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|Author||Creepy stories collection|
|Make yourself a hot drink. Switch off the lights. It's creepytime. |
One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.
His desk was next to the window, and he turned and stared outside. It looked liked a picture. When it was home time at the school, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.
He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.
She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said “no.” He was devastated.
When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said “no.” It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.
The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, “Sorry, no.” When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said “no.” He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.
Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when suddenly he got hit by a car. He was dead with the picture in his hand.
The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. Suddenly he saw the picture and picked it up. He smiled. He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers.
|The Cute Waitress|
You just moved into your new apartment, in a very big city. After a year of this life, you have almost given up hope of making any friends, be it at work or any other means. You feel very lonely. After looking for a peaceful place to spend your time, you find a quiet diner on the outskirts of town. The waitress is very attractive. Also, she seems to be the only employee there, ever. You never see anyone else eat there either, ever. The place is perfect for you.
Making love to her becomes a routine. You go there every night for dinner and then to see her.
You eventually make other friends, and eat at the diner less and less. After some time, you stop going completely.
At a bar with your best friend, you tell him about the fun you had with the waitress at the diner. He says he absolutely must see her. You take him there one night, but the building is in a state of ruin. The front door barely opens. The grimy insides of the diner are disgusting, and behind the counter is a moldy corpse, reeking of pus and rot.
When the police come to the scene, they interview both you and your friend. You are shocked to hear that the body is of a runaway girl from another province. The police tell you this is a homicide, and that she was also raped dozens of times after she was killed. The police say they can get a match for DNA and eliminate you as a suspect.
You are suddenly very worried.
Inspiration can be tricky. It cannot be defined, yet is the source of almost every story written. There are ways to inspire yourself, placing your mind in the right position to be most receptive to new ideas. What most people do not realize that there are one or two other, more artificial ways to inspire yourself.
There is a ritual that can be performed. Most who know of it will stress the importance of the time of the year and of incantations that need to be read aloud, but these are unimportant. It requires blood, as often the oldest ways do. You must obtain the blood of someone, and specifically it must be blood from a wound that killed them.You must drink this blood whilst writing. For every sample of blood that you collect in this fashion, you will receive inspiration to write one story. These stories will literally be about anything.
Things that could happen, or even have happened.
Things that wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, happen.
There is one catch.
After the first couple of stories, you will feel a new inspiration that cannot be dampened.
And you will begin to write.
And before you know what you are doing
You will be typing an admission of guilt
telling everyone what you have done
the crimes you have committed
the old man near death
that poor child
Oh dear God no.
It has been reported that some victims of torture, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not wake up. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren’t being tortured. The only way that they realized they needed to wake up was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to wake up. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world and PLEASE WAKE UP.
|The Suicide King|
Modern playing cards are filled with layers of meaning and symbology that can be traced back centuries. The four kings, for example, are based off of real rulers: the king of diamonds represents the wealthy Julius Caesar, the king of clubs is the brutal Alexander the Great, Spades represents the strong but kind David of Israel and Hearts represents the… emotionally disturbed, shall we say, Charles VII of France. It is this king that we will be dealing with today. It should also be noted that Charles was the only one of the four who was actually there to see the day that his face was printed on a playing card, which may rationalize why he acted apart from the others.
Charles’ visage was put on the king of hearts at the very beginning of his rule, but he never really got a chance to come into contact with playing cards until many years later when he became very ill with a fever and was informed that he would be bedridden for the rest of his life. It was during this period that Charles began learning card games to pass the time, such as an early version of blackjack, “vingt-et-un” ("twenty one").
Charles lay in his bed for two years, constantly fiddling with the cards and always getting weaker. As time continued to pass, there were reports that Charles had begun obsessing over the idea that the king being the thirteenth card in a suit was causing him bad luck. He talked about how he was starting to see the number pop up everywhere and that he was close to figuring out its secret. Of course, his ramblings were blamed on the fever, and by the end of the second year, he had been declared insane, and his son Louis XII took over the throne.
One day, several months after the end of his reign, one of Charles’ physicians went to his chamber to find the frail, old man standing in the middle of the room wielding a large sword. Before the doctor could react, the king said, “Ils m'ont montre la verite de treize, et il n'est pas signifie pour les yeux mortels.” which roughly translates to, “They have shown me the truth of thirteen, and it is not meant for mortal eyes.” Without hesitation the king proceeded to ram the blade in through the left side of his head (between the ear and temple) until it came out the other side. He wavered a moment, before collapsing to the floor dead.
