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I don't know what's more frightening - The stories, or the fact that this thread STILL isn't dead!?!?!? Holy Necroposting. This sucker just doesn't DIE! 
Posted Via AR15.Com Mobile Yeah, and you just bumped it. Wait, I did, too! That's a spooky thing. I'm also asking my father about the place we spent summers, my grandparents' hotel that was built on the site of an 1800's stagecoach stop. He says people staying in the lodge heard footsteps, etc. Will try to update later. ETA - and if editing were allowed for real page ownage, I would claim that, too. |
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Speaking of nursing homes, I have a few friends that are/have worked in them. They said, on quite a few separate occasions, that people who are close to death have started conversations with someone else in the room besides my friends, in speaking about "Oh, ok, I guess it's time to go then". Interesting stuff. Sam Kinison reportedly did the same thing when he passed on at the scene of a car accident. My Grandfather did this before he died, too. Apparently someone comes and tells them its time. |
next weekend, i hope it is uneventful at least for the scouts |
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Speaking of nursing homes, I have a few friends that are/have worked in them. They said, on quite a few separate occasions, that people who are close to death have started conversations with someone else in the room besides my friends, in speaking about "Oh, ok, I guess it's time to go then". Interesting stuff. Sam Kinison reportedly did the same thing when he passed on at the scene of a car accident. My Grandfather did this before he died, too. Apparently someone comes and tells them its time. My grandmother died about 10 years ago. She was 92 and spent her last month in a rehab facility (sort of like a nursing home) after she was released from the hospital after a fall. The docs thought she probably had a small stroke and lost her balance. It was pretty upsetting because she spent the night by herself on her bedroom floor, unable to get off the floor. She wanted to live in her own home to the end, and did it for all but the last month or so. We were grateful for that. Anyway, I would visit her by myself and she would tell me, "I saw Ione last night." Ione was her sister's name and she died about 5 years before my grandmother. My grandmother wasn't nuts, she had all her mental faculties to the end. The stroke affected her physically, not mentally. She meant it, and I believed her. I asked her what they talked about. My grandmother said, "It wasn't like that. She just sat up with me and told me she would see me again soon. She meant I'll soon be meeting The Lord. And I'm ready...I miss Ralph." Ralph was her husband who died almost 30 years before my grandmother. I would also visit her with my dad. She would tell him that she had seen a dead relative the night before and my dad would freak out. I know how the board here feels about these things, but I'll tell you I'm Christian. At the time, my dad was not. I told him that I believe it was just God's way of getting us ready to die and I still believe that. I don't think my grandmother's dead sister was there in the room with her physically. I think she had what would be considered a "message dream" or a "vision". Just God's kind way of getting us ready to die. It worked. I saw her the weekend before she died and she was completely ready to go and at peace. I think it bothered my dad that the whole episode didn't bother me. |
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Im headed to bed so I will keep this brief`
I tend to eat at one of the same three places for lunch during my break from work each day. So I usually end up at this one particular restaurant maybe once or twice a week. Usually I drive through, but about 1 in 10 times I eat inside. One day I am eating inside, and theres this skinny guy, no particularly wierd looking, but definately a little odd.....he is eating over by the window. He and I and one other guy are the only ones in the place, so as Im eating, I glance his way and notice he is looking at me. I sorta smile and just go back to eating. About thirty seconds later, I look up, and he is still looking my direction, and he has a creepy smile on his face. Wierd dude, I think to myself, and keep on eating. I look up AGAIN, and he is still staring, smiling. Now I'm not talking like "hey Im having a great day, Im just a bucket of joy" type of smile. Its more like a "I wonder what your pancreas would taste like on rye bread" type of smile. I get up and leave, toss my food in the garbage, and I guess my curiousity got the best of me because I looked again, yep still smiling. I left in a hurry. I have been back inside the restaurant to eat five or six times since then, and he has been in there twice. Same routine, creepy smiles. HERES WHERE THE SHITE GETS WIERD I'm headed to Kansas for a business related trip. Im in TX, so thats not a short trip. Im in Northern Oklahoma, and decide to stop and grab some food. I stop at the same restaurant chain as talked about above. GUESS WHO IS SITTING THERE EATING? THE SMILY GUY. Holy Shit. He kinda had a surprised look on his face (as did I, rightfully so) but after the look of "WTF are you doing here" faded, it was the same creepyass smile. I flipped a 180 and walked right the hell out and went somewhere else. Coincidence? Possibly. Was I one last meal from getting abducted and beheaded and skull fucked by some fast food loving serial killer? Possibly. I will never know, because Im never going back again. Not without an AK at least |
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Im headed to bed so I will keep this brief` I tend to eat at one of the same three places for lunch during my break from work each day. So I usually end up at this one particular restaurant maybe once or twice a week. Usually I drive through, but about 1 in 10 times I eat inside. One day I am eating inside, and theres this skinny guy, no particularly wierd looking, but definately a little odd.....he is eating over by the window. He and I and one other guy are the only ones in the place, so as Im eating, I glance his way and notice he is looking at me. I sorta smile and just go back to eating. About thirty seconds later, I look up, and he is still looking my direction, and he has a creepy smile on his face. Wierd dude, I think to myself, and keep on eating. I look up AGAIN, and he is still staring, smiling. Now I'm not talking like "hey Im having a great day, Im just a bucket of joy" type of smile. Its more like a "I wonder what your pancreas would taste like on rye bread" type of smile. I get up and leave, toss my food in the garbage, and I guess my curiousity got the best of me because I looked again, yep still smiling. I left in a hurry. I have been back inside the restaurant to eat five or six times since then, and he has been in there twice. Same routine, creepy smiles. HERES WHERE THE SHITE GETS WIERD I'm headed to Kansas for a business related trip. Im in TX, so thats not a short trip. Im in Northern Oklahoma, and decide to stop and grab some food. I stop at the same restaurant chain as talked about above. GUESS WHO IS SITTING THERE EATING? THE SMILY GUY. Holy Shit. He kinda had a surprised look on his face (as did I, rightfully so) but after the look of "WTF are you doing here" faded, it was the same creepyass smile. I flipped a 180 and walked right the hell out and went somewhere else. Coincidence? Possibly. Was I one last meal from getting abducted and beheaded and skull fucked by some fast food loving serial killer? Possibly. I will never know, because Im never going back again. Not without an AK at least dude dont be harsh, i've actually gotten this reaction a lot and im just trying to make people feel welcome its either that or crude humor, because minus the smile and humor its a stoic look (i get it when pondering a problem, wife says i look murderous and angry as hell) that people refer too as "ice water". so its smile, darth vader without a helmet, or crude humor some find offensive take your pick. eta no shit though: here is my crude humor smile in progress 
here (minus the shaving cream) is that deep thinker look 
sometimes, rarely, i manage to pull off harmless/pensive such as this post brawl birthday party pic 
^^ this is my checkmated look, my "wtf just happened" kinda face, now i dont see anything creepy in any of those but i've often been called creepy maybe you were too harsh on smile guy? |
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I've posted this one before, but it's been a while.
