• Generally just Fucking Creepy Stuff-Thread
    5,002 replies, posted
That's a nice photo, but you know it's photoshopped.. The reflections don't mat- WAIT WHAT
Generally just Fucking Creepy Stuff-Thread v2: It's just a meloOH SHIT
Am I the only one who wasn't blown away by the fact that it's just a melon?
A hyper-realistic melon, it was painted. Also ITT: Bel airin' and shitting pants over fake fruit in a thread for creepy stuff CONTENT! [quote]Once, about 50 years ago, there was a young boy. No one knows his actual name, so we will call him Tommy. He lived in a quiet, small town. Everything was normal, nothing out of the ordinary. One day a traveling circus came to town. It had all the normal circus stuff, trapeze artists, animal trainers, clowns. It also had a miniature wax museum. Every one always commented on how life like and well done the sculptures were. The Ring Master thanked them, and said the artist was very talented. Tommy was fascinated by the sculptures. He stayed until closing, talking to the ring master. He was so interested that the Ring Master invited him to come back to the circus after closing and told him he would introduce Tommy to the Artist. Ecstatic, Tommy agreed. That night, when Tommy came back, the circus grounds were completely deserted. No carnies, no animals, nothing anywhere. Tommy really wanted to meet the Artist, so he went to the Wax Museum. When he got there, the lights were on, but it was empty. Tommy started walking through, admiring the sculptures again. Then the doors slammed shut behind him, and he heard the faint click of a lock. Tommy ran towards the doors, and shook them until they almost came off the hinges. He then stopped, thinking that he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He decided he must have imagined it. Then he felt something grab him from behind, and his sight went black. The next day one of Tommy's friends came by the circus, looking for Tommy, to discover that they were packing up. he headed over to the wax museum to ask if they had seen Tommy anywhere. When he entered the Museum, he walked a few feet and stopped. There was a new sculpture in the exhibit. Of a young boy, around 9 years old. Tommy's friend approached the sculpture, a look of horror on his face. The sculpture looked exactly like Tommy, but when he reached out and touched it, he felt the cool, smooth surface of wax. [/quote]
I don't think i get it
[QUOTE=Kryptt;28715289]I don't think i get it[/QUOTE] I just re-read it and it wasn't very good. I replaced the story with a (hopefully) better one.
Just Eerie. [img]http://www.dumage.com/img/old/old-funny-and-weird-photos/old-funny-and-weird-photos09.jpg[/img] [editline]20th March 2011[/editline] [IMG]http://i51.tinypic.com/20hv90i.jpg[/IMG] [editline]20th March 2011[/editline] During my childhood my family was like a drop of water in a vast river, never remaining in one location for long. We settled in Rhode Island when I was eight, and there we remained until I went to college in Colorado Springs. Most of my memories are rooted in Rhode Island, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we had lived in when I was much younger. Most of these memories are unclear and pointless– chasing after another boy in the back yard of a house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on the creek behind the apartment we rented in Pennsylvania, and so on. But there is one set of memories which remains as clear as glass, as though they were just made yesterday. I often wonder whether these memories are simply lucid dreams produced by the long sickness I experienced that Spring, but in my heart, I know they are real. We were living in a house just outside the bustling metropolis of New Vineyard, Maine, population 643. It was a large structure, especially for a family of three. There were a number of rooms that I didn’t see in the five months we resided there. In some ways it was a waste of space, but it was the only house on the market at the time, at least within an hour’s commute to my father’s place of work. The day after my fifth birthday (attended by my parents alone), I came down with a fever. The doctor said I had mononucleosis, which meant no rough play and more fever for at least another three weeks. It was horrible timing to be bed-ridden– we were in the process of packing our things to move to Pennsylvania, and most of my things were already packed away in boxes, leaving my room barren. My mother brought me ginger ale and books several times a day, and these served the function of being my primary from of entertainment for the next few weeks. Boredom always loomed just around the corner, waiting to rear its ugly head and compound my misery. I don’t exactly recall how I met Mr. Widemouth. I think it was about a week after I was