• Generally just Fucking Creepy Stuff-Thread
    5,002 replies, posted
Oh god I can't fall asleep now Why did I have to look at this thread
Here's a bunch of Zdzislaw Beksinski's creepy pictures. Enjoy! Sample: [IMG]http://a.imageshack.us/img838/8695/paintingszdzislawbeksin.jpg[/IMG] LINK: [url]http://www.megaupload.com/?d=Z7QFHBWV[/url]
You're not dieing today thread! [quote]I go to this semi-rural college in Western Pennsylvania, and like any school is in this country, it has its fair share of ghost rumors. There's the ghost of Emma that haunts the theater, the unnamed ghost that haunts the older dorms, the hundreds of dead bodies at the end of the pond, etc. But those are all so played up (even by the administration) that they're rather hard to believe. However, every once in a while, you'll hear about the ghost that roams a tunnel on our campus. It goes between the aforementioned theater and one of the older buildings that has some dorms in it, but is mostly used for its banquet hall. Anyways, this ghost rumor is heard rarely, at best. Most students couldn't even tell you that fucking tunnel exists. But a few of my friends and I got wind of the tunnel from one of the people that live in the one building at the end of it. Found it while he was exploring. He got scared of some noise and got the fuck out of there and didn't go back. A few days after he told us about it, I ran into one of the older maintenance guys that had been around the campus a while, and he confirmed the tunnel's existence. Only adding "I wouldn't go down there. At least not without the turning the lights on." So, one night, my friends and I got a little baked and decided to make a run down the tunnel... with the lights out. Just to make sure no one got hurt, we drew straws, and whoever got the short straw would do the run while the rest of waited. We checked out a camera that had night vision from the tech kids, and borrowed some walkie talkies from my one friend's parents who live a half hour from the school. There were five us, so two would wait at either end of the tunnel (entering through the respective building) and the one would do a run with the camera. If anything went wrong we'd use the walkie talkies. Myself being fat and lazy, I made damn sure I got a long straw, and so my friend Jeff ended up making the run. When we got down to the tunnel, it was pitch fucking dark and smelled of cat piss. No idea why. Jeff started on my end, where the light switch was (well not so much a switch, but a giant fucking lever on a fusebox, you know the kind). We tested the walkie talkies and all went silent. Jeff counted to three under his breath and took off. We turned our flashlights in the opposite directions of the tunnel so we could see if anyone was coming and to make sure that the night vision on the cam stayed effective. We heard Jeff's footsteps for a good minute before they faded completely. And then we waited for the call that Jeff had made it. We waited what felt like for fucking ever. Then all of a sudden a voice came over the walkie talkie. It was the other "team." "Hey, did Jeff leave yet? We're fucking bored as piss over here." I checked my watch, Jeff had left almost an hour ago. "Dude, Jeff left an hour ago, I thought you were fucking with us." "What the fuck are you talking about? Hit the switch and as soon as we see the lights, meet us halfway down the tunnel." It took a minute for the lever to cooperate, whatever this tunnel had been used for obviously hadn't needed done in some time, and the lever was quite rusty. Once I got the damn thing to flip it took a moment for the things to buzz all the way on and a few seconds later we heard the walkie talkies again. "Alright, we got light, start running." The tunnel couldn't have been more than 400-450 yards long, and the entire way down there wasn't a single ladder, sewer grate, door, or other way out of the tunnel other than heading down to other building. After a few moments of jogging, I could hear the other team coming up to us. Just as I was about to call out to them, I tripped. I was a little dizzy from hitting the concrete, but it only took me a few seconds to come back and realize what I had tripped on. It was that fucking camera. What was left of it at least. The lens was missing, and the handle was busted off, the viewfinder was cracked, and the flip-out screen was hanging on by wires. "Where the fuck is Jeff? Where's his walkie talkie?" That's all we kept asking each other until I finally stood up, stuffed what was left of the camera in my bag and said "Fuck it, we need to get out of here, we'll call his phone when we get outside and see where he was." (Since the tunnel was on the other side of campus from the newer buildings, we drove and left our phones in the car). Sixty. Seven. Fucking. Calls. We called him a total of 67 mother fucking times and couldn't find him. That was a week ago. We had called even more times since then. God knows how many times. His room mate won't stop texting me. God, I'm so scared of where he is. It gets freakier though, the SD card in the camera wasn't in there when I got back to my dorm and checked it. Today, I got an email that I had a package in the mailroom. When I opened it, all that was in there was Jeff's phone, the SD card, and note that said "I wouldn't watch that." His phone stopped counting at 99, and mixed in were calls from his girlfriend back home, his mom, and countless texts. I couldn't go through them. He still has to be out there. I know I shouldn't watch what's on the card, but I need to find out where he is. I'm so scared right now. I finished watching what was on that fucking card. I'm so fucking scared. As soon as it was over the light in my room went out. It's been flickering for a few days now, so it's probably just coincidence. What is concerning is that at the end of the tape I could have sworn the side of the janitor's face is in the third to last frame. I must've frozen it twenty times and that has to be him. It fucking has to be. Even more is concerning than that is the noise coming from my ceiling. Like someone is stomping up there. When I lived on the third floor that was common. But I'm on the fourth floor now. There's nothing between here and the roof but maybe 3 feet of space with some ventilation systems and cables and whatnot. The stomping won't stop. Make it fucking stop. Jeff's phone just texted mine a minute ago. I left it in the living room. So I thought it was my room mate, but he went home for the weekend. He won't be back til tomorrow. The door is shut and locks automatically. I went to the living room and the fucking phone is gone. I called it three times. On the third time it picked up. I heard breathing and then it hung up. I texted the other guys but they won't respond. Oh, god what am I going to do? I tried to go outside for a cigarette to calm myself down but the door won't open. No matter how much force I put on the handle it won't swing. I'm pretty sure I'm losing my mind. Jeff's phone is calling me. I wish I'd never started telling you guys this story. I wish I'd never gotten the email about the package. I wish I'd never gotten curious and opened the card on my computer. And most of all I wish there was more than breathing coming through my phone. Holy fuck. The counter isn't running. I picked up the phone and it immediately hung up and I didn't notice til now. The breathing is in my ear. I can see his reflection in the screen. He knows this is the last thing I'll ever type so he's letting me finish. Never go down that fucking tunnel. Never disregard an old man's advice.[/quote] [editline]03:28PM[/editline] Have another. [quote]When I was in Grade 9, I went to school in Hong Kong. For our annual trip we went over to Thailand, some rural little camp ground with dorms. Every year my school went to this particular camp, because it was conveniently located for the activities that the school annually planned. However, those students in higher grades always said that the dorm 4-D was haunted. As luck would have it, I was assigned to dorm 4-D with 7 other classmates. When we arrived on the first day, shit was pretty fine. We did some hiking, rock-climbing, your standard outdoor camp bullshit. During our free-time period, I was pretty worn out. I'm not much of a physically active person, so I decided to head back to my dorm and finish off my Harry Potter books. I was reading quietly by myself, when suddenly in the corner of my eye, I could swear that I saw someone peering through the window of the dorm. As soon as I glanced up however, the figure vanished. However, the shrubs just outside the window were still slightly rustling, almost like who- or what- ever it was had just taken off (cont.) I disregarded it as some noob who was just being overly curious, so I continued reading my books. After us kids had dinner, we all headed back to ours dorms and started fooling around. We were sitting in the common area, playing cards and shit. It was rather late, I'd say around 11:00 PM by now, so it was past curfew time. Teachers were going round to check that people were in their dorms, and it was lights out at 12:00. As we were playing cards, all of us thought we could hear someone faintly humming, a high pitched voice - like a kids voice, coming from the bathroom. If you'd ever tried talking aloud in the bathroom, you'll know that your voice sort of echoes, well, the humming voice had that kind of effect, so we thought it was coming from the bathroom. I went to check the bathroom, but there was nothing there. As soon as I came within say, 15 feet of the door, the voice would stop. Freaky, I thought, but as we were all in a big group of 8, we weren't that