first met him.

Apparently at some point while he was teaching third-grade students, Paul developed an unhealthy liking of 9-yr-old girls. One of his students had come forward with allegations of molestation, and she was quickly followed by several other girls he had taught. While he was awaiting trial on multiple charges, he died from a self-administered rapid overdose of lead poisoning delivered directly to his brain via the barrel of a shotgun.

[/unrelated side-story]

Grown-ups didn't know
Judging from the reactions of every single one of my childhood friends who ever came into close contact with the basement, we children seemed to be (in some fashion) attuned to the presence of whatever was lurking within it. We could sense it, even though adults were entirely unaware of it, and thus unaffected.

My parents never showed any signs of being frightened by the basement at all. I never mentioned my fear to them for a variety of (completely illogical and nonsensical) reasons that I'll attempt to explain later.

Occasionally, I'd see my mother coming up from the basement; usually carrying a hamper full of clean laundry. I was in complete awe of how courageous she was, to have willingly gone into (and surprisingly, returned safely from) that abomination beneath the house. I don't recall ever seeing her enter the basement, only seeing her return. I may have just 'blacked-out' any memory of seeing her enter, as the thought would have been too traumatic for my young mind to cope with.

I'd like to think that if I'd seen her entering that dreadful tomb, I would have warned her not to go, even pleaded with her if necessary. Truth is, I probably wouldn't have. I would probably have been too afraid to voice my objections, knowing that the basement might hear me. I knew that it was evil, and I knew that it was dangerous, yet I had the suspicion that just maybe, it didn't know that I knew. Somehow, my intuition told me that I'd be safer if I didn't let it find out that I knew about it. As long as it didn't know I was aware of it, I could avoid it - but if it found out that I knew, it would have to get rid of me.

For the rest of the time that we lived in that house, I avoided that door like some demonic infectious disease that was absolutely, without-any-doubt, determined to destroy me (or worse). As I said before, I didn't mention my fear to my parents or anyone else. Using my childhood logic, saying it out-loud might awaken "the bad thing" and bring it directly to me, like some unearthly spectral dog-whistle. It seemed to be confined to the basement (for now), perhaps it was even trapped there and unable to come out. Speaking of it aloud might be like "calling it's name", which could free it from it's underground prison and allow it to come for me. I tried my best to hide my fear, because I somehow knew that if my parents found out about that fiendishly diabolical and loathsome entity, then the basement would be forced to deal with them, as well. As old superstitions go, saying something out loud calls it to you, and telling someone else brings it to them.

Looking back on it, I suppose they had to know how frightened I was even though I never told them. I don't think they could have possibly not noticed how consciously I avoided that door, and how quickly I moved when I did have to walk by it.

Relief at last + Update from more recent times
After about a year, we moved out of that house and to a different state. I still remember that basement (well, what little of it I ever actually saw) in great detail, and I'll never forget how I would become consumed by sheer terror whenever I came into close proximity to it.

A couple of years ago while I was visiting my mother, we were talking and something reminded me of all this. I don't remember what, exactly. I don't even remember what the topic of conversation was at the time, most likely something inconsequential, but something she said, or something I said, or perhaps something on TV reminded me (all it usually takes is hearing the word "basement").

In an off-handed sort of way, I mentioned it to her. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I remember being shocked by the way she reacted to it. What I said was probably something mostly innocuous, like "remember when I was little, how scared I was of the basement".

She just stared at me blankly, with a very strange look on her face, and didn't say anything all. After a few seconds (not your usual 'few seconds' - these were seconds that felt like days, or perhaps weeks - timeless, infinite seconds during which I became increasingly uncomfortable), when the silence had reached a deafening crescendo and my discomfort level had peaked, I tried to change the subject. She wouldn't allow that. To my horror, she only stared at me quizzically and asked me to repeat myself. The remainder of the conversation proceeded something like this:

"What did you just say?"
"Ah - mmm, nevermind, it's nothing - just thinking out loud."
"No, you weren't - What did you just say?"
"I'm going to get another cup of coffee - do you want one?"
"Stop avoiding my question - I want to know what you meant - Something about the basement?"
"It's not important, really"
"Tell me."
"I was just saying how much it scared me when I was little."
- [blank stare from mom] -
"I was really glad when we moved out of that house."
- [blank stare from mom] -
"It's silly, I know."
"We've never had a basement."