After the incident was announced and it was made public that the king had gone mad, the image of Charles on the king of hearts was altered to show himself offing himself. Although the picture is now shown significantly less graphically, the image of Charles thrusting the sword into his skull can still be found on modern-day playing cards. Perhaps the strangest part of the whole story, however, is the day that Charles chose to kill himself: 7/6/1462. Whether or not it was intentional of the king, the facts that 6+7=13 and 1+4+6+2=13 can only be explained as coincidences.
|For the record, I did not author these stories. They were plucked elsewhere and re-posted here to be shared. You may also post your favourite stories here |
The Licked Hand
A beautiful young girl is left home alone with only her dog to protect her. On the news that night, they announced there is a serial killer on the loose in the area. Before she goes to bed, she locks all the doors and tries to lock all the windows, but the one in the basement won’t lock. She decides to leave it unlocked, but locks the basement door and goes to bed. Her dog takes its customary place under her bed.
In the deep of night she awakens to a dripping sound coming from her bathroom. Half-awake, the girl feels the comforting lick from her dog and falls back to sleep. She reawakens to the dripping sound, reaches her hand down to the dog where she feels the reassuring lick and falls back to sleep. Once more, she awakens to the dripping sound. She reaches her hand down and feels the lick of her dog.
Now curious about the dripping sound, she gets up and slowly walks towards the bathroom, the dripping sound getting louder as she approaches. She reaches the bathroom and turns on the light. She is greeted by a horrific sight; hanging from the shower nozzle is her dog with its throat slit open and its blood dripping into the bathtub.
Something on the bathroom mirror catches her eye; she turns around. Written on the wall in her dog’s blood are the words “Humans can lick too.”
|A Shattering Psychosis|
One man´s progressive withdrawal from reality to fantasy is clearly traced in his extraordinary series of cat paintings. They were done by an early-20th Century artist, Louis Wain. For some twenty years, Wain painted sentimental and realistic cat portraits which captivated Londoners. He had immense popular success illustrating calendars, albums, postcards and the like. Most of his life, he lived in seclusion with three spinster sisters and seventeen cats.
In his 57th year, indications of psychosis appeared both in his life and his art. He became convinced that enemies were influencing his mind with electrical impulses. At the same time, his cat portraits took an ominous turn.
Wain spent the last fifteen years of his life in mental hospitals, a quaint and courtly figure who suffered recurring delusions of persecution. He drew and painted constantly - always cats. Indicative of his psychotic state are his cats' eyes, which stare with hostility even in an early drawing: the psychotic often feels that a threatening world is staring at him. Another indication is fragmentation of the body: images of the body undergo strange transformation in psychosis, and are almost never drawn without distortion.
Wain's images eventually lost all coherence, but the baroque, infinitely detailed designs he produced were far more powerful and original than his former realism.
The cat at the left, above, was painted during the early stage of Louis Wain's affliction. It differs from his earlier work not only in the alarming eyes but also in the spiked fur. Wain also replaced his usual landscape background with a formal design, an artistic defense against his sense of mental disorder.
In the next portrait, this cat is quite hostile and a satanic red color predominates, particularly in the eyes - a projection of Wain's own fear that he was being victimized by evil spirits. The rainbow-colored halos around the cat are often found in psychotic art.
In the late stages of schizophrenia, Wain's cats are almost abstract designs (above and opposite). Here, realism has completely disintegrated. Wain replaced it with obsessive, formal patterns in a desperate effort to organize and master his disordered thought process.
|White With Red|
One day, a man on a business trip checked into his motel. The receptionist was nice enough when she told him that his room was number 14, but suddenly got very serious. Deadly serious. She told the man to not go in room 13. The man, now baffled, agreed and went to his room.
On his way to his room, curiosity overwhelmed him and he decided to look through the keyhole in the door of room 13. After all, there wasn't any harm, he figured. When he looked through, all he saw was the back of woman with pale white skin. The man decided that was enough and went to his room.
The next day, as he went to check out, he decided to look through the keyhole again. This time, all he saw was red. He assumed she had seen him and put something red over the hole, so he walked away. This decision saved his life.
When he got to the desk, the woman behind it saw the look on his face, and said "you looked through the keyhole, didn't you?"
He nodded. She sighed and said "That room is haunted, one day a man and his wife checked into that room, and the man murdered the wife. But there was something different about these people: they were white all over except for their eyes, because their eyes were completely red."
It's an average Friday evening. Usually your friends would have called to invite you to some sort of event, but today for some reason, they haven't. It's getting late, and you had a rough day, so you go into the bathroom to take a shower. While you are in there, you hear a door slam. The kitchen door is being slammed. Several screams are heard, the screams of your family.
