I've been in a creepy mood lately, share your (true or not) stories, greentext, images, videos, good scary movies, whatever.
I'll start with some story ---
comic.naver.com
This one has been around forever...if you have any good niche stuff I'd love to see it.
Other urls found in this thread:
When I was a child my family moved to a big old two-floor house, with big empty rooms and creaking floorboards. Both my parents worked so I was often alone when I came home from school. One early evening when I came home the house was still dark.
I called out, “Mum?” and heard her sing song voice say “Yeeeeees?” from upstairs. I called her again as I climbed the stairs to see which room she was in, and again got the same “Yeeeeees?” reply. We were decorating at the time, and I didn’t know my way around the maze of rooms but she was in one of the far ones, right down the hall. I felt uneasy, but I figured that was only natural so I rushed forward to see my mum, knowing that her presence would calm my fears, as a mother’s presence always does.
Just as I reached for the handle of the door to let myself in to the room a hand reached out from the nearby closet and pulled me in, it was my mother who whispered "I heard it too."
I hate it when my brother Charlie has to go away.My parents constantly try to explain to me how sick he is. That I am lucky for having a brain where all the chemicals flow properly to their destinations like undammed rivers. When I complain about how bored I am without a little brother to play with, they try to make me feel bad by pointing out that his boredom likely far surpasses mine, considering his confine to a dark room in an institution.I always beg for them to give him one last chance. Of course, they did at first. Charlie has been back home several times, each shorter in duration than the last. Every time without fail, it all starts again. The neighbourhood cats with gouged out eyes showing up in his toy chest, my dad's razors found dropped on the baby slide in the park across the street, mom's vitamins replaced by bits of dishwasher tablets. My parents are hesitant now, using "last chances" sparingly. They say his disorder makes him charming, makes it easy for him to fake normalcy, and to trick the doctors who care for him into thinking he is ready for rehabilitation. That I will just have to put up with my boredom if it means staying safe from him.I hate it when Charlie has to go away. It makes me have to pretend to be good until he is back.
There was no pearly gate.The only reason I knew I was in a cave was because I had just passed the entrance. The rock wall rose behind me with no ceiling in sight.I knew this was it, this was what religion talked about, what man feared .. I had just entered the gate to hell.I felt the presence of the cave as if it was a living, breathing creature. The stench of rotten flesh overwhelmed me.Then there was the voice, it came from inside and all around."Welcome""Who are you?", I asked, trying to keep my composure."You know", the thing answered.I did know."You are the devil", I stuttered, quickly losing my composure. "Why me? I've lived as good as I could".The silence took over the space as my words died out. It seemed like an hour went by before the response came."What did you expect?"The voice was penetrating but patient."I don't know .. I never believed any of this", I uttered "Is that why I am here?"Silence.I continued: "They say the greatest trick you ever pulled was convincing the world you don't exist""No, the greatest trick I ever pulled was convincing the world that there is an alternative""There is no God?" I shivered.The cave trembled with the words: "I am God."
I’ve only told this story to my closest friends. I haven’t even confided in my sister (for fear of the obvious shame). Please buckle in because this tale needs to be told in length.
I went to college in a Chicago, which has a large gay community. Now, gay men are true champions of leveraging technology to their sexual prowess. Grindr was on the map as the go-to hookup app years before the straights got into a tizzy about Tinder. I normally used Grindr to expedite getting my rocks off, but I was having an off-week and decided to use a platform that’s more to the point: Craigslist.
I posted a listing looking for a hookup with a good-looking, slightly-older man, and within a few hours I settled on a fit 30-something. This was a Friday night, and he agreed to pick me up at my apartment building. Then he would take me back to his place and we’d fool around.
He picks me up at my nearest intersection. He’s just as attractive as his picture, yes, but something is off personality-wise. I can only describe it as he was a little “off,” but he wasn’t “off” in a slow or stupid way. In fact, it was the total opposite. He was incredibly nice. His voice was kind and light, but there was something too practiced behind it. In retrospect, the more I think about it, the more it feels rehearsed, calculated -like a razor blade hiding in a Popsicle.
He asked me a little about myself, but then he didn’t respond when I would ask him the same questions. He’d just smile and laugh it off. What I did manage to get out of him was that he worked in real estate (remember this).
He had told me earlier through email that he lived on X and Y street. I wrote this off as a blip originally because these 2 streets ran parallel, and he essentially told me that he lived in the middle of the road.
We were in his car for about 8 minutes when he had already passed these 2 streets by a few blocks. I lived in a popular, walkable area, and at this moment I told myself, “You can get out of the car now and you can run home. You’re still close enough,” but I ignored my gut. I told myself that I was over analyzing this.
We get to his place after a 35 minute car ride. We’re out of the city and in a neighborhood. Right away, his house is clean. But again, it’s too clean. Everything was so polished, nothing out of place. There was a Dexter-level of cleanliness to it.
We go into the kitchen, which was in the back of the house, and after a minute or two of more awkward conversation, I wrap my hands around him and kiss him.
