Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Great New Sci-fi Blog: A Beach, Somewhere

In our opinion, some of the best horror can be found in the realm of science fiction. Think about some the classic sci-fi films that also fall into the horror genre: Alien, Aliens, The Thing, The Fly, etc. etc. We believe science fiction and horror go together like pancakes and syrup. In that spirit, we'd like to recommend a new science fiction blog --  the terrific  A Beach, Somewhere. So when you've had your fill of frights for the day and just want to get away from it all, go check it out and then come back and thank us for putting it on your radar.

-- Alone at Night

Slaughterhouse Blues

I used to work at a slaughterhouse. It was family run one, and I'd been given a job to help process the animals.

About two years ago, not long after I had begun working there, there was a flood. The slaughter house was by a creek, so the place got swamped occasionally.

I was part of a small group checking to make sure that we had gotten all the animals to safety. We had most of them, but we noticed that we were missing a pregnant sow.

We still don't know exactly how she got out since the gate had a locked and chained, and there was no other way for a pig to get out. The place was filled with water so we really couldn't search for her that well.

A week passed, and the water had finally receded enough for us to go back into the barn, and properly search for her. We found her dead, lying on her side in the two inches of water still in the barn.

She was covered in flies, mud, maggots, and generally rotting and decaying. But the worst part was that somehow, we think, we hope, some coyotes came in and ripped her open. She was cut from her chin to her tail. However, the fact that there were several dead pig fetuses strewn around, and a general lack of bit marks, still makes me worry otherwise.

Friday, February 17, 2017

The Morgue

I used to work for a hazardous materials company that went to different facilities to pack chemicals and dispose of them.

One we got a call to clean up some chemicals from a mental hospital in orange county ca, near diamond bar. the hospital has shutdown but they still use parts of it for helping the blind, which is still pretty freaky pulling up to the place and seeing people walk in a single file line holding each others shoulders because they couldn't see the outside world.

The director of the place wanted to take us to the morgue, which hasn't operated in 40 or so years, to pick up some formaldehyde and some hydrochloric acid that needed to be taken out. Now this morgue was straight up out of a horror movie; dark, stainless steel table in the middle of the room with drains for blood, and a big metal wall with doors and individual racks for bodies.

We start packing the materials and the director starts looking in the drawers for more waste, when he opens one drawer and inside were bloody latex gloves and a bone-saw that was all bloody. He quickly shut the drawer and said to us to hurry up and move on.

I would like to know the story behind that scene... Or maybe not.


Thursday, February 16, 2017

Robert Hansen -- Serial Killer

One of my teachers in high school grew up in Alaska. When she was in high school, her mother didn't think her school was teaching grammar well enough and decided to get her private tutoring.

Her teacher was a nice lady, though a bit timid and quiet. The first odd thing was that rather than use the perfectly good kitchen table for the tutoring, they used a room in the basement. The gloomy room was full of taxidermied animals; the tutor's husband was a champion big game hunter (crossbow).
 She was a bit creeped out by it, but she ended up taking grammar lessons there for about a half a year.

Every few months, the tutor would go on 1-2 week vacations by herself. Then, during one of the vacations, my teacher's mom picked up the paper and saw that the tutor's husband had been arrested for 15 counts of murder. He had preyed on young homeless or run-away women, locking them in the very room my teacher took her tutoring lessons in for several days without food, then taking them in his plane, releasing them, then hunting them down with his crossbow. more info

Strange Men

A friend was on her way over to the house of a guy she had been seeing. While she's driving, she notices this old beat up truck behind her and starts to get freaked out when it becomes pretty clear that it's following her. Her friend lived in the mountains, out of city limits, so the chances of someone following her were pretty good.
She pulls in the friend's driveway and an old man in the pick up truck pulls in behind her, blocking her in. She