• The Generally Just Creepy Stuff Thread V2: Hyperrealism, Content, or GTFO.
    2,555 replies, posted
[QUOTE=TalonAran;29410208][quote]*Pac-Man joke pasta*[/quote][/QUOTE] I shit enough bricks to make a brick house. Speaking of which, who would like a 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom brick house? It has granite countertops, wooden floors, and a finished basement. Competitively priced. Smells slightly of my ass.
Here are some photos of a bug under a scanning electron microscope: (media tagged for size) [media]http://i.imgur.com/XtdV4.jpg [url]http://i.imgur.com/4A8bi.jpg[/url] [url]http://i.imgur.com/yXqDP.jpg[/url] [url]http://i.imgur.com/6aCsC.jpg[/url] [url]http://i.imgur.com/bQwv1.jpg[/url][/media] [url=http://fdpix.imgur.com/sem_photos_of_insect/all]The complete set[/url], if anyone's interested.
[QUOTE=Gamma746;29412632]Here are some photos of a bug under a scanning electron microscope: (media tagged for size) [media]http://i.imgur.com/XtdV4.jpg [url]http://i.imgur.com/4A8bi.jpg[/url] [url]http://i.imgur.com/yXqDP.jpg[/url] [url]http://i.imgur.com/6aCsC.jpg[/url] [url]http://i.imgur.com/bQwv1.jpg[/url][/media] [url=http://fdpix.imgur.com/sem_photos_of_insect/all]The complete set[/url], if anyone's interested.[/QUOTE] AAUUGHGHGUAH! FUCK YOU MAN
[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oiYugThx6UQ&feature=related[/media] [b] THEN WHO WAS LIST? [/B] [b] EDIT: [/B] oh shit.. guys...... I need new pants.. [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_8O3DCuppA&feature=related[/media] ================= [media] [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJytKD2Kt-w&feature=related[/url] [/media] I'm.. i'm.. oh my gosh..... The mom is like.. [img]http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Oqw4pUMVGno/TZ8U6fnjy_I/AAAAAAAAAQM/eJ57uebdpdI/s1600/meme+yao+ming.jpg[/img] *Fuck that!*
Oh god I found it again. there is a God! hyperrealistic old people [url=insomni-art.com]http://www.google.ca/imgres?imgurl=http://insomni-art.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/ron-mueck-hyper-realist-sculptor1.jpg&imgrefurl=http://insomni-art.com/ron-mueck-hyperrealism/&usg=___-d7DiOWKSr7cunT02Z2ZypksWg=&h=355&w=520&sz=59&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=L8zwpyf2KQPQnM:&tbnh=156&tbnw=207&ei=7BS1TYTiDczQiAK5uNSvBg&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dhyperrealism%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Doff%26sa%3DX%26rlz%3D1R2ACAW_en%26biw%3D1345%26bih%3D495%26tbm%3Disch%26prmd%3Divnsb&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=526&vpy=127&dur=628&hovh=185&hovw=272&tx=171&ty=107&page=1&ndsp=12&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:0[/url]
[QUOTE=xBeyondtheLimit;29415787]Oh god I found it again. there is a God! hyperrealistic old people [url=insomni-art.com]http://www.google.ca/imgres?imgurl=http://insomni-art.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/ron-mueck-hyper-realist-sculptor1.jpg&imgrefurl=http://insomni-art.com/ron-mueck-hyperrealism/&usg=___-d7DiOWKSr7cunT02Z2ZypksWg=&h=355&w=520&sz=59&hl=en&start=0&zoom=1&tbnid=L8zwpyf2KQPQnM:&tbnh=156&tbnw=207&ei=7BS1TYTiDczQiAK5uNSvBg&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dhyperrealism%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Doff%26sa%3DX%26rlz%3D1R2ACAW_en%26biw%3D1345%26bih%3D495%26tbm%3Disch%26prmd%3Divnsb&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=526&vpy=127&dur=628&hovh=185&hovw=272&tx=171&ty=107&page=1&ndsp=12&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:0[/url][/QUOTE] Holy fuck thats a long link
I think he's looking for this: [url]http://insomni-art.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/ron-mueck-hyper-realist-sculptor1.jpg[/url] [img]http://insomni-art.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/ron-mueck-hyper-realist-sculptor1.jpg[/img] That long ass link is Google's copy of the image.
There is no way that is a painting.
Vice Pageking here, with more content. Another creepy piece of music...Louis Vierne's Toccata in Bb minor [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fm4knZ1Bm3s[/media] [quote]September 2nd 1868 Arrived in Cheyenne in the new Wyoming Territory early this morning on the new Union Pacific line. Has been three years since I rode the locomotive. Did not realize it would remind me so strongly of Atlanta. Spent the last day of the journey with the phantom smell of blood and iron in my nostrils, and the bile rising at the back of my throat, but it is over. God willing, I will never have to ride the train again. Cheyenne is new born and mewling like a babe. Immigrants from the east and across the seas teem here, filling the streets with a babel of tongues and the raucous laughter of drunken listless youths. The hound I purchased before leaving tugs at his leash with delight at the sights and sound. The plot of land is still two days ride across the border and to the Southwest, but true to his word, the man from the bank has hired a guide to take me there. Sent a last letter to my wife and boys with instructions to meet me here in the spring, and have purchased a wagon and the supplies for construction. The guide, a half Indian fellow, I’d wager by appearance, but civilized in tongue, has helped me hire two young men: a Irishman with a sullen chinless face, and a German, watery eyed and stinking of bourbon. Both despicable wretches, but they have agreed to work for a pittance, and both claim to have experience in homesteading. They may intend to kill me, seeing an easy mark in a naive settler, but I do not fear these drunken children. I’ve seen a generation of these boys spilled open, and I know what they are made of. September 8th 1868 Have crossed into the Free Territory of Colorado, after a day of the level prairie of warm wind of Wyoming, into the Front Range. This land is wild, in some… strange way, and like nothing I’ve ever seen. We are following a river through the shadow of two jagged peaks, and camp tonight just a few miles from the parcel of land. I requested remote, and by God, the bank man did not fail me. The Kraut and the Irishman grow demure and quiet without spirits, and I see no possibility of violence in them now, lest they suspect me of hoarding whisky. They will do fine quick labor, and return to Cheyenne to drink and fuck the profits. These are men of dust, and serve only this purpose. To think, good men like me fought and died to protect these jackals from the reach of Lincoln’s tyranny, God grind his bones. I will be free of that monster soon, and if it should spread it’s federal borders this far, then I will burn my new home to the ground and move west yet again. Sons of bitches will have to push me into the sea before I swear fealty. Found a skull just off the deer trail, when I went to make water; it was bleached white and divorced from jawbone and neck. I try not view this a portent. Tomorrow, we should reach the plot, and begin. September 9th 1868 The bank man has lied to me, the foul stuffed pig. The plot of land, clearly identified by compass and map, is not the idyllic grove his words painted, but a swamp. A sodden hollow filled with mud and grass, ringed with broken and dying pines. I would flay my guide alive if I thought his wretch of a employer might feel a sting. Am determined to homestead here, however. This may not be the land I desired, but it is mine, by God. The Irishman and the German fell trees for me, and I have found the highest place, where the earth is damp the least. I will tame this land. The hound does not like it here. He growls at the horizon and pads in small tight circles, looking always behind him. September 10th 1868 Guide has vanished in the night. He was to spend the next few days properly mapping the borders of my land, but he has fled. Worse still the Irishman and the Kraut have grown skittish at his departure, the German tells a tale of hearing screaming in the woods last night. But in morning light, the guide’s tent and belongings were packed away and gone. It shames me to admit, but my first night was filled with