Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Friends With Guns

I was hanging out with some friends downtown when I was about 16, when a familiar sight catched my eye. An old friend, back from elementary school, was sitting at the docks. I walked up to him and we started chit-chatting whilst smoking, until a group of pumped-up guys started approaching us (They apparently knew the elementary school friend)

I'm usually a passive person, so I was just being chill, offering one the guys a lighter because his fire wasn't working properly, which he happily accepted. It seemed to be fine, but one of my mates was sitting on a wall a few feet away from us, texting with his girl if I recall correctly. One of the steroid dudes starting slowly approaching him, my mate obviously not noticing him because he was soaked up in his phone. I noticed, didn't trust it so I called out my friend, but he responded a little late and the steroid fucker punched him in the face pretty hard. Now, I'm a big guy. All these steroid dudes were way smaller than me. I simply walked up to the fucker, looked him straight in the eye and questioned his motives.

The fucker pulled a knife on me. Followed by 2 of his mates. I was freaking out inside, as I wasn't used to being in fights (I usually managed to defuse them by sheer intimidation) and especially not ones involving weapons. I tried to back away slowly, but this fucker lunged at me, knife forward, aimed at my chest. Luckily, I managed to side-step him, and the idiot ran straight into a wall and almost knocked himself out. Both of his buddies were not amused and starting approaching me. I gave a desperate look to my (unhurt) friend, and he reacted in a way that made me avoid him after that incident: He pulled a fucking gun. (Note: I live in the Netherlands, guns are not exactly a common sight here. At the very least not in my city.)

In the end, I didn't even get touched by them but I'd probably be dead if not for the gun-pulling 'friend'. Thanks mate, but I don't want to be involved with the people you're involved with ever again.

Friday, December 26, 2014

With Friends Like This...

When I was about 12, I was at this kid's lake house one weekend in the summer. He lived next door to me in the suburbs so I saw him a lot. Back then, I was super friendly and attracted the friendship of a lot of strange, outcast types. This kid was like that.

He was also hyper-competitive.

We were playing ping-pong on the lake house porch and I let him beat me a couple times. He got cocky and started bragging, telling me I sucked, etc. I got really angry and didn't let him score a point for about 4 straight games, insulting him the entire time. I really lost my cool, really laid into him. He responded in kind, and then started threatening me. I told him to bring it on. He ran at me. I was a lot bigger than him so I just pushed him over backwards, hard, and laughed in his face. His mom rushed out to break it up, and took me down to the lake house basement. I was at the bottom of the staircase and she was about two steps up, interrogating me and trying to figure out what had happened.
And I'll never forget how time completely stopped and how cinematic it was, seeing first the long, thin barrel of a rifle, and then the rest of the gun, and then the kid, and then the look in the kid's eyes as he slowly descended down the stairs behind his mom
Turning, the mom saw this, screamed, snatched the gun out of the kid's hands and called for the kid's father. He came and took the gun away. They sent the kid to his room.

And then... it was like nothing had even happened. The kid stayed in his room. I stayed in the basement. A couple hours later, the kid came down and apologized, and we just kept right on with the weekend.

Thinking about it now, I completely de-realized and dissociated the event while it was happening. I completely denied its plausibility. And everyone else did too. The kid literally tried to shoot me with a hunting rifle and no one said a fucking thing. I haven't even thought about it 5 times since it happened, over 15 years ago.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Unedited Footage of a Bear

Party Crashers

Senior year of high school during spring break. At a house party around midnite after hours of drinking with a couple dozen kids from my school. All I remember before the incident is that we had an epic beeramid that went from the table to the ceiling and incorporated handles of vodka and tons of beer cans. Also, a friend was selling bags out of an ounce. ~$400 street value.

While standing around drinking and shooting the shit 4 guys come in through the back door. 3 in bandanas and 1 in a ski mask holding a gun. 1 of the guys in a bandana is immediately recognized as a junior at our school. They were all juniors at our school. Not too bright.

The guy with the gun immediately approaches my friend to the left of me, knocks the beer out of his hand, puts the gun to his head and tells him to get the fuck down. He turns to me and does the same thing. My friend to the left picks up his beer (he was a heavy alcoholic, even then, and has since died at age 27; RIP Chris). The guy turns back to Chris and knocks the beer out of his hand again and questions his hearing. Him picking up the beer still makes me smile at his persistence.

At this point I turn to my friend to the right, 'Mark' and quietly tell him I don't think it's a real gun. Another friend had a couple hundred dollars on him and tried to walk down the front hallway toward the front door.

As the guy with the gun turns and yells at my friend trying to leave 'Mark' and I jump ski mask guy. Mark wrapped up his torso trying to take him down. I grab the hand with the gun and punch him in the face with my other hand. As I'm punching him and holding his gun hand, HE UNLOADS THE GUN luckily not hitting anyone. It sounded like a cap gun. I'd only heard a shotgun in person before and this was much quieter. After about 5 or 10 seconds we get him face down on the hardwood floor.
I'm sitting on his back as he struggles and slamming his head into the ground to subdue him. His mask is off and some girls recognize him. They grab a snow shovel and try to hit him in the head with it while screaming his name asking him how he could do this. We keep them away. After he stopped struggling we let him stand up and stumble out the back door. Only about 90 seconds had elapsed since we first noticed the robbers. We were in shock, I guess, and kinda didn't realize what the hell just happened.

I guess his 3 buddy's ran away immediately and someone at the party examined the gun. It was a .22, very real and the slide was cocked back indicating it was emptied. There were also several small bullet holes in the walls and ceiling.

I don't know who called the police, but they arrived within 5 or 10 minutes and a bunch of us had to go to the station to give statements until 6 AM.