You begin to get worried, but you don't step outside of the bathroom for your own sake. You resume taking the shower, but the screams, shouts of men, and growls can still be heard. You finish the shower quickly. The screams get more intense and end in long gurgling. Your phone sits in front of you, and you grab it. To your dismay, the phone battery had died. You begin to panic. You dress yourself quickly and grab the scissors from the bathroom drawer and storm out the door, ready to protect your family. You stand by the doorframe, expecting a massacre of your family and several men slaughtering them.
Your family is happily watching television in the living room when you see them. "Is there something wrong, dear?"
|The Dark Cloud|
The old men of the ever flourishing village were for some reason looking very scared. They were not telling what was the problem. Most of the people thought they had gone mad, but athan knew there was something wrong.
At night, he crept after his old father. He had known that he used to go a meeting every wednesday night. In the moonlight he could see his fathers shadow like a ghost. To anyother man it would have given the creeps, but athan was not anyother man.
After a half hour walk they reached the meeting place. The most expirienced people of the village were sitting there. Athan hid under behind a rock. First nothing happened, the people were just gossiping. Then there came a ROAR! Athan looked up and saw a old man transform into a ghoul. Then another went mad and became a werewolf. And so on a dozen evil creatures were formed. They ran into the forest secretly followed by Athan. The bushes gave him scratches full of blood but he couldnt yell. He kept running. After a tireful chase he saw them stop in the heart of the jungle. And Athan saw what was happening. The old sorcerer was back, and this was his gift to the town!
|no offence shashwatme..... but that is a bit too far fetched :/ |
For the record, I did not author these stories. They were plucked elsewhere and re-posted here to be shared. You may also post your favourite stories here
|What do you mean by far fetched kreuger |
|nevermind :/ |
|Dream Became A Nightmare|
there was this game name LWM admins not doing much to it until the news came to merge with cool server .ru
they choose a admin for both servers to run it
suddenly the admin ruined both games and closed both servers forever.
The Deadly End.
now guys you will not sleep at night :D
Abraham Lincoln was elected to Congress in 1846. John F. Kennedy was elected to Congress in 1946.
Abraham Lincoln was elected to President in 1860. John F. Kennedy was elected President in 1960. Both were particularly concerned with civil rights, both wives lost their children while living in the White House. Both Presidents were shot on a Friday. Both Presidents were shot in the head. Now it gets really weird. Lincoln’s secretary was named Kennedy. Kennedy’s secretary was named Lincoln…both were assassinated by Southerners. Both were succeeded by Southerners named Johnson. Andrew Johnson, who succeeded Lincoln, was born in 1808. Lyndon Johnson, who succeeded Kennedy, was born in 1908.
John Wilkes Booth, who assassinated Lincoln, was born in 1839. Lee Harvey Oswald, who assassinated Kennedy, was born in 1939. Both Assassins were known by their three names. Both names were composed of fifteen letters. Now hang on to your seat.
Lincoln was shot at the theatre named ‘Ford’. Kennedy was shot in a car called ‘Lincoln’ made by ‘Ford’. Lincoln was shot in a theatre and his assassin ran and hid in a warehouse, Kennedy was shot from a warehouse and his assassin ran hid in a theatre.
Booth and Oswald were assassinated before their trials.
|Werewolf Story |
In the mountains of Auvergne, a story dating back to 1588 was told of a royal female werewolf. In the story the nobleman was gazing out of his window and upon seeing a hunter he knew asked the hunter to check with details of the hunt.
While in the forest, the hunter stumbled upon a wolf. In the ensuing struggle, he severed one of the wolf's paws and placed it in his pouch. Upon returning to the chateau with his gruesome prize, he opened the pouch to show the nobleman evidence of his encounter. What they discovered was not a paw at all; in fact, the pouch contained what looked to be a feminine hand bearing an elegant gold ring.
The nobleman recognised the ring and sent the hunter away. The nobleman then went looking for his wife. When he came upon her in the kitchen, he found her nursing a wounded arm. He removed the bandage only to find that her hand had been cut off. Upon questioning his wife she finally admitted to being the wolf the hunter had encountered in the forest and by her confession.
The nobleman looked at his wife stunned. She began to say how sorry she was for not telling him all this time, but he stopped her from speaking. He got up and walked outside to get some fresh air. It was night time and the light from the full moon was shining down amongst the valley. The nobleman paced back and forward trying to get his head around what his wife had just told him.
When he had finally settled down, he called his wife outside. She argued with him saying that she couldn’t go outside because she would change into her monstrous self.