diagnosed with mono. My first memory of the small creature was asking him if he had a name. He told me to call him Mr. Widemouth, because his mouth was large. In fact, everything about him was large in comparison to his body– his head, his eyes, his crooked ears– but his mouth was by far the largest. “You look kind of like a Furby,” I said as he flipped through one of my books. Mr. Widemouth stopped and gave me a puzzled look. “Furby? What’s a Furby?” he asked. I shrugged. “You know… the toy. The little robot with the big ears. You can pet and feed them, almost like a real pet.” “Oh.” Mr. Widemouth resumed his activity. “You don’t need one of those. They aren’t the same as having a real friend.” I remember Mr. Widemouth disappearing every time my mother stopped by to check in on me. “I lay under your bed,” he later explained. “I don’t want your parents to see me because I’m afraid they won’t let us play anymore.” We didn’t do much during those first few days. Mr. Widemouth just looked at my books, fascinated by the stories and pictures they contained. The third or fourth morning after I met him, he greeted me with a large smile on his face. “I have a new game we can play,” he said. “We have to wait until after your mother comes to check on you, because she can’t see us play it. It’s a secret game.” After my mother delivered more books and soda at the usual time, Mr. Widemouth slipped out from under the bed and tugged my hand. “We have to go the the room at the end of this hallway,” he said. I objected at first, as my parents had forbidden me to leave my bed without their permission, but Mr. Widemouth persisted until I gave in. The room in question had no furniture or wallpaper. Its only distinguishing feature was a window opposite the doorway. Mr. Widemouth darted across the room and gave the window a firm push, flinging it open. He then beckoned me to look out at the ground below. We were on the second story of the house, but it was on a hill, and from this angle the drop was farther than two stories due to the incline. “I like to play pretend up here,” Mr. Widemouth explained. “I pretend that there is a big, soft trampoline below this window, and I jump. If you pretend hard enough you bounce back up like a feather. I want you to try.” I was a five-year-old with a fever, so only a hint of skepticism darted through my thoughts as I looked down and considered the possibility. “It’s a long drop,” I said. “But that’s all a part of the fun. It wouldn’t be fun if it was only a short drop. If it were that way you may as well just bounce on a real trampoline.” I toyed with the idea, picturing myself falling through thin air only to bounce back to the window on something unseen by human eyes. But the realist in me prevailed. “Maybe some other time,” I said. “I don’t know if I have enough imagination. I could get hurt.” Mr. Widemouth’s face contorted into a snarl, but only for a moment. Anger gave way to disappointment. “If you say so,” he said. He spent the rest of the day under my bed, quiet as a mouse. The following morning Mr. Widemouth arrived holding a small box. “I want to teach you how to juggle,” he said. “Here are some things you can use to practice, before I start giving you lessons.” I looked in the box. It was full of knives. “My parents will kill me!” I shouted, horrified that Mr. Widemouth had brought knives into my room– objects that my parents would never allow me to touch. “I’ll be spanked and grounded for a year!” Mr. Widemouth frowned. “It’s fun to juggle with these. I want you to try it.” I pushed the box away. “I can’t. I’ll get in trouble. Knives aren’t safe to just throw in the air.” Mr. Widemouth’s frown deepend into a scowl. He took the box of knives and slid under my bed, remaining there the rest of the day. I began to wonder how often he was under me. I started having trouble sleeping after that. Mr. Widemouth often woke me up at night, saying he put a real trampoline under the window, a big one, one that I couldn’t see in the dark. I always declined and tried to go back to sleep, but Mr. Widemouth persisted. Sometimes he stayed by my side until early in the morning, encouraging me to jump. He wasn’t so fun to play with anymore. My mother came to me one morning and told me I had her permission to walk around outside. She thought the fresh air would be good for me, especially after being confined to my room for so long. Exstatic, I put on my sneakers and trotted out to the back porch, yearning for the feeling of sun on my face. Mr. Widemouth was waiting for me. “I have something I want you to see,” he said. I must have given him a weird look, because he then said, “It’s safe, I promise.” I followed him to the beginning of a deer trail which ran through the woods behind the house. “This is an important