In my early 20's, I went through a wandering stage. I had just graduated from college and couldn't find a job anywhere. Rather than go a couple hundred dollars into the hole every month paying for rent while searching for a job, I decided to pack up what few belongings I owned and head out to see the country. This is something I can't recommend enough. Stay off the interstates, hop a train from time to time, and hitchhike with no particular destination in mind. It was this kind of aimless wandering that led me to the pine barrens of New Jersey. If you've never experienced them, the Barrens are an amazing place. Huge stands of oak and evergreen trees, many older than time itself, grow out of that strange, sickly soil. Sugar sand, the locals call it. In the rainy season it forms quicksand, and in the dry season it can still swallow farm machinery whole. Of the few farms I saw out there, all looked like they had seen better times, and many looked like they had sat untouched for decades. Yet there was something alluring about the place, a sort of ancient secret I was afforded glimpses of in the shadows when the wind stirred the trees. The sort of movement at the edge of your vision that follows you throughout the day, but disappears as soon as you turn your head. From time to time as I hiked down old dusty roads, an old pickup truck or rusted out car would bound over a hill toward me. Most times the driver would eye me suspiciously and speed up as they approached. Occasionally the driver would stop to talk to me for a few minutes. ``What'r ya doin out here?'' one old toothless man clad in overalls asked me. ``Wandering around, seein what there is to see'' I replied. The old man spat a putrid brown stream into the dust. ``Tain't nothin to see round here. Least nothin you wanna be see'in.'' When I asked the old man what that meant, he made a gutteral, throaty sound. I wasn't sure if he was choking on his tobacco or bothered at the question, but he didn't answer. He offered me a ride in his pickup the way I had come, back into town, but when I declined he spat in the dirt again and sped off, shaking his head. My eventual plan was to make it to Delaware some time that summer and meet up with some extended family there, but I was in no hurry. In truth I had been in heaven these last few weeks, taking my time heading south and exploring anything that caught my eye. I had explored every abandoned building and every cave I had seen. I had half my weight in powerbars in my pack, but over the last two months I had honed my skills at trapping rabbits and gathering wild edibles, sitting up late at night beside my camp fire, and sleeping beneath the stars. The night sky in an area so devoid of human influence is beyond compare. But tonight there were clouds moving in, and the sun was disappearing faster than I had grown accustomed to. When the deep roar of thunder shook the valley, I knew I had better find shelter. In the failing sunlight I could see in the distance some structures at the top of a hill. I ran the half mile distance and was disappointed to see that the ancient house and barn were in terrible shape. The roof of the barn had completely collapsed, and the upper two floors of the three storey house had collapsed into a mangle of ancient wood. Still, the house was my best option, so I made my way toward it as the heavens began to open up. As I'd seen on other properties in the area, this house had a small cemetary in the yard. I ran toward the gaping front door of the dilapidated house, carefully making my way between the headstones. When lightning flashed, I was able to make out the name "Kallikak" on several of the headstones which the elements hadn't completely erased. When I got inside, the floor was spongy but felt solid enough to hold my weight. I took off my pack and set it near the door, caught my breath, and had a look around. The hinges of the front door had long since rusted away, but I was able to fit the door back into the opening enough to hopefully keep the wind and rain out. At one end of the room, there was a stone fireplace and chimney which was solidly constructed, but I had no wood for a fire. Next to the fireplace was a stairwell, full of rubble and cobwebs. I didn't dare apply my weight to those steps as many had rotted to nothing under their own pitiful weight. Opposite the front door was an opening to an old kitchen of sorts, but when I tried to approach it my foot went clean through the floor and I decided to stay put until the storm blew itself out. The remains of the upper floor did an adequate job of keeping the ground floor dry, and I Was able to arrange my sleeping bag so that very little water draining from the upper floors managed to land on it. I got out my harmonica and played for a few minutes, then stopped, apprehensive. I didn't know what I was afraid of, but something had chilled me to my core. Outside the storm continued to build in intensity. My eyes were focused on that stairwell; seeing nothing in darkness and flashblinded when lightening struck. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because of a sudden I came to with a searing pain in my neck from leaning my ahead against the wall for so long. Outside the storm continued to pound down its fury upon the earth. As I sat there rubbing my neck, I began to chuckle at myself for getting wrapped up in the superstition of the area when I heard it. At first I heard indiscriminate movement upstairs, in the ruins of the upper two floors. I was just about to write it off as rats when it suddently stopped. I froze in place, daring only to move my eyes, and even then just barely. After thirty seconds of paralytic fear, I smiled at myself again and was just about to settle into my sleeping bag when I looked toward the stairs. At the top of the doorway were a pair of glowing red orbs, staring at me. Very slowly they closed down to horizontal slits, then opened up again, wider than before. I can't tell you how long I sat there, staring at it, it staring at me. It could have been seconds or hours. Eventually my lower-level self-preservation skills began to kick in, and subconsciously I started reaching for the knife on my belt. Our eyes locked, my hand progressed inch by inch toward my only means of defending myself. Neither of us blinked for what felt like hours, while the storm raged on. I prayed for another lightning strike, so that I might catch even a glimpse of my advesary, but despite the ferocity of the rain, the darkness was absolute. When at last my hand reassuringly touched the hilt of my knife, it seemed as if the very fabric of existence was ripped to shreds. The creature began bellowing in the most unearthly, mind-numbing shriek I have ever heard. Knowing I had only one chance, in one fluid motion I released the snap that held my knife in place and released an inside overhand throw I had practiced during years of mis-spent adolescence. I heard a sickening wet *thunk* and the shrieking increased in volume a hundredfold. As I smashed the rotten door to pieces I heard the creature flapping against the wall and screaming. Just as I wrenched the remains of the door open a great flash of lightning struck and all around the house I saw piles of bones, feathers, and fur. I ran as I had never run before nor since. I ran until my veins pumped acid and my limbs were stone. I couldn't see where I was going, but I could follow the dirt road by the sounds of the sugar sand slurping roadside debris in the ditches. I didn't dare look over my shoulder. When the sun finally rose, I collapsed in the road, heaving, oblivious to the downpour. I awoke with a start to the sound of a car horn blaring inches from my head. I leapt to my feet and spun around to see the old man from yesterday, holding his sides with laughter. When I opened my mouth to speak, he motioned with his thumb to the back of his truck. I climbed without a word and he began to drive. The events of the previous night began to replay themselves in my head. What in the hell had happened? No matter how many times I considered what I saw, none of it made any sense. As we drove, I realized how far I had run in the dark. It must have been nearly 10 miles. I was angry with myself for being so terrified by a dream. That's the only thing it could have been! Approached from this angle, everything fit into place. I'd experienced a 'false awakeneing' as I had so many times in the past when experimenting with dream herbs. I'd had a nightmare and woken up with the adrenaline pumping and abandoned all of my gear in an old house. I suddenly realized that the truck had sat motionless for quite some time and the old man was turned around in his seat staring at me. I looked up at him and he grinned. With sickening horror I realized that we were at the bottom of the hill on which that wretched house sat. I jumped out of the pickup and thanked the old man, who drove off. I slowly walked up the muddy path that led to the house, composing myself. When I reached the yard, I saw the old piles of bones which had shocked me the previous night during the storm. Of course there were coyotes and foxes in the area, and I had hunted a couple of wild turkeys. The critters probably had their dens around here and had been using the house as a wind break. Inside the house, everything appeared as I had left it. My sleeping bag, my pack, and my harmonica sitting on the floor, and I could see my knife sticking out of the wall across the room. I packed everything up and put on my back pack, then walked over to the stairs and pulled my knife out of the wall. I was about to return it to the sheath on my belt when I looked at the blade and noticed the dried-on blood and the clump of oily black hair stuck in it. |