unease. There is something about this land, unlike any in the East. It seems to breathe and pulse around me, like it watches me with a cold intelligence. The trees sing softly in the breeze and in the smallest hours, when sleep had fled into the dark, I fancied I heard whispering voices in the breeze. I will share none of this with the laborers; they are weak and callow enough as it is. If superstition infects them, I will be left alone here while they flee. September 14th My hands bleed at the end of each day. I drive the boys hard, but myself harder. The skeleton of the cabin is complete now, but there is much more work to do. I do not think they have the stomach for real work, these dogs. They slow, now that they see the rough outline, believing their work is at an end. I suppose a pig may recognize a barn by sight, but we would hope too much to think they understand a crossbeam and a proper roof. My dread in the nights has deepened to a level I scarcely am willing to accept. In the ebon black of the night, I am an immigrant from a dead land into one that lives yet; each creak of the trees seems to come from my own shuddering spine. While I hear no birds or beast during the day, a fact that only now seems to have pertinence, the night is alive with the rustle in the bush. Occasionally, I hear the crashing stomp of one of the drunkards slogging to the tree line to void his bladder. The boys have indeed brought out a stash of bottles, and they have taken to drinking themselves into a stupor each night, rationing the stuff to fend of the night. I won’t speak of it to the likes of them, but I know they share my unease. Their eyes are hollow each morning and I catch them whipping around to look wide eyed into the trees as if they’d seen their deaths coming on padded feet. I’ve taken to leashing the hound at the edge of the clearing. He whimpers and shudders throughout the night, and when he wakes, he howls and barks at the sky. If he cannot make himself useful when the need to hunt arises, I will put a bullet in his noisy skull. September 15th The German is gone. I suspected at first that he had turned his tail up, back to Cheyenne. I was wise not to pay him up front. His companion, sick with fear and delusion, entered the cabin shook me awake to tell me that he had been carried off in the night, same as our guide. I boxed his ears and dragged him to their camp, whereas I suspected, his belongings were gone, but the wretch refused to work until we’d looked for his partner. Combed the woods all day with no sign of the German. Some of the night’s alien gloom lingers in the woods throughout the day, and I must confess leaping at the smallest noises. The hound, finding his purpose again, tracked the German’s trail, only to find that it looped around the grove several times, spiraling outward from the cabin. The trail soon vanished, and the hound began to strain at the leash, pleading for me to return him to the safety of our clearing. With the cabin in sight, at the edge of the trees I made an unsettling discovery. At twice the level of a man’s height, a canvas rucksack hung from the dead branches of a massive gray and rotting pine. More unsettling, when I opened the satchel, I found the clothes of a much shorter man than I had expected. This was our guide’s bag. I will not tell the poor fear-crazed Irishman when he returns. To credit his bravery, he still remains in the woods as night falls. I hear him shouting his companions name as he follows the spiraling trail with no end. He is a fool, but braver than I believed. The dark has swept over the land like the sackcloth of revelations, and there is ice in my blood. I can no longer hear the Irishman now, the sounds of the night, the still unfamiliar tapestry of living bodies and the creak of the towering pines drown out his cries. I feel a foolish, but I fear for his safety. September 16th Woke in the moonless night to the sounds of screaming, far in the distance. A whimpering, tearing shriek that stilled even the noises of the dark. I laid, unable to move in the bedroll on the wooden floor, unsure for a time if I had ever actually left the battlefield hospital of Atlanta and waiting for cannon and musket fire. But it was only the one lone boy, screaming in the dark, and I was helpless to save him. I clutched the rifle close, and the hound lay shivering at my side. The boy screamed, his voice coming from every direction over the course of several hours before it dissipated into a soft whimper. We could do little but wait for daybreak. In the light of day, I forced the hound back into the maw of the woods. I feel like wilting and crying each time I contemplate leaving the swampy ring of trees, but even an Irishman deserves a cursory search. I found him near dusk. After following a now familiar spiraling trail, I reached the unnatural giant tree that once held the guide’s belongings. It was fresh marked with jagged irregular cuts that exposed the rotting heartwood beneath. The cuts went high up into the boughs, and I had to strain my eyes to see, but what I finally made out made me suddenly ill. The boy lay cradled in two high branches, with his limbs dangling and cracked in a dozen false joints. His head was twisted, like he sought to imitate an owl, completely behind him. One glassy eye stretched wide next to an empty socket, and his tongue lolled from his frozen jaw. He is owed a Christian burial, even a papist such as him, but I will need to fell the tree to fetch his body. I wish I had the strength and will to do it now, but the night of lost rest before and the day’s gruesome business robs me of the desire for much besides sleep. September 17th I am leaving this place. I lose all that I own, but if I leave in a few hours with the safety of the dawn, I leave with my life. I will see my wife and boys again. Woke this morning to a flinty gray dawn that never turned blue, but only drizzled a thin vapor of rain. The idea that I ever could have dreamed of living here sickens me now. I sat all day on the porch of the house, the very ground of the meadow looking threatening. The jagged teeth of the trees against the gray sky, and the lapping of the puddled water in the wind gave me the uncanny feeling of being inside a gargantuan maw that has been closing down on me since the moment I arrived. I was still determined then, to reclaim this land. To fill the bog and fell the trees, and make the fertile black soil work under my plow. How foolish, now. With the fall of night came a whipping wind, buffeting me with heavy damp air. When the last thread of light had been cut, the hound stood to his feet and strained against the leash, hair on end and teeth bared. He strained on the leather leash that held him and began to growl, a low menacing sound. I looked to where he struggled to lunge, but could see nothing in, no horizon between ground and forest, or forest and sky. Just blackness. When the leash broke, it made a popping sound, like a firecracker, and the hound bolted into the black. I heard the angry rhythm of his barking as he was absorbed into the dark. Then, it ceased, and I heard a sharp squeal. Then silence. The crowding throng of life that I had felt each night before was utterly silent, the only sound the dry rustle of the pine. I shouldered the rifle and fired once into the dark, and my skin rippled as my insides froze. In the bright flash of the rifle, I saw a phantom impression of the world inside the gloom, pale trees and wet earth. And I saw, clearly, the corpse of the hound, wet and glistening. Beside it, was the shape of some… foul thing. Crouched on crooked legs, like the limbs of some beast, it held some dark portion of the dog in it’s splayed fingers. It was upright, and looking straight at me. All I saw of it’s face was the bright diamond glint of two eyes, and… teeth. So many teeth. The gunshot rolled down the valley in darkness, and I heard no movement from the blackness beyond. With all the speed I could muster I fled for the cabin and barricaded the door with every crate and unused hearthstone I could find. Gripping the