Posts : 172
Join date : 2008-09-22
Age : 26
|Subject: creepy stories. Tue Jan 26, 2010 6:14 pm|| |
All are campfire stories but i believe things supernatural like this could possibly work in the rp im thinking about.
Go to any high traffic bathroom. It must be a high traffic bathroom; otherwise the room won’t have enough latent residual energy to carry out the task. A hotel bathroom is perfect. Make sure it's after 12 AM, and make sure you have two clove cigarettes. The stronger the cigarette, the higher your success rate is. Sit in the dark and begin smoking one of the cigarettes. Make sure there is a mirror present, and that you look at your reflection at all times. The burning cherry should provide just enough light for this. When you’ve smoked the cigarette within a 1/4 in of the filter, the room should be full of smoke. Your eyes will no doubt be watering, but don’t blink. Don’t take your eyes off of the mirror or your reflection whatever you do. To blink will make all you’ve done at this point for naught.
You’ll begin to notice that your reflection will begin to fade into black. The reflection of the cherry from your cigarette will begin to separate into two red eyes. The smoke in the room will begin to condense, and before you even realize it’s happened, a shade will be sitting on the ledge of the sink. He’ll ask you for a cigarette, which is why you’re instructed to bring two. Give the shade a cigarette, which will light itself once he brings it to his withered lips. At this point, you can ask the shade any question you want, and he'll answer true. You can ask who shot JFK, who was Jack the Ripper. Anything you could possibly think of. Be sure to keep an eye on how much of the cigarette he’s smoked. When it gets to the point where it will only take a few more hits to kill it, the smoke from the other cigarette will begin to define more of his features, making him more material than ethereal.
At this point, stand up and snatch out his eyes in one sweeping motion. He should still be mostly smoke, so your hands should pass easily through his head. If you let him finish the cigarette he WILL attack you, almost surely taking your life in the process. The shade will begin screaming and cursing you and the hand holding his eyes will be burning intensely. DO NOT OPEN YOUR HAND! Even though the eyes are disembodied, they can see if they are out in the open. Run to the light switch and flip it on. This will banish the shades physical form and send him back into the ether. Leave the room and wait until 3:00 AM to open your hand. The burning will be unbearable until then, but to do so will blow all the lights out in your house, allowing the shade to return and seek vengeance. You will have four burn marks on your palm when you open it. All cauterized of course, and mostly healed.
From then on you can never be in a dark room with a mirror, because the shade will be able to track you through the burns in your hand. He'll have black hell dogs now, given his loss of sight, and they are far more terrible than the shade could ever be. The number of hell dogs depends on the strength of the shade you made contact with. After this, you’ll always be cold, no matter how warm it is, and you’ll be given the ability to perform minor miracles. Your dreams will always be nightmares, but in them, you will be granted a kind of third sight. You’ll never be able to see anything good, only the most horrific future events. And these events will only be known to you at a point where you can’t do anything to stop them.
A small price to pay for absolute knowledge.
A recent study by the National Psychiatric Institute in Boston, Massachusetts, concluded that no activity can account for the phenomenon known as nightmares.
Whereas many dreams come from unconscious desires, most nightmares seem to come from an outside source independent of the individual. In fact, when subjects are asked to recall nightmares they are almost always found in the same memory section as actual physical memories, not the section where normal dreams are replayed.
So, in other words, those aliens and creatures you see at night in your "dreams"?
The native villagers around these parts say that there’s a stretch of tundra just north of here that is occupied by benevolent spirits. These spirits grant insight and warning, they say, to whoever visits them at night, once the sun has disappeared entirely and left the world in jet darkness.
I drove out to the middle of the frozen expanse of ice and waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever commanded these people’s reverence. They send their children out, bundled in furs to keep from freezing, on the eve of their 15th birthday to seek an audience with these spirits. Once they have achieved this, the children run home to their parents to share the news. From then on these children are considered adults in the village. Engaged couples visit this tundra on the night before their wedding. The entire village stays up all night awaiting their return, as it is upon their return that the couple either decides to proceed with their marriage, or to abandon it. The elderly visit the tundra whenever they are sick or ailing, and often make their condition worse by staying all night in the cold. When they return, however, it is most often with an air of sheer serenity.
So I waited, curious to see what phenomenon might inspire people so powerfully. I waited for hours, bundled in my parka and sitting on the hood of my pickup. I waited until I felt that I was going to freeze to death, even in my thick clothing.
I heard the spirit before I saw it.