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I've posted this one before, but it's been a while. In my early 20's, I went through a wandering stage. I had just graduated from college and couldn't find a job anywhere. Rather than go a couple hundred dollars into the hole every month paying for rent while searching for a job, I decided to pack up what few belongings I owned and head out to see the country. This is something I can't recommend enough. Stay off the interstates, hop a train from time to time, and hitchhike with no particular destination in mind. It was this kind of aimless wandering that led me to the pine barrens of New Jersey. If you've never experienced them, the Barrens are an amazing place. Huge stands of oak and evergreen trees, many older than time itself, grow out of that strange, sickly soil. Sugar sand, the locals call it. In the rainy season it forms quicksand, and in the dry season it can still swallow farm machinery whole. Of the few farms I saw out there, all looked like they had seen better times, and many looked like they had sat untouched for decades. Yet there was something alluring about the place, a sort of ancient secret I was afforded glimpses of in the shadows when the wind stirred the trees. The sort of movement at the edge of your vision that follows you throughout the day, but disappears as soon as you turn your head. From time to time as I hiked down old dusty roads, an old pickup truck or rusted out car would bound over a hill toward me. Most times the driver would eye me suspiciously and speed up as they approached. Occasionally the driver would stop to talk to me for a few minutes. ``What'r ya doin out here?'' one old toothless man clad in overalls asked me. ``Wandering around, seein what there is to see'' I replied. The old man spat a putrid brown stream into the dust. ``Tain't nothin to see round here. Least nothin you wanna be see'in.'' When I asked the old man what that meant, he made a gutteral, throaty sound. I wasn't sure if he was choking on his tobacco or bothered at the question, but he didn't answer. He offered me a ride in his pickup the way I had come, back into town, but when I declined he spat in the dirt again and sped off, shaking his head. My eventual plan was to make it to Delaware some time that summer and meet up with some extended family there, but I was in no hurry. In truth I had been in heaven these last few weeks, taking my time heading south and exploring anything that caught my eye. I had explored every abandoned building and every cave I had seen. I had half my weight in powerbars in my pack, but over the last two months I had honed my skills at trapping rabbits and gathering wild edibles, sitting up late at night beside my camp fire, and sleeping beneath the stars. The night sky in an area so devoid of human influence is beyond compare. But tonight there were clouds moving in, and the sun was disappearing faster than I had grown accustomed to. When the deep roar of thunder shook the valley, I knew I had better find shelter. In the failing sunlight I could see in the distance some structures at the top of a hill. I ran the half mile distance and was disappointed to see that the ancient house and barn were in terrible shape. The roof of the barn had completely collapsed, and the upper two floors of the three storey house had collapsed into a mangle of ancient wood. Still, the house was my best option, so I made my way toward it as the heavens began to open up. As I'd seen on other properties in the area, this house had a small cemetary in the yard. I ran toward the gaping front door of the dilapidated house, carefully making my way between the headstones. When lightning flashed, I was able to make out the name "Kallikak" on several of the headstones which the elements hadn't completely erased. When I got inside, the floor was spongy but felt solid enough to hold my weight. I took off my pack and set it near the door, caught my breath, and had a look around. The hinges of the front door had long since rusted away, but I was able to fit the door back into the opening enough to hopefully keep the wind and rain out. At one end of the room, there was a stone fireplace and chimney which was solidly constructed, but I had no wood for a fire. Next to the fireplace was a stairwell, full of rubble and cobwebs. I didn't dare apply my weight to those steps as many had rotted to nothing under their own pitiful weight. Opposite the front door was an opening to an old kitchen of sorts, but when I tried to approach it my foot went clean through the floor and I decided to stay put until the storm blew itself out. The remains of the upper floor did an adequate job of keeping the ground floor dry, and I Was able to arrange my sleeping bag so that very little water draining from the upper floors managed to land on it. I got out my harmonica and played for a few minutes, then stopped, apprehensive. I didn't know what I was afraid of, but something had chilled me to my core. Outside the storm continued to build in intensity. My eyes were focused on that stairwell; seeing nothing in darkness and flashblinded when lightening struck. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because of a sudden I came to with a searing pain in my neck from leaning my ahead against the wall for so long. Outside the storm continued to pound down its fury upon the earth. As I sat there rubbing my neck, I began to chuckle at myself for getting wrapped up in the superstition of the area when I heard it. At first I heard indiscriminate movement upstairs, in the ruins of the upper two floors. I was just about to write it off as rats when it suddently stopped. I froze in place, daring only to move my eyes, and even then just barely. After thirty seconds of paralytic fear, I smiled at myself again and was just about to settle into my sleeping bag when I looked toward the stairs. At the top of the doorway were a pair of glowing red orbs, staring at me. Very slowly they closed down to horizontal slits, then opened up again, wider than before. I can't tell you how long I sat there, staring at it, it staring at me. It could have been seconds or hours. Eventually my lower-level self-preservation skills began to kick in, and subconsciously I started reaching for the knife on my belt. Our eyes locked, my hand progressed inch by inch toward my only means of defending myself. Neither of us blinked for what felt like hours, while the storm raged on. I prayed for another lightning strike, so that I might catch even a glimpse of my advesary, but despite the ferocity of the rain, the darkness was absolute. When at last my hand reassuringly touched the hilt of my knife, it seemed as if the very fabric of existence was ripped to shreds. The creature began bellowing in the most unearthly, mind-numbing shriek I have ever heard. Knowing I had only one chance, in one fluid motion I released the snap that held my knife in place and released an inside overhand throw I had practiced during years of mis-spent adolescence. I heard a sickening wet *thunk* and the shrieking increased in volume a hundredfold. As I smashed the rotten door to pieces I heard the creature flapping against the wall and screaming. Just as I wrenched the remains of the door open a great flash of lightning struck and all around the house I saw piles of bones, feathers, and fur. I ran as I had never run before nor since. I ran until my veins pumped acid and my limbs were stone. I couldn't see where I was going, but I could follow the dirt road by the sounds of the sugar sand slurping roadside debris in the ditches. I didn't dare look over my shoulder. When the sun finally rose, I collapsed in the road, heaving, oblivious to the downpour. I awoke with a start to the sound of a car horn blaring inches from my head. I leapt to my feet and spun around to see the old man from yesterday, holding his sides with laughter. When I opened my mouth to speak, he motioned with his thumb to the back of his truck. I climbed without a word and he began to drive. The events of the previous night began to replay themselves in my head. What in the hell had happened? No matter how many times I considered what I saw, none of it made any sense. As we drove, I realized how far I had run in the dark. It must have been nearly 10 miles. I was angry with myself for being so terrified by a dream. That's the only thing it could have been! Approached from this angle, everything fit into place. I'd experienced a 'false awakeneing' as I had so many times in the past when experimenting with dream herbs. I'd had a nightmare and woken up with the adrenaline pumping and abandoned all of my gear in an old house. I suddenly realized that the truck had sat motionless for quite some time and the old man was turned around in his seat staring at me. I looked up at him and he grinned. With sickening horror I realized that we were at the bottom of the hill on which that wretched house sat. I jumped out of the pickup and thanked the old man, who drove off. I slowly walked up the muddy path that led to the house, composing myself. When I reached the yard, I saw the old piles of bones which had shocked me the previous night during the storm. Of course there were coyotes and foxes in the area, and I had hunted a couple of wild turkeys. The critters probably had their dens around here and had been using the house as a wind break. Inside the house, everything appeared as I had left it. My sleeping bag, my pack, and my harmonica sitting on the floor, and I could see my knife sticking out of the wall across the room. I packed everything up and put on my back pack, then walked over to the stairs and pulled my knife out of the wall. I was about to return it to the sheath on my belt when I looked at the blade and noticed the dried-on blood and the clump of oily black hair stuck in it. Excellent. 