path,” he explained. “I’ve had a lot of friends about your age. When they were ready, I took them down this path, to a special place. You aren’t ready yet, but one day, I hope to take you there.” I returned to the house, wondering what kind of place lay beyond that trail. Two weeks after I met Mr. Widemouth, the last load of our things had been packed into a moving truck. I would be in the cab of that truck, sitting next to my father for the long drive to Pennsylvania. I considered telling Mr. Widemouth that I would be leaving, but even at five years old, I was beginning to suspect that perhaps the creature’s intentions were not to my benefit, despite what he said otherwise. For this reason, I decided to keep my departure a secret. My father and I were in the truck at 4 a.m. He was hoping to make it to Pennyslvania by lunch time tomorrow with the help of an endless supply of coffee and a six-pack of energy drinks. He seemed more like a man who was about to run a marathon rather than one who was about to spend two days sitting still. “Early enough for you?” he asked. I nodded and placed my head against the window, hoping for some sleep before the sun came up. I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder. “This is the last move, son, I promise. I know it’s hard for you, as sick as you’ve been. Once daddy gets promoted we can settle down and you can make friends.” I opened my eyes as we backed out of the driveway. I saw Mr. Widemouth’s silouhette in my bedroom window. He stood motionless until the truck was about to turn onto the main road. He gave a pitiful little wave good-bye, steak knife in hand. I didn’t wave back. Years later, I returned to New Vineyard. The piece of land our house stood upon was empty except for the foundation, as the house burned down a few years after my family left. Out of curiosity, I followed the deer trail that Mr. Widemouth had shown me. Part of me expected him to jump out from behind a tree and scare the living bejeesus out of me, but I felt that Mr. Widemouth was gone, somehow tied to the house that no longer existed. The trail ended at the New Vineyard Memorial Cemetery. I noticed that many of the tombstones belonged to children. [editline]20th March 2011[/editline] ---------------------------------- New story 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={ABK}AbbySciuto;28709662][URL="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyperrealism_%28painting%29"]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyperrealism_%28painting%29[/URL] Then I did a Google Image Search for hyperrealism. :ohdear: That's some creepy shit.[/QUOTE] A hyperrealistic skeleton with hyperrealistic bones hyperrealistically popped out of a hyperrealistic closet with a hyperrealistic everything on to the hyperrealistic floor of your hyperrealistic house before hyperrealistically jumping up and doing a hyperrealistic dance hyperrealistically. THERE'S YOUR HYPERREALISM, FACEPUNCH, CAN WE PUT THE JOKE TO BED NOW?
[QUOTE=Archonet;28719527]A hyperrealistic skeleton with hyperrealistic bones hyperrealitically popped out of a hyperrealistic closet with a hyperrealistic everything on to the hyperrealistic floor of your hyperrealistic house before hyperrealistically jumping up and doing a hyperrealistic dance hyperrealistically. THERE'S YOUR HYPERREALISM, FACEPUNCH, CAN WE PUT THE JOKE TO BED NOW?[/QUOTE] No, it has to be a hyper realistic bed.
And then a skeleton popped out.
Does anybody have that one story of the guy who shared an apartment or something with a roommate, but it turns out the roommate was crazy and stored massive piles of (literal) shit in his bathtub or something? The main guy split the place into 2 then left the guy alone, then ventured in to find garbage bags of poop everywhere or something. Does anybody have it? I feel like reading it again.
[QUOTE=ExplodingGuy;28719602]And then a skeleton popped out.[/QUOTE] A hyper-reali-... Not again, good sir, not again :colbert: [editline]20th March 2011[/editline] [quote=marnetmar;28719588]no, it has to be a hyper realistic bed.[/quote] GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
[QUOTE=Archonet;28719527]A hyperrealistic skeleton with hyperrealistic bones hyperrealistically popped out of a hyperrealistic closet with a hyperrealistic everything on to the hyperrealistic floor of your hyperrealistic house before hyperrealistically jumping up and doing a hyperrealistic dance hyperrealistically. THERE'S YOUR HYPERREALISM, FACEPUNCH, CAN WE PUT THE JOKE TO BED NOW?[/QUOTE] But you didn't do the Image search, did you?
[QUOTE={ABK}AbbySciuto;28720759]But you didn't do the Image search, did you?[/QUOTE] ... :what:
[QUOTE=Archonet;28728116]... :what:[/QUOTE] I was a little buzzed when I posted that. Now that I read it it doesn't make sense.