Except he doesn’t “receive the kiss.” My lips make contact with his, but his lips remain flat and at-rest. There is a moment of pause, and he smiles against my kiss. This wasn’t a friendly smile; this was a “knowing” smirk. He tells me this is his first time, and he’s very, very nervous. He excuses himself and RUNS down to the basement. The stairs down are next to the kitchen. They are not a straight staircase; they turn at a right angle halfway down, which prevents me from seeing what’s downstairs.
He’s down there for a good 5-10 minutes. I hear stuff rustling around -metal things clanking together. I yell down to get him back up. The sound stops. No reply. It starts again.
I run to the bathroom and lock the door. I think about jumping out the window (it’s a ranch). I text a friend. He’s tells me to get out. But I don’t want to offend my host.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door and he says to meet him in the bedroom. The kitchen is next to the bathroom. I consider pocketing a kitchen knife.
He comes back up and we finally start fooling around. He won’t kiss, and he keeps telling me that this is his first time doing this. The weird thing is that he’s oddly comfortable with my body, and he is actually good at gay stuff. He gets very aggressive at one point. I looked around the room and spotted a blue, glass vase. I tell myself that I can use this as a weapon if need be.
He doesn’t finish, but I ask if I may finish on him. He agrees. He freaks out after I do. He gets up, without saying a word and completely naked. He walks back down to the basement.
I put on my underwear and walk to the edge of the stairs. I hear whimpers and whispers. There is no one downstairs except for him, of this I am sure. The clanking metal sounds continue. They’re nothing loud. They sound like a scalpel being placed on a metal surgery tray, or tools bouncing in a toolbox.
He’s downstairs for 5, 10, 15 minutes now. I’m fully dressed. I’m giving my friend a play-by-play through text, and he tells me to drop him a pin. I don’t know how to so he walks me through the process. When I finally do send him my location, he calls me: “You have to get out of the house. Now.” Why I ask? “Do you know where you are? You’re out by O’Hare!”
My fight or flight completely kicks in, now understanding that I’m stranded in an area that has no access to public transportation, and I don’t have a car. I yell downstairs to see if he’s alright. All sounds stop. No reply.
For a moment, I think about grabbing his keys from his jacket, driving his car a few blocks from my place, and leaving it wherever. At this point, I yell down, “I’ll be waiting outside.” I hear what sounds like chains dropping and footsteps coming heavily up the stairs. I run to the door, fumbling with the lock, until I rip it open and get outside. He was naked last time I saw him, so I figure getting dressed will at least slow him down.
I freeze for a moment, and then I took off running. I made it 2 blocks away before I broke down crying and called an Uber. This was February in Chicago, and it was maybe 22 degrees outside and snowy. At this point mystery man tries calling me, and I hang up. He texts: “Ha ha where’d you go?” I say that I got a ride and that I’m okay. I block his number.
I hid between 2 cars at a used car lot while waiting 30 minutes for an Uber to pick me up. I saw mystery man’s car driving around.
2 Ubers had already cancelled, and I had to call the third Uber to make him promise that he wouldn’t cancel on me because I was in danger.
I block out this experience, mostly. There are some nights when I begin to go over all the details in my head. It destroys me and turns my blood cold. And it’s the little, red flags that deeply unnerve me.
“I begin tucking him into bed and he tells me, “Daddy, check for monsters under my bed.” I look underneath for his amusement and see him, another him, under the bed, staring back at me quivering and whispering, “Daddy, there’s somebody on my bed.””
>Be me living in old country
>Arriving from school home drunk
>Yelling at scrotum: "No ghost"
>Seeing skeleton
>Very spooky
OK, but it's a bit crappy. Not much happens to me.
>Be 7.
>Late at night.
>Trying to sleep.
>Not working, as usual.
>Laying on my right side, facing the wall my bed is set up against.
>On the wall opposite my bed is a large window. Large enough that I don't like it open. Pretty paranoid, so the idea of somebody being able to look in and see me was freaky, even though I was on the second floor.
>Also, the shadows cast by the moonlight filtering through the trees coupled with my overactive imagination would practically fill the room with moving nightmare shadow puppet shows.
>Have sheer window shades always drawn and closed, so the shadows are relegated to the face of the shades themselves.
>This is fine.
>Roll over because if it didn't work the last fifty times it sure will now.
>Freeze.
>There is a shadow on the blinds. A new one.
>The shadow is in the shape of a head and shoulders.
>This is not fine.
>Nothing is this tall.
>Nothing human.
>I look at the shadow, my heartbeat the only sound in the room.
>The shadow looks at me, still as the night.
>I'd never seen a horror movie, but I knew that it was not a good idea to walk over to the window.
>The best idea probably was to ignore it, I thought.
>But I couldn't stop staring at it.
>Every blink was somewhat of a gamble. An instant during which I had no idea if whatever was on the other side of that window would suddenly be there before me when I opened my eyes.
>All I could do was lay there, transfixed.
>My mind was whirring at a breakneck pace, but a voice of reason eventually rose above the cacophony, "It'll go away, or it'll be nothing. Just wait. Don't provoke it, if there is anything to provoke. It's probably just a bedpost on the back of a truck that's parked right in front of a streetlamp."
>I waited.
>And waited.
>It didn't go away.