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That guy
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The creepiest thing I've ever seen happened to me as an adult, not as a child.
I was born and raised in a little tiny mountain town in Northern California that no one has ever heard of (Pollock Pines) in 1966. My parents owned the only pharmacy there, and it was a great place to grow up. Times were different then. If your kids wanted to go out to play, you told 'em to be back by dinner. We were allowed to fish, and explore in the woods, the whole bit. It was a great place to grow up. Heavily involved in the outdoors and the Boy Scouts (Eagle, 4th one in my town). Whole summers spent on camp staff, or backpacking with friends (or with the scouts). NOT a stranger to the outdoors. I graduated high school in the next largest town over, Placerville (about a 20 minute drive on HI50) in 1985, and joined the Navy. Have lots of adventures, see the world, see most of the country, yada yada yada, and get stationed in 1994 at Travis AFB for a couple of years, which is cool because it's only three hours or so from home in my Scrambler. A couple of years previously, a chain pharmacy had moved in to town, and my father, seeing the writing on the wall, sold his pharmacy stock to them, as well as taking a job as one of their pharmacists (a good move on the chain store's part: small town of 3000 people get protective of "their" people). Mom and Dad used the proceeds from the sale of the store to buy 40 acres in the middle of nowhere, no power, no phone, couple of unpermitted barns (one converted to housing). Nice land––has a seasonal creek, big catfish pond, all on the southern slope––really great piece of property. Bordered on three sides by National Forest (Sierra Nevada) and on one side by the local lumber company, which used to be Michigan-Cal, but is called something else now. Up North of the property are two popular fishing reservoirs, Ice House and Loon Lake, where water is made more accessible for Los Angeles and surrounding area to steal. South of the property, the American River flows year round, occasionally washing the highway out when it gets all antsy. My parents have big plans on making this their new home (they had lived "in town", about a block away from the store they owned since '74). My Dad's an outdoor buff, too, and my mom goes where my Dad goes. They get good generators, put in a couple of propane tanks, and spend some weekends up there, but at this point in 1996, they're not living there yet. So, as both a great chance to get away from Fairfield/Travis AFB and as a favor to my parents, I'd go up on weekends I didn't have duty and sort of "watch" the place. I did this pretty much every week for two years. I loved it...Gold panning, shooting, a lot of maintenance and fire-prevention (brush clearing, etc)...but really? Relaxing. Fun. I'd pick up my parents dogs at the time, a Rottie and a rottie/Shepard/Australian mix, and they'd go up with me. I'd get done doing whatever I was working on, and then take a walk around the property while there was still enough light to see. You were inside at night––it was black as pitch out there at night without moon or city lights. The walks were cool, and I got to test out a lot of my equipment...Went through phases where I was trying to determine what the best working/journeying sidearm was, and how to carry it...the best long gun and how to carry it. At one point, I liked the Winchester 94s for the simplicity, but back then I could get a Garand (Blue Sky) for $295, so went with one of those for awhile, with a bipod on the end to keep the barrel out of the mud when I was chainsawing or slinging brush. That got to be too heavy to carry, so I switched to a Mossy 590, which I eventually dropped for lack of long-range effectivity (I was a sailor, not a soldier––don't make fun of me...effectively, I was playing), and ended up eventually with an AR15 HBAR that I'd picked up in OK while stationed at Tinker. I carried this African style, which is what the military taught me back when I had volunteered for security for a tour, and it only banged me up a little when I scrambled over the mountain. The night of this incident, I'd just finished doing whatever (I don't remember), but I was finishing the end of a "walkaround" before I went in for the night to the lower barn that was sort of set up like a house. It was still light out, but not bright––it was that dusky sort of light that is sort of orange and grey, and while bright enough to see very clearly, it was obvious that it was going to be dark very soon––like in ten minutes or so. Clear day, early summer, not too hot. Very light breeze, light clouds––the kind that are really pretty up in the mountains, and starting to turn orangey-pink from the sun setting down canyon. I'm walking the gravel road that comes from the top of the property where a great little artesian spring pumped out 5 gallons a minute or so (it fed the pond) and the upper barn (used for storage of Dad's equipment/tractors/etc...). I'm just passing the pond, off to my left, carrying that AR slung African on my left shoulder, handguard in my left hand to keep it from smacking me as I walk. I've got a SP101 in .357 in my right front pocket. My pants are a little damp from working, and I'm dirty, but happy––I loved being up there, as it got me away from my wife that hated the woods––and the weight of the sweat, plus the gun in my pocket tends to pull my pants annoyingly down every 40 steps or so. I stop where the gravel/mud road curves, and to where I can now clearly see the barn/house, and pull up my pants, making them more comfortable. I'm seeing the beautiful cloud patterns, the light breeze is feeling really good against my face, I'm pleasantly tired and looking forward to some cold fried chicken in the propane fridge, and I'm just really feeling calm and at peace. The dogs had been with me all day, and you know how dogs are––they explore. They were both tired, and the mix was actually leaning against me as I stood there after tugging up my pants, looking over this great scenery. The rottie was laying splayed out on the gravel in front of me, and I'm just looking around me, marvelling at how pretty everything was, checking out some old growth pine that had a really awesome looking granite boulder next to it...when the boulder stood up, turned around, and walked away. I swear to you, I'm not making this up. I was awake, wasn't thinking ANYTHING along the lines of "creepy", and I'm in home geography. Whatever this thing was, had been obviously watching me, and when I looked at it––looked right at it––it made the point of slowly turning around and walking away. No head, no limbs that I could see other than some sort of thick, trunk like legs, and I couldn't tell you how I knew it was watching me without seeing eyes of any kind, let alone a head––but I swear, it was. It waited until I was looking in it's direction, and then whatever the hell it was turned around and walked away. It took it's time, and was over the ridge line behind it and gone in about 8-10 seconds. It sauntered off slowly, sort