Of course, I didn't believe her. I even argued with her a little. I described the door, the stairway, the noises... All to no avail.

I tried reminding her of the night that Paul came for a sleepover, and how he had awoken so frightened that he refused to stay - she remembered the night, but she insisted that Paul had just gotten sick.

I mentioned that the laundry machines were in the basement - She simply had to remember it; she'd been down there many times. She refused to hear any part of it - She remembered the small utility room outside the kitchen, but according to her, the laundry machines had been located in that room, and there was no door leading to a downward staircase. After a very frustrating conversation, it seemed that there was simply no way I would ever be able to make her remember, and she seemed to give up on trying to convince me.

Later that evening, she brought out an old photo album. She sat down with me and went through photos of every house we had lived in while I was growing up. Photos of every location we had ever moved to, every city and state. She could tell me what years we lived in each home and how old I was at the time. She wanted me to point out which house I was talking about. I couldn't identify which particular house it had been. Although I could narrow it down to two possible houses based simply on my age at the time, neither one of them looked like the right house from my memory. The pictures were all familiar to me, I remembered the houses, but I couldn't place precisely which one of them it had been since none of them looked quite right. She could narrow it down to one particular house; being that it was the town where we had met Paul's family. She swore that it didn't have a basement, nor did ANY home we'd EVER lived in.

Conclusions
I sometimes wonder if perhaps the basement managed to somehow erase itself from her memory - Of course that would mean that it had altered my memory as well, rendering me unable to identify the house in which it dwelt, and thus preventing me from ever disclosing it's whereabouts.

I try not to think about it too much, or too often, and I've once again decided that I probably shouldn't ever tell this story out loud.

Rationally, I realize that there's no real danger in vocalizing any of this, but a part of me still thinks that there just might be. I have nothing to gain by saying it out loud, but I also stand to lose nothing by remaining silent about it just in case it can still hear me.

Also note that we're still waiting for Vaelor's update to his long-running tale.

Gennenalyse Rueben · July 2010

Fffff, I saved one of the older Terrifying Tales threads and was planning to repost siliconenhanced's old two-parter next I saw one of these threads. Yeah, well, the computer in which I had painstakingly archived the entire thread had its hard drive go kaput and for whatever reason the backup didn't actually back it up. Hate so much.

I feel obligated to contribute something, though. As such I offer to the thread two links. This is Humper-Monkey's little story from an old, now-archived SomethingAwful military stories thread. It's not the most well-written thing in the world, nor the most believable...but it's not bad. Also, it's very long.

Part 1
and
Part 2

There might be some odd text breaks or something in the first part. I didn't see any but that's an error that seems to happen off and on for whatever reason. Also, might need to dial your text size up a bit.

Professor Snugglesworth · July 2010

Duffel wrote: »

I love the creepy threads.

However, I make a motion to the OP that we change the name of the thread from [Horror] to something that really sticks out on the forum, like [THIS IS THE CREEPY STORY THREAD] that will really grab people's attention.

Done.

Also note that we're still waiting for Vaelor's update to his long-running tale.

How about posting the rest of his story so far for those who missed it (me)?

Johnny Chopsocky · July 2010

Gennenalyse Rueben wrote: »

Fffff, I saved one of the older Terrifying Tales threads and was planning to repost siliconenhanced's old two-parter next I saw one of these threads. Yeah, well, the computer in which I had painstakingly archived the entire thread had its hard drive go kaput and for whatever reason the backup didn't actually back it up. Hate so much.