A crunching of snow in the silence made me jump off my truck and spin around. A hunched, gray-skinned man stood a few meters away. Sad, yellowed eyes stared back at me, set inside a skull from which sprouted only a few greasy hairs. He breathed heavily, with a rattle that shook his fragile ribcage, and one of his arms looked as if it had been messily broken and then neglected, allowing it to knit back together imperfectly. Badly scarred flesh marred his splayed legs. The man stared at me for perhaps ten seconds, breathing in the frigid air and exhaling a sickly dribble of steam, before disappearing when I blinked my eyes.
I spun around, looking for the man, but he was truly gone. Approaching where he had stood, I found a pair of bloody footprints in the snow. Frantic with fear, I got into my pickup and headed for the village as fast as the ice would allow. A few villagers were waiting for me when I arrived, knowing that I had gone out and curious as to what might happen.
I hastily got out of my truck and, approaching the nearest villager, I demanded, "What is so benevolent about these spirits? What is so insightful? How do these spirits help you?"
"What did you see?" he asked, the look on his face now mirroring the fear in mine.
"I saw a man, horribly disfigured and desperately sick!" I screamed into his face, and the rest of the villagers around us backed away a step. "Why? What does that mean?" I begged him.
"The spirits show only one thing," the man explained. "They show their visitors, a year in the future."
If you ever find yourself in LA's Old Chinatown, head into the square, past the statue of Sun Yat-sen, past the hip ultramodern toy store called "Munky King" and look for an import store next to what used to be a wishing fountain. Go into this store and head all the way straight to the back, you'll see a selection of weapons, Look for a weapon called a Jiujiebian, a sort of multi-sectioned whip. It MUST have exactly nine segments, no more, no less. This will be called the "chain of night" as of now; there are 48 notches in its handle. It will cost you $29.95.
Then after that, go outside and wait till dark, as the moon rises, take a quarter from your pocket and cast it at the wishing well. As it lands focus on that spot exactly and slowly chant under your breath: "by the circles of Lao-tzu, the void inside of matter, I call forth the spirit that lingers here!" this phrase is best said in the original Mandarin, but the spirit will understand a sincere supplicant regardless of language. A girl will step out of the bottom of the fountain, about nine years of age. She will ask you: "Where has my mother gone?" you must respond with: "She has long since gone from earth, but look to the sky, and see her there!"
This spirit is not that of a little girl, but of a bog-hag, cursed to obey this one command regardless of who says it. At this moment, you must attempt to strike the girl with your Newly Acquired Jiujiebian. SHE will then snarl and attempt to fight back. Should you win, all the money ever thrown into the fountain will await you. If you fail, all that the folks in Chinatown know is that a bloody Jiujiebian lies at the door of the import store with a notch in its handle. To date, there are 49 notches in the handle.
The Girl in the Photograph
One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.
His desk was next to the window, and he turned and looked to the grass outside. It looked like a picture. When school was over, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.
He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.
She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said "no." He was devastated.
When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said "no." It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.
The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, "Sorry, no." When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said "no." He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.
Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when suddenly he got hit by a car. He was dead with the picture in his hand.
The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. Suddenly he saw the picture and picked it up.
He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers.
Somewhere in the world, there is a collection of books. Perhaps it's in a dusty, unpainted shelf in the back corner of someone's attic; perhaps it's in a set of musty boxes in the basement of some tiny, obscure library. It contains a few hundred volumes, all handwritten, ranging from leather-bound volumes with yellowing pages two hundred years old through to modern spiral-bound notebooks. All of them are diaries, some by famous people, some by not-so famous people, but all by the most horrific madmen and murderers the world has ever known. And the collection is growing. For if you ever find it, you will hear a faint scratching sound, coming from the newest volume of the set. This volume will be new, and filled with blank pages, except for the first. On this first page, you will find the beginning of your own diary, written in your own hand.
The Man In the Black Cape
If you stand alone at the corner of Church St. and Market St. in Charleston, South Carolina at 3 AM, you see a man coming down Church St. wearing a black hat and black cape with stringy white hair and weathered skin. He'll stop at one of the two corners directly across from where you are standing and start to walk the corner directly opposite from where he is standing. When he reaches about halfway (dead center of the intersection) and nobody else has arrived, he'll stop, turn, and look directly at you.
If you do not blink for roughly 20-30 seconds he'll tip his hat to you and walk along his way, disappearing into the dark shadows of the trees that line the streets. Nobody knows what happens if you follow him.
If you do blink before he tips his hat, the very first thing you will see is the man standing directly in front of you. He'll grin maliciously at you and draw a blade hidden in the shaft of the cane and slash you across your throat, but you will not feel a thing. You will, however, pass out and remain in a comatose state until the sun rises over the horizon.