of swaying. It didn't panic, or scatter, or bound off––it turned around and sauntered away. I stood there in shock. I was literally frozen. I don't want to say that I was scared, but I think I was...I don't know. It was still light, but now just dusky enough to where the shadows between the trees were dark black, and all I knew was that I wanted to be in. Inside. Inside somewhere with lights. I stood there, looking at the spot where this thing had walked off, and even though I had my hand on a loaded rifle with a full mag, I never even thought about using the gun. I just wanted to go, but I was afraid to move quickly...I don't know why. I think I cleared my throat or something, because it got Mellie up (rottie), and she came over and nuzzled my hand for love. I said something along the lines of "Come on, girls," and walked towards the barn/house, not looking anywhere else except the front door. I got in, shut the useless front door (made almost completely up of glass), and locked it...then put myself in a corner with two walls behind me (inside walls––couldn't stand the thought of being against an outside wall) and called my parents on this huge-ass Motorola bag phone we shared back then. I kept the dogs with me––mongrel in my lap, actually...I really, really needed something living there with me––and tried to explain to my Dad what I'd just seen. My Dad's already been drinking by this time, and I didn't want him to come up, and I guess I'm trying not to look like such a pussy (Dad? The boogeyman scared me! Can I sleep with you?) because I'm a grown man of 30 or so, and eventually tell him I just wanted to let them know that I had gotten spooked by something I couldn't identify. He laughed at me––not meanly––and told me that I wouldn't be able to stay up there anymore if I freaked myself out, and I laughed it off with him because he was right...but I still slept downstairs in the big room that night, with propane lights on all night. If you want to call that sweaty, feverish freaked out never-ending time "sleep". I was never in my whole life so glad to see the sun rise as I was that day. He and my mother came up the next morning, and we all went out to where I had "seen" whatever the hell it was. No tracks, nothing...and this thing was big. No hole where a boulder might have been, and neither of them ever remembered a rock being in that particular spot. I must have been hallucinating––it's the only thing that really makes sense––especially since neither one of the dogs that were with me lit up on this thing, and they lit up on EVERYTHING––including rattlers. I've never hallucinated before, and I haven't since, but it's the only thing that makes sense...but I swear to you, and will swear to anybody––I saw what I saw. The part that really freaked me out about the whole thing was how I fucking froze up. I didn't have to go for a gun––my hand was on a fully-loaded, round in the chamber, just click the damn safety off AR...and it never even crossed my mind to defend myself...all I could do was fucking freeze. And to be honest...my nights in the woods aren't always as comfortable now as they used to be. I do get a bit...weirded out sometimes. I never used to. Damnit. Parents still own the property, don't live there. Just got too old for it...Mom is 80, Dad almost there––and still working. Mom never got creeped out up there––she was inside when it was dark, and went to sleep to save gas. She got up when it got light. Dad had to make the 30-40 minute one way drive back and forth between work and the property, coming home late at night, and he's told me he's gotten weirded out up there before...but I don't know if he was just trying to make me feel better. I gave enough information out in this story so that anybody familiar with that area of the woods could almost figure out who I am. It really is a small town, to this day. |
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Im headed to bed so I will keep this brief` I tend to eat at one of the same three places for lunch during my break from work each day. So I usually end up at this one particular restaurant maybe once or twice a week. Usually I drive through, but about 1 in 10 times I eat inside. One day I am eating inside, and theres this skinny guy, no particularly wierd looking, but definately a little odd.....he is eating over by the window. He and I and one other guy are the only ones in the place, so as Im eating, I glance his way and notice he is looking at me. I sorta smile and just go back to eating. About thirty seconds later, I look up, and he is still looking my direction, and he has a creepy smile on his face. Wierd dude, I think to myself, and keep on eating. I look up AGAIN, and he is still staring, smiling. Now I'm not talking like "hey Im having a great day, Im just a bucket of joy" type of smile. Its more like a "I wonder what your pancreas would taste like on rye bread" type of smile. I get up and leave, toss my food in the garbage, and I guess my curiousity got the best of me because I looked again, yep still smiling. I left in a hurry. I have been back inside the restaurant to eat five or six times since then, and he has been in there twice. Same routine, creepy smiles. HERES WHERE THE SHITE GETS WIERD I'm headed to Kansas for a business related trip. Im in TX, so thats not a short trip. Im in Northern Oklahoma, and decide to stop and grab some food. I stop at the same restaurant chain as talked about above. GUESS WHO IS SITTING THERE EATING? THE SMILY GUY. Holy Shit. He kinda had a surprised look on his face (as did I, rightfully so) but after the look of "WTF are you doing here" faded, it was the same creepyass smile. I flipped a 180 and walked right the hell out and went somewhere else. Coincidence? Possibly. Was I one last meal from getting abducted and beheaded and skull fucked by some fast food loving serial killer? Possibly. I will never know, because Im never going back again. Not without an AK at least That is majorly fucked up shit, right there. We are talking fucking TWILIGHT ZONE shit. I would never set foot in any of those restaurants again. 
And another bump to keep one of my favorite threads alive. 
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We are probably due for a new creepy thread, but I'll go ahead and stick this in here. This is copied from a message a female friend just sent me.
"I'm waiting on the first floor beside a dude for the elevator. I work on the 5th floor. The elevator that opens has a man standing in the middle/back. I got this funny feeling come over me and I hesitated getting on the elevator. But, the other two are super slow and I didn't feel like waiting all day. The dude I'm waiting with and I both walk onto the elevator. No buttons are selected which I thought was a little weird since the dude standing in the back came up from the lower level. The dude I walked on with selects floor 3 and I select floor 5. As soon as I stepped onto the elevator the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I immediately got goose bumps on my arms. The dude I walked on with gets off on the third level. The goose bumps move to my legs.