rifle tight, I did my best to lay perfectly silently, and swore to leave at first light. When sleep finally came, it was fitful, and I awoke only a few hours later to a strange pinprick burning on my neck. I came awake to find the head of the dog, perched like a trophy at the top of the barricade, which yet lay intact and undisturbed. Around me were the hellish tracks of some beast, wet mud shapes that defied identifications. I put my hand to my throat and felt a line of small drops across it. Blood welling up from a delicate scratch that ran from ear to ear. The room was empty, and still fortified from within. But it had been here with me, moments before. It had marked me, toyed with me, and left. And so, at first light, I will leave. September 18th I am 10 miles from the cabin, and I curse myself for a fool. With the morning sun the meadow steamed and felt somehow, safer, but still I packed my lightest valuable tools and left the cabin. Five miles down the road, doubt set in. I have stopped to eat on this small bluff looking out at the glory of God’s creation, and I have made up my mind. Reading yesterday’s entry flushes me with shame, what a coward was! Whatever that thing is, it’s a beast, and I am a soldier. I will hunt it, trap it, and kill it. What God and Grant could not grind out of me, I will not relinquish to some wild animal. I will not leave my wife and sons paupers, I will be a man. I will return. June 29th, 1869 Mrs. Augustine Shelby Grand Hotel Cheyenne, Wyoming Dear Mrs. Shelby We recently received the enclosed from a pair of hunters who discovered it in forests of the Front Range in Colorado Territory. Having been made privy to the issue of your missing husband, we felt it was best to inform you directly, and pass on his journal and a few other possessions. The hunters describe the area in which they found the items in a way that agrees exactly with your husband’s description in the journal, but there was no cabin, nor foundation, or any other signs of habitation. We are deeply sorry that we could not be of more assistance to you, and I pray that your husband will eventually be found. Deepest Regrets Colonel Benjamin Williams Fort Collins Colorado Territory[/quote] This next one isn't really creepy; it serves as a cleanser for the stories to come. (Because if you're reading this thread and somehow already shitting bricks, you might as well give your ass a break) [quote]It begins gently at first, softly falling like a child’s tears. It is a sad thing, but not so unusual and wholesome in its way. And the wind lightly blows, almost tenderly caressing your face. This will not last, but it’s nice isn’t it? [i]In the beginning there were two and they knew love of a kind.[/i] The rain comes down harder now, no longer a child’s gentle weeping, and not quite an adult’s passionate cries for a lost love. It is somewhere in between. Then too, the wind picks up, catching your hair, causing it to fall across your face. It speaks, in the way that wind speaks, a soft moan, nothing more yet. [i]Time passed, and the two brought forth children. The children built and bred and grew. Thousands, then millions.[/i] The rain has not changed, it does not fall with greater intensity, but in the distance the faint sound of rolling thunder and the flash of a great light. The voice of the wind calls out to it, the clouds gather more strongly. [i]The two were not man and woman, but that is close. In the full distance of time, they grew apart and so their children suffered. She was not happy with Him, but She would not leave Him.[/i] The rain falls strongly now, if you were not wet before, you are now. The wind’s moan has changed to a howl and the lightning grows closer. The air is charged with possibility. [i]She loved them, but to Him they were a barrier, something that caused the coldness that had grown between them. Perhaps that is why She said nothing when they drove Him out.[/i] The storm is a storm in truth now, the rain stings a little as it falls, water dripping from your hair. The wind’s howling pierces your clothing, finding any gap and driving itself through it, perhaps seeking your warmth. You should find shelter, but something is about to happen. [i]Generation upon generation grew, lived, and died. They forgot Her name and His. She was still with them though and they still loved Her, in their way, but He, they lost entirely. He watched from beyond, unable to touch Her. Sometimes He lashed out at the skies.[/i] The lightning is close now, illuminating the entire night sky, the thunder crackling within a minute or so of the lightning. It should feel cold, shouldn’t it? The wind is strong and the rain is fierce, but you are not cold. There is an energy building. [i]A crack has formed in his millennia old prison. He feels it and rages against it, throwing His might towards it. The crack widens.[/i] You stand there, silently staring at the raging heavens as lightning cracks open the vault of the sky. The lines of light hang suspended in the air, after they should have ended. Something is coming. [i]He feels freedom. He goes to it; soon He will be with His bride once more.[/i] He is coming. [i]He is angry.[/i][/quote] OK, back to the actual stuff. [quote]Last year, I moved into a middle class house right around summer time. The move went smooth, and it seemed like everything was just…working. Nothing broke during the cycle, I had plenty of friends to help me out, hell I even found twenty bucks in my couch! Beer money? Hell yeah! Anyway, back to the house. For the first day or two, I thought life couldn’t get any better; my girl was beautiful, my friends were happy, and my parents were fixing their relationship. However, I hadn’t realized – until it was too late – that I was doomed to remain in this prison, which I sit in now as I tell you this story. The first time it happened, I was in my room. I was in the zone on my Xbox. You know what I mean, where you get 10 headshots without breaking a sweat? Yeah, that. As I was kicking fat terrorist ass I heard movement downstairs (My room was on the second floor). It sounded like someone was running around down there. Like, they were running from room to room banging on the walls, just being flat out obnoxious. “Hey, Jeff! Get out of my house, I said three-o’clock, dumbass!” The noise stopped. I waited a few moments before turning back to my game, but it was too late. I was already doomed. I saw it come at me too late…A tank. “Son of a…” I sighed. The next few days were normal, there were no more sounds that shouldn’t be there, just the pipes, the heater, you know the sort. Yet, about 3 days later, that idiot Jeff snuck into my house and started beating up my shit. “Alright, you aren’t getting off so easy this time!” I shouted as I charged down the stairs. As my foot hit the last step, something out of the corner of my eye moved. I looked over so fast that I got whiplash. “Oh, dammit!” I moaned. I didn’t even pay any attention to the fact that whatever was in my house – had disappeared. After that, it got worse. That same night, as I layed in bed, the banging started again. Not only was it worse, but it was on my floor of the house this time. I was sure I locked everything before I came up here, so here I was pissing my pants at 900 miles per hour while something destroyed my house. I actually pulled the blankets over me – hey, I was scared – as the noise approached my door. Just as I expected it to bash open my door and slaughter me, it stopped. The next morning I grabbed my baseball bat as I got out of bed, if whatever that thing is, was still out there, it would regret it. I didn’t find anything, but my house was trashed. Almost everything was tipped over, torn, broken, missing, or worse. I just figured I had been robbed. I called the police, they didn’t do shit. But the noises stopped for a week or so, and that made things easier. Sure I was pissed that some fuck destroyed my new place, but at least I was ok. But, of course, I know now that it wasn’t a robber, or Jeff, or the pipes in the walls…It was the thing IN the walls. A week after