worried. So, after lights out, we were all pretty much burnt out. We all decided to turn in. This is when the shit really started to go down. It was going on to about 12:45 when I heard a startled yell coming from the other bedroom. I rushed out my door with Andrew, my bunk mate, and we bumped into all the other guys in the dorm. They were all peeping out their rooms at the same time. The guys in Room 2 were looking really panicked. We asked them what was wrong, and Steve, one of the dudes said that he saw a figure in a long red gown walk briskly past the open doorway, as he was lying there in the dark trying to go to sleep. Obviously, we found no such figure in the room. Now, Steve was a big, athletic guy. Around 62 at the time of the incident, he's always the hard ass when it comes to sports, and really outgoing. It was pretty freaky for him to be the one getting scared like that, so we were all pretty unsettled. Coming around 2:00, we all were suddenly startled again that we all ran out and met in the common area. It seems like there was some maniacal laughter coming from the corridor outside, and there was a clanging like there was someone holding something metallic and banging it against the walls. The noise seemed to come closer to our door, louder and louder, and it suddenly stopped. By this time, we were ready to bail, pretty fucking scared. We all decided to pull up all our bed sheets, clear the living area, and camp as a whole group in the middle of the dorm. It wasn't until 4am that some weird shit went down again. We were all pretty much passed out by this point, but we were all awoken by a strange thumping sound that seemed to come from the roof. It was almost as if someon was walking on the roof, because the thumps went from above my room, to above the 2nd room, and down to the third and then the fourth rooms. We decided to head outside to see if we could see anything on the roof. Grabbing our flashlights and phones, we went out as a bunch. First, we checked the roof. Nothing. We went around to check if there was anything that could lead up to the roof, that someone could climb. We found a large drain pipe that was running alongside the window where I thought I saw the figure. However, it didn't really have enough foothold for anyone to climb. I did notice something strange though. The window where I thought I saw the figure was really really dirty. However, there was a strange set of five lines, almost as if someone had dragged their hand down the window, displacing some of the dirt. Also, the drain pipe had caused the ground around the window to be fairly damp and muddy. Anyone who had been there would have left prints or marks of some sort. I did not see any prints other than my own, which struck me as strange. We decided to head back to our room, and tell the teachers about it when we next saw them. However, when we got there, we saw the most freaky shit of all. All of our bedsheets that we had removed and gathered in the middle of the room had been pulled towards the bathroom. It seemed as if they had been pulled halfway through the bathroom door, then the door had been closed on the sheets, leaving them caught in the door. Freaked out beyond belief by this point, we decided to have shifts between the 8 of us, as we had to burn more hours until 8 AM, when we could head out for breakfast. This we did, and for the rest of the night it seemed fine. The next day, we met the teachers in the cafeteria, and we told them of what happened the night before. The teachers listened patiently, understanding from the seriousness of our faces that we were not kidding around. One of the teachers, a Mr. Benton, said that he heard faint banging and stomping sounds coming from the direction of our dorm. Another, Mrs. Westwood, said that she thought several times in the night that a figure was walking outside her window. It was agreed that we all move to a different location, and later on that day we boarded a bus to go to a different camp site. Before leaving, me and Steve went to talk to the caretaker of the camp ground, and asked him about the peculiar events. What he told us freaked us out big time. He said that a little girl had been playing around and she saw the big drain pipe leading up to the roof. She climbed the drain pipe, and got up on the roof. The roof however, was slanted, and wet, from the rain and humidity (Thailand is very tropical). She slipped, fell, and broke her neck, landing right outside the window where I thought I saw the figure. Her mother, one of the maintenance staff at the time, was so distressed that she went near insane, locking herself in the bathroom and humming incoherently for a whole day. Then, around 3AM the same night, she ran, laughing hysterically through the corridor, climbed the roof up the same pipe, and jumped, killing herself in the process. That's the first and hopefully last time I go to Thailand.[/quote]
I remember those stories. Pretty creepy.
I keep finding more good ones, I'll post as long as I do, lemme know if I'm late though. [quote]From: —— @ —— .com Re: entries/information requested re: compiling psychological profile Written below are the journal entries of Christopher Young, brother of Daryl Young, found saved as individual files on his personal computer, with file names Prologue.doc, Ch1.doc, Ch2.doc, etc. Apart from being compiled into one document, they have not been altered in any way. — Prologue Two weeks later, there was a sound. There was a humming. It came from that place on the carpet, the spot near the corner. His spot. Ch 1 I’m getting concerned. I guess I was a bit distracted before, but my mind is clear now. They’re gone, and I am frankly growing more concerned by the minute. A chalk-white amorphous thing. A hideous, absolutely hideous thing. I saw it. I saw it on the rug, and it scared me. It looked at me, grinning with half-formed white eyes filmed over. It writhed towards me. A heat, some sort of sickening heat radiated from it, and it saw my disgust and thrived upon it. I had hoped it would live in one of the closets, but it was content to ooze about my home, leaving trails as it went. I am quite sure that if I had not put the towel under the bathroom door it would have tried to come in and join me while I bathed myself. Ch 2 Today it has appendages. I am not sure if they existed before, but now they most certainly do. It has two, with one on either side, and it crawls haphazardly along like some sort of horrid lopsided insect. It tried to follow me out through the door, but I kicked it and it did not try any longer. It thumps around as I try to sleep, dragging its body everywhere and leaving residue all over the house. I took my cat to Daryl’s. The thing didn’t follow me. I’m glad. It may get me, but it will not get my cat. Ch 3 It now has four appendages and is beginning to form a skull-like dome under its pulsing skin. It has a mouth, a crooked little mouth, and I am afraid it will begin to make sounds at me. Three of the appendages are longer than the fourth, so it mostly wobbles around in crooked little circles. It is getting bigger, and it never stops changing. I was hoping it would stay and become some sort of indiscernible monster, but now I am sure that it is becoming a person, or at the very least something similar. I would like to kill it. I wonder if I could. Ch 4 The appendages are even now. It’s disgusting, with abhorrent little limbs forming perfectly. They’re currently flippers and nubs, cartilage and bright blue veins under translucent white skin. It sits and stares at me as the cat did, but instead of curiosity it looks on with a hunger and a disquieting energy. Just as the cat’s did, however, its eyes reflect the slightest light in the darkness. They’re omnipresent and wide and green and yellow as I try to sleep. The eyes are not (yet?) the same size, which only serves to make the thing more unnerving. Ch 5 It sits at the top of the stairs, waiting for me, smiling down at me with crooked reflective eyes and a small mouth full of small black teeth. My bedroom is upstairs. I am afraid to go up. It also has hands and feet now; the nubs gave way to small, slender fingers and toes. It is beginning to walk and climb about, and there are small white hand prints smudged on all of the doorknobs. I think at this point towels will do me no good. Ch 6 It can open doors. I’m sure of it now. It’s androgynous in anatomy, but for him I think it male. It still smiles at me and stares, but says nothing. A small mercy. Ch 7 Last night I picked up a favorite old anthology and decided to read it while resting in the rocking chair next to my bedroom window. In response, the accursed thing stood in my doorway, leering at me, intent to ruin any escape. It succeeded. Frustration and fear gave way to rage, and I pushed up the window, ripped a hole in the screen, and flung the book outside into the night. The thing ventured down the stairs, in and out the front door, and brought the book back- an arm snaking against and over the arm of my chair, depositing the small book in my lap, complete with bony hand print. That was the closest it had ever gotten to me. I became frightened. I stared at the thing and then tossed the old book to the carpet. To think; to only have to deal with a beating beneath the floorboards! This thing mocked me and tormented me and lived and breathed and watched. It looked at the book for a moment, then curled up in the corner and stared at me, large uneven eyes with skin pulled back around. It stared at me and smiled with its little teeth. Ch 8 The thing has started polluting my food or hiding it or both, and I found that shampoo burns my scalp and razors jut from the pages