I don't know how to explain it other than to say the guy in the back felt evil. It felt like evilness was just radiating off of him. I get this threatening feeling come over me. Of course this is the one day I don't have my knife in my pocket. I always keep my knife on me. I try to busy myself because the air seems thick. I look down and as soon as I raise my phone to look at the time and the screen goes black. No power. The elevator opens up and I all but burst through the doors. I look back and the man is still in the back of the elevator. Just as the doors shut to go down- he uses his arms to open them back up. Every hair on my body is standing on end. My phone still won't turn on. I go straight to the restroom, he walks towards the direction of Adult Probation. My phone is completely dead. I do my business, come out and he's no where to be found. He's not waiting with the other people at the probation office. I walk into the door of my office and immediately go to where a coworker is and tell them what happened. I look at my phone and its booting up. By the time I'm done w/my story my phone is completely restored and working fine." Not really scary, but still creepy still. |
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The creepiest thing I've ever seen happened to me as an adult, not as a child. I was born and raised in a little tiny mountain town in Northern California that no one has ever heard of (Pollock Pines) in 1966. My parents owned the only pharmacy there, and it was a great place to grow up. Times were different then. If your kids wanted to go out to play, you told 'em to be back by dinner. We were allowed to fish, and explore in the woods, the whole bit. It was a great place to grow up. Heavily involved in the outdoors and the Boy Scouts (Eagle, 4th one in my town). Whole summers spent on camp staff, or backpacking with friends (or with the scouts). NOT a stranger to the outdoors. I graduated high school in the next largest town over, Placerville (about a 20 minute drive on HI50) in 1985, and joined the Navy. Have lots of adventures, see the world, see most of the country, yada yada yada, and get stationed in 1994 at Travis AFB for a couple of years, which is cool because it's only three hours or so from home in my Scrambler. A couple of years previously, a chain pharmacy had moved in to town, and my father, seeing the writing on the wall, sold his pharmacy stock to them, as well as taking a job as one of their pharmacists (a good move on the chain store's part: small town of 3000 people get protective of "their" people). Mom and Dad used the proceeds from the sale of the store to buy 40 acres in the middle of nowhere, no power, no phone, couple of unpermitted barns (one converted to housing). Nice land––has a seasonal creek, big catfish pond, all on the southern slope––really great piece of property. Bordered on three sides by National Forest (Sierra Nevada) and on one side by the local lumber company, which used to be Michigan-Cal, but is called something else now. Up North of the property are two popular fishing reservoirs, Ice House and Loon Lake, where water is made more accessible for Los Angeles and surrounding area to steal. South of the property, the American River flows year round, occasionally washing the highway out when it gets all antsy. My parents have big plans on making this their new home (they had lived "in town", about a block away from the store they owned since '74). My Dad's an outdoor buff, too, and my mom goes where my Dad goes. They get good generators, put in a couple of propane tanks, and spend some weekends up there, but at this point in 1996, they're not living there yet. So, as both a great chance to get away from Fairfield/Travis AFB and as a favor to my parents, I'd go up on weekends I didn't have duty and sort of "watch" the place. I did this pretty much every week for two years. I loved it...Gold panning, shooting, a lot of maintenance and fire-prevention (brush clearing, etc)...but really? Relaxing. Fun. I'd pick up my parents dogs at the time, a Rottie and a rottie/Shepard/Australian mix, and they'd go up with me. I'd get done doing whatever I was working on, and then take a walk around the property while there was still enough light to see. You were inside at night––it was black as pitch out there at night without moon or city lights. The walks were cool, and I got to test out a lot of my equipment...Went through phases where I was trying to determine what the best working/journeying sidearm was, and how to carry it...the best long gun and how to carry it. At one point, I liked the Winchester 94s for the simplicity, but back then I could get a Garand (Blue Sky) for $295, so went with one of those for awhile, with a bipod on the end to keep the barrel out of the mud when I was chainsawing or slinging brush. That got to be too heavy to carry, so I switched to a Mossy 590, which I eventually dropped for lack of long-range effectivity (I was a sailor, not a soldier––don't make fun of me...effectively, I was playing), and ended up eventually with an AR15 HBAR that I'd picked up in OK while stationed at Tinker. I carried this African style, which is what the military taught me back when I had volunteered for security for a tour, and it only banged me up a little when I scrambled over the mountain. The night of this incident, I'd just finished doing whatever (I don't remember), but I was finishing the end of a "walkaround" before I went in for the night to the lower barn that was sort of set up like a house. It was still light out, but not bright––it was that dusky sort of light that is sort of orange and grey, and while bright enough to see very clearly, it was obvious that it was going to be dark very soon––like in ten minutes or so. Clear day, early summer, not too hot. Very light breeze, light clouds––the kind that are really pretty up in the mountains, and starting to turn orangey-pink from the sun setting down canyon. I'm walking the gravel road that comes from the top of the property where a great little artesian spring pumped out 5 gallons a minute or so (it fed the pond) and the upper barn (used for storage of Dad's equipment/tractors/etc...). I'm just passing the pond, off to my left, carrying that AR slung African on my left shoulder, handguard in my left hand to keep it from smacking me as I walk. I've got a SP101 in .357 in my right front pocket. My pants are a little damp from working, and I'm dirty, but happy––I loved being up there, as it got me away from my wife that hated the woods––and the weight of the sweat, plus the gun in my pocket tends to pull my pants annoyingly down every 40 steps or so. I stop where the gravel/mud road curves, and to where I can now clearly see the barn/house, and pull up my pants, making them more comfortable. I'm seeing the beautiful cloud patterns, the light breeze is feeling really good against my face, I'm pleasantly tired and looking forward to some cold fried chicken in the propane fridge, and I'm just really feeling calm and at peace. The dogs had been with me all day, and you know how dogs are––they explore. They were both tired, and the mix was actually leaning against me as I stood there after tugging up my pants, looking over this great scenery. The rottie was laying splayed out on the gravel in front of me, and I'm just looking around me, marvelling at how pretty everything was, checking out some old growth pine that had a really awesome looking granite boulder next to it...when the boulder stood up, turned around, and walked away. I swear to you, I'm not making this up. I was awake, wasn't thinking ANYTHING along the lines of "creepy", and I'm in home geography. Whatever this thing was, had been obviously watching me, and when I looked at it––looked right at it––it made the point of slowly turning around and walking away. No head, no limbs that I could see other than some sort of thick, trunk like legs, and I couldn't tell you how I knew it was watching me without seeing eyes of any kind, let alone a head––but I swear, it was. It waited until I was looking in it's direction, and then whatever the hell it was turned around and walked away. It took it's time, and was over the ridge line behind it and gone in about 8-10 seconds. It sauntered off slowly, sort of swaying. It didn't panic, or scatter, or bound off––it turned around and sauntered away. I stood there in shock. I was literally frozen. I don't want to say that I was scared, but I think I was...I don't know. It was still light, but now just dusky enough to where the shadows between the trees were dark black, and all I knew was that I wanted to be in. Inside. Inside somewhere with lights. I stood there, looking at the spot where this thing had walked off, and even though I had my hand on a loaded rifle with a full mag, I never even thought about using the gun. I just wanted to go, but I was afraid to move quickly...I don't know why. I think I cleared my throat or something, because it got Mellie up (rottie), and she came over and nuzzled my hand for love. I said something along the lines of "Come on, girls," and walked towards the barn/house, not looking anywhere else except the front door. I got in, shut the useless front door (made almost completely up of glass), and locked it...then put myself in a corner with two walls behind me (inside walls––couldn't stand the thought of being against an outside wall) and called my parents on this huge-ass Motorola bag phone we shared back then. I kept the dogs with me––mongrel in my lap, actually...I really, really needed something living there with me––and tried to explain to my Dad what I'd just seen. My Dad's already been drinking by this time, and I didn't want him to come up, and I guess I'm trying not to look like such a pussy (Dad? The boogeyman scared me! Can I sleep with you?) because I'm a grown man of 30 or so, and eventually tell him I just wanted to let them know that I had gotten spooked by something I couldn't identify. He laughed at me––not meanly––and told me that I wouldn't be able to stay up there anymore if I freaked myself out, and I laughed it off with him because he was right...but I still slept downstairs in the big room that night, with propane lights on all night. If you want to call that sweaty, feverish freaked out