The nobleman walked inside and grabbed his wife by her non-severed arm. He dragged her outside and instantly she began unleashing her rage upon her husband. Hair stared sprouting from her hands and face. Her shoes burst apart releasing her huge paws. The nobleman fell back in fear. He crawled out of view from his horrific wife. She had fully transformed into her other self and her husband was watching her every move from behind a distant hedge.
The werewolf moved over to her husband. She leant over him and held out her paw. He reluctantly held her hand and she helped him up. He stared into her eyes and saw that she was nothing but his loving and caring wife behind a figure that she transformed into once a month.
He began to say that he was sorry for thinking that she was some kind of beast. All of a sudden the werewolf drove her arm straight into her husbands head with a tremendous amount of force. He fell to the ground unconscious. She bent down and pulled him down a dark cave. When they reached the bottom of the cave, she snapped his neck and he lay there motionless.
She went back up to the house and when inside, transformed back to her normal self. She went back to the kitchen and put a pot of boiling water on the stove. She opened one of the cupboards and brought out a severed hand. She placed it in the pot and after a couple of minutes, got it out and started eating it.
A few years later, the villagers of the little town discovered that the werewolf had murdered a great number of people only to sever their hands and eat them. When the hunter discovered that this werewolf that he had stumbled upon in the forest that day was that exact werewolf that killed for human hands he severed her hand as pay back.
|my story was sekfwritten not copied |
|better copied than farfetched ++ also your story wasnt that creepy |
whadda ya think a boy creeping in the bushes is creepy
|The men who fell to earth|
There have been many reports of visitors from elsewhere dropping in on this island Earth from time to time. In 1954, the Japanese authorities detained a man trying to enter the country with a passport that revealed he was from an unheard country named 'Taured'. A thorough check was made by the customs officials to see if there was such a place anywhere on Earth, but they drew a blank. The stranger refused to throw light on the whereabouts of the mysterious nation of Taured and quickly left Japan.
A similar incident occurred in 1851 when a man calling himself Joseph Vorin was found wandering in the German village of Frankfurt-an-der Oder. When the German authorities asked the man where he was from, Vorin told them that he was from Laxaria, a country on the continent of Sakria. This baffled the authorities because neither of the places existed anywhere on their map of the world!
In 1905, a young man who was arrested in Paris for stealing a loaf was found to speak an unknown language, and after a lengthy interrogation session, the man managed to convey that he was from a place called Lizbia. Thinking he meant Lisbon, the man was shown a map of Portugal, and a Portugese interpreter was brought in to talk to the young offender, but it was soon established that the man was not from Lisbon. The language the youth spoke was not an invented babble either; it had all the consistent syntactial rules of a language similar to Esperanto. Eventually, the strange-speaking man was released - never to be seen again.
The great student of the unexplained, Charles Fort once commented on the subject of visitors from other planets: "If there have ever been instances of teleportations of human beings from somewhere else to this Earth, an examination of infirmaries and workhouses an asylums might lead to some marvellous disclosures. Early in the year 1928, a man did appear in a town in New Jersey, and did tell that he had come from the planet Mars. Wherever he came from, everybody knows where he went after telling that."
One of the best documented reports of a possible visitant from another world landing in Earth came from the little French town of Alencon, which is situated about thirty miles north of Le Mans. The town is nowadays solely famous because of its fine lace, but over two hundred years ago, Alencon became renowned for something much less mundane that occurred within its vicinity.
At around 5 a.m. on June 12th, 1790, peasants watched in awe as a huge metal sphere descended from the sky, moving with a strange undulating motion. The globe crash-landed onto a hilltop, and the violent impact threw up soil and vegetation which showered the hillside. The hull of the globe was so hot (possibly from a rocket motor or because of the rapid descent through the atmosphere) that it ignited the surrounding dry flora, and a grass fire quickly broke out. The peasants rushed up the hill carrying pails of water, and within a short time, the fires were extinguished.
A large crowd encircled the crashed globe, and some of the more adventurous people present stepped forward to touch the hull of the unearthly craft to discover that it was quite warm. A physician, two mayors from nearby towns and a number of officials turned up to see what had descended from the morning sky, and these important witnesses arrived just in time to see something sensational.
A hatch of some sort slid open in the lower hemisphere of the globe, and a man in an outlandish, tight-fitting costume emerged through the hatchway and surveyed the observers with an apprehensive look. He started mumbling something in a strange language and gestured for the crowd to get away from him and his vehicle. A few people stepped back, and the man ran through the break in the circle of spectators and fled into the local woods. Some of the peasants ran away from the globe, sensing that something dangerous was about to hap