of my books. No longer content to mull around and lurk in corners, it is now actively making my life miserable. Ch 9 Eventually, I had no choice but to venture out to the local supermarket and replace my now useless toiletries and food. I had become accustomed to it staying at my home, content to violate my private space, but I always held a suspicion it would begin to follow me. My fear was confirmed. I drove to the store, did my shopping, and checked out. Nothing unusual happened. I walked outside. Nothing! I approached my car and believed to have seen it, but had not. I then glanced up and saw it. It was far away. I do not know if it was making an attempt to hide, but it was there; it was there, looking at me, half-hidden behind a tree. Our eyes met, and I shivered. It appeared pleased, then it crawled its thin body back behind the tree, paused, and stuck its head out to continue watching me. The eyes were even, but they seemed to be getting larger, and darker, and more vacant; even from the distance between the two of us they stood out much against the bleached skin that surrounded them. It smiled, but showed no teeth. I suppose it did not want to show them in public. I wondered what it had planned for me. I blinked and it was gone. I paused for a moment, worried it would appear somewhere closer, but nothing happened. I then packed up the groceries and returned home. I stopped, retrieved my mail, pulled up, parked, got out, glanced up, and a light happened to catch my eye; I saw a foreign light my bedroom window. Faintly silhouetted against my window was the thing, staring intently down at me, shuddering against the glass, violating my room. I’m sure it had been watching the entire time, waiting for me to notice. In silhouette it looked so much like a person now, though was really little more than a lumpy childlike skeleton with enormous dark eyes. If I killed it, would the authorities come back and blame me for killing a person, I wondered? I wondered. I wondered if it would try to snake a hand through the hole in the screen and reach for me. Ch 11 Last night I sat on the couch flipping channels, desperate for any distraction or escape. The phone was next to me, but I was too afraid to call anyone for help, lest what happened before be found out. It must be said, though, that the pressure was becoming unbearable. It sat in his corner again, sat in a sphinx-like position despite looking so human now, and just as I hit the one channel with static for the umpteenth time the thing in the corner began to whisper. I ignored it and changed the channel, hoping it would shut up. Its whispering merely grew in speed and intensity, and while it did not move, its eyes reflected the television screen and widened and its small chest heaved as it rattled off. I turned up the volume and began flipping rapidly, infomercial then sports channel then a cartoon, then suddenly his face was on the screen, tongue lolling out and blue face gasping for air and mercy and the thing was in front of me and in front of the television, facing me, gibbering and staring and I screamed over it and the television and the room went dark Ch 12 This is too much, and I understand now the extent of blind terror the idea of certain death instinctively brings about in people. I have known the thrill of killing and the fear of being caught, but neither the idea of retribution nor of my life itself ending were ever real to me. The mere thought of this thing, however, drives a black and bleak and cold and nearly unbearable fear to my core, let alone the feeling that I get when I feel it mulling about my room at night or when I awake to find small bruises, cuts, and white chalky smudges on my person. I want to kill it, but I don’t know what would happen if I tried. I don’t know what to do. Ch 13 I’ll say it here. Maybe it will help. It has been a while, but I killed him. It’s all clean, but I did it. He looked at me and looked at me and looked at me and would not stop. I should have known he would never stop. I knocked him down and strangled him until his throat collapsed under my thumbs and I dumped the body somewhere far away. At first I had nightmares about him screaming then wheezing then his eyes and skin bursting like blood and confetti. I had them every night. Then the police left, and I was left to read in my warm bed with my cat sleeping alongside me or pawing at the pages. The investigation ceased, the nightmares ceased, and I was at peace. Then the humming started. The humming and the warmth all over and I can see its reflection in my computer monitor Ch 14 My home, my bed, my person, and now my dreams. I’m having nightmares again, but they’re much, much worse. In my dreams it’s there. It has no eyes, but it stands tall and with its wide mouth and talks to me and laughs at me and screams and looks ready to devour me. Sometimes I understand its words and sometimes they’re incomprehensible, but whenever I wake up I cannot remember their precise nature. The dreams feel dark and hot and cramped and I wonder if anything worse could possibly happen to me if I die. I wonder if it would depend on if it killed me or if someone else did. Ch 15 Maybe I will do it. I have a pistol in a box in my bedroom closet, and if I were to fling the thing from its watching place down the stairs it would give me enough time to run and grab the gun. I just wouldn’t be sure who to use it on. I have worried about the thing reading these entries and figuring out my intentions, but I have not seen any evidence of it examining the keyboard or monitor. I comfort myself in regards to this matter by believing that its form of comprehension is much too primal and hunger-driven to allow for much complex thought. Maybe I’m a fool. Maybe it knows everything. Regardless, it’s in my dreams and my brain and every waking moment and I am determined to end it. Ch 16 I found my solution. I purchased a shotgun. If we’re both within range when I pull the trigger, it should do the trick. Wish me luck. Ch 17 Why didn’t I die Why didn’t it die Ch 18 I don’t understand I cleaned the carpet after before but now it’s soaked with blood I wonder if with the way my head is, looking at it is like a mirror because I bled like a person and the thing bled black and it’s all everywhere and I haven’t looked in the mirror but I blasted half of its skull off and there’re bits of red and blue flesh everywhere and it’s still looking at me leering at me smiling at me spurting and bleeding at me the keyboard is covered in my blood and I don’t know how long I can keep this up I only have one idea left I think I am going to go far away. —- Written above are the journal entries of Christopher Young, found dead in a rock quarry next to the mutilated, partially decomposed, and recently moved remains of Shaun Dawes, his young neighbor and (former) friend. Dawes’s death was one of head trauma followed by strangulation, but Young’s cause of death is as of yet undetermined, though he was malnourished and his hygienic state was in vast disrepair. In fact, thanks to his physical and mental state leading up to his death, it is uncertain how he managed to drive the relatively great length from his home to the quarry in which he ended up. It is also worth mentioning that neither fresh blood nor any of the firearms Young mentions in his writing were found in his home; all our forensics team found were older traces on the carpet and mantle corner that likely belonged to Dawes. We’re currently probing autopsy reports for any information they can provide on Young’s mental health from Dawes’s death onward and requesting further investigation by every department involved. All we have to go on in regards to Young apart from his cadaver’s physical state and these entries is virtually nil; as of my writing this, we haven’t come up with a single witness or piece of evidence outside of what I mentioned above, apart from an interview with “Daryl”, Christopher’s brother. To be frank with you, even said interview with was fruitless; he was distraught at the death of his younger brother, but said that Young seemed perfectly content and had claimed he was going on a vacation and that his cat would only need to be taken care of for about a week minimum. The two bodies were found five days later in the quarry, meaning that if the older of the Young brothers is being truthful (and isn’t afflicted with his brother’s psychosis), Young’s physical and mental deterioration happened much more quickly than we had first assumed, and much more quickly than should have been possible. I’ll keep you updated as we learn more, of course. It’s all very strange. Thanks for the help. Yours Truly, —– —– —— Police Department [/quote]
On the last page I mentioned my house being haunted. Well I'm not compleatly sure that the house isn't haunted yet. the basement has been giving me creeps since we first moved here. [IMG_thumb]http://i37.tinypic.com/w0p5jo.jpg[/IMG_thumb] It was light as I could get it without turning on the flash, and if I turned on the flash ,it would have made false "eyes"
[quote]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 thier 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." [/quote]
[QUOTE=yuki;23045994][URL]http://www.angelfire.com/trek/caver/[/URL][/QUOTE] :smithicide: [editline]08:54PM[/editline] [quote=caulo32;24331450] [URL="http://www.facepunch.com/#"]view youtube video[/URL] [URL]http://youtube.com/watch?v=er6rzckeg8y[/URL] i fucking died[/quote] FUcking faCADE HOLY SHIT DAMMIT