never-ending time "sleep". I was never in my whole life so glad to see the sun rise as I was that day. He and my mother came up the next morning, and we all went out to where I had "seen" whatever the hell it was. No tracks, nothing...and this thing was big. No hole where a boulder might have been, and neither of them ever remembered a rock being in that particular spot. I must have been hallucinating––it's the only thing that really makes sense––especially since neither one of the dogs that were with me lit up on this thing, and they lit up on EVERYTHING––including rattlers. I've never hallucinated before, and I haven't since, but it's the only thing that makes sense...but I swear to you, and will swear to anybody––I saw what I saw. The part that really freaked me out about the whole thing was how I fucking froze up. I didn't have to go for a gun––my hand was on a fully-loaded, round in the chamber, just click the damn safety off AR...and it never even crossed my mind to defend myself...all I could do was fucking freeze. And to be honest...my nights in the woods aren't always as comfortable now as they used to be. I do get a bit...weirded out sometimes. I never used to. Damnit. Parents still own the property, don't live there. Just got too old for it...Mom is 80, Dad almost there––and still working. Mom never got creeped out up there––she was inside when it was dark, and went to sleep to save gas. She got up when it got light. Dad had to make the 30-40 minute one way drive back and forth between work and the property, coming home late at night, and he's told me he's gotten weirded out up there before...but I don't know if he was just trying to make me feel better. I gave enough information out in this story so that anybody familiar with that area of the woods could almost figure out who I am. It really is a small town, to this day. I'm north of Pollock Pines, in Auburn. I like to go out into the woods beyond Foresthill. I hiked around Hell Hole reservoir last year. Anyway, I always think to myself that there is a lot of space for something strange to hide out there. |
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The creepiest thing I've ever seen happened to me as an adult, not as a child... I'm north of Pollock Pines, in Auburn. I like to go out into the woods beyond Foresthill. I hiked around Hell Hole reservoir last year. Anyway, I always think to myself that there is a lot of space for something strange to hide out there. I'm thinking maybe a Native American spirit/demon, like the Manitou. I do a lot of walking alone in the woods around here in summer, and many times I feel I can sense the spirits of the woods around me. (I have always been very interested in Native American spiritual beliefs). |
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Quoted: We are probably due for a new creepy thread, but I'll go ahead and stick this in here. This is copied from a message a female friend just sent me. "I'm waiting on the first floor beside a dude for the elevator. I work on the 5th floor. The elevator that opens has a man standing in the middle/back. I got this funny feeling come over me and I hesitated getting on the elevator. But, the other two are super slow and I didn't feel like waiting all day. The dude I'm waiting with and I both walk onto the elevator. No buttons are selected which I thought was a little weird since the dude standing in the back came up from the lower level. The dude I walked on with selects floor 3 and I select floor 5. As soon as I stepped onto the elevator the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I immediately got goose bumps on my arms. The dude I walked on with gets off on the third level. The goose bumps move to my legs. I don't know how to explain it other than to say the guy in the back felt evil. It felt like evilness was just radiating off of him. I get this threatening feeling come over me. Of course this is the one day I don't have my knife in my pocket. I always keep my knife on me. I try to busy myself because the air seems thick. I look down and as soon as I raise my phone to look at the time and the screen goes black. No power. The elevator opens up and I all but burst through the doors. I look back and the man is still in the back of the elevator. Just as the doors shut to go down- he uses his arms to open them back up. Every hair on my body is standing on end. My phone still won't turn on. I go straight to the restroom, he walks towards the direction of Adult Probation. My phone is completely dead. I do my business, come out and he's no where to be found. He's not waiting with the other people at the probation office. I walk into the door of my office and immediately go to where a coworker is and tell them what happened. I look at my phone and its booting up. By the time I'm done w/my story my phone is completely restored and working fine." Not really scary, but still creepy still. That is creepy enough to read, and I'm sure it would be plenty scary to have to live that little episode. In fact, that account is full of Twilight Zone-quality, ordnance-grade WTF! |
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I grew up in a town in SC, along the Conagree River in Columbia. Along the river after the Gervais St bridge, there is a set of old locks, called the Granby Locks. Along the trail we used as kids to get there, you passed an old cemetery, remains of obviously old houses, ect. The cemetery has Revolutionary War, Civil War and graves dating back to the family that founded the city. There is an old marker noting that General George Washington visited the Granby Family for their contributions to the war. Well, as time went by, the cemetery went unkempt, and grave stones had fallen over, ect. One summer, the city came through and cleaned the place up pretty good, weeded the place and mowed the grass around it. I even made charcoal markings out of some of the graves. Well, during that summer, we would go swimming and jump off the Locks into the Congaree and other swimming holes along the river....but the only way back was to either walk through brush, or to walk that old trail with that freshly cleaned, creepy graveyard.
One night after fishing late alone, I walked home with tackle box and pole, and a old Jansport bookbag down that trail. It was only a little over a mile or so long from where I had been fishing and it basically ended 50 yards from my house and I'd done it hundreds of times before so I wasn't particularly worried about anything. Well, as I walked past the Locks and beside the graveyard, nervousness and panic just overtook my body and mind. I was paralyzed, I couldn't move, think, or even breath it seemed. All i could do was hear. I heard babies crying. Not just one, multiple babies. I don't know how long I was standing there; seconds, minutes, hours, I don't know. As soon as I snapped to I was standing underneath a doctor putting all these things on my head. My dad says this is what happened: He had a 1967 Chevette, and he was under the carport changing the oil. He heard me coming up through the woods like a bat out of hell and got up from under the car to see what the hell was wrong with me. He said I was white as a ghost, and couldn't put a proper sentence together to save my life. Said I was just mumbling garbage and wouldn't stop pacing around. He went and got my Mother and she insisted I must have fallen and got a concussion. Doc says no signs of a fall, trauma to the head ect. I go home 2 days later, good as new. Years later in college; I hear that during the slavery days, some kook who lived along the river, along that trail, would often discard unwanted slave babies into the outhouses where they would drown and die. When told of that, I relayed the story to my Prof. and he said I wasn't the first one that had told him about hearing crying babies along that part of the river. Haven't been back since. Now I believe the Cayce-West Columbia River Walk runs along beside this same cemetery. Creeps me out just typing this. |
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ok there was a story a few pages back about a flying woman so I thought I would post a link to this incident.
flying humanoid entity |
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ok there was a story a few pages back about a flying woman so I thought I would post a link to this incident. flying humanoid entity You actually posted a link to Rense's website? About the only thing I agree with him about is that Alex Jones is not a credible source for anything. |
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ok there was a story a few pages back about a flying woman so I thought I would post a link to this incident. flying humanoid entity You actually posted a link to Rense's website? About the only thing I agree with him about is that Alex Jones is not a credible source for anything. That rense site is downright nutty, there is a good article about the skinwalker ranch on there though. Google skinwalker ranch for some good reading (too lazy to dig up links from my phone). |
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ok there was a story a few pages back about a flying woman so I thought I would post a link to this incident. flying humanoid entity You actually posted a link to Rense's website? About the only thing I agree with him about is that Alex Jones is not a credible source for anything. actually i hadnt even realized whos site it was,I just remembered the story from a few years ago and thought I would post a link to it and his was the first I came across
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There have been a bunch of them (creepy pic topics), the problem is they don't last very long and people put pictures up then delete them from the host in a couple of days, which isn't conducive to a long-lived topic. If you can get in the archives look up "skinwalker" in the search in general. There was a cool 8-10 page topic on this last year. Lots of creepy stuff. It's sort of funny. We just had a meeting on Wednesday to set up this year's Halloween Haunted Trail. I'll be running the last third of it. Anyhow, we were planning on making it a bit more extreme than last year and this sort of topic gives me some great ideas for scaring the hell out of people. 