I feel obligated to contribute something, though. As such I offer to the thread two links. This is Humper-Monkey's little story from an old, now-archived SomethingAwful military stories thread. It's not the most well-written thing in the world, nor the most believable...but it's not bad. Also, it's very long.

Part 1
and
Part 2

There might be some odd text breaks or something in the first part. I didn't see any but that's an error that seems to happen off and on for whatever reason. Also, might need to dial your text size up a bit. Oh, and keep in mind it takes a little while to get to the really creepy part. It starts off as just a "back when I was in the military" story.

This Humper Monkey fellow is a supreme bastard. I shoulda been in bed two hours ago, but noooooo...

Professor Snugglesworth · July 2010

jungleroomx wrote: »

Mr Bubbles wrote: »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhtrG6Z1ofM

Fuck the fuck what the fuck

I'm quickly learning that the Spanish don't fuck around with horror. [Rec], Pan's Labyrinth (semi counts), Darkness (awful for most of the movie, but one of the damn scariest climaxes ever), and this cement that notion.

Come on guys, don't let this die.

PsychoCucumber · July 2010

Someone mentioned Fewdio earlier in the thread, and while I agree that most of their shorts aren't great, this is my favorite one of them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BCGf8FjBPE

Also, really glad to see another creepy stories thread. I love these things.

Wassermelone · July 2010

I don't know if this is something everyone knows about or what, but it was certainly creepy (its just text, no shock pop ups)

http://www.dionaea-house.com/

Gennenalyse Rueben · July 2010

Oh my god. I found the old Creepiest Stories thread. I'm going to re-archive it and bring in some of the better stories from it later tonight.

Corbius · July 2010

Wasn't there a Dionaea house movie in production or something?

Cantido · July 2010

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream.

MarioG · July 2010

Coincidentally, I just saw this Fewdio video. It's pretty dope.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0z6xGU2_g9s

Gennenalyse Rueben · July 2010

And now I make good on my promise of stuff dug from the lost and forbidden archives of PA Creepy Threads past. I won't post them all at once, though. Some I still kind of need to locate, another has a buttload of images in it.

siliconenhanced wrote:

I remember this thread's predecessor. I told the story about the house where the woman used to lure people in saying she was part of the Underground Railroad, and then murder/torture/sell the slaves back into slavery.

It had the dog and the ghost getting into a bit of a ruckus.

Anyway, on that note, anyone remember the Blair Witch Project? Anyone who grew up around that area knows that the woods are just like that shit, with a house coming out of nowhere.

I used to go for hikes through the woods with an old Army map, a knife, and my dog. He used to go for rabbits, catch them, and bring them back to me alive and kicking, like he didn't know what to do with this fuzzy twitching thing in my mouth. Occasionaly I'd come across him eating one though, but that's neither here nor there. Foxes had a thing for him as well, and we'd always see one up on a ridge or on some rocks, watching us walk past.

It was following a "trail, unimproved" that I came across this house. It wasn't very surprising at this point to see a house abandoned in the middle of nowhere. The explanation given was that farms would go bust, no one would tend the fields, and the trees would reclaim the plowed fields. Fair enough.

It was the middle of Autumn, so the trees were in a good lather, falling leaves and everything looking decidedly poetic. I didn't really notice anything until my dog jerked my arm, not because of him running off but because he had froze. He had looked like this a few times before, when someone was trying to break into the house and whenever he saw another male dog who tried to bump chests with him. On point, looking huge and ruffled, which is saying something when he's a rotty/chow mix. I thought maybe he got a hint of coyotes, and then I saw the house.

What paint it had once faded off ages ago, leaving warped grey side boards. It was a two story farm house, and someone had obviously wanted to keep something inside. With some resistance at first, I moved closer. How do I know the above? Mainly because the wood 2X4s were nailed on the outside of the windows and doors. Okay, I thought, they couldn't do it on the inside, because then they would lock themselves in, right?

But why would they do it period?