Do you know LittleBigPlanet, the game with cute sackpeople? Apparently it was delayed because of some controversial lyrics. Well, that's not truly the case. I had this game on preorder, and it arrived to me before the delay was even announced. That day I was awoken by a doorbell. It was the UPS, with my LBP disk! I was so happy! My little sister wanted to play the game so much, so she started up the PS3. I went to get myself a drink. When I came back, she was already watching the intro. Then the first level came up. At first, it all was normal, but then [sp]a skeleton popped out[/sp] I noticed that something was off.. The King sounded differently. Perhaps, more worried. And the queen wasn't there.. We went though the first level, and things were weird.. The game was getting darker. The king said twisted things. The queen was missing. We finally unlocked the create moon. But except for Stephen Fry's tutorial we only heard faint crying. There already was a level on the moon, so we decided to check it out. It was a perfect replica of the house we lived in. It even had cutouts of me and my sister playing. I was scared, all parts of my brain were screaming "TURN IT OFF", but curiosity got the hold of me. I started to mess with the level.. I decided to set my sister's cutout on fire. What I heard next was the most painful thing I ever saw and heard. My sister was screaming.. She was burning.. In a mater of seconds my sister vanished.. I knew that you could undo in LBP, so I tried it. I woke up in cold sweat. It was all a nightmare. But the thing is.. I don't have a sister anymore. Heh, my first attempt at creepypasta. Although I fucked up the ending. Also, the ending is basically that the guy removed his sister from the universe. Alternative ending by swampie [QUOTE=swampie;28729687]Do you know LittleBigPlanet, the game with cute sackpeople? Apparently it was delayed because of some controversial lyrics. Well, that's not truly the case. I had this game on preorder, and it arrived to me before the delay was even announced. That day I was awoken by a doorbell. It was the UPS, with my LBP disk! I was so happy! My little sister wanted to play the game so much, so she started up the PS3. I went to get myself a drink. When I came back, she was already watching the intro. Then the first level came up. At first, it all was normal, but then a skeleton popped out I noticed that something was off.. The King sounded differently. Perhaps, more worried. And the queen wasn't there.. We went though the first level, and things were weird.. The game was getting darker. The king said twisted things. The queen was missing. We finally unlocked the create moon. But except for Stephen Fry's tutorial we only heard faint crying. There already was a level on the moon, so we decided to check it out. It was a perfect replica of the house we lived in. It even had cutouts of me and my sister playing. I was scared, all parts of my brain were screaming "TURN IT OFF", but curiosity got the hold of me. I started to mess with the level.. I decided to set my sister's cutout on fire. What I heard next was the most painful thing I ever saw and heard. My sister was screaming.. She was burning.. In a mater of seconds my sister had exploded into a flaming ball of fire, she ran around the room screaming as she slowly burned, i was so scared all i could do was sit and watch. after a few minuets all that was left was a small pile of ash. since that day i have never played the copy, it sits in my shelf mocking me every day... [/QUOTE]
A bit cliched with the whole "I knew it was bad but I couldn't stop." and "It kept getting darker and I could hear screaming." and "It was my family in the game."
what's this about hypoglycemic fruit
[QUOTE=daijitsu;28730018]what's this about hypoglycemic fruit[/QUOTE] :smile:
[QUOTE=A big fat ass;28719655]Does anybody have that one story of the guy who shared an apartment or something with a roommate, but it turns out the roommate was crazy and stored massive piles of (literal) shit in his bathtub or something? The main guy split the place into 2 then left the guy alone, then ventured in to find garbage bags of poop everywhere or something. Does anybody have it? I feel like reading it again.[/QUOTE] [url=http://www.wyseguys.com/blog/articles/shitty_roommate_1.aspx]Link[/url] Which was built from the Something Awful thread.
This might get Clocked to oblivion, but does anyone remember that Wyoming Incident story? (It never really happened.) [quote]The Wyoming Incident (or The Wyoming Hijacking) is a lesser known case of television broadcast hijacking/hacking. A hacker managed to interrupt broadcasts from a local programming channel (believed to serve several smaller communities in the county of Niobrara) and aired his/her own video. The video contained numerous clips of disembodied, human heads showing various emotions and "poses". The camera position changed often (usually every ten-to-fifteen seconds) and the video was often interrupted by a "SPECIAL PRESENTATION" announcement. This clip is taken from one of these intervals. The video is mostly locally well-known, and would probably not even be that popular if it were not for the effects it had on the few residents who watched it for an extended period of time. Complaints included vomiting, hallucinations, headaches, etc. While some believed it was paranormal, specialists have determined that the cause of these afflictions were frequencies played regularly throughout the broadcast. In this clip, the frequency being played is somewhere between 17 and 19 hz. This range of frequency, when played for long periods of time, causes the eyes to subtly vibrate, sometimes inducing visual hallucinations. This video is significant in that is one of the most recent television hijackings. Such actions were rare even in the '80s (search for Chicago Max Headroom Incident) and are even more rare today. The hacker has not yet been caught, and all attempts to trace the video have proven futile. [/quote] This is a video created based on the story: [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IBHkW0aKHRc [/media]
[QUOTE=Kogitsune;28730317][url=http://www.wyseguys.com/blog/articles/shitty_roommate_1.aspx]Link[/url] Which was built from the Something Awful thread.[/QUOTE] [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6C9RBMCJOY[/media]
[QUOTE=JCDentonUNATCO;28736931][media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6C9RBMCJOY[/media][/QUOTE] What
[QUOTE=ElGrego;28737220]What[/QUOTE] It's related to the story that I linked.