He was arrested the next day and eventually was sentenced to 10 years (attempted robbery, armed criminal action) and his buddies got 5 years each as accessories. They were all 17 years old. None of them served their full sentences and AFAIK they are all out.

Guys tried to rob party with kids from their own school because they heard there was weed. Were immediately recognized, guy with the gun got his ass beat, and they all served time.
Don't be like drunk 18 year old me. Assume all guns are real and give them what they want because they will try to shoot you if you don't.
Link with mugshot

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Scuba Steve, Damn You

I was SCUBA diving with my then-(alcoholic) boyfriend in a murky lake when I was 18. We were down about 40 feet and the visibility was really low, so I couldn't see him. I had just checked my gauge and after being down there for 10-15 minutes, I had plenty of air left. Then I took a breath, and nothing. The diaphragm in the regulator clicked and there was no air. I started to try to look around for him and then I felt that I was stuck. At first I thought I was caught on something, but then I realized that he had turned off my air and was holding me down. He wouldn't let go and he wouldn't let me take his extra regulator. I knew that even if I could get away, I might not make it up to the surface safely (I was too deep and had been down too long), but that was my only alternative. The only problem was he wasn't letting go. I couldn't get at the air valve on my tank and I couldn't get at him. My mind kept switching between thinking "I'm going to die" and "stay as calm as possible to keep your respiratory rate down." He let me struggle for what seemed to be forever and then finally he decided to turn my air back on. I immediately surfaced and he followed. When I asked him why he did that, he said, "I wanted to see what would happen to you." It was one of the most terrifying things I have ever experienced.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Just Another Night in Harlem

My aunt, uncle, and cousins live in Harlem, NY. They're pretty well off (two story, 3 bathroom, 3 bedroom apartment in the city is not an easy task) so it's on the outskirts, and I wouldn't say I was ever scared or nervous being there before. I remember my cousin saying something like, 'the neighborhood is safe until it's dark, then it's just Harlem. No matter how inoffensive you want to be, sometimes it's a shitty place with shitty people.'
One weekend about 3 years ago, I went up to stay with my aunt while my uncle & cousins were away. We both LOVED Harry Potter and the last movie had just come out in theaters. I decided to come up so we could see it together, then I'd stay over and go home the next day.
That night, I stayed in the living room so I could watch TV without waking my aunt. I was texting my boyfriend at the time, and we ended up getting into an argument. He called me, and during our stupid fight I decided I needed a cigarette. Her apartment was in a shared building, so you had to be buzzed in or have a key to get back in from the front. They had a back yard, so I went out there. What I didn't know was, the door locked automatically from the inside.
I finished my cigarette, and the argument, then turned to go back in. Locked. In denial, I tried again. Locked. Definitely locked. Okay, no problem, I'll just ring the- Oh right. I'm in the backyard. I knocked, but didn't want to make too much noise because it was about 1AM and she had neighbors. No response. Did I mention I also didn't have my aunts phone number?
I was standing on the top of the stairs that led down to the backyard. The street that ran through the back of their building was blocked off by tall gates you needed a key to unlock. However, the main streets on either side were completely visible, as was I, high up on the little porch. Also, they had a motion light right above the door that kept coming on because I was standing there. I was starting to get nervous, so I called my brother. He woke up my mom and they took turns calling my aunts cell phone (which we later found out was on silent, of course) and house phone, which I could hear ringing. No response from my snoozing aunt.
After about 30 minutes since I realized I was locked out, I heard voices. I looked over towards the main street and saw a group of men walking by. They stopped near the gate and it looked like they were checking something out on the ground. Suddenly, their voices increased to shouts and they started beating what I then realized was a man, presumably homeless or something of the sort, that had been sitting on the sidewalk. I heard barking and saw the man's dog jump up on one of the attackers, only to be shoved hard to the ground. I watched the dog bolt off down the street as they continued the beating.
Still on the phone with my mom and brother, I shrank down to sit on the steps, and my movement caused the motion light to turn back on. I had been quietly relaying what was going on to them, but didn't think I was in any trouble. That was when I heard "Hey! HEY! We see your light! You see me?"
I stopped breathing. The man yelled out again, "Hey girl! I see you! You saw us and now we see you." They all started laughing as the man who was shouting jumped up on the gate. I was crying at this point and my mom was screaming she was gonna call the police.
The man hung on the gate, rattling it and saying he could hop over no problem. He then got up on top, straddling the gate as if he was gonna jump down. I heard, "You wanna end up like our friend here?" He gestured to the homeless man, unconscious on the ground. "Lemme just come say hi." Now, I still hadn't moved, I still hadn't spoken, I was just silently crying while my mom and brother frantically called my aunt over and over.
Then, a window opened high up in one of the apartments across the street. "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER OR I WILL BE CALLING THE COPS ON YOUR ASS!!!" Slam, as they shut the window.
The man laughed and yelled to me, "See? Look you're gettin me in trouble, girl!" And he jumped down. I knew he was about 50 steps and one more hop over a now crappier gate before I had no more protection in between him and myself. He threw his hands out like, what are you gonna do now? when one of the guys punched his arm through the gate and pointed to something down the street. They stood there for a minute looking before he yelled "Aw, SHIT!" and jumped back over. They then ran off down the street laughing.
I have no idea what he pointed out. I still had to wait about another 20 minutes before my aunt woke up and let me in, and I never saw anything/one pass by. I definitely heard more rowdy voices during that time, but I didn't see anyone. I kept thinking they were gonna come around to the other gate and try to jump that one, since it was far away from the apartment of the person who yelled at them, and whatever they saw down the street. Thankfully, they didn't.
We did call the cops and informed them of what happened so they could possibly help the poor man who was jumped. We saw them arrive there with an ambulance, but I never found out what happened to him.