the incident, it came back. This time it was pissed. I was startled out of my slumber by the noise of a vase breaking into a thousand pieces downstairs. SMASH it went, with little pieces still breaking a few seconds after the initial smash as if to mock me. Not long after, I began to hear more deep, guttural banging noises on the walls again. Coming from inside of them, no doubt. As I lie there in my bed, I let out the tiniest, quietest, timidest squeak by sheer mistake, and the noise stops. Sharpest ears I’ve ever seen, those were. After several painstakingly long moments of silence, I released the breath I was holding, thinking it was over for now. Big mistake, I realize, as the noises suddenly start to rampage up the stairs. Incredibly fast, incredibly loud, smack, crash, bang against my wooden floor. The beast, which I could now accurately call it, broke my door open with intense force, thrusting it all the way to the opposite side of the room. Being an intelligent individual, I had already hidden under my impenetrable field of safety known as the common blanket. The noise of this monster running through my room, it’s footsteps enough to damage my eardrums at this close, was the scariest thing I had ever experienced in my entire life. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I threw the blankets off in the direction of the…thing, somehow making a direct impact to its face. Whoever – or whatever – this was, was stunned. But not for long, and I knew that. I frantically moved across my room, attempting to make it out the door, downstairs, outside, where I could attract public attention. This night, luck was not on my side. I knew this as a large hunk of my hair was grabbed from behind and pulled out with such force that pieces of skins came along with it, along with a shitload of blood. Before a scream escapes my voice box, I’m being held down by a dark, hairless beast that walks on all fours with a face I can hardly imagine again, that then smashes my head with it’s fist, sending me into a dark, welcoming sleep. … Someone new has moved in, but they don’t even acknowledge my existence, the jackass. I patiently watch, wait, hear, hoping that they will. But no. Not me. I’m not worth it to them. Maybe if I bang on the walls.[/quote] [quote]Water. Water is the cornerstone of life. It nourishes us, irrigates our crops and waters our livestock. Water is vital for all known forms of life. We rely on it to wash our cars, clean our food and produce our power. It has an effect on almost every activity in everyday life. Without it, civilisation would cease to function. Governments would collapse, crippled by an undefeatable enemy – drought. It would be a matter of days – no longer than a week – before every living being on Earth perished. In short, we cannot live without water. Two days ago, we were forced to begin doing just that. I don’t know how it began. Nobody left alive does. During the initial hours of it, theories ranged from the barely plausible, like a new form of greenhouse gas, to the ridiculous, such as a new type of light, one that only evaporated water. I remember those hours fondly – the true enormity of what had happened had not yet sunk in and hysteria had not yet clutched the human race. What happened? I’ll put it simply. The first was that every single drop of freshwater on the entire planet evaporated instantly. I don’t think I can do this event justice, but I’ll try. Can you imagine every single river, every single lake, every single natural source of water drying up instantly, without rational explanation? I doubt you can, but that’s exactly what happened. It wasn’t restricted to natural sources, either. As far as I can tell, all the bottled water in the world also evaporated, as did that in water tanks and other similar sources. It also disappeared from other substances, including soft drinks, creating foul sugar compounds that would make those that consumed it quite ill. There was not a single drop of freshwater left anywhere on Earth for anybody to drink. But by far the worst result of the lack of water was the nuclear reactors. Without pressurised water, most of the nuclear reactors in the entire world – those that utilise purified water as coolant – had no available sources of coolant, and just under half of these had poor or untested failsafe plans. The resulting effect of this led to catastrophic nuclear meltdown in roughly 46% of water-cooled reactors. The world, already reeling from the unprecedented situation, fell into total anarchy. International communication ceased after almost exactly twenty-four hours after it began. But there was a second effect. The saltwater poisoning. Many people flocked to desalination plants in the first few hours, hoping for salvation. They found none. At approximately the same time as the worldwide evaporation, saline increased by fivefold in every sea or ocean on Earth. Desalination plants were able to cope with this load for approximately twenty hours. Then, fuel began to run low – and with the imminent collapse of civilisation thanks to the multiple nuclear catastrophes, no more was delivered. Thus, the last ever drop of freshwater on Earth was pumped out no later than midnight yesterday. After the drought came the collapse. With no water available, civilisation soon descended into anarchy. Governments, typical of authority to the very end, tried maintaining order. It didn’t work. Soldiers rebelled, shooting rioters and runners alike. Those who didn’t die were brutally executed moments after. They turned on each other soon enough, with only a few militaries intact from the carnage. The deserters fled, unwilling to stay and watch the extinction of Earth. But then came the worst, far worse than anything before it. There was, in fact, one source of water that hadn’t been touched. I’m so lucky I realised before anyone else in my town. It was blood. Blood, which is over 90% water, was the only remaining liquid fit to drink. And so some did. At first, I didn’t believe it. It was too horrific. Animals went first. The desperate drank the blood of cats, dogs, pets and feral animals of all kinds. Many offered too little blood to be of any value. The situation was made worse by the fact that I live in a rather large metropolitan city and beyond domesticated pets and the odd feral animal, there was no animals to catch and drink from. Perhaps those in the country fared better – I have no way of finding out, and frankly I don’t really care. I knew then that humans were the only other option. I first saw it twelve hours ago. An elderly man, dressed in nothing but a torn dressing gown, slowly made his way down the street that ran in front of my house. He called for help desperately, croaking out that his entire nursing home was dead or dying, that the nurses had fled and that he was looking for help. He was so pitiful that I almost opened my door, if only to offer him some respite from the midday sun, and some of my sparse rations. If I had been a second faster, I would not be writing this. Before I could open the door, three people – two men and a woman – pounced from the shadow of a nearby tree. The poor old bastard had no chance. They leapt upon him, frenzied in their dehydration, and set on him with makeshift tools. It was the most terrifying spectacle of my entire life. One of the men had a hammer – he set about bashing the man’s joints in, one by one. Crack. Crack. Crack. I retched bile each time the hammer slammed into bone, so sickening was the crunch. The other had a gardening hoe. He hovered above the elderly man, bringing the makeshift weapon down once, twice. The tool cut through the man’s ankles like a knife through a steak. The metaphor made me vomit. After I did, I looked back, if only to satisfy my own growing horror. Oh, how I wish I hadn’t. The woman, who was weaponless save for her own two hands, had straddled the man’s chest. Her hands were spread on the screaming man’s face as her own companions butchered him. Then, even as I watched, she dug her thumbs into his eyes. He howled like nothing I had ever heard