Here, have another. [quote]My neighbor was a Mexican, a man who bore a striking resemblance to Carlos Mencia. I never really got his name, and he never argued when I called him Carlos so I assume it was his name. I doubt he was the actual celebrity though, because he would often come over and watch him with me and say, "Damn, I hope I meet him someday." Aside from watching TV shows and playing Guitar Hero every once in awhile, Carlos and I kept to our own apartments. He stayed in his side, and I stayed on my side across the hall. The one ritual we always had was to watch football together on Monday night. Tonight was going to be my homeboy Patriots vs his retarded Bears. I was really looking forward to this, just getting back from the Sunset Mart down the street with a bag of sour-cream-and-onion chips and a 6pack. Usually he was in my apartment, eating my pizza and waiting for me to sit down. As I entered, I noticed Carlos was not in his spot. I turned around and knocked on his apartment door. It swung open so suddenly that my hand shattered a dozen chips inside the bag from my squeezing. Carlos was inside, sweaty faced and babbling in that Mencia-like voice of his. Some spanish or other. "I need help, amigo! El Diablo (something in Spanish) in my motherfucking TV!" I was not a man to be afraid of anything. Over time, I had gotten into the spirit of being able to beat the shit out of anything that could frighten me. Carlos kept babbling in Spanish, shouting about his TV. Tossing the chips back into my apartment, I walked into his room. The TV was a good 35-inch flatscreen. How he afforded this shiny toy, I'll never know. It struck me to ask him why the hell we didn't use his place for football instead, but he was panicking like a little girl and probably would get mad. "What the hell is wrong?" I said in a more uncaring tone then I meant. Carlos was behind the couch, looking at his TV over the rim. In his eyes was the look of a man who had just experienced something terrible. The murder of his girlfriend. A family member burned alive. Something not right. This wasn't something caused by a scary movie. "I told you, amigo, El Diablo inside my TV!" he was almost on the verge of tears. Shaking. What the hell had he seen? "What exactly did you see?" I asked finally, giving him the attention he probably deserved. He crouched down behind the couch, hugging his knees to his chest. Rocking back and forth. Like a child watching his first Freddy Kreuger movie. Finally he spoke. "On the X-files. I watched it years ago. There was an episode of some creature...that mutated in the sewer. It had a face that sucked the life out of people. It was so white...so nasty..." he paused to wipe a few tears from his eyes. "I swear to god and diablo that I just saw it there, looking at me. Like it was coming for me next." Ah, I knew what he was talking about. The Flukeman. I'd be damned if I said that creature didn't give me chills when I first saw it too. Like a human with no limbs, but a gigantic sucker face. It would inject tapeworms into someone's body and have it exit orally. Pretty nasty shit. I could see why he was freaked out. "Hey, man," I started consolingly. "I saw that episode too. I know, it was some pretty freaky shit. Don't worry dude, you're a tough-ass Mexican. You can handle this shit." He wasn't looking at me though. He was looking past me, eyes frozen in place. I turned to look as well. All I saw behind me was his bathroom with a shitty mirror covered in toothpaste stains. Carlos suddenly let out a blood-curdling shreik. This wasn't some stupid yelp, this was a long, rasping scream that rattled my bones. I'd never heard anyone scream that way before. In half a second he was on his feet, running away like a man possessed. He didn't even stop to look where he was going. The idiot fucking crashed through my door, stumbling onto my floor. The only light on in there was my TV, casting an eerie luminescence over his face. I'll never forget that look on his face. Pure, repulsed horror. Like his brain had shut down. Eyes wide, mouth quivering. "Carlos!" I shouted, running over. "Chill the fuck out man!" "It's a curse!" Another shriek. He shoved past me and ran out into the hall. Luckily, before he could see where he was going, konked himself right on the nose in his doorway. The fat Mexican crashed to the floor, unconscious. I wasn't really sure what to do with him or how to check what drugs he was on. I nosed around his apartment, found some weed on top of a desk, nothing else. I dragged his body onto his couch and left him there, turned his TV off, and went back to my apartment. The Bears won by 2. Fuck that. After some Keystone, I floated off to bed. And something jolted me up. My alarm? No, the sound of that Mexican screaming his stupid head off. 1 in the godamnded morning. I jumped out of bed, trying to wrap a blanket around me should any old ladies be in the hallway. More screaming. What the fuck was going on? I opened my door just in time to hear the window in his room shatter outwards. Like something had crashed through it. I crashed his door open and looked in. Jagged glass in the window. TV on. Blankets leading toward the window. Some blood on the edge. I dashed over and looked out of it. Carlos's body on the street, five stories down. Some pools of blood coming from it. The fucker had just thrown himself through the window. I dialed 911 as quick as I could. The rest is a blur. Cops, lights, people asking me shit. I tried telling them everything I knew. I was able to get back to sleep about 6 hours later, trying to sleep off the confusion. The next day was somewhat more normal, aside from the absence of my Mexican neighbor. I wasn't really sure what had happened, just that it was some fucked up shit. The day was mostly normal. I did my job at Taco Bell, went home with a Tostada in my tummy and ready to watch Unbreakable, which I had rented from Blockbuster. I turned out the lights. I like watching TV without the lights on. It just makes it easier to see. Others seemed to bitch about this kind of thing, but I enjoyed it. I flicked them off and then popped on my TV. Static for a moment. When I was a boy, my brother terrified me in my early years with a story of his about a certain kind of man that lived in Japan. The Sharkman. Regular body full of blood vessels and skin like any normal person, however his head was enlarged like a balloon. Instead of a regular mouth, he had row upon row of razor-sharp teeth, a smile stretching from ear to ear. Blood red eyes pulsating at me. I used to hide under my blanket at night, vividly picturing the Sharkman crouching over me with his drooling jaws, ready to bite my fucking head off if I showed it. Sometimes I could even see the red glow of his eyes through the blanket, staring through it into my head. I talk about this because it was the only fear in my life that I could never overcome. The man with eyes like red flashlights and a smile made of scissors permanently etched on his face. Sharkman. Sharkman was suddenly in my TV, looking at me straight in the eyes. For that one hideous moment, his red eyes widened slightly and his lips pulled back, grinning hideously at me with that razor-sharp smile. My heart suddenly beat a million times in half a second. Adrenaline, fear, every fucking emotions shot through my veins like a cannon. I had to get away from that thing. I yelped. I admit it. Like a girl, I squalled and dove backwards to my couch. By the time my head hit the cushion, the image had disappeared. I sat there for at least a minute, breathing the flames out of my lungs. The image was so vivid, so real. My worst fear in the entire world, projected onto that screen. And yet it was gone, as though it had never been there in the first place. I unclenched my hand from the sofa, feeling like I was prying my fingers off a metal can. Sharkman biting my fingers. Fuck. Sharkman invading my thoughts. I tried to watch the movie, couldn't do it. Every time the camera switched to Bruce Willis or Samuel L Jackson, all I could think about was glowing red eyes and a stretched mouth full of shark-teeth. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and hopefully sleep off the feeling. I don't think I'd ever been this scared in the last twenty years, not even the two times I'd had a gun pointed at me. As I looked up into the mirror to spit my toothpaste, what I saw made it dribble from my mouth. Sharkman. Looking at me with his shining red eyes. His huge fucking teeth grinding against each other. He blinked once, eyes like a strobe light. Mouth snapped open, jaws ready to tear my fucking face off. Sharkman looking back at me through my fucking mirror, holy fucking fuck. I turned around and dived. Random direction. Didn't care. Had to get away from that fucking THING. Couldn't let Sharkman catch me. Not with those jaws. But those eyes could search me out. They could see me anywhere. Tumbling to the ground, I tried to find a way out. Something. Anything to get away from him. Fucking logic and drugs be damned. Had to get away from Sharkman. I felt a sudden hot breath on the back of my neck. Then the sound of something gnashing together, like two chunks of metal. Or two sets of teeth. A red glow illuminated something behind me. Sharkman standing right fucking behind me about to chomp on my fucking neck. Jesus fucking christ in a fuckbag. Get me out of here. Anywhere. The window. That was escape. Escape from Sharkman and his fucking jaws of death and his eyes that could see fucking everything. I hurled myself at it. [/quote]
i didn't really get the sharkman one well i "got it" but it didn't really make sense
Fresh from /x/: [img]http://img842.imageshack.us/img842/2599/whoamiholding.jpg[/img]
[QUOTE=Detective P;24378632]Fresh from /x/: [img]http://img842.imageshack.us/img842/2599/whoamiholding.jpg[/img][/QUOTE] That was pretty good.