Thug Life Low-Rider and the Great Escape

One time my brother, sister, and I were driving to get food from Mcdonalds and my brother, who was driving, decided to take a shortcut by a busy park.

The park was always filled with guys playing basketball and it was known for being pretty dangerous at night with drug and gang activity. We were about to drive by the entrance of the park and all of a sudden this low-rider truck with flames on the side speeds out of the park even though they had a stop sign.

So my brother slams on the brakes because the truck almost hit us and the truck stops too and I see that there are two guys who look pretty scary in the truck. We didn’t have time to react other than to wonder what the hell the guys were doing, when I see them start yelling out the window at us like we had done something wrong. Then they start driving up to our car really fast so my brother starts driving away and they follow us.

We were all pretty freaked out but it was broad daylight and we figured we could get back to the main road and be okay. Then the guys sped up behind us and were only a foot away from our car and we realized they were trying to hit us! So we all start yelling and freaking out and my brother speeds up to 70 in a residential neighborhood and still they are right on our tail.

We were really scared and confused because we have no idea what provoked them unless they really thought we had cut them off. My brother decides to slow down because this is getting super dangerous and then the truck comes up beside us and they are cussing at us and trying to hit us from the side. Then they speed in front of us and block the road.

At this point I decided to call the police and as I’m calling, I see the guys getting out of their car and one of them is carrying a baton! The 911 operator answers and I start screaming that some guys are following us and trying to hit our car and now they have blocked the road and have weapons. She just kept saying why are they doing that! I realized the cops were not going to help us (what else is new) and then my brother pulls an awesome maneuver and puts the car in reverse and makes a super fast U turn and speeds away. He said “good thing I’ve been playing so much Grand Theft Auto!”

We looked behind us and they weren’t following anymore. We got on the main road and drove home without incident.

Meanwhile, I’m still on the phone with stupid 911 and they are wanting to meet me at my house and were acting like we were criminals. I declined and told them to go find the truck.
We were all glad to be safe and still wonder what provoked these creeps to tail us and what would have happened if my brother had not been thinking so quickly and backed up. Creepy, violent, low riding thugs, Iet’s never meet again.

Monday, December 8, 2014

Someone made a comic of that classic micro horror story. Enjoy.

Waking To Find A Strange Baby in Bed With You

BATTLE CREEK, Mich. — A woman woke up to an infant in her bed and had no idea where the child came from or whose it was.

Read the rest here.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

A Dead Dog is a Man's Best Friend

I always liked riding my bike at night, because that meant going to the high school and riding around on the new asphalt track (nice and even, and an easy way to track distance.)

I had gotten a particularly late start one night, so it must have been around 11:30/midnight. I live three streets away from said high school, so getting there takes no more than 5 minutes. On the road adjacent to the parking lot, there are no houses and the street lights are often dead, but I live in a quiet town so I never cared.

I was coming up on the street, and I see a man walking (dragging) a dog alongside him. This dog wasn't walking, or panting or barking or wagging it's tail or smelling the trees. It was rigid, almost toy like. The way he was walking it almost made me think it WAS a toy with wheels on the bottom or something. I switched sides of the road because while I understand your dog needs to shit, I am still slightly unnerved you are walking him this far at 12pm.

So I keep riding no problem, until this man stops. He is completely still in this dark ass road and while I should have hauled ass out of there on my Huffy, I did not. I keep riding, mind you we are on opposite sides of the road. The dog has still not moved, barked, sniffed, or showed any signs of not being a creepy dog toy with wheels at all.

I pedal faster and pass him, all the while he is totally still with this dog next to him. Now, when I say he turned to face me, I do not mean he turned his neck. He turned his entire body to watch me drive off.

This is not where this story ends.

I get to the parking lot out of breath. I take refuge next to some bushes behind the safety of the fenced in track.

And here he is again. Now carrying (dead??? toy???) dog. Carries him into the lone car in the parking lot but does not leave.

I am not even breathing at this point. And I know this sounds stupid but seriously we're coming up on like 12:05 am and some dude is "walking" this probably dead animal and waching me.

I wait a solid five minutes before he even turns his car on, and as soon as his tail lights are out of sight, I bolt my ass back home.

I have not been back since.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Keep The Good Stuff Coming

Don't forget friends, this is your site as much as it is ours. We need your stories, and other scary stuff. Please share by emailing

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Something in the Woods

Last year on Halloween I was spending time with my girlfriend, Erin, at her parent's house. They were out of town, so we had the place to ourselves, just her, me and her mentally retarded Dalmatian Toby. The thing about this dog is that he loves people and he'll chase after anyone he sees, not to harm them, but to give them kisses and say "hello." He was so bad that when anyone let him out to go to the bathroom, they'd have to keep an eye on him, even though the yard has a 6' tall security fence, because that damn dumb dog would either try to jump the fence, or he'd tunnel underneath it.

Erin's parents live in a very nice neighborhood, one of those gated community type places, which to me, having been born on the "wrong side of the tracks" (yeah, we're like a shitty Nicholas Sparks book) seemed like a mysterious and nearly magical place. There were trees everywhere and all the houses surrounded a couple of decent sized lakes. It was a far cry from the boarded up shops and dilapidated houses of my neighborhood. It was a place where you could walk around at 3:00 in the morning, with cash in your hands and a smile on your face and not have to worry. Having grown up where I did, I could barely understand such things.