Something else got my attention. There was a walk around porch roof, and going around back I could see where in one second story window all the boards had been blown out, shattered, along with some of the house itself. While the 2X4s were good and rotted, I could still see where someone had carved something into them, or perhaps clawed at them? I don't know. I do know, like the protagonist in an HP Lovecraft story, I should have probably at this point ran for the woodline, or at least until I had a can of gasoline. Especially after the events in Seaford.

But I was young, and impetous, and taking matters into my own hands, I went around to the front door again. With a running start, I threw myself through the front door, and into a fucking nightmare.

The wooden walls were covered with streaks of brown in impressions in the whitewashed wood, which I know realise was blood from fingers being scratched down to the quick. And perhaps white washed is too strong a term. There was white, but someone had taken time to write hex marks in line after line around the house. I could see what I thought was huge spider laying almost out of my line of sight in a doorway. I realised that it was a hand as my brain put things together. Baxter, the dog, had entered with me, growling low in this throat, coming up to my side and never taking more steps than I did. He did not like the hand, and bared his teeth at it in a way more akin to wolves, with that sudden sharp two tone snarl they do.

The hex lines, basically pentacles about every foot interspersed with crosses, ran into what I want to call the kitchen, with empty cabinets and an old iron stove. Needless to say, a thick curtain of dust covered everything, but there were places were there were less dust. Squatting, I made out footprints, bare human footprints, and ran a finger along the middle of one. Somewhere in the house, something thumped, and there was a giggle. More like in the back of my mind, but Baxter lurched as if he heard it too. I didn't like where this was going, but I continued on, my heart beating in my chest.

Perhaps I imagined the next rattle, coming from behind me, but I don't think I did. Investigating, I saw that the hand had slid several feet down the wall, further into the room. I could see the dust trails where it had moved, and shook my head. Something was fucking with me, but again, I was too headstrong, too reckless. I also thought my being a paratrooper, and under the auspice of St. Michael had something to do with it - if he could face the down devil, I could explore the domain of some half ass ghost, couldn't I?

Perhaps! But when a finger fucking twitched, it did not sit well in my stomach. And when I heard, much like I had before, the sound of something beating around upstairs, Baxter getting more and more anxious by the second, I decided to leave. I grabbed my fear by the throat, and walked from the house, through the threshold.

I don't know if my walking pissed it off or my running only inflamed it further, but when I heard the sound of footsteps coming, I took off for the woodline and the open fields, thinking for some reason it represented safety. Baxter ran beside me, ears back and in a flat out sprint. The wind kicked up behind me and I could smell the rot in the air. The smell of open sewage on a hot day, of a corpse putrefying and wet. The bile rose at the back of my throat and I spit, dodging through trees and leaping over more than one rock. It was riding the wind though, it's footsteps only taunting to heighten the thrill of the chase. How can you outrun the wind?

You can't. So I turned, ripped the medal from my neck, and shoved it into the wind. I don't remember what I yelled, to be honest. I suspect it was a cry to St. Michael with all of my faith, because there was a white explosion in my head, and my vision was filled with light. The only equivalent I have is when I got caught too close to a flashbang, with the noise slowly filtering back in with my vision.

Again, the smell of roses and gunpowder on the wind, and something else. You could smell fire on the wind, like your clothes might smell after standing too close to a bonfire. I heard steps again in the leaves, but it was only my dog, looking around curiously, licking the air. After a moment he looked off into the distance, wagged his tail, and then began to turn back. I followed him, looking where he had stared so intently. I saw nothing, but there was a cool breeze suddenly from that direction, and the smells, so apart but seeming so right, were stronger for a second, and then faded out. I walked with my dog out of whatever horror I had wandered into for a second.

When I got back home, my mother asked me what girl I had been with. She said she could smell me from there, and while I smelled good, I smelled STRONG. She didn't believe I wasn't with a girl, and only said "You don't have to lie, but we can pretend if you're embarassed to tell your mother. Just ask your "friend" what perfume she uses, because I'd like a bottle."