[QUOTE=Ender_Wiggin;24379038]That was pretty good.[/QUOTE] i thought the attitude of the character was kinda obnoxious
Good lord, its a chiller.
[QUOTE=daijitsu;24228751][img]http://ploader.net/files/a94a68303fad1a22c5b0b3582da2f829.jpg[/img][/QUOTE] you are a genius. [editline]01:07AM[/editline] [QUOTE=Dashiel;23912862]I'm writing my own Pokémon story, it'll probably suck but oh well :3: [editline]10:38AM[/editline] [url]https://docs.google.com/document/edit?id=1nPrd1UyRQIlSf6lmU8XdfkJGgt01gzmq7xgPS9xzBoI&hl=en&authkey=CMfL7PMK[/url] Should I keep going?[/QUOTE] finish this shit
[QUOTE=Ender_Wiggin;24379179]you are a genius. [editline]01:07AM[/editline] finish this shit[/QUOTE] I second this
[U][media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8iPIXq_jGMQ[/media] [/U] [quote][INDENT] "As a communist I don't believe in Heaven or the Bible; but as a scientist I now believe in Hell," said Dr. Azzacove. "Needless to say we were shocked to make such a discovery. But we know what we saw and we know what we heard. And we are absolutely convinced that we drilled through the gates of Hell!" Dr. Azzacove continued, ". . .the drill suddenly began to rotate wildly, indicating that we had reached a large empty pocket or cavern. Temperature sensors showed a dramatic increase in heat to 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit." "We lowered a microphone, designed to detect the sounds of plate movements down the shaft. But instead of plate movements we heard a human voice screaming in pain! At first we thought the sound was coming from our own equipment." "But when we made adjustments our worst suspicions were confirmed. The screams weren't those of a single human, they were the screams of millions of humans!"[/INDENT][/quote]
[QUOTE=G-foxisus;24381991][U][media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8iPIXq_jGMQ[/media] [/U][/QUOTE] I never knew humans could dig into the Hidden Fun Stuff.
[QUOTE=Raptros;24379528]I second this[/QUOTE] Consider this the third vote for this motion.
[quote]During times of strife and war, there are always tales of horrible, nightmarish things lurking just out of sight and driving good me mad. Perhaps it is the unfathomable cruelty of war that makes humans project these fantasies as a way of shutting out the terrible things men do to one another. Still, it is strange to consider how prevalent and during these stories can be, spreading through army lines like wildfire, igniting the imagination and multiplying fear upon fear. One such story is said to have taken place during the American Civil War. Private James Masterson was attached to General Sherman’s division during the infamous “March to the Sea,” when the ghoulish Sherman cut a bloody, blazing swath across the heart of the South all the way to Atlanta, torching farms and cities with relentless abandon. The Southerners not outright killed by Sherman’s men were left to starve to death without so much as a roof over their heads. Unlike his commanding officer, Masterson was racked by guilt and doubt- to kill an armed enemy was one thing, but these “partisans” were usually the elderly, women, and children. His commander, an astute man, saw Masterson’s growing unrest and moved him to the fore of the Advancing army, to scout ahead so that he wouldn’t have to see the aftermath of Sherman’s handiwork. It was on one such scouting mission that Masterson’s unit came under attack. The local militia had lain an ambush and during the confusion, Masterson was shot and became separated from his fellow scouts. Bleeding and delirious, he wandered all night until he collapsed on the front stoop of a lonely manor house. When Masterson awoke, he found that the manor had been converted into a field hospital by the Confederates and he’d been taken prisoner. The nurses who tended the hospital cleaned and dressed his wound, fed him, and even replaced his blood-soaked uniform with fresh, clean clothes. Though the took his weapon and forbade him from leaving, the staff were not unkind and even the wounded confederates were never vindictive; they even showed him a measure of respect for wandering so far with such a wound as he’d suffered. At last, it seemed, Private Masterson had found a pocket of sanity amid an inferno of chaos and he resolved to weather the rest of the war in the isolated manor. But, for some unidentifiable reason, sleep would not come. Paranoia, guilt, or maybe just fear, he tried to reason, but as the predawn hours grew darker, he began to hear strange sounds echoing down the hospital’s long, narrow halls. The sounds seemed to change gradually; sometimes weeping, sometimes imploring, it was all he could do to shut them from his mind. He lay awake, clenching his eyes shut until he heard his father’s voice. Then, his wife’s. Looking around, the voices didn’t seem loud enough to wake any of the other patients, but to his ears, they beat with a pounding intensity, as if they were intended for him alone. The whispers became too much and Private Masterson knew he had to find the source of the disturbance. Quietly and with a slight grunt of pain, the young Union scout set off down the moon-lit halls, his gut icy and his sutured wound burning. He found that the voices terminated at a plain oak door on the second story. There was nothing distinguishing about the door- it seemed identical to those at his right and left sides. Still, there was something off-putting about the terrible humidity the second floor suffered from and the soft, muffled conversations behind the door. Pressing an ear to the painted wood, Masterson listened intently, trying to make some sense from the disconnected mumble. With trepidation, Masterson turned the ivory knob and pulled the door open. Heat exhaled form the tiny room and the Private blinked at the unpleasant moisture. Moonlight from the windows at his back showed the room to be about six feet deep, as many wide, and perhaps seven feet tall, though the ceiling had a slight dome-like curve in the center. It was painted a vibrant red that had bleached over time into a dull pink. The crimson carpet retained much of its dark hue, though the dampness had produced splotches of white mold near the back of the room. It was as lavishly furnished as one might expect from a manor estate, though why the attendants had not housed a patient in it was not immediately obvious. Of the voices’ source, there was no sign. Private Masterson was a God-fearing man, but he’d seen too much of war and murder to not have developed a superstitious nature. Rumors of Southern hauntings were regular fare around camp fires and his feeling of nameless dread had only mounted since opening the door. With slow, deliberate steps, Masterson began to back out of the room. He felt light-headed and the temperature around him seemed to spike. He could not breathe and the moonlight dimmed into an enveloping darkness. When Private Masterson awoke, he was surrounded by Union officers and doctors. They looked at him with equal parts curiosity and fear. When he asked, dazed, what had happened and where he was, the doctors mutely nodded to the soldiers, who lead him out of the tent to view the scorching flames of the mansion-turned-hospital he’d so recently occupied. Masterson hung his head, sadly. Such was Sherman’s thanks. Masterson was led back to the tent where his commanding officer, slowly and carefully, probed the Private’s recent memories. At the end, he shook his head and tried to explain. The Army’s march overtook the wounded scout division and they’d quashed the bulk of the locals with all due efficiency. While searching for the remaining Confederates, they’d stumbled upon the Mansion. But when they sent men inside, they found it all but empty. The cots and medical instruments told them what it had been used for, but there was little trace of the nurses or patients until they’d reached the second floor. There, working with grim, single-minded determination, they’d found Masterson, moving corpses from a wheeled bed and stacking them in a small, red room like so much timber. He’d been unresponsive to direct orders and it wasn’t until he’d unloaded the last body that he even glanced up at the Union soldiers who stared, horrified, at him. Despite their guns, Masterson, they said, slammed the door to the red room closed and sprang at his fellow Union boys with surprising speed. One man got a lucky shot off and grazed Masterson’s skull, knocking him unconscious. The Private listened to the tale with an expression of disbelief and terror. He asked, with a dry voice, who’d given the order to burn down the mansion. His commanding officer bit down on his thick cigar and puffed bilious clouds of smoke, troubled. He locked Masterson with slate-colored eyes and cleared his throat. He had given the order, he explained. He moped his brow. When the soldiers, he said, had opened the door to the red room, there was no trace of the bodies that had been stacked in it. Just a hot, moist exhalation. [/quote] [editline]03:49PM[/editline] [img]http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20100810223542/creepypasta/images/a/ae/Fresh_Faces.png[/img] Not a screamer .gif, I promise.