Being such a nice neighborhood, we had a lot of trick or treaters. Erin and I sat on the front porch of her parents huge house and handed out candy. As the night grew later, the steady stream of trick or treaters slowed to a trickle and then eventually stopped. We were heavy in conversation about something. I can't remember what now, but at the time it was important, so even though there were no more kids coming by, we stayed on the porch talking, and enjoying the brisk air and the aroma of slowly decomposing leaves.

We were interrupted from our conversation by Toby scratching at the door, wanting to join us on the porch, or trying to let us know that he needed to be let out to do his business.

We enter the house and let Toby out into the backyard, where the fence is, and watch him to make sure he does his thing. I'm hit by the urge to do my business, so I go inside and go to the bathroom. While I'm indisposed I hear the doorbell ring. I finish up, wash my hands, and go to the front door, and see my Erin standing there, looking out into the night. There's no one there. 

"Well, I guess the treats have ended and the tricks have begun," she said, or something like that.

I looked at my phone to check the time and see it's nearly midnight. A prime time for Halloween tricks, games of ding-dong-ditch, and egging cars and houses. I decided to move my car into the driveway and off the street. When I came back into the house, Erin was no where to be seen.

I called her name a couple of times and begin to search the house. It's a big place, three floors, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, closets everywhere. I was in the finished basement calling her name when I heard footstep on the main floor above me. I went back upstairs and Erin's there with a worried look on her face. I asked her what was wrong and she says Toby wasn't in the backyard. He got out while I was in the bathroom and she was going to answer the door.

We grabbed a couple of flashlights and decide to look for the damn dog. Erin's parent's house are backed by a large woods and I know that Erin has no interest in searching them at night. We did the stupid horror movie thing and split up. She takes the streets and neighbors yards in the front and I take the woods in the back. 

For a little while I could hear Erin calling for Toby, but as I went deeper into the woods, and she went further down the road, I eventually couldn't hear her. Only the sound of the wind in the trees.
I was probably in the woods searching for that dog for half an hour or so before I heard a rustling sound in the distance, leaves being crushed and twigs being snapped. I'd either found the dog or ran across a raccoon, or skunk. Please God not a skunk, I thought.

I called his name again and then waited for him to come bounding at me, as he always wood. But nothing happened. Instead of him coming at me like a whirlwind, the sound stopped. I called his name again, and the night responded with dead silence. I remember thinking that it must have been a raccoon, and that I had spooked him.

I began to walk back toward the house, having decided that Toby wasn't in the woods and if he was, I wasn't going to find him. As I began to walk back toward the house, I realized that I was so intent on finding that damn dog that I hadn't paid much attention to where I was going. I was, I realized, a little lost. Luckily I could see some lights in the distance, someone's house lights. I began to walk in that direction, when I heard the rustling again. Could it be deer, I wondered? I stopped pausing, and listening. When I stopped, the rustling stopped. I began walking again and the rustling took up again. I peered into the dark woods, the remaining leaves on the trees breaking up the moonlight casting dancing shadows on the ground.

Was there someone else out there?

I kept walking toward the light, and hastened my pace and the rustling too sped up. I ran flat out until I reached the house. It was a neighbor's house, but I didn't care. I sprinted through their yard and out into the street. I turned around and watched, waiting for whatever was following me to come into the light of the house's porch light.


I waited for another, maybe, five minutes, and then began to walk back toward my girlfriend's parent's house. When I got back I found Erin and  Toby snuggled on the couch watching a movie.

Erin explained how she found Toby making the moves on a Pomeranian down the street and had to drag his blue balls back to the house. I forced a smile. I didn't want to tell her about my strange experience in the woods for a couple of reasons. First, I didn't want to scare her, and second, and maybe more importantly, I didn't want her to laugh and say how I got scared because a squirrel chased me through the woods.

The movie ended and we got ready for bed. Erin was in the bathroom taking a shower, and I was changing into my pajamas, shorts and a t-shirt. I could hear Toby whining and scratching at the back door. If knew that if I didn't let him out now, then I would have to let him out when he woke me up at like 4 in the morning.

I walked downstairs and saw him at the back door, pawing to get out. I grabbed my coat and threw shoes on over my bare feet and let him out. I go out on the back deck and watch him, so he doesn't get away again.

Toby goes to the back of the fence, butting against the woods, and he's sniffing along it. I'm worried that maybe he's got a hole back there, and he's going to escape again, so I walk out to him. As I'm walking closer, I see Toby start wagging his tail, still sniffing at the fence. Now, I'm worried there's a coyote, or another animal on the other side of the fence. I'm about ten feet away when I heard it...

"Good dog."

Someone was on the other side of the privacy fence.

Have you ever seen the movie Mothman Prophesies? There's a scene in that film where Richard Gere is talking to the character Indrid Cold and Cold's voice over the phone sounds strange, like an approximation of a voice. That's the closest proximity to the voice talking to Toby.

The voice froze me. I stood staring at the fence, trying to will my eyes to see through it.

Again the voice,

"Good, boy" the voice says and I can tell that he's no longer talking about the dog.

I say firmly call Toby, who runs toward me like he didn't even realize I had been standing behind him. I grab him by the collar and drag him into the house, locking the door behind me.

I ran around checking all the doors and windows, hating that there were so many in this house, making sure they were all closed and locked. I then went to Erin's bedroom and find her fast asleep. I locked myself, Erin and Toby in the bedroom and crawled under the covers.