For the next six nights, you will have a recurring dream of the man walking down the street, appearing suddenly before you, and slashing your throat. On the seventh night, the events will replay the same up until he stops in the middle of the intersection. At this point, he'll say, "It's been fun playing with you, boy, but now it's time for you to go. Don't ever let me see you again." He'll then tip his hat and walk away before you wake up.
Nobody knows what happens if you visit the corner a second time.
Posts : 172
Join date : 2008-09-22
Age : 26
|Subject: Re: creepy stories. Tue Jan 26, 2010 6:39 pm|| |
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. 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. Such 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, it’s a normal voice, your ears receive it no matter what, and 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. More importantly, you will be noticed.
The Homeless Man
Somewhere in New York City there is an old homeless man missing both his legs from the knees down, whose spot along the streets is the corner of Lexington and East 21st, near Gramercy Park. Approach him after nightfall, give him some change (NO pennies, NO dimes) and ask him, "What did you see on the other side?" He will then tell you all about his travels to other realms and times, where he lost his legs, how he lost his money.
It is up to you whether to believe him or not, but as you listen you'll find yourself being drawn in with every story. You must stay alert, or the old man will notice your inattentiveness, and with a scowl he will stop imparting his wisdom; he will chase you as fast as he can, tottering on his stubs. The other reason why you must stay alert is to check the time. Before midnight you must interrupt him (do NOT let him finish whatever story he's telling you at the moment) and say "I've heard enough, old man. Good day and good luck", then walk away.
Make at least two left-hand turns around the block before going about your business. You must do this, because anyone who has stayed to listen past midnight is never seen again, at least not in this particular plane of existence.
Posts : 172
Join date : 2008-09-22
Age : 26
|Subject: Re: creepy stories. Tue Jan 26, 2010 7:03 pm|| |
the holder of the end
In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of the End".
Should a look of child-like fear come over the workers face, you will then be taken to a cell in the building. It will be in a deep hidden section of the building. All you will hear is the sound of someone talking to themselves echo the halls. It is in a language that you will not understand, but your very soul will feel unspeakable fear.
Should the talking stop at any time, STOP and QUICKLY say aloud "I'm just passing through, I wish to talk." If you still hear silence, flee. Leave, do not stop for anything, do not go home, don't stay at an inn, just keep moving, and sleep where your body drops. You will know in the morning if you've escaped.
If the voice in the hall comes back after you utter those words continue on. Upon reaching the cell all you will see is a windowless room with a person in the corner, speaking an unknown language, and cradling something. The person will only respond to one question: "What happens when they all come together?"
The person will then stare into your eyes and answers your question in horrifying detail. Many go mad in that very cell, some disappear soon after the meeting, and a few end their lives. But most do the worst thing and look upon the object in the person's hands. You will want to as well. Be warned, if you do your death will be that of cruelty and unrelenting horror. Your death will be in that room, by that person's hands.
This object is 1 of 538. They must never come together. Never.
The Unmentionable Bargain
There's a small, inconspicuous building called "Padraic Willoughsby & Co.," in the industrial district of Birmingham, England. Most of the time, its doors are locked and the windows are draped. However, on February 29th of every leap year, there will be a small plastic container outside the front door containing business cards. On the front of the card it says in large capital letters, "PADRAIC WILLOUGHSBY & CO., ENGLAND'S THAUMATURGICAL SPECIALISTS". On the back, in nearly illegibly small type it says "The blood of the innocent."
Any night after midnight one can come to Padraic Willoughsby & Co., and slide their card through the door, and the door will instantly unlock. Inside there is an empty room with white walls. No light reaches this room, except for a small sliver from the other end of the room. When you approach this room you will find that it is actually another door. When you knock on it, a voice will ask "What makes a man become exalted?" and you must respond with the phrase on the back of the card: "The blood of the innocent."
The door will open and you will come into another room, a kind of lounge. Inside it you will find around 5-10 people, depending on the night, sitting around smoking and drinking brandy, all in late Edwardian period dress. There is absolutely no conversation at all in this room and, it is nearly silent except for the phonograph which plays the exact same record over and over, ad infinitum. If you attempt to speak to one of the patrons, they will promptly ignore you and pretend as if you were not there.
Towards the south wing of the room you will find a large, round table, slightly different from the others. On it will be a quill pen and a document. The document shows all of your personal information: name, birth date, place of residence, criminal record, greatest fears, and so on. At the bottom of the document is a long line that asks for your signature. No one knows what happens if you sign it.