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| I have been on float trips and camp outs around the Ava, Missouri area (around the monastery for those that know MO) and have had that gut wrenching feeling I was being watched by pure evil. I never go there without at least my Glock but always feel undergunned. Weird place, weird people, beautiful scenery. |
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My mother was born in 1913 and is still living, having grown up in Illinois. She didn't tell me this story until maybe 6 months ago when I was doing some genealogical (sp?) research on her family in Illinois. When she was 5, in 1918, she travelled with her mother and aunt from Illinois to another aunt's house in Montana. Her Illinois aunt was sick and in those days, it was thought that a trip to a different climate could work miracles.
Anyway, Mom was bedded down in a big chair in the same bedroom as her mom and the sick aunt. At some point in the night, Mom saw a wispy apparition rise from the bed, float across the room, up to/thru the ceiling and disappear. Her aunt had died at about 4:00 AM. |
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Not really all that creepy, but another dying story.
My dad's father died young, at age 49, of pneumonia, in 1932. In those days, if you caught pneumonis, you were pretty well screwed. They thought he was almost over it when one day he called out from his bed to my dad (the oldest child), "JOSEPH!!" Dad ran upstairs, his dad looked at him, said "It's His will that I go", closed his eyes and died a short while later. |
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My scout master told me a story once about the time he was stationed in Alaska. M was a ordanance loader on fighter craft. They always had several fighters on the line in case the Russians decided to start WWIII. Their primary mission was to bring down any bombers headed into our airspace. Since that made their base a prime target for commandos, they had a good perimeter with several checkpoints before you got to the base. One of the middle check points was in a wooded area out by itself. It was basically a shack with no lights next to the road between the outer fence and the inner fence manned by a single guard with a radio. One night they heard a gunshot go off. Followed by a long full auto burst. And another. And another. And another. Then single gunshots. All the guard shacks reported in except this one. Out rolls an armed response team ready to fight the invading Rooskis all pumped with adrenaline and armed to the teeth. At the same time the emergency F16s are tearing down the runway and the flight crews, jolted out of sleep, are prepping and launching every bird they can. WWIII is here. Oh shit... The rescue team gets to the shack and there's no sign of trouble. Or the guard. They light up the shack and and see him sitting inside. His M16 is on the floor, empty and he's surrounded by empty magazines. There's a .38 in his hand and he's got it pointed at the back of shack pulling the trigger over and over again. You can hear a loud CLICK CLICK, CLICK, CLICK because he's already fired off his last round. The back of the shack is riddled with bullet holes and he's raging incoherently about "They're coming for me. They're coming for me." Nothing was found anywhere nearby They disarm him and get him back to the base. After some good meds he calms down enough to get out this story. He'd been sitting in the shack for a few hours and had heard a noise coming from the back. He turned around and flipped on his flashlight. The entire back of the shack had hundreds of small hands poking through it. Each looked like a small child's, but they didn't have the right number of fingers and they were pitch black. Not black like a man who has dark skin but PITCH BLACK. The demons were coming for him, so he opened up with everything he had. Needless to say, the doctors locked him up and kept him under observation until they could get him some psychological help. And they called the fighters back.. . We would all live another day. The story starts to circulate around and M hears it. It sounds familiar to him and he tells his commander. His commander calls the base commander and they send M out the look around. He walks behind the shack and just nods, Turns out the guard was a city boy who had never been in the woods before. Alone in the dark he hadn't recognized the hands reaching for him. But M, from rural Arkansas, knew what they were. And the Raccoon prints everywhere behind the shack confirmed it. Someone must have been feeding them through the wall. They were used to reaching in and pulling out some treat. So when that poor, scared city boy turned on his flashlight there was that raccoon hand. Which looks like a human hand. Only smaller and with fewer fingers. It would be funny if it hadn't ended up with a discharged, neurotic airman and hadn't almost started WWIII. ROFL! |
One night while bowhunting deer near Cheney Lake in Reno County Kansas...I started walking back to my truck just as the sun was going down....I walked across a open wheat field in between two tree rows. When I got to the other side were my truck was parked...now almost completly dark...I loaded up my bow and when I walked up to open my door I looked across the field one last time to see if I could see any deer. And there was still some orange behind the trees...just enough you could make out the outlines of the trees. I looke from left to right across the tree row...and at the very end.....something stepped out to the side of the last tree. IT WAS AS TALL AS THE FUCKING 75 FOOT COTTONWOOD TREE!  I fucking hopped in my truck and hauled ass untill the govenor shut down the engine at 100mph. Scariest shit I have ever experienced in my life. And now that I have set here and wrote about it...I will be drinking Monster and finger fucking my 870 rest of the night.
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One night while bowhunting deer near Cheney Lake in Reno County Kansas...I started walking back to my truck just as the sun was going down....I walked across a open wheat field in between two tree rows. When I got to the other side were my truck was parked...now almost completly dark...I loaded up my bow and when I walked up to open my door I looked across the field one last time to see if I could see any deer. And there was still some orange behind the trees...just enough you could make out the outlines of the trees. I looke from left to right across the tree row...and at the very end.....something stepped out to the side of the last tree. IT WAS AS TALL AS THE FUCKING 75 FOOT COTTONWOOD TREE! I fucking hopped in my truck and hauled ass untill the govenor shut down the engine at 100mph. Scariest shit I have ever experienced in my life. And now that I have set here and wrote about it...I will be drinking Monster and finger fucking my 870 rest of the night.I'll accept it as remotely plausible that some of the sasquatch legends may describe actual cryptozoological species. I do not believe that any 75 foot tall Ents could hide, even in Kansas, without being caught. Trees don't run fast, even sentient mobile trees. |
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One night while bowhunting deer near Cheney Lake in Reno County Kansas...I started walking back to my truck just as the sun was going down....I walked across a open wheat field in between two tree rows. When I got to the other side were my truck was parked...now almost completly dark...I loaded up my bow and when I walked up to open my door I looked across the field one last time to see if I could see any deer. And there was still some orange behind the trees...just enough you could make out the outlines of the trees. I looke from left to right across the tree row...and at the very end.....something stepped out to the side of the last tree. IT WAS AS TALL AS THE FUCKING 75 FOOT COTTONWOOD TREE! I fucking hopped in my truck and hauled ass untill the govenor shut down the engine at 100mph. Scariest shit I have ever experienced in my life. And now that I have set here and wrote about it...I will be drinking Monster and finger fucking my 870 rest of the night.I'll accept it as remotely plausible that some of the sasquatch legends may describe actual cryptozoological species. I do not believe that any 75 foot tall Ents could hide, even in Kansas, without being caught. Trees don't run fast, even sentient mobile trees. How do you know? Could be a ghost tree! Those fuckers move fast! |
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ok there was a story a few pages back about a flying woman so I thought I would post a link to this incident. flying humanoid entity You actually posted a link to Rense's website? About the only thing I agree with him about is that Alex Jones is not a credible source for anything. actually i hadnt even realized whos site it was,I just remembered the story from a few years ago and thought I would post a link to it and his was the first I came across It is similar to the story I posted that the old timer electrician told me (flying woman also). Thanks for the heads up, I love this stuff. |