before. She dug harder, pushing inwards and outwards simultaneously. When they were pulled free, blood and some even less discernible liquid splattered all over her. She grabbed them and ate them like fruit. I could hear the chewing sounds from my door. They bent to consume the precious blood and I turned away. I call them the Drinkers. There’s one thing I want to make very clear about them. They aren’t zombies. Nor are they affected by some external force that forces them to drink the blood of humans, such as a virus or disease. They are entirely human. I suspect that dehydration affects them worse than it does others and this forces them to drink from humans in a form of pseudo-cannibalism or perish. They represent the dark side of humanity. The Drinkers also seem to recognise each other through some subtle signal. Not being a Drinker, I wouldn’t know it. As fast as I possibly could, I took my meagre supplies, some small comforts, this journal and my 9mm Beretta 92 up into my bedroom. I pushed the bed against the door with my rapidly fading strength and piled furniture on it. The Beretta has a full magazine of 15, and I have one spare. More than enough for thirteen Drinkers and – well, I’m sure you can imagine. — Another six hours have passed. I can really feel the dehydration now. My tongue feels numb and my skin feels like sandpaper. I tried to eat some bread before and I almost choked, with no saliva to moisten my throat. Now I’m hungry as well as thirsty. I don’t even know why I’ve kept writing this. Maybe it’s something to occupy me during the final hours of mankind. Maybe I hold some hope that a solution will be found and somebody in the future will read this and remember what it was like. Maybe I’m just delusional. — It’s getting worse. I’m breathing heavily and becoming more and more lethargic. This room feels like a sauna. I can almost see the heatwaves bouncing across the room, becoming more and more intense until I am literally cooked alive. It’s not a pleasant vision. My pen keeps slipping from the page as I suffer random bursts of weakness. I’m scared I won’t even be able to pull the trigger if the time comes. — I’m so terribly thirsty. The last time I urinated it burned. I haven’t defecated for a long time now. My vision’s fading in and out and my head feels like it’s going to split open from the intense pressure inside. My skin is so dry and leathery. I know I’m dying, but I’ve still got the Beretta. Maybe I should kill myself before I lose the strength to do so. God knows it’s better than dehydrating to death or letting the Drinkers get me. — so thirsty its dark and i’ve lost the gun vision almost gone so THIRSTY i’m going mad i’m dying wait what’s that so thirsty somebody’s knocking at the door they want to be let in they say the drinkers are coming should i i don’t know maybe i’ll go get a drink. i’m so thirsty.[/quote] [quote]A man and woman walked out of the bank, hand in hand. This might be a normal thing for anyone, maybe even you. But not for her. The man made a typical, throwaway remark about their lunch plans. Under usual circumstances, this would just be interpreted as a feeble attempt to incite lightheartedness into the conversation. But not for her. With a quick, agile movement, the woman, his wife, picked up a slab of concrete by the sidewalk and, with great aim, hit two doves perched on a low-hanging branch. They fell, like two pathetic white balloons. As soon as they hit the ground, his wife beat them to a pulp-she could see that they were still breathing. And her husband knew that he fucked up again. Some passerby began to stare openly at the horrible sight of two bashed birds. “Linda!” Her husband yelled. “Stop it!” “I thought we were going to kill two birds with one stone?” She replied, in a voice of unnatural calm. Her face gazed up at him from the ground, stoic and rigid, like some dread mask. ………………………………………………………………………………………….. She had a certain….well, mental illness is a bit of a euphemism. Let’s just say she had a disability. A serious and rare one. Linda could not understand the difference between jokes and imperatives. She took every figure of speech she heard seriously, and was often compelled to make whatever it was into an actuality. Her husband recalled, one point, when she nearly pushed him out the window, when, in light of the recent resignation of his business partner, he remarked that he was in fact flying solo. Linda wasn’t always dangerous, though. Sometimes, he’d go home only to find her giggling like a little girl at the sight of milk on the floor. Or maybe even staring out windows during rainy evenings to see whether any cats and/or dogs were to be found falling from the sky. But then came the times when she would get harmful. Only last month, the pediatrician living in the apartment next to theirs got pelted with apples and other fruits. Poor woman nearly tripped down the stairs. This other time, an event which still scared him up to now, she shoved in his hands a bit of her bloody scalp, saying it was a piece of her mind. She had to wear a bonnet whenever she had to get out of the house after that. In spite of all this strange and violent behavior, he still loved his wife very much and could not bear to send her away to a mental hospital. His mistake. He became very careful around what she would see or hear coming from anybody since the episode with the birds. Much to his joy, a year and a half passed without much incident, and their firstborn child was soon to come. It was good, since the coming of a baby took their minds off whatever financial problems they had. He was away when it happened. After he heard that child was born, he rushed back home. As soon as he stepped through that door, he knew something was wrong. His wife was calling him from the kitchen. In her arms was the son he could never know. In the light of their kitchen, lain on the table, were the remains of the baby, their baby. Its mouth was stretched open to such a degree that it split open, the underside of its jaws seen. It reminded him of a tear in cloth, the seams not made of fabric but of flesh. What little blood the baby had to spare was everywhere. In response to his child’s grotesquely expanded mouth, his father’s jaw fell open in surprise and terror and disgust, threatening to do the same. A scream tried to come out, but it did not. Forcibly thrust into the gaping hole that was a baby’s mouth, was his wife’s forearm. She seemed to be trying to claw something out of the- As soon as his wife spotted him, she turned in his direction, bloody baby still stuck on her arm. “You have to help me! The doctor said he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth!” //[/quote]
I just finished reading Humper Monkey's story. That was incredible, someone should really clean up some of the spelling mistakes though.
[QUOTE=Onyx3173;29416664]I think he's looking for this [/QUOTE] Thanks. I'm too much of a newbie. (And I'm female)
[QUOTE=xBeyondtheLimit;29427324]Thanks. I'm too much of a newbie. (And I'm female)[/QUOTE] Welp that explains it then.
[QUOTE=No Party Hats;29427375]Welp that explains it then.[/QUOTE] Yes. Forgive me? I'm working on the BB codes. Edit: Now have creepy music. [video=youtube;Y4RSFDoM7YM]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4RSFDoM7YM[/video] (Okay. I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong here. excuse the link)
[QUOTE=xBeyondtheLimit;29427456]Yes. Forgive me? I'm working on the BB codes. Edit: Now have creepy music. [video=youtube;Y4RSFDoM7YM]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4RSFDoM7YM[/video] (Okay. I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong here. excuse the link)[/QUOTE] Add [ media] and [ /media] to the beginning and end of that link without the spaces, respectively.
I don't man to advertise, but has anybody seen [i]Insidious[/i]? I thought it was very creepy, picture related. [img]http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lk556qjBUN1qeujj6o1_500.gif[/img]
Those eyes...... The creepy atmosphere was then ruined by my friend who said, "Derp."