I didn't sleep.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Halloween by Arthur Peterson

Out I went into the meadow,
Where the moon was shining brightly,
And the oak-tree’s lengthening shadows
On the sloping sward did lean;
For I longed to see the goblins,
And the dainty-footed fairies,
And the gnomes, who dwell in caverns,
But come forth on Halloween.
“All the spirits, good and evil,
Fay and pixie, witch and wizard,
On this night will sure be stirring,"
Thought I, as I walked along;
“And if Puck, the merry wanderer,
Or her majesty, Titania,
Or that Mab who teases housewives
If their housewifery be wrong,

Should but condescend to meet me”—
But my thoughts took sudden parting,
For I saw, a few feet from me,
Standing in the moonlight there,
A quaint, roguish little figure,
And I knew ‘twas Puck, the trickster,
By the twinkle of his bright eyes
Underneath his shaggy hair.

Yet I felt no fear of Robin,
Salutation brief he uttered,
Laughed and touched me on the shoulder,
And we lightly walked away;
And I found that I was smaller,
For the grasses brushed my elbows,
And the asters seemed like oak-trees,
With their trunks so tall and gray.

Swiftly as the wind we traveled,
Till we came unto a garden,
Bright within a gloomy forest,
Like a gem within the mine;
And I saw, as we grew nearer,
That the flowers so blue and golden
Were but little men and women,
Who amongst the green did shine.

But ‘twas marvelous the resemblance
Their bright figures bore to blossoms,
As they smiled, and danced, and courtesied,
Clad in yellow, pink and blue;
That fair dame, my eyes were certain,
Who among them moved so proudly,
Was my moss-rose, while her ear-rings
Sparkled like the morning dew.

Here, too, danced my pinks and pansies,
Smiling, gayly, as they used to
When, like beaux bedecked and merry,
They disported in the sun;
There, with meek eyes, walked a lily,
While the violets and snow-drops
Tripped it with the lordly tulips:
Truant blossoms, every one.

Then spoke Robin to me, wondering:
“These blithe fairies are the spirits
Of the flowers which all the summer
Bloom beneath its tender sky;
When they feel the frosty fingers
Of the autumn closing round them,
They forsake their earthborn dwellings,
Which to earth return and die,

“As befits things which are mortal.
But these spirits, who are deathless,
Care not for the frosty autumn,
Nor the winter long and keen;
But, from field, and wood, and garden,
When their summer’s tasks are finished,
Gather here for dance and music,
As of old, on Halloween.”

Long, with Puck, I watched the revels,
Till the gray light of the morning
Dimmed the luster of Orion,
Starry sentry overhead;
And the fairies, at that warning,
Ceased their riot, and the brightness
Faded from the lonely forest,
And I knew that they had fled.

Ah, it ne’er can be forgotten,
This strange night I learned the secret—
That within each flower a busy
Fairy lives and works unseen
Seldom is ‘t to mortals granted
To behold the elves and pixies,
To behold the merry spirits,
Who come forth on Halloween

All Souls' Night, 1917 by Hortense King Flexner

You heap the logs and try to fill
The little room with words and cheer,
But silent feet are on the hill,
Across the window veiled eyes peer.
The hosts of lovers, young in death,
Go seeking down the world to-night,
Remembering faces, warmth and breath—
And they shall seek till it is light.
Then let the white-flaked logs burn low,
Lest those who drift before the storm
See gladness on our hearth and know
There is no flame can make them warm.

The Giaour [Unquenched, unquenchable] by George Gordon Byron

 . . Unquenched, unquenchable,
Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;
Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell
The tortures of that inward hell!
But first, on earth as vampire sent,
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,
And suck the blood of all thy race;
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,
At midnight drain the stream of life;
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce
Must feed thy livid living corse:
Thy victims ere they yet expire
Shall know the demon for their sire,
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,
Thy flowers are withered on the stem.
But one that for thy crime must fall,
The youngest, most beloved of all,
Shall bless thee with a father’s name —
That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!
Yet must thou end thy task, and mark
Her cheek’s last tinge, her eye’s last spark,
And the last glassy glance must view
Which freezes o’er its lifeless blue;
Then with unhallowed hand shalt tear
The tresses of her yellow hair,
Of which in life a lock when shorn
Affection’s fondest pledge was worn,
But now is borne away by thee,
Memorial of thine agony!

Haunted Houses by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table than the hosts
Invited; the illuminated hall
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,
As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;
He but perceives what is; while unto me
All that has been is visible and clear.

We have no title-deeds to house or lands;
Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,
And hold in mortmain still their old estates.

The spirit-world around this world of sense
Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
Wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense
A vital breath of more ethereal air.

Our little lives are kept in equipoise
By opposite attractions and desires;
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,
And the more noble instinct that aspires.

These perturbations, this perpetual jar
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,
Come from the influence of an unseen star
An undiscovered planet in our sky.

And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud
Throws o’er the sea a floating bridge of light,
Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd
Into the realm of mystery and night,—

So from the world of spirits there descends
A bridge of light, connecting it with this,
O’er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,
Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.

Terrific Pumpking Carving

Below are some truly terrific examples of pumpkin carving. Created by artist Jon Neill, these pumpkins are terrific Halloween art. Enjoy.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Truck Stop

I had a bathroom emergency while on the highway, so I stopped at a rest area. There was one car in the parking area, but I didn't see anybody when I went into the bathroom. So, I'm taking care of my business, and I hear this whisper say "Let me suck you off". I was only 17, and apparently naive, so I just assumed some couple had been hiding in one of the other stalls when I came in. As I'm hurrying to finish my business, I hear it again, and when I looked over, some bearded dude was sticking his head under the bathroom stall and watching me. He wanted to blow me. I freaked out, left as quickly as I could (he tried to grab my junk when I walked by him), and called the cops in the next town I came to.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Micro Horror Stories

Growing up with cats and dogs, I got used to the sounds of scratching at my door while I slept. Now that I live alone, it is much more unsettling.