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, which is never lit. There is nothing inside it, save for a spiraling staircase that leads to the top, and an ancient, dusty bookcase.
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.
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.
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.
The Other Earth
Should you ever despair of life so much that you want to die, you have the means at hand and yearn to end your life, you have written a suicide note to those you will leave behind and you are prepared to die...at that moment, stop.
Get a pair of scissors. Cut away at the note until you end up with a piece of paper in the shape of a key. Go to a door, any one will do. Push the paper key forward and turn your hand as if unlocking an imaginary lock.
The lock is real. Open the door. There you will find it. The other Earth. The one that awaits to replace this one when it dies. That death is inevitable, but in the meantime the other Earth will belong to you.
Be warned: the other Earth is very different from this one.
Rumor has it that every Halloween during the hours of 2 AM and 5 AM, there exists a void. You must stand in front of a mirror in a pitch black room with your gaze fixated on the mirror. If you remain in the room when the moment arrives, you will feel a chill seize your body. Place your right hand on the mirror and whisper "I accept." If done correctly, in the mirror, there will be a faint image of an infant with no flesh and pitch black eyes. He will stare directly into your soul and you will hear the buzzing of flies and nervous whispering.
You will not be able to make out the image in the mirror, but you will be filled with unspeakable terror. The infant will ask you five questions about events that have occurred within your life. His voice will sound like the rubbing of sandpaper on bone and sinew and will be devoid of all human emotion. For each question that you answer incorrectly, one of your five senses will be consumed and lost to you forever. For each question that is answered correctly, you will be able to recite the name of someone you know.
That person will be found dead the next morning, with their flesh removed and their eyes missing.
There is a moment each leap year, at exactly three minutes past three on the morning of February twenty-ninth. If you possess the courage, await that moment in darkened room, with no other present. At that moment, the darkness will deepen. If you were to hold your hand directly before your face, you would not see a thing. But you must not do so. No, for that would be to waste the moment. Instead you must reach out, into that impenetrable darkness.
And it will reach out to you.
An unseen hand will grasp yours. You must not flinch away, nor tighten your grasp. To do so will only slough away more of the decrepit flesh that covers it, and anger its unseen owner. Remain perfectly still, as the withered fingers move over your palm, tracing unknown patterns. Do not move an inch as it crawls slowly up your arm. And most of all do not even breathe as it caresses your face, touching what cannot be seen.
Should you remain still through this, the hand will be withdrawn and a voice will speak, so close you can feel its breath on your face, smell the scent of decay it carries. It will ask you for one simple piece of information: your name. Answer truthfully. Answer truthfully, and the presence will retreat, leaving only a whisper in the air as the darkness lifts. "It is done."
From that day on, untold good fortune will be yours, and mysterious power. You will lack nothing, and have everything. But in a year, perhaps two, your eyes will sting in bright light, you will feel your skin begin to decay, and the sweet smell of death will be upon your breath...
On the 3rd of December, find a hand-held mirror, just large enough to cover your face. Cover your face with the reflective side out, walk into the bathroom, turn the light on, and stand in front of the larger mirror. At exactly 11:34pm, raise the hand-held mirror above your head.
What is in the larger mirror will not be staring back at you, but nor will it be your reflection.
Very carefully walk out of the bathroom, backwards, not lowering the hand-held mirror until the one in the bathroom is completely out of view.
If you do not, what you saw in the mirror will notice, and realize what you have done...
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.
He'd sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him.
She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: "Now your third wish. What will it be?"
"Third wish?" The man was baffled. "How can it be a third wish if I haven’t had a first and second wish?"
"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."
"All right," he said hesitantly, "I don't believe this, but there's no harm in trying. I wish to know who I am."
"Funny," said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. "That was your first wish..."
Posts : 172
Join date : 2008-09-22
Age : 26
|Subject: Re: creepy stories. Tue Jan 26, 2010 7:24 pm|| |
I am Thomas' reflection. Every morning, he rises from sleep and walks into the bathroom....and he makes faces. I am so tired of the faces. He makes them for at least half an hour. Mocking, ridiculous faces. I have no choice but to mimic his every action, although inside I am seething with anger. He does this every day...well, used to. One morning he awoke as usual, and entered the bathroom. On this particular morning, against his will, he picked up a pair of scissors. On this particular morning, against his will, he gripped those scissors tightly in his fist...and he plunged them directly into his right eye. Thomas screamed, and screamed. I screamed and screamed too - with one difference. I can't mimic his pain. Just his face.
The Bad Dream
"Daddy, I had a bad dream."
You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness — it's 3:23. "Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"
The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not sweetie?"