>It stayed, not moving an inch.
>But it might still be nothing.
>I decided to open the blinds. If nothing else but just to get answers.
>I started to take off my covers.
>A little voice in my head reminded me about the theory I came up with when I was five, that every blanket I had over me could protect me from two monsters each.
>It's why I, to this day, sleep with six blankets.
>I hesitated for a moment, but decided whatever was under my bed was probably just as afraid of this silhouette as I was.
>Probably shouldn't step too close to the closet, though. Just in case.
>I set my feet tentatively down onto the floor.
>Nothing grabbed my ankles. Good start.
>I took a step, and waited for the shadow’s reaction.
>The shadow didn’t move.
>I took another step, and wondered if I was tempting fate.
>The shadow didn’t move.
>The shadow never moved.
>As I continued to step towards the window, I noticed two things:
>1) The shadow was very well-defined. The lines that defined its outline were not fuzzy at all, they were sharp and crisp. Even as a child, I knew that this meant whatever was casting the shadow was Just. Outside. My. Window.
>2) The shadow was my height and general build. It was as if I were standing on some platform at my floor level outside, looking in.
>Or something that looked like me was.
>As I inched ever closer, the similarity became clearer and clearer.
>I could fit perfectly into this shadow.
>This shadow had all of my attributes.
>Even my haircut.
>And yet, even though my overactive imagination could've easily granted this to be my own shadow, come loose from my body like in Peter Pan, I somehow knew that this was not the case.
>Something was beyond that glass plane, and whatever it was, it was not me.
>The edge of my bed is about 5 feet away from the window on the opposite wall.
>It took me a full minute and a half to cross that distance.
>It felt like hours.
>Finally, I reached the other side of the room, face to face with the shadow.
>I reached for the cord to raise the blinds.
>If I could surprise it, then maybe I’d have time to run away before it could react.
>So I yanked the cord hard.
>The blinds swiftly zipped up to the top of the window.
>Now, I could see for the first time the true form of my shade.
>Nothing.
>There was nothing there. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.
>I looked through the row of trees at the side of the house to my neighbor’s house.
>There was no light on in their home, certainly nothing that could have projected any shadow over to my room.
>I craned my neck to peek at the cul-de-sac and street leading up to it.
>There were no trucks with bedposts in the back parked in front of street lamps.
>No rational explanation to what I had just seen at all.
>Confused, I let the blinds back down.
>The shadow reappeared. Staring back at me in defiance. Daring me to justify its existence.
>I raised the blinds again, slowly, and paused when I had erased all but the shadow’s head.
>I looked out the window.
>Still nothing.
>I pulled the blinds away from the window, the shadow lost definition and shifted like one would expect any object immediately outside of the window to.
>Checking behind the blinds, I saw no paper cutouts, nothing that could be used to manufacture a figure.
>Nothing inside the blinds, either.
>I let the blinds fall back to the window.
>The shadow stood there, unmoving as always.
>Unnerving as always.
>I cautiously made my way back to my bed, never turning my back to the window.
>I crept back under the covers, staring at the figure.
>The shadow stared back.
>Eventually, I fell asleep.
It was gone by morning. It never returned.
wow I feel like if that were me my heart would have induced itself into a coma. good story user I really liked it.
I grew up in the English countryside in the early 80's. About 2 miles out of the village was a big old manor house. Must have had a few hundred acres of farm land,woodland and a big lake.
The place had a huge amount of staff,gardeners,farmers,gamekeepers,cook,general maintenance people.
None of the people that worked there ever came to the village to socialise or even use the local shop or pub.
None of their kids went to the local school. They really kept themselves to themselves.
Sometime in the mid 80's whoever owned the place died and less than a week later the whole house burnt to the ground.
Nobody called the fire brigade and the house was left to burn until it was completely destroyed.
The staff all just upped and left without leaving a trace of who they were or what had happened.
I still wonder about that place and what was going on there.
Shady as fuck.
Old and lame
woah that's weird. Were they some kinda creepy ass socialites or something? Weird that the staff didn't even come to the pub. If I was a gardener that'd be my one cool thing of the night.
Yeah I said I was posting old shit cause I don't have anything cool to post. I'd love to see what you've got though!
I don't know mate but whatever was going on there they defiantly didn't want it getting out.
My guess is that the old guy had left instructions on what to do if he died and maybe money for all the people that lived there so they destroyed everything and vanished into the night.
Weird as fuck
dude holy shit. That's crazy. What's the address where the house was at if I may ask. Might wanna do some research.
also waiting for this reply
Good luck mate. I've been trying for years but cannot find a single article,photo or anything. I actually went back there about 5 years ago and there is no trace that the house ever existed. Some of it is public woodland the rest is arable farmland.
My best guess is that some shady pedo shit was going on.
It was rural Suffolk. Not too far from the coast.
i honestly wouldn't be surprised. not sure why there's a correlation between rich peeps and pedos but there totally is
That's how you get into the "club".
They are all at it but because they are all at it they can't grass each other up.
It's like a security deposit. Anyone who doesn't do as they are told is "outed" as a pedo. Either that or they wait until they die to throw the public off the scent of what's really going on.