INCOMING CONTENT CRAP UR BOMB SHELTERS the rake During the summer of 2003, events in the northeastern United States involving a strange, humanlike creature sparked brief local media interest before an apparent blackout was enacted. Little or no information was left intact, as most online and written accounts of the creature were mysteriously destroyed. Primarily focused in rural New York state, self proclaimed witnesses told stories of their enounters with a creature of unkown origin. Emotions ranged from extremely traumatic levels of fright and discomfort, to an almost childlike sense of playfulness and curiosity. While their published versions are no longer on record, the memories remained powerful. Several of the involved parties began looking for answers that year. In early 2006, the collaboration had accumulated nearly two dozen documents dating between the 12th century and present day, spanning 4 continents. In almost all cases, the stories were identical. I've been in contact with a member of this group and was able to get some exceprts from their upcoming book. A Suicide Note: 1964 "As I prepare to take my life, I feel it necessary to assuage any guilt or pain I have introduced through this act. It is not the fault of anyone other than him. For once I awoke and felt his presence. And once I awoke and saw his form. Once again I awoke and heard his voice, and looked into his eyes. I cannot sleep without fear of what I might next awake to experience. I cannot ever wake. Goodbye." Found in the same wooden box were two empty envelopes addressed to William and Rose, and one loose personal letter with no envelope: "Dearest Linnie, I have prayed for you. He spoke your name." A Journal Entry (translated from Spanish): 1880 "I have experience the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I see his eyes when I close mine. They are hollow. Black. They saw me and pierced me. His wet hand. I will not sleep. His voice (unintelligible text)." A Mariner's Log: 1691 "He came to me in my sleep. From the foot of my bed I felt a sensation. He took everything. We must return to England. We shall not return here again at the request of the Rake." From a Witness: 2006 "Three years ago, I had just returned from a trip from Niagara Falls with my family for the 4th of July. We were all very exhausted after a long day of driving, so my husband and I put the kids right to bed and called it a night. At about 4am, I woke up thinking my husband had gotten up to use the restroom. I used the moment to steal back the sheets, only to wake him in the process. I appologized and told him I though he got out of bed. When he turned to face me, he gasped and pulled his feet up from the end of the bed so quickly his knee almost knocked me out of the bed. He then grabbed me and said nothing. After adjusting to the dark for a half second, I was able to see what caused the strange reaction. At the foot of the bed, sitting and facing away from us, there was what appeared to be a naked man, or a large hairless dog of some sort. It's body position was disturbing and unnatural, as if it had been hit by a car or something. For some reason, I was not instantly frightened by it, but more concerned as to its condition. At this point I was somewhat under the assumption that we were supposed to help him. My husband was peering over his arm and knee, tucked into the fetal position, occasionally glancing at me before returning to the creature. In a flurry of motion, the creature scrambled around the side of the bed, and then crawled quickly in a flailing sort of motion right along the bed until it was less than a foot from my husband's face. The creature was completely silent for about 30 seconds (or probably closer to 5, it just seemed like a while) just looking at my husband. The creature then placed its hand on his knee and ran into the hallway, leading to the kids' rooms.I screamed and ran for the lightswitch, planning to stop him before he hurt my children. When I got to the hallway, the light from the bedroom was enough to see it crouching and hunched over about 20 feet away. He turned around and looked directly at me, covered in blood. I flipped the switch on the wall and saw my daughter Clara. The creature ran down the stairs while my husband and I rushed to help our daughter. She was very badly injured and spoke only once more in her short life. She said "he is the Rake". My husband drove his car into a lake that night, while rushing our daughter to the hospital. He did not survive. Being a small town, news got around pretty quickly. The police were helpful at first, and the local newspaper took a lot of interest as well. However, the story was never published and the local television news never followed up either. For several months, my son Justin and I stayed in a hotel near my parent's house. After we decided to return home, I began looking for answers myself. I eventually located a man in the next town over who had a similar story. We got in contact and began talking about our experiences. He knew of two other people in New York who had seen the creature we now referred to as the Rake. It took the four of us about two solid years of hunting on the internet and writing letters to come up with a small collection of what we believe to be accounts of the Rake. None of them gave any details, history or follow up. One journal had an entry involving the creature in its first 3 pages, and never mentioned it again. A ship's log explained nothing of the encounter, saying only that they were told to leave by the Rake. That was the last entry in the log. There were, however, many instances where the creature's visit was one of a series of visits with the same person. Multiple people also mentioned being spoken to, my daughter included. This led us to wonder if the Rake had visited any of us before our last encounter. I set up a digital recorder near my bed and left it running all night, every night, for two weeks. I would tediously scan through the sounds of me rolling around in my bed each day when I woke up. By the end of the second week, I was quite used to the occasional sound of sleep while blurring through the recording at 8 times the normal speed. (This still took almost an hour every day) On the first day of the third week, I thought I heard something different. What I found was a shrill voice. It was the Rake. I can't listen to it long enough to even begin to transcribe it. I haven't let anyone listen to it yet. All I know is that I've heard it before, and I now believe that it spoke when it was sitting in front of my husband. I don't remember hearing anything at the time, but for some reason, the voice on the recorder immediately brings me back to that moment. The thoughts that must have gone through my daughter's head make me very upset. I have not seen the Rake since he ruined my life, but I know that he has been in my room while I slept. I know and fear that one night I'll wake up to see him staring at me." the slitwalker I live in the Texas hill country by a river in a small town and I had some coworkers over tonight. One of them hadn't seen my river yet and I'd been telling her how awesome it was, but it was raining when they got here. It just stopped raining a little bit ago so we all walked down to the river in the moonlight to check it out. You have to walk down this tree-lined path off the road, which takes a turn and goes downhill to the river. There's a bank on the other side covered with trees that goes back maybe 15 yards from the edge of the water until it reaches a cliff wall that goes up maybe 10 yards and is pretty steep. It's dark but the moon is giving us some light because Texas weather can never make up its mind if it's raining or clear and our eyes have adjusted at this point. We brought a couple beers with us and we're sitting on the rocks talking, my buddy Jarrett is sitting across from me with his girlfriend and this new girl is sitting next to me. He's in the middle of a sentence, looking between me and the girl next to me, when he looks back over both of our shoulders, widens his eyes and cuts off what he was saying with "holy fuck" in this really quiet voice. We turn around and I