Oh, them zombies...
Very fucked up shit here. Yes its 4chan but read the few first posts, its some guy who never leaves his room, has his webcame on 24/7, and sleeps/takes pills/screams/growls when hes awake. [url]http://boards.4chan.org/x/res/5480162[/url] Livestream: [url]http://ww.com/xanthus12[/url] Description in his live stream. MAYBE IF WE LOOKED AT EACH OTHER THRU DYING EYES WE MIGHT SEE EACH OTHHER AS MORE THAN JUST AMUSEMENTS AND SEE HOW WE\\\'RE STRUGLEING, HAVE SOME COMPASSION AND THINK B4 WE PROJECT, JUDGE AND SPEAK TO ONE ANOTHER AS CARELESSLY AND W/O REGAURD AS WE DO* HOW AM I DOIN??TODAYS CHAT (MY PART ANYWAYS)IM RGG:*....RGG: SO DID JA HAVE reasonFOR YOR MESSAGE RGG: ARE A4RE YA JUST LIKE THE REST OF THE LA TRASH TRANSPORTS? RGG: CUTE 69 4 BULLSHIT RGG: #1 YOR TOO OLD AND OUTA SHAPE TA BE CUTE RGG: JUST CUZ YO NEW TO THE SITE DONT MAKE YA CUTE RGG: HAVE A GOOD DUMP RGG: AND EVEN THOUGH I MAY BE TEMPORARARALLY SOBER* AT LEAST BY THE TIME I DIE I'L STIL LOOK BETTER THANU EVER COULD AND KNOWIN G U NEVER TOUCHED MY BODY WILL BE WORTH THE DAY RGG: A HAVE A GOOD ONE IM NOT FUCKED UP ABOUT IT! RGG: DAMN LA TRANSPORTS! RGG: LOW ASS ABOMINATIONS! RGG: IL DIE OF BOARDOM B4 I DIE FROM THE PRESENTS OF U RGG: IF I EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RGG: DIE* RGG: SOMEBODYS BLOCKIN MY WAY! MOVE DANGGET!!! RGG: THEN AGAIN I DO HAVE AFEW LESSONS TO RELEARN RGG: BUT ITS DAMN HARD TO LEARN WHEN YA POOR!!! RGG: RATHER TO RELEARN RGG: POOR AND TO OLD RGG: AND MY BLOOD ACCORDIN TO THE DOCTORS RGG: WONT LET DISEASE OVERCOME ME RGG: THEY SAY IT'L LET IT IN BUT THEN IT LOCKS IT UP AND PREVENTS IT FROM RGG: THAT EMPTIED THE ROOM RGG: HAHA RGG: THATS A SCARY THOUGHT WITHIN ITSELF U GET TO WATCH HOW A DELUSSIONED MAN TO OLD TO BE YOUNG DIES ALONE*..AND EVER SO DAMNED SLOWLY!...HAVE FUN!HAHAHAHAHAHA...........I AM WWHATS LEFT OF...MAXIMILLIAN XANTHUS MCDANIEL III ~ MY MOTHER WAS A DREAMER...MY FATHER A PATHILOGICAL LYER*.IM NOT BITTER ABOUT IT ..THATS JUST THE SUM OF THEIR BEING AND WHY I'M SO TOUCHY WHEN IT COMES TO TALK* [email]absolute40x@yahoo.com[/email] I KNOW I SEEM TO BE WHATEVER YOR IMAGINATION WANTS BUT IT TAKES LOTS OF WORK TO PULL THAT OFF* AND IM NOT* I DESIRE INTELIGENCE AND GROWTH BUT CAN FIND NONE ANYWHERE... I SIT HERE STIL BELIVING SOMEONEELSE MIGHT BE LOST AND FIND ME SO... MY GREATEST CHALLENGE THOUGH IS FINDING A WAY TO REINCORPERATE MYSELF BACK INTO 1 OR CUT OUT THE BAD THAT BASICALLY KEPT ME SAINE BY PUSHING THE ENVELOPE AS OPPOSED TO CRYING, STRESSIN INTO A STROKE OR QUITING*....ONLY AFTER MAKING IT THRU ALL THE HORIFIC BULLSHIT*...THAT CRAZY PART OF ONE DOESN'T JUST LEAVE...SO AS I TRY TO GET A GRIP* I'M IN A CONSTANT MENTAL BATTLE W/A VERY NEGITIVE DESPERATE DAMAGING DETURMINED TO GO OUT BLAZING!! INTITY/BEING* THAT IS AS MUCH A PART OF ME AS THE PERSONAILITY OF A RABID DOG!*...WHAT MAKES THE FIGHT SO BEYOUND MY KNOWN ABILITY TO WIN IS THE FACT THAT THE DAILY NORMAL CRAP I HAVE TO ENDURE IS NOT BECAUSE OF ANYTHING I'VE DONE WRONGE AND MOSTLY UNNESSASARY BULLSHIT! THAT AND POLITICS ... AND HAVING NOONE I CAN TRUST OR COUNT ON FOR ANYTHING POSITIVE*... WELL THAT LEAVES ME AT A DISADVANTAGE AS I TRY TO STOP, SLOW DOWN OR REGULATE MY DRUG USAGE ECT...SO I SIT AND STRESSFULL SCREEM AT MYSELF FIGHT MYSELF AND TRY!!! ONLY TO FALL INTO DEEP BLACK VACUMESEALED VOIDS AT BEST!*!!! AND WHILE THERE IT'S LIKE MITES WITH BIG TEETH ARE KNAWING AWAY AT MY SAINITY AND BODY!.....AND IT'S NOT LIKE CLINICS OR DOCTORS OR CHURCH FOLK ARE GONA CARE IN ANY REGARD THAT WOULD DO ANYMORE THAN END ME UP IN A CARDBOARD BOX ON SKIDROW AFTER THEY FINNISHED BEING SO SORRY FOR ME* REMINDING ME I'M NOT ALONE/THE ONLYONE BLA BLA BULLSHIT' BULSHIT'' EXCUSES NOT TO CARE/GET INVOLVED,,, AFTER ALL IT'S NOTHING PERSONAL TO THEM*...WELL NOW U KNOW AND I DIGRESS. [email]absolute40x@yahoo.com[/email] . i DO SO HATE BEING A BLUR* BUT ITS NOT WORTH ANOTHER HUNDRED JUST TO NOT BE AS I SIT AND TYPE TO MYSELF WHILE OLD OLD OLD PERVES POP UP ON MY SCREEN W/ THAT DAMN MESSAGE BOX IN ALL MY LIVES!!!! I'VE NEVER BEENSOOOO WRONGE AND WRONGE!!! AS I SIT HERE ALONE ABUSING MYSELF W/ NOONE//*.,....THIS IS BBEYOND INSAINITY YET* APPARENTLY IM JUST TOO USED UP OLD AND TIEERED TO CARE THERES NOTNHING LEFT OF ME ANYWAY BUT MIXED UP FILES* BBUT WHATS EVEN WORSE IS AAS I DO GO OUTSIDE AS I LOOK AROUND IN DAY AND NITE ALL I SEEM TO SEE ARE LIL MOSTERS THAT SEEM SO MUCH LESS THAN ME * ONLY NOT ASHAMED OF IT WHICH LEAVES ME TO WONDER AND A NOTHER BATTLE BEGINSS ME AGAINST THE REASON TO LIVE* TO TRY TO STRIVE TO REACH OUT!!! WHEN ALL I SEE RAINING DOWN IS BIRDSHIT FROM A FISHPOND* HELL I'M A LOTA WORK AND IT TAKES A PERSON AND FRIENDS THAT CARE* ITS JUST TOO MUCHG TO DO* BEING SO OLD AND ALL I'VE LIVED THRYU BUT**** DONT LOOK LIKE MY OLD ASS IS GONA DIE AT LEAST FOR ANOTHER 40 YRS MINIMUM JESUS CRIST!! CRIST CRIE ;ORD HAVE MERCY I FORGOT HOW TO SPELL CHRIST OH CHRIST JESUS CHRIST!!! SO MAYBE THATS WHAT THIS LIFE IS HERE FOR* THE CAIOUS* THE UNNEARVING AND DISHEAVAL UMMMMMMM... THE HURT THE PAIN AND ALL THE WAISTED STRUGGLE!!! AFTER ALL THE BIBLE DOES SAY WERE HERE FOR HIS ENTERTAINMENT* THE MORE THINGS MAKE SENSE THE WORST I FEEL* IGNORANCE IS BLISS!!! I NEED REAL DRUGS! ITS SOOOOOOOOO VERY HARD TO LIVE IN SUCH A REDUNDDANT WORLD* I GUESS THATS WHAT IT TAKES TO LIVE IN HEAVEN/LOVE......FOR ETURNITY CUZ THAT CAN GET BORING AS WELL OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! I USED TO ACTUALLY LIVE IN MY HIGHER MIND AND WHILE THERE I WAS ABLE TO SHOW FOLKS MIRICLES AND HELP THEM OVERCOME BUT I GOT BOARD AND FLUSTRATED BUT IT WASNT A REAL FEELING OF FLUSTRATION IT WAS MORE A WANT TO BE SO I ACTUALLY SOMEHOW GUESS I HAVE ASKED FOR EVERYTHJING IVE BEEN THRU IN THIS LIFE JESUS! H CHIST!! SO WHAT DO I REALLY WANT? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAAHHHAHAAHHHHAAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHHAAHAHAHHAHHHAHAHHAHAHHAHHAH THE IMPOSIBLE DREAM* OF COURSE WHATELSE! THE WEIRD THING BOUT IT ALL IS I USED TO BE REALLY DUMB DUMB AND BLANK* AND IT WAS A LOT EAISER HELL I SPENT 12 HOURS IRONING AND 8 IN THE MIRROR MY MOTHER USED TO SAY* U S/B A DRY CLEANER AND I NEVER ..BLA BLA BLA NOW ADAYS I ALMOST WISH I WAS STIL SO BLIND* BUT*** I CAN'T IMAGINE IT AND AS IRRITATING AS THE MAJORITY RULE ARE* I REALLY DONT WANT TO GO BACK* SO WHAT CHA GONA DO????????????? THAT IS THE QUESTION* CUZ I STTIL HAVE A OVERFLOW OF CLOTHES AND NEVER CAN FIND ANYTHING TO WEAR BUT THE SAME OL WHATEBVER AS ITS NOT LIKE I GO ANYWHERE I SHOULD GIVE THEM ALLAWAY EXCEPT FOR A FEW IT WOULD MAKE THINGS A LOT EASIER BUT** TO MANY BUTTS IN LIFE!! IN EVERYWAY!! YA CANT EVEN GET A GOOD BLOWJOB CUZ THEY WANT YA TO FUCK FUCK FUCK WHICH I KEEP TELLIN THEM ISNT GONA TAKE AWAY THE PAIN AND ANGUISH NOT THAT THEY EVEN REMEMBER WHAT IT WAS AS THEY CHASE THE DICK YET REFUSE TO ENJOY IT* AS THEY FORGOT THAT WAS THE POINT IN ALL THE RUN AROUND* NOT TO MENTION THE PERSON ATTACHED TO IT* (P.S. AND THE ONLY REASON I END UP IN THESE SEXUAAL MISHAPS IS CUZ I'M TRYIN TA FIND FRIENDS BUT NOONE WANTS TO TALK OR GET THRU LIFES BS AND LONLYNESS THEY'D RATHER TRY TO HAVE IT FUCKED OUTA THEM!)..... W/O PURPOSE W/O REASON? LOOKING 4 NOTHING???THAT MAKES NO SENSE WHATSOEVER! BECAUSE EVERYONEELSE DOES??HOW DO U KNOW THAT?AND WHY WOULD THEY DO SUCH? AND WHY FOLLOW THEM WITHOUT KNOWING WHY? AND U DONT DO DRUGS... AND THATS EXACTLY WHY I DO SO BASICALLY ALL U BEINGS ARE HOES YET WHEN CALLED ON IT TO SHAME TO OWN IT..YOUD RATHER PLAY GAMES AND LIE*... I HAVE SO MANY FRIENDS ITS SICKNING!!ONLY BEACUSE I HAVE ABSOLUTLY NO FRIENDS JUST A BUNCH OF SHAMEFUL HOES THAT CANT FACE THE TRUTH* LEADIN ME ON AND JUSTIFYING IT ALL AS A GAME*...AND I SHOULD BE SOBER??HA!! THATS RICH* WHILE IM ON A ROLL... ALL THOES TIMES I WAS FEELIN LIKE A NO GOOD DRUG ADDICT AND GUILTY CUZ I THOUGHT U LIKED ME SOMEHOW ... YO ASS WAS ALREADY HIGH TO START* HA THATSS RICH WHAT OTHER PROFF DO I HAVE?.... IM NOT MAD AT YOU IM JUST GOING THRU MY PMS...AND TRYIN TO FIGURE OUT WHATS REALY GOIN ON :U SEE I COME FROM A TIME WHEN SOMEONE SPOKE TO ME IT WAS BECAUSE I WAS SPECIAL* AND WHEN THEY SAID THINGS LIKE MOST SAY TO ME THESE DAYS ..THEY MEANT SOMETHING AND PURSUED ME* W/WHATEVER IT TOOK TO GET MY ATTN.,ECT..EVEN IF IT WAS JUST 2 HAVE SEX* BY THE TIME WE DID COMPARED TO TODAY* AS I LOOK BACK AT LEAST IT WAS WORTH IT* ...SO IN THIS DAY & AGE I'M STIL TRYIN TO FIGURE OUT WHATS GOIN ON?CUZ IT DOESNT MAKE LOGICAL SENSE TO ME AT ALL* FORGIVE ME IF ITS HARD FOR ME TO GO FROM DIAMONDS TO NOT EVEN A SECOND THOUGHT!!! OK GUESS I'VE GONE TOO FAR AGAIN EVEN THOUGH A LOT DONT EVEN LOOK AT THE CHATBOX SOMEHOW WHEN I START THEY DO AND THE TOOM EMPTIES* BUT LIKE I SAID IF ITS ACTUALLY ABOUT SEX WHAT DIFFERANCE DOES THE RAMBLEINGSS OF A OLD INSAINE VERTUAL MAN MAKE*? AND WHAT COULD U POSSIBALLY GET OFFENDED BY*? , .,. I KNOW I SEEM TO BE WHATEVER YOR IMAGINATION WANTS BUT IT TAKES LOTS OF WORK TO PULL THAT OFF* AND IM NOT* I DESIRE INTELRGENCE AND GROWTH BUT CAN FIND NONE ANYWHERE... I SIT HERE STIL BELIVING SOMEONEELSE MIGHT BE LOST AND FIND ME SO... theirs QUAILITY* AND THE OTHERS... I'M SO MUCH MORE THAN A COMON WHEN THE WORLD BECOMES TO SMALL TO EXPAND AND GROW*.... I'L HAVE TO SIT STIL AND GLOW* IN THE DARKNESS THRU THE REST TIL MY STARSHIP COMES* SWING LOW SEET CHARIOT AND LET ME RIDE* I REMEMBER PAYING 29$ FOR A PERFECTLY GOOD CAMERA BUT NOW THJEY'VE GOT SO CALLED HI TEC CA,MS YET NOTHIN WORKS PERIOD UNDER 100.00$ Whenpigsfly: damm I wish I was in Boston someman hot party pigs there YET NOONE NOTICES JUST LIKE CABLE AND SATILITE AND DVDS AND MP3S THAT NOTHING HAS BECOME ANY FASTER OR CLEARER OR IN ANYWAY BETTER JUST MORE EXPENSIVE W/ NOTHING TO FALL BACK ON AND THEY KNOW ITS CLEAR AS THE DAY IN OUR DFACES BUT WHO CARES!! SEX IS RESPONSIBLE FREE AND THE THING TA DO SO WHATEVERELSE MAY BE PROBMATIC* TOUGH SDHIT IM BZ GETTIN MY HEAD UP MY ASSS and lookin for,,,,, no time to actually think care or do that thats energy i need for sex and the hunt! and the few WHOS MINDS JUST CANT LET IT GO AND BECOME DRONES WELL SCREEM TI;L YO MMAMAS BLUE IT WONT MATER CUZ AINT NOBODY TRYIN TA HERE About responsibilitys and problems! cuz work is naggin enough then i gota cum home and try pull iit together for another unsucsessfuk fleash hunt Whenpigsfly: getting ready to slam any joiners i rell ya if they didnt know exactly what they were doin w/ tobaco and alcahol well sex and irresponsibility being the in* thing* ha!!! we'vee never been so damned blinded and mussled! as they carefully erase paperworks and historys relevance not like u can prove anything w/o the document and we're goin paperfree annd unlike on a tape or record a cd dvd ect... has nno real tracks why SHOULD I HAVE TO GIVE A FUCK I JUS WANA DANCE AND BE HAPPY BUT THATS KINDA HARD TA DO WHEN EVERYONES ON A BABALON HIGH AS I SEEM LIKE THEE BIGGEST HIPACRET CUZ THERES NOTHING ELSE THAT'L BBE TOLERATED* ITS LIKE BEIN IN CONCENTRATION CAMPS* W/ DEAF DUMB FOLK THAT THINK THEY'VE REACHED THE GOODRIDES CUZ THEY NOLONGER HAVE TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR FEELING ANYTHING THAT HAS TO DO W/ANYONEELSE OH YEA IREMEMBERED WHY IM ALONE* IN SUCH TOTALITY* IT'S BECAUSE W/ MY GIFTS AND ALL THERES