"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."
For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.
Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. In a certain small town Harold, the local gravedigger, upon hearing a bell one night, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time, it wasn't either. A voice from below begged and pleaded to be unburied.
"Are you Sarah O'Bannon?" Harold asked.
"Yes!" The muffled voice asserted.
"You were born on September 17, 1827?"
"The gravestone here says you died on February 20, 1857."
"No, I'm alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!"
"Sorry about this, ma'am," Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. "But this is August. Whatever you are down there, you sure as Hell ain't alive no more, and you ain't comin' up."
Posts : 172
Join date : 2008-09-22
Age : 26
|Subject: Re: creepy stories. Tue Jan 26, 2010 7:51 pm|| |
Your cell phone rings, and it's a number you don't recognize. You shrug, and answer anyway. The voice on the other line says, "Can I have five minutes of your time?" You answer yes, and the caller immediately hangs up. Suddenly, you feel five minutes older
The Mouth of Truth
Somewhere near the center of Palermo, in Sicily, there is an old amusement park.
Should you wander around, just aside a shooting gallery there is a old funny-looking statue of a grotesque face.Don't try to get close to it yet.As soon as you're about to touch it, no matter how hard you try, you'll change your mind. Get to the shooting gallery and pay the clerk for three games, it will cost you the equivalent of 10$ in total.It doesn't matter how much you score, as soon as you finish the second game keep the gun and don't shoot again.The clerk will ask you his gun back, but you must ask to try the Mouth of Truth instead.
After he agrees, you'll be able to approach the statue.Put your hand in its mouth up to your wrist.A small crowd will gather around you.After some seconds the eyes will light and your hand will be blocked, as the statue will ask you one question about a secret, or embarrassing fact of your life, even something you're ashamed of.You must answer the question truly and aloud, regardless of the people watching you.
If you answer correctly, some will be shocked, others amused by the truth, and your hand will be released.Within the following two or three weeks you will feel somewhat different.You will see that same light of the statue in your own eyes, and you'll notice people will feel a bit uneasy when talking to you.That will be for a simple reason: none will be able to lie at you.The effect of this "blessing" will last about a year.After it has worn out, you'll be able to redo this once again.
Don't answer the statue with a lie!An inner mechanism will clamp your fingers and you'll pass out from the shock.When you wake up, you'll be just outside of the park, and you won't be able to enter it ever again. When you'll go back home, the morning after you'll feel something strange in the hand you put in the statue's mouth, and find out your pinky is missing.No cuts or wounds, just smooth flesh where your finger used to be.
Throughout the following days, each morning you'll wake up with one of your fingers disappeared.On the eleventh to twentieth morning your toes will start missing.Should you try to ask for help, people will just laugh at you and tell you've always been a liar.By a month, you'll have no appendixes: no nose, ears, eyes, lips, genitals.All you'll be able to do will be feeling around with your stumpy limbs.Then your limbs will disappear too.You'll be left wherever you fell asleep as a human stump until starvation and decay get the better of you.
If you answer truly, but keep your voice low, from that moment on for the rest of your life you'll just be a big liar.Anytime you'll try to tell the truth, your voice will be cut and only a slight hissing will come out.
Some people have been known to communicate with Death. There is no way for you to reach him; he must come to you. You have no control over whether he does or not. One day, however, you may be approached by him.
It will happen when you are alone, perhaps walking down a lonely country road after someone you love has just died. You will hear the sounds of a noisy automobile that will slowly grow louder and louder. If you turn around, you will see an old, rusty green truck approaching. If you do not turn, you won't see the truck before it reaches you. And reach you it will.
A man will get out of the truck, a tall man with his eyes hidden in the shadows of an old baseball cap. He will introduce himself as Death and you will know that this is true.
Death will give you the opportunity to go down into Hell with him and reclaim a lost soul. If you decline, he will nod politely and go on his way. You will live out the rest of your life normally, but wonder every day what could have been. If you accept his offer, you will descend through a mad underworld before battling through a hellish labyrinth for the chance to reclaim a lost soul. Nobody knows what happens if you win.
Posts : 151
Join date : 2008-09-22
|Subject: reply Tue Jan 26, 2010 9:06 pm|| |
HOLY CRAP!!! THESE ARE SO CREATIVE!!! I wih I could imagine things like this
Posts : 172
Join date : 2008-09-22
Age : 26
|Subject: Re: creepy stories. Tue Jan 26, 2010 11:50 pm|| |
yea there were alot more but i choose the not very bloody or disturbing ones that actually had the supernatural in it.
|Subject: Re: creepy stories. || |