barely have time to register what I'm seeing because it was dark. There was something black about half as tall as the cliff, so 15 feet tall-ish, on these extremely spindly legs noiselessly sprinting through the trees on the opposite bank. I couldn't make out the shape too well but my impression was that it was covered in long hair and its body and head were kind of like a dog looking down, but stretched longer. Most of its height was in its legs, which were really thin. Jarrett turned on the flashlight and shone it across the water at the thing and it stopped moving and turned to look at us. It had humongous eyes that reflected the light from the flashlight. After a split second of this it turned away from us and just scaled the cliff as easily as it was striding across the ground and disappeared from sight. We stared for a second and then we just ran back to my house. We shat bricks over what we saw, and then they all just went home. All four of us saw the thing and we all seemed to be in agreement on what it looked like. I think my heart rate finally went back to normal just before I started writing this, and now it's back up. What happens now? Do I call animal control or something? I don't know what this thing is, if it's dangerous, or what. I don't want to go outside or even look out my window at the trees. Also I didn't score with the new girl and we left like 5 unopened beers on the bank of the river. What the fuck. nazi and lovecraft In May of 1938, Hitler was desperate to find the Holy Grail. He believed it would bestow more power upon him, and that with it he could over take anyone. To accomplish this, Hitler sent a group of his finest men to Tibet, in hopes of finding the legendary artifact that he so craved. The Expedition lasted for almost an entire year, and towards its end, the men were becoming tired. But they trekked on, fearing the punishment for failure. They were, of course, over joyed when the found the Vault. They had been told by a guide that it was where they could find great and lost treasure. Things that had the power to change the world. The Vault was hidden deep inside some lesser known ruins. Upon arrival they were awed by the sheer size of the door. It was a circular door, with a diameter of at least 100 feet. It had shrubs and growths of various natures all over it. Most of which were plants they had never seen before. The troops spent several hours removing the plant life so the vault could be opened. They used knifes, flame, anything they could. And it was only after they had completed this task that they realized they had no way of opening the vault. The door looked like it was made for a giant. They couldn't so much as reach for the handle, for it was 50 feet in the air. Finally though, after much hard work and thought, they decided on a plan. The strongest men got their strongest rope, attached a hook to the end, and they tossed it in the air towards the handle. Managing to wrap it around the handle was difficult, but they eventually succeeded. It took ten men to make it even budge, and twenty to really get it moving. But they managed it. They got the Vault open as they intended. Upon opening it they sent in a small three man team to try and scope it out. They entered with high hopes of something, anything to bring back to Hitler. They feared him more then anything, which was most definitely a mistake. After 3 hours they began to worry for the safety of their reconnaissance squad. But before more men could venture in, they heard a screaming, like that of a mad man. One of the men ran out of the Vault. He was screaming, laughing, and covered in blood. They questioned him, but all he would tell them is that he had made sacrifice for the Great Old Ones. After some debate the remaining men entered the Vault. They cautiously walked through what seemed like an ancient city. Full of statues of giant beasts, some resembling squid, but with more human features added on. In the center of the city was a large platform with stairs leading up to it. There was, in the center of this platform, a book. The binding and pages were odd in texture. Almost like flesh. The words in the book seemed odd and foreign, not like anything they had ever seen. And the cover almost looked like it had a face... They thought the book to be rare, and took it. Proceeding down the platform. Reaching the bottom they felt a great thunderous shaking, and saw the Vault door close before their very eyes. Much faster then they ever though possible for something that large to move, they were trapped. Torches in hand they did the only thing they thought to do. Search for alternative exits. They marched through more and more odd ruins, filled with the same statues and art that they had seen previously. Finally they came to a great lake, one which seemed to extend deep into the Earth. Then they saw something which chilled them. A slab, a large stone one, with a German helmet sitting on it. The slab was covered in blood. Fresh blood. Only hours old from what they could tell. They collected the helmet and explored around the underground lake. When suddenly the one among them carrying the odd book began to laugh. He pulled his side arm from its holster and took one of his own men hostage. Forcing him to the slab, he shot him point blank, and drained a small amount of blood onto it. Then he tossed the body into the waters below. It happened very fast, but the second it registered with the rest of the troops, they shot the renegade as well, sending him to rest with his victim. Another great quake ran through the city. From the depths of the lake came a large tentacle, like from one of the squid creatures seen in the sculptures. It wrapped around a large rock. Then came another, and another. More and more came from the waters, and soon it seemed like 100 tentacles were all around them. And then, shortly after, they beheld a sight that no sane man had seen. A grand beast rose from the depths. It seemed god like. Suddenly they all felt they understood everything, and they began to kill each other in fits of rage and madness. The beast swept the bodies, both living and dead, into the sea. Consuming them. By the end of the massacre only one man remained, and he began to shuffle out holding the book they had found earlier. As he left, he put the book back in its place, and then the door proceeded to open. He left that Vault, losing more then the book. He had lost his sanity. He made it back to his base camp, where they questioned him thoroughly. He responded only with gibberish about the "Old Ones". Saying the men had been sacrificed. The only thing that is known for sure past that is that they never recovered the book. They tried several times, Hitler sending more men, but only one ever coming back from each group. All of which were mad. All spoke in gibberish. And all praised the Old Ones. thats it.... for now..... have fun, and tell ur sleep u love it and kiss it good bye.
[QUOTE=Archonet;29432816]Add [ media] and [ /media] to the beginning and end of that link without the spaces, respectively.[/QUOTE] Thanks. I was looking at the BB code list, said to put [video= ]value[ /video]. [editline]25th April 2011[/editline] [QUOTE=LightSwitchRave;29434109]I don't man to advertise, but has anybody seen [i]Insidious[/i]? I thought it was very creepy, picture related.[/QUOTE] I saw it, but I hate jump scares, they always get to me.
These stories are a lot less disheartening with [url=http://nyan.cat/]this[/url] blaring. v:v:v
[QUOTE=xBeyondtheLimit;29427324](And I'm female)[/QUOTE] My mistake. [QUOTE=xBeyondtheLimit;29427456]Yes. Forgive me? I'm working on the BB codes.[/QUOTE] You may want to try [url=http://www.facepunch.com/misc.php?do=bbcode]this[/url] then. Just keep in mind some of the codes on that page are incorrect such as [video].
[quote]I WUZ WALKING INSYDE A SUBWAY WEN ALL DA SUDEN THE SANDWITCHES TURNED IN2 MANSTURS N DEN I HED 2 RUN 4 MY LYFE BCUZ DA SANDWITCH MONSTURS WER CHASIN ME N DEN SQWIDWORD FRUM SPUNGBUB SHOWED UP WIT HYPUR-REALSTICK EYS N HE WUZ CRYIN BLUDD N DEN DEY ALL FELL INTO A BLACK HOLE N IT TURND OUT SQWIDWORD WAS REALLY YOU N YOU FELL IN2 DA BLAK HOL N DIYD. [/quote] I shat bricks.