SOMETHING AROUND OR WITH OR WHATEVER ..ME THAT WHOMEVER IM WITH ALWAYS HAS EXTREEMLY GREAT ,MIRACULAS LUCK* AND I GOT TIRED OF WATCHING BAD FOLK PROSPER AS IT DID ME NO GOOD AND THEY GAVE NO THING IN RETURN* IT'S SO STRANGE AS TIME PASSES AND FOLKS PROJECT WHAT THEY CHOOSE U TO BE AND WHAT THEY CHOOSE AS IS A PROBLEM U CARRY WHEN IN FACT I AS I ALWAYS SAID HAD NONE* YET TIME IS A MOTHER AS SHE BREEDS LIES AND STINKIN THINKIN INTO YOR SYSTEM* FlipHungFlopLow: hello HI MY LAST SO CALLED LOVER BOUGHT ME THE WEDDING RINGS BECAUSE HE SAW WHAT WAS* AS HE HAD 2 HOUSES THAT WOULDNT SELL TO SAVE HIS LIFE I TOLD HI M TAKE ME THERE AND THEY SOLD FOR MORE THAT DAY* WE WERE TOGETHER 3 OR SO YEARS HE MOVED ACCROSS THE STREET FROM ME IN A SECURITY BLDG THAT SELDOM LET ME IN WE HAD SEX MAYBE 4 TIMES AND I SAW HIM WHEN HE WANTED SOMETHING* FOR HIMSELF* THAT WASNT AVVAILABLE TALK ABOUT A HELL* I REMEMBER BEATING HIS ASS WHILE SPEEDING DOWN HOLLYWOOD BLVE ON A SAT. EVE. WHEN THE POLICE USED TO MONITOR AND CLEAR THE BLVD WE STOPED AND HE SAID SOMETHING IGNORANT ABOUT ME HITTIN HIM AND GOIN TO JAIL AS THERRE WERE POLICE PON BOTH SIDES OF US LOOKING INTO POUR WINDOWS I POLITLY BEAT HIM LIKE A STEPCHILD AT THATV ERY MOMENT* AS HE LOOKED AT THE POLICE LAUGHING AND POINTING AT ME AS IF ... THEY SIMPLY TURNED THEIR HEADS* AND LEFT8 HE WAS SUCH A PAIN THAT I TOTALED HIS CAR WITH BOTH OF US INIT JUST TO LET HIM KNOW HOW SERIOUS I WAS IM NOT CRAZY AND WASNT DEPRESSED UNTIL EENOUGH FOLKS DRILLED IT INTO MY HEAD* THATS ALMOST 3RD ROCK FUNNY AS I SIT HERE AND REMEMBER WHO I AM AND WHATS REALLY GOING ON* LIL SKETCH BOY: [url]http://www.xtube.com/community/profile.php?user=LiLPrideBoy69[/url] SO MANY YEAR LATER AFTER ANGUISHING OVER SHIT THAT DIDNT EXSIST* AS IVE DRIVEN MYSELF DAMN NEAR INSAIN TRYING TO FIND ANSWERS TO WHAT NEVER REALLY WAS* If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to. A true friend unbosoms freely, advises justly, assists readily, adventures boldly, takes all patiently, defends courageously, and continues a friend unchangeably. It is not so much our friends' help that helps us as the confident knowledge that they will help us. The things I want to know are in books; my best friend is the man who'll get me a book I ain't read. I have learned that to have a good friend is the purest of all God's gifts, for it is a love that has no exchange of payment. A friend hears the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails. A friend is a person before whom I may think aloud A good friend remembers what we were and sees what we can be. Note how good you feel after you have encouraged someone else. No other argument is necessary to suggest that never miss the opportunity to give Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves Though we all have the fear and the seeds of anger within us, we must learn not to water those seeds and instead nourish our positive qualities – those of compassion, understanding, and loving kindness. To be able to practice five things everywhere under heaven constitutes perfect virtue... gravity, generosity of soul, sincerity, earnestness, and kindness. To be capable of steady friendship or lasting love, are the two greatest proofs, not only of goodness of heart, but of strength of mind To doubt is worse than to have lost; And to despair is but to antedate those miseries that must fall on us No legacy is so rich as honesty What is character but the determination of incident? What is incident but the illustration of character? What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world remains and is immortal. What you risk reveals what you value. Strength lies in differences, not in similarities. Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted. The love we give away is the only love we keep. The most I can do for my friend is simply to be his friend. I have no wealth to bestow on him. If he knows that I am happy in loving him, he will want no other reward. Is not friendship divine in this? The obscure we see eventually. The completely obvious, it seems, takes longer The only service a friend can really render is to keep up your courage by holding up to you a mirror in which you can see a noble image of yourself. The smallest seed of faith is better than the largest fruit of happiness You can't turn back the clock. But you can wind it up again. You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
That dude's fucked up.. watching him cuz am bored.
When I click on the livestream it only sends me to the main page of the site.
Its pretty much some dude sleeping all the time, most probably OD'd on sleeping pills of sorts, last time he got up he screamd NO BURN IN HELL NO BURN IN HELL. Read the 4chan shit on it and police has been called, but they arent doing much yet Well the 4chan thread 404'd and the stream is down, he probably died or the police got to him
Dogmachines your stories are good :3: That shapeshifting one was alright as well, albeit some imperfections.
[img]http://www.charlotterushton.com/Admin/images/Photos/tiny_puppy.jpg[/img] [img]http://curiousanimals.net/wp-content/uploads/2008/03/cute-puppy.jpg[/img] [img]http://cute-n-tiny.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/kitten-in-cast.jpg[/img] [img]http://ihasahotdog.wordpress.com/files/2007/11/dis-how-u-replace-meh-pug-cute-puppy-loldog.jpg[/img] [img]http://www.scarymazegames.net/scary-pictures/seriously_scary.jpg[/img]
Fuck thats cute
you had me there for a second.
Cant beat this [media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McFRonD-sjg[/media]
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