In all of the time that I've lived alone in this house, I swear to God I've closed more doors than I've opened.

 A girl heard her mom yell her name from downstairs, so she got up and started to head down. As she got to the stairs, her mom pulled her into her room and said "I heard that, too."

She asked why I was breathing so heavily. I wasn't.

 My wife woke me up last night to tell me there was an intruder in our house. She was murdered by an intruder 2 years ago.

I awoke to the sound of the baby monitor crackling with a voice comforting my firstborn child. As I adjusted to a new position, my arm brushed against my wife, sleeping next to me.

I always thought my cat had a staring problem - she always seemed fixated on my face. Until one day, when I realized that she was always looking just behind me.

There's nothing like the laughter of a baby. Unless it's 1 a.m. and you're home alone.

 I was having a pleasant dream when what sounded like hammering woke me. After that, I could barely hear the muffled sound of dirt covering the coffin over my own screams.

"I can't sleep," she whispered, crawling into bed with me. I woke up cold, clutching the dress she was buried in.

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."

You get home, tired after a long day's work and ready for a relaxing night alone. You reach for the light switch, but another hand is already there.

 I can't move, breathe, speak or hear and it's so dark all the time. If I knew it would be this lonely, I would have been cremated instead.

 She went upstairs to check on her sleeping toddler. The window was open and the bed was empty.

Don't be scared of the monsters, just look for them. Look to your left, to your right, under your bed, behind your dresser, in your closet but never look up, she hates being seen.

 My daughter won't stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night. I visit her grave and ask her to stop, but it doesn't help.

 After working a hard day, I came home to see my girlfriend cradling our child. I didn't know which was more frightening, seeing my dead girlfriend and stillborn child, or knowing that someone broke into my apartment to place them there.

. There was a picture in my phone of me sleeping. I live alone

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

The Monkey's Paw by W. W. Jacobs

WITHOUT, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire.

"Hark at the wind," said Mr. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from seeing it.

"I'm listening," said the latter, grimly surveying the board as he stretched out his hand. "Check."

"I should hardly think that he'd come to-night," said his father, with his hand poised over the board.

"Mate," replied the son.

"That's the worst of living so far out," bawled Mr. White, with sudden and unlooked-for violence; "of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way places to live in, this is the worst. Pathway's a bog, and the road's a torrent. I don't know what people are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses on the road are let, they think it doesn't matter."

"Never mind, dear," said his wife soothingly; "perhaps you'll win the next one."

Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing glance between mother and son. The words died away on his lips, and he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey beard.

"There he is," said Herbert White, as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came

The old man rose with hospitable haste, and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival. The new arrival also condoled with himself, so that Mrs. White said, "Tut, tut!" and coughed gently as her husband entered the room, followed by a tall burly man, beady of eye and rubicund of visage.

"Sergeant-Major Morris," he said, introducing him.

The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly while his host got out whisky and tumblers and stood a small copper kettle on the fire.

At the third glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the little family circle regarding with eager interest this visitor from distant parts, as he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke of strange scenes and doughty deeds; of wars and plagues and strange peoples.

"Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. White, nodding at his wife and son. "When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. Now look at him."

"He don't look to have taken much harm," said Mrs. White, politely.

"I'd like to go to India myself," said the old man, "just to look round a bit, you know."

"Better where you are," said the sergeant-major, shaking his head. He put down the empty glass, and sighing softly, shook it again.

"I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers," said the old man. "What was that you started telling me the other day about a monkey's paw or something, Morris?"

"Nothing," said the soldier hastily. "Leastways, nothing worth hearing."

"Monkey's paw?" said Mrs. White curiously.

"Well, it's just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps," said the sergeant-major off-handedly.

His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. The visitor absentmindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down again. His host filled it for him.

"To look at," said the sergeant-major, fumbling in his pocket, "it's just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy."

He took something out of his pocket and proffered it. Mrs. White drew back with a grimace, but her son, taking it, examined it curiously.

"And what is there special about it?" inquired Mr. White, as he took it from his son and, having examined it, placed it upon the table.

"It had a spell put on it by an old fakir," said the sergeant-major, "a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives, and that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate men could each have three wishes from it."

His manner was so impressive that his hearers were conscious that their light laughter jarred somewhat.

"Well, why don't you have three, sir?" said Herbert White cleverly.

The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous youth. "I have," he said quietly, and his blotchy face whitened.

"And did you really have the three wishes granted?" asked Mrs. White.

"I did," said the sergeant-major, and his glass tapped against his strong teeth.

"And has anybody else wished?" inquired the old lady.

"The first man had his three wishes, yes," was the reply. "I don't know what the first two were, but the third was for death. That's how I got the paw."

His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group.

"If you've had your three wishes, it's no good to you now, then, Morris," said the old man at last. "What do you keep it for?"

The soldier shook his head. "Fancy, I suppose," he said slowly.

"If you could have another three wishes," said the old man, eyeing him keenly, "would you have them?"

"I don't know," said the other. "I don't know."

He took the paw, and dangling it between his front finger and thumb, suddenly threw it upon the fire. White, with a slight cry, stooped down and snatched it off.

"Better let it burn," said the soldier solemnly.

"If you don't want it, Morris," said the old man, "give it to me."

"I won't," said his friend doggedly. "I threw it on the fire. If you keep it, don't blame me for what happens. Pitch it on the fire again, like a sensible man."

The other shook his head and examined his new possession closely. "How do you do it?" he inquired.

"Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud,' said the sergeant-major, "but I warn you of the consequences."