A deployment later, I returned to the house with the can of gasoline, the dog, and some handwritten prayers. What I found when the house burned to the ground is another story altogether.

siliconenhanced wrote:

A little over a year later had me driving down the "trail, unimproved" in a jeep, three five gallon jugs of gas in the backseat, a sheet of handwritten prayers tucked into my pocket, and the dog curled up in the backseat. I had left with this, I told my mother the area where I was going to hike, and took off. These were what I hoped, enough to finish what I had started.

I kept the events of that place to myself, knowing that I had experienced what some might call "a minor miracle" in my faith. I had told the story when I was younger about the first ghost to some people when it came to telling "Oh man this one time..." stories, much like this thread. Things would always get quiet shortly afterwards, and someone would eventually go "That's fucked up" softly, and that was that. Still, I knew the house was there, and unlike in the first case, I didn't know that I had broken whatever presence haunted that house for good.

I arrived at noon, with the first whispers of an early summer thunderstorm starting to show on the horizon. If this fire got out of hand, I hoped to let nature deal with it, and hauled the three cans out of the jeep, along with a coil of rope, and a shovel. I had my knife in the small of my back, and hefting three cans awkwardly, I walked towards the house, ignoring the sudden sinking feeling in my stomach.

Where there had once been a good wind moving through the woodline had died when I began walking towards the house with my goods. Baxter's tail was stiff, and his hair was on end again. Everything was literally silent. No birds flew, no trees moved. It felt like high noon at Dodge City, and to ease the tension I blew the first few notes of that song you hear in every spaghetti western.

Apparently, I hadn't broken shit. Just driven it away from me in a desperate moment, and I couldn't be sure when it might come back. Indeed, as I set the cans down, one of the 2X4s in the second story windows chose that time to pop out, making an empty thunk as it hit the top of the awning. Baxter barked once, and I loosened the St. Mike's medal from inside my shirt, wearing it openly and spreading the contents of the first can around the outside of the house.

The complete lack of anything serious happening was more frightening, I think, than if it had appeared gibbering and screaming around the corner of the house. I took a note from Ghostbusters, of all things, and tried my damndest not to think about what the hell it could do. When my foot got caught on a root, I let out a scream, thinking that it was coming out of the ground for me. My heart was beating as loudly in my chest as the first time I jumped out of a plane, and I was glad when the first can was completely empty.

The second can and third can were meant for the inside of the house, and while it was high noon, the light inside seemed less substantial, and the door yawned like a mouth, inviting me inside. Calling the dog to my heels, I marched in, and immediately spread the gas as fast as I could. With my first step a hard stiff wind blew from the direction of the storm front, and the entire house groaned in protest. The hand I had seen the first time had not moved at all, from where I remembered it, but all the same I avoided it. As I went into the kitchen, I took a moment to look around, and noticed on the counter there were fresh footprints on the dust, about infant sized. They dissapeared thanfully under the onslaught of gas, and I had used up over half of the first can when I saw the entryway into the parlor.

Draped over the windows were large white sheets, each painted with a single pentacle. A hex mark, in other words, designed to keep something in. The darkness was more complete in there, and my bravado failed me when I tried to take the first step in, pouring the gas from the safety of the threshold and letting it leak into the room. Something thumped upstairs, and I felt I didn't have much more time before events went quickly out of hand again. I went back to the center of the kitchen, grabbed the last can, and started spreading that on the hallway walls that led to the upstairs. I was not going up there, I decided, but I didn't count on the small trapdoor in the pantry, leading to what might have been a root cellar.

Flicking my lighter, I could see that it was covered with steel banded wood, holding down the rusting door. There was no need for a lock, as the boards over the door were bolted into cement around the trapdoor. Nothing was getting out of that. All the same, when I flicked my lighter shut and continued on my crusade something wailed in the dark place under this house, that made my dog howl in response and me drop the gas, spilling it over my boots and jeans. Something down there made the house shake, sending loose chunks of ceiling down on me. It was time to leave.