[QUOTE=Elecbullet;28703733]Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Fuck him. Every fucking short story he ever wrote about Sherlock Holmes is like this And he goes off and explains it in detail. Fucking every story![/QUOTE] No it's more like [quote=Arthur Conan Doyle][i]Random client walks it[/i] [b]Holmes:[/b] *random set of observations about person* [b]Client[/b] [i]*shocked*[/i] But how did you know any of that?!? [b]Holmes:[/b] Simply elementary! Now bugger off so I can do some crack and play the violin.[/quote]
[QUOTE=Capitulazyguy;28713257]Those are some lovely melons.[/QUOTE] "Was your father a farmer? Because you've sure grown some lovely melons" :3:
[QUOTE=Ven Kaeo;28677388]Was just outside walking the dogs (Right now I'm living in a developed community in Central Florida). Right now, it's that level of night where it's light enough to see, but dark enough that it obstructs your vision enough for you to have to squint to make out details. Darker than twilight. In the house I'm staying in, there's a small paved road one lane, for community golf cart type maintenance vehicles, bikes, and foot traffic) behind the house that goes downhill and splits into two directions at a lift station. To the right is a mulch path that goes to a pavilion and a boardwalk that goes out to a gazebo over the lake. To the left is a concrete sidewalk type path that edges the forest and goes around the community. Standing about halfway between the house and the lift station with one of the dogs (I'd assume around 60 feet or so) I glance to the left path and see a small blotch of white. I focus on it, and it disappears almost instantly. I glance away, and as soon as that area is in my peripheral vision, the white blotch appears again. Off white, a little grey because of the night, but very white nonetheless. Every time I look right at it, it disappears, and when I glance away it reappears again. I started to get a bit freaked out, so I urged the dog to do its business then went on my way. A little ways back up the road, I glance behind me and see that the blotch has moved up to the lift station. Thoroughly distressed now I start walking backwards up the hill, keeping my eye on the blotch so it disappears. :wtc:[/QUOTE] That happens to me all the time, except i'm always in my house when it happens [editline]22nd March 2011[/editline] [QUOTE=Aurora93;28683773]You know what's fucking creepy? Anti-piracy screens and general error screens for consoles in general. [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tM_YijO3uxI[/media] Tell me something isn't uneasy about those screens.[/QUOTE] [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MU9EYSalLjQ[/media] God of all creepy hidden screens
My friend's daughter wrote a story on the laptop and I think you should all read this amazing story. [QUOTE] THE GHOST OF SALLY BIRCHER It was 5:00 o’clock in the morning and Danny was asleep “BANG!” Danny woke up and saw a shadow... Danny just ignored the shadow and went back to sleep. Morning came and the alarm clock went off at 8:00 o’clock. Danny found a note in old fashioned writing saying “iy amm goingg too haunt yoo tyll yoo goo too a differentt housse so yoo better moove fasst ore ellse. So Danny jumped out of bed and ran down to show his mum and dad but the note had vanished.... Danny said “I wonder what that was”. Danny wanted to go out side but he did some research about ghosts and it came up with sally Bircher and Danny printed a picture of her. Later that night the shadow came back and was in Danny room and Danny asked her for her name and the shadow replied saying on a note “I can not speak I have too right it on a notee”Danny said “why do you need to write notes instead of speaking” the shadow writ another note saying “I cannot speakk soo I have to write notes.”Danny said “what is your name and the shadow wrote a note again saying “sally Bircher thatt ise my namee”... “Why are you here and what do you want.” Sally wrote another note “beacusee iy died in thiss housee ande myy husband killd himself.” “So that is why you are haunting our house.” [/QUOTE]
[QUOTE=a-cookie;28763200]My friend's daughter wrote a story on the laptop and I think you should all read this amazing story.[/QUOTE] That may have been the scariest story I've ever read.
[QUOTE=JCDentonUNATCO;28736931][media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6C9RBMCJOY[/media][/QUOTE] lmao that movie was so bad
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