"Sounds like the Arabian Nights," said Mrs White, as she rose and began to set the supper. "Don't you think you might wish for four pairs of hands for me?"

Her husband drew the talisman from his pocket and then all three burst into laughter as the sergeant-major, with a look of alarm on his face, caught him by the arm.

"If you must wish," he said gruffly, "wish for something sensible."

Mr. White dropped it back into his pocket, and placing chairs, motioned his friend to the table. In the business of supper the talisman was partly forgotten, and afterward the three sat listening in an enthralled fashion to a second instalment of the soldier's adventures in India.

"If the tale about the monkey paw is not more truthful than those he has been telling us," said Herbert, as the door closed behind their guest, just in time for him to catch the last train, "we shan't make much out of it."

"Did you give him anything for it, father?" inquired Mrs. White, regarding her husband closely.

"A trifle," said he, colouring slightly. "He didn't want it, but I made him take it. And he pressed me again to throw it away."

"Likely," said Herbert, with pretended horror. "Why, we're going to be rich, and famous, and happy. Wish to be an emperor, father, to begin with; then you can't be henpecked."

He darted round the table, pursued by the maligned Mrs. White armed with an antimacassar.

Mr. White took the paw from his pocket and eyed it dubiously. "I don't know what to wish for, and that's a fact," he said slowly. "It seems to me I've got all I want."

"If you only cleared the house, you'd be quite happy, wouldn't you?" said Herbert, with his hand on his shoulder. "Well, wish for two hundred pounds, then; that'll just do it."

His father, smiling shamefacedly at his own credulity, held up the talisman, as his son, with a solemn face somewhat marred by a wink at his mother, sat down at the piano and struck a few impressive chords.

"I wish for two hundred pounds," said the old man distinctly.

A fine crash from the piano greeted the words, interrupted by a shuddering cry from the old man. His wife and son ran toward him.

"It moved, he cried, with a glance of disgust at the object as it lay on the floor. "As I wished it twisted in my hands like a snake."

"Well, I don't see the money," said his son, as he picked it up and placed it on the table, "and I bet I never shall."

"It must have been your fancy, father," said his wife, regarding him anxiously.

He shook his head. "Never mind, though; there's no harm done, but it gave me a shock all the same."

They sat down by the fire again while the two men finished their pipes. Outside, the wind was higher than ever, and the old man started nervously at the sound of a door banging upstairs. A silence unusual and depressing settled upon all three, which lasted until the old couple rose to retire for the night.

"I expect you'll find the cash tied up in a big bag in the middle of your bed," said Herbert, as he bade them good-night, "and something horrible squatting up on top of the wardrobe watching you as you pocket your ill-gotten gains."

He sat alone in the darkness, gazing at the dying fire, and seeing faces in it. The last face was so horrible and so simian that he gazed at it in amazement. It got so vivid that, with a little uneasy laugh, he felt on the table for a glass containing a little water to throw over it. His hand grasped the monkey's paw, and with a little shiver he wiped his hand on his coat and went up to bed.


IN the brightness of the wintry sun next morning as it streamed over the breakfast table Herbert laughed at his fears. There was an air of prosaic wholesomeness about the room which it had lacked on the previous night, and the dirty, shrivelled little paw was pitched on the sideboard with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its virtues.

"I suppose all old soldiers are the same," said Mrs White. "The idea of our listening to such nonsense! How could wishes be granted in these days? And if they could, how could two hundred pounds hurt you, father?"

"Might drop on his head from the sky," said the frivolous Herbert.

"Morris said the things happened so naturally," said his father, "that you might if you so wished attribute it to coincidence."

"Well, don't break into the money before I come back," said Herbert, as he rose from the table. "I'm afraid it'll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you."

His mother laughed, and following him to the door, watched him down the road, and returning to the breakfast table, was very happy at the expense of her husband's credulity. All of which did not prevent her from scurrying to the door at the postman's knock, nor prevent her from referring somewhat shortly to retired sergeant-majors of bibulous habits when she found that the post brought a tailor's bill.

"Herbert will have some more of his funny remarks, I expect, when he comes home," she said, as they sat at dinner.

"I dare say," said Mr. White, pouring himself out some beer; "but for all that, the thing moved in my hand; that I'll swear to."

"You thought it did," said the old lady soothingly.

"I say it did," replied the other. "There was no thought about it; I had just----What's the matter?"

His wife made no reply. She was watching the mysterious movements of a man outside, who, peering in an undecided fashion at the house, appeared to be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental connection with the two hundred pounds, she noticed that the stranger was well dressed and wore a silk hat of glossy newness. Three times he paused at the gate, and then walked on again. The fourth time he stood with his hand upon it, and then with sudden resolution flung it open and walked up the path. Mrs. White at the same moment placed her hands behind her, and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her apron, put that useful article of apparel beneath the cushion of her chair.

She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband's coat, a garment which he usually reserved for the garden. She then waited as patiently as her sex would permit, for him to broach his business, but he was at first strangely silent.

"I--was asked to call," he said at last, and stooped and picked a piece of cotton from his trousers. "I come from Maw and Meggins."

The old lady started. "Is anything the matter?" she asked breathlessly. "Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is it?"

Her husband interposed. "There, there, mother," he said hastily. "Sit down, and don't jump to conclusions. You've not brought bad news, I'm sure, sir" and he eyed the other wistfully.

"I'm sorry----" began the visitor.

"Is he hurt?" demanded the mother.

The visitor bowed in assent. "Badly hurt," he said quietly, "but he is not in any pain."

"Oh, thank God!" said the old woman, clasping her hands. "Thank God for that! Thank----"

She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the other's averted face. She caught her breath, and turning to her slower-witted husband, laid her trembling old hand upon his. There was a long silence.