I drove my knife though the jug, and tossed it down the hallway, ignoring the persistant thump thump upstairs, like a heart, and ran until I was clear of the pooling gas. Running my lighter along the wall, the gas began to spread, running in blue flames both directions. I was careful to keep the flame away from me, and ran for the door.

The inside of the house had shielded us from the wind that waited for us outside. The storm had snuck up on us and I was almost thrown back by the wind. Reaching down I picked up the dog, threw him over my shoulder, and walked towards the car, taking shelter behind what trees I could. I turned back towards the house, and the fire was starting to take, licking against the dried and rotted wood. I stood there in the wind that bent the trees almost sideways, and watched as one tongue of flame sent a blue ring around the house.

Then the smell, the rot and the decay of last time, with something slamming around in the doorway, highlighted by the flames. I felt my fear drain away at that moment, all the anxiety that had been building was gone replaced by a sudden anger. At what, I don't know. Maybe at whatever had caused this to happen, but regardless, Baxter was put on the ground and I drew my knife and took a step forward. I was literally seeing red, going into the berzerker drive that had won me so many fights before.

"I'm right here motherfucker! I'm not going anywhere!" I screamed over the wind, as if this was just another shit talking dude. The ridiculousness of it all still strikes me today, a guy yelling at the air, brandishing a knife like a retard at something only he can see. Baxter came up next to me, growling low in his throat, eyes deep set in his massive head.

I wonder why it didn't charge me. Was I just taking out my rage and frustration on the unknown that surrounded this place on a figment of my own mind? Or was it there, and it was just unused to simple human courage, drawing a line in the dirt and saying "Here, and no further". Whatever the reason, it stopped thrashing, and the outline of flames surrounding it dissapeared.

The red faded from my vision shortly after the first story ceiling caved in, and I walked backwards the entire time, never taking my eyes from the house. I went to the jeep, got in the with the dog, and we had dinner at subway.

Roast beef with bacon, for both of us, on that cheese bread. It started to rain when we arrived at the Subway, and kept on after we had returned to the smoking embers of the house. I had made a stop on the way back to pick up a flashlight and a crow bar, and with that and the shovel, I shifted the ashes, not finding anything of interest until I got near the trapdoor. Baxter dug it out, a caved in skull that was partially destroyed by the fire, but huge and mishapen. The skull was too large, the eye sockets uneven. I ran a finger around the nose hole and wondered again what had happened here?. After several minutes of work with the pick and crowbar, I had a sort of answer. The faintest smell of corpses rose up to meet me, like a soda can in winter that a mouse died in during the spring.

There was a skeleton down there, and from the wider set of the hips I assumed it was a woman, with both of her femurs smashed. Several skeletons surrounded her, small infant skeletons. Making several knots in the rope, I tied off the rope to a sturdy looking tree nearby. If worst came to worst I could always chimney my way up, as it was only a ten foot drop. Either way, I had made sure that someone knew where I was if the shit met the fan.

I crawled down, looking at the skeleton surrounded by three infants with odd skulls and other deformities. I was surrounded by great despair, and shook my head at the waste of it all before carefully shouldering the skeleton and making the climb up with it. My internal revulsion was offset by a need to do the right thing here. So it took me several trips to collect all the bones, longer than it took me to dig the actual graves in the rain soft dirt. I piled stones over each, five graves. One for the mother and her four children, I think, and pulled out my sheet of prayers. I prayed to God, to Saint Michael, and I folded it up and offered my own blessings. Baxter sat quietly and watched throughout it all, and when I was done, he howled low and long.

I walked from that place filthy and covered in soot and dirt, and my nose was filled with the smell of fire. There was no scent of roses, no smell of gunpowder freshly burnt, but there was a smell of things growing underneath it all that hadn't been present before. That, I think, was all the sign I needed to know we had done the right thing.

I got in the jeep, and we drove away. I have never taken the supernatural for granted since.

Penny Arcade

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