In the summer I often live in the country. And in the neighbourhood with me the site belongs to any grand-mother, like the madwoman, but not violent. And next to me site is owned by a grandmother, like crazy, but not violent. In the whole days sits on a shop at itself before the house and mutters something, so what to not disassemble. For days on end sitting on a bench in his front of house and mutters something under his breath, so that does not parse. I have somehow paid attention, when past passed, that it like irons someone who in a lap sits. Once I noticed, when passing by, that it sort of petting someone who sits in her lap. Thought, the cat - has looked narrowly, and there is nobody, simply hands above коленями are held so as if holds someone, and one hand by air irons. Thought the cat - looked closer, and there was nobody, just keep your hands on your knees as if he adheres someone with one hand stroking the air. I then have thought, that probably it had a cat once, here it and has got used, and when gives a thought, the hand at it makes habitual movements, as if the cat in a lap sits. I then thought that maybe she had a cat once, so she was accustomed, and which reflects, her hand was accustomed movement is as if the cat is sitting on her lap. Well, as Bulgakov when Йешуа has guessed, that at Пилата has a dog when that during a headache did movements as if ironed it. Well, like Bulgakov, when Yeshua guessed that from Pilate to have a dog when he was at the time the headache did the motion, as if caressing it. And once at night, when I slept in the country, here that happens. And one night when I slept at the cottage, here's what happened. I wake up that the hand lays on something woolly, laid I have near by. Wake up from that hand rests on something woolly, lying by my side. Well, I спросонья have solved, that my cat, have stroked on a habit, but I feel - a wool too rigid any. Well, I sleepily decided that my cat, stroked out of habit, but I feel - Wool is very hard some. And here I recall, that I in the country, and a cat I have in city. And then I remember that I am at the cottage, and the cat, then I have in the city. I wake up, naturally, at once, but I do not twitch, and quickly I think - what to do. I wake up, naturally, right away, but not pulled, and quick thinking - what to do. In a head there and then the plan has ripened - quickly to cover with a blanket, what it was, and in a window to throw out. In my head there, the plan has matured - quickly covered with a blanket, whatever it was, and throw out the window. And only I have made the first movement, as it something from a bed has jumped off and to a door was threw. And once I made the first move, as something jumped out of bed and rushed to the door. I only edge of an eye have noticed a silhouette, and something strange in its movement was. I just noticed the silhouette edge of the eye, and something strange is in motion it was. I have jumped, have reached a door, I see, is slightly opened, and have calmed down, have solved, that simply a door have forgotten to close in the evening and any cat has come to me, and can собачка someone's. I jumped up, reached the door, I see ajar, and calmed down, he decided that simply forgot to close the door in the evening and a cat wandered into me, and maybe someone's dog. I come back, I pass by a window, and suddenly it is direct behind it I see the person of the grand-mother from an adjacent site. Come back, pass by the window, and suddenly right behind him see the face of Grandma with the neighboring area. I still never such saw it, hair gray-haired are dismissed, on a wind eyes huge flutter, and is direct on me looks. I've never seen her like this, gray hair loose, flapping in the wind, eyes huge, and just looks at me. And so it became terrible to me, I from a window have jumped aside back, and it has rushed on the site, huge jumps. And I was so scared, I jumped back from the window, and she threw herself on his land, with huge leaps. I still long could not calm down, but have laid down and have fallen asleep eventually. I still long to calm down he could not, but lay down and fell asleep in the end. And already when fell asleep, here me it is has reached, that strange was in that escaping cat, or a dog who there would not be - it moved as if would not run, and slid on a floor to a door. And just when falling asleep, then it dawned on me that it was strange that the evader cat or dog who'd already been there - he moved as if it had not escaped and rolled on the floor to the door. Next morning has woken up, has followed water, I pass by a site of the grand-mother, and it as always, sits on a shop, and under a nose to itself something mutters, brushed, silent as it is usual. The next morning woke up, went to fetch water, walk past the site grandmother, and she always sits on the bench, and under the nose of his muttering, groomed, quiet as usual. I have thought, have dreamed me at night as it in a mad type on sites ran. I really thought I dreamed at night, as she is mad as to sites ran. And more close I approach, and I hear, how it says, is legible absolutely, and a hand, as always, irons something invisible at itself in a lap: And the closer I get there and hear how she says, quite clearly, and hand, as always, stroking something invisible on her knee: - What you, what for at night to run me behind yourself have forced, and? - What are you, what night to run me for a forced, eh? What for to the guy has at night climbed, as has frightened it! Why did the guy at night climbed, look how scared him! Me already in a shiver has thrown, I have hardly restrained, that to run to not pass. I was already shivering in the cast, I could hardly restrain himself to the races did not go. There were then information on this grand-mother to direct, anybody plainly knows nothing, besides that it of years in nuthouse has lead ten, and since have let out, all sits at itself before the house on a shop in the whole days. Then became a reference for this grandmother to direct, nobody really knows anything, except that it is ten years in the nuthouse held, and since then, as produced, all sitting in his front of house on a bench all day. And only once, day of a victory was, we have drunk with one muzhik in the age of, from settlement, and it has told to me, that this grand-mother about fifteen years ago has cut the grandfather an axe, and a head to it has chopped off. And only once, the day of victory, we had a drink with one man of the age, from the village, and he told me that this old woman fifteen years ago his grandfather hacked to death with an ax and chopped off his head. And when cops have arrived, it sat on that shop at herself before the house, smiled, and the chopped off head of the grandfather held in a lap, and all ironed and talked with it. And when the cops arrived, she sat on a bench at the very front of the house herself, she smiled and severed head of his grandfather was holding in her lap, and all the stroking and talking to her. comes from here: [URL="http://translate.google.com/translate?js=n&prev=_t&hl=en&ie=UTF-8&layout=2&eotf=1&sl=auto&tl=en&u=http%3A%2F%2Fshitless.ru%2F"]http://translate.google.com/translate?js=n&prev=_t&hl=en&ie=UTF-8&layout=2&eotf=1&sl=auto&tl=en&u=http%3A%2F%2Fshitless.ru%2F [/URL]
[QUOTE=T-Bag-T;29426209]Humper Monkey's [/QUOTE] This is all I saw and I'm not scared any more
[QUOTE=TalonAran;29439107]I shat bricks.[/QUOTE] I shat so many bricks I built the Monadnock Building! ([sp]all-brick skyscraper[/sp])
[quote]I was sharing a passionate kiss with my romantic interest, when my cellular phone alerted me that someone wished to converse with me. The man on the phone inquired as to what I was engaging in with his daughter. Assuming this man was my romantic interest's father, I explained the conversation I had to her. She informed me that her father was deceased. That is when I thought to myself "If her father is dead, then who was conversing with me on the cellular phone?"[/quote]
[QUOTE=TalonAran;29450281][/QUOTE] And of course, no creepy thread would be caught dead without WHO WAS PHONE?!
Hey, do you guys remember that really old weird thing? I think it was called Candle Ja
[QUOTE=booster;29451566]Hey, do you guys remember that really old weird thing? I think it was called Candle Ja[/QUOTE] You actually have to say Candle Jack befor
Candle Jack Candle Jack Candle Jack [sp]Candle Jack[/sp]
[QUOTE=Onyx3173;29438350] You may want to try [url=http://www.facepunch.com/misc.php?do=bbcode]this[/url] then. Just keep in mind some of the codes on that page are incorrect such as [video].[/QUOTE] That would be why it wasn't working. Thanks muchly.
Sorry, you need to Log In to post a reply to this thread.