"He was caught in the machinery," said the visitor at length, in a low voice.

"Caught in the machinery," repeated Mr. White, in a dazed fashion, "yes."

He sat staring blankly out at the window, and taking his wife's hand between his own, pressed it as he had been wont to do in their old courting days nearly forty years before.

"He was the only one left to us," he said, turning gently to the visitor. "It is hard."

The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly to the window. "The firm wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss," he said, without looking round. "I beg that you will understand I am only their servant and merely obeying orders."

There was no reply; the old woman's face was white, her eyes staring, and her breath inaudible; on the husband's face was a look such as his friend the sergeant might have carried into his first action.

"I was to say that Maw and Meggins disclaim all responsibility," continued the other. "They admit no liability at all, but in consideration of your son's services they wish to present you with a certain sum as compensation."

Mr. White dropped his wife's hand, and rising to his feet, gazed with a look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words, "How much?"

"Two hundred pounds," was the answer.

Unconscious of his wife's shriek, the old man smiled faintly, put out his hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless heap, to the floor.


IN the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people buried their dead, and came back to a house steeped in shadow and silence. It was all over so quickly that at first they could hardly realize it, and remained in a state of expectation as though of something else to happen--something else which was to lighten this load, too heavy for old hearts to bear.

But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation--the hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy. Sometimes they hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to talk about, and their days were long to weariness.

It was about a week after that that the old man, waking suddenly in the night, stretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the window. He raised himself in bed and listened.

"Come back," he said tenderly. "You will be cold."

"It is colder for my son," said the old woman, and wept afresh.

The sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and his eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him with a start.

"The paw!" she cried wildly. "The monkey's paw!"

He started up in alarm. "Where? Where is it? What's the matter?"

She came stumbling across the room toward him. "I want it," she said quietly. "You've not destroyed it?"

"It's in the parlour, on the bracket," he replied, marvelling. "Why?"

She cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek.

"I only just thought of it," she said hysterically. "Why didn't I think of it before? Why didn't you think of it?"

"Think of what?" he questioned.

"The other two wishes," she replied rapidly. "We've only had one."

"Was not that enough?" he demanded fiercely.

"No," she cried, triumphantly; "we'll have one more. Go down and get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again."

The man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes from his quaking limbs. "Good God, you are mad!" he cried aghast.

"Get it," she panted; "get it quickly, and wish---- Oh, my boy, my boy!"

Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. "Get back to bed," he said, unsteadily. "You don't know what you are saying."

"We had the first wish granted," said the old woman, feverishly; "why not the second."

"A coincidence," stammered the old man.

"Go and get it and wish," cried the old woman, quivering with excitement.

The old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. "He has been dead ten days, and besides he--I would not tell you else, but--I could only recognize him by his clothing. If he was too terrible for you to see then, how now?"

"Bring him back," cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the door. "Do you think I fear the child I have nursed?"

He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlour, and then to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place, and a horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before him ere he could escape from the room seized upon him, and he caught his breath as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold with sweat, he felt his way round the table, and groped along the wall until he found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome thing in his hand.

Even his wife's face seemed changed as he entered the room. It was white and expectant, and to his fears seemed to have an unnatural look upon it. He was afraid of her.

"Wish!" she cried, in a strong voice.

"It is foolish and wicked," he faltered.

"Wish!" repeated his wife.

He raised his hand. "I wish my son alive again."

The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it fearfully. Then he sank trembling into a chair as the old woman, with burning eyes, walked to the window and raised the blind.

He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing occasionally at the figure of the old woman peering through the window. The candle end, which had burnt below the rim of the china candlestick, was throwing pulsating shadows on the ceiling and walls, until, with a flicker larger than the rest, it expired. The old man, with an unspeakable sense of relief at the failure of the talisman, crept back to his bed, and a minute or two afterward the old woman came silently and apathetically beside him.

Neither spoke, but both lay silently listening to the ticking of the clock. A stair creaked, and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall. The darkness was oppressive, and after lying for some time screwing up his courage, the husband took the box of matches, and striking one, went downstairs for a candle.

At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to strike another, and at the same moment a knock, so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door.

The matches fell from his hand. He stood motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the door behind him. A third knock sounded through the house.

"What's that?" cried the old woman, starting up.

"A rat," said the old man, in shaking tones--"a rat. It passed me on the stairs."

His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through the house.

"It's Herbert!" she screamed. "It's Herbert!"

She ran to the door, but her husband was before her, and catching her by the arm, held her tightly.

"What are you going to do?" he whispered hoarsely.

"It's my boy; it's Herbert!" she cried, struggling mechanically. "I forgot it was two miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go. I must open the door."

"For God's sake, don't let it in," cried the old man trembling.

"You're afraid of your own son," she cried, struggling. "Let me go. I'm coming, Herbert; I'm coming."

There was another knock, and another. The old woman with a sudden wrench broke free and ran from the room. Her husband followed to the landing, and called after her appealingly as she hurried downstairs. He heard the chain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and stiffly from the socket. Then the old woman's voice, strained and panting.

"The bolt," she cried loudly. "Come down. I can't reach it."

But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the floor in search of the paw. If he could only find it before the thing outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through the house, and he heard the scraping of a chair as his wife put it down in the passage against the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it came slowly back, and at the same moment he found the monkey's paw, and frantically breathed his third and last wish.

The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in the house. He heard the chair drawn back and the door opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a long loud wail of disappointment and misery from his wife gave him courage to run down to her side, and then to the gate beyond. The street lamp flickering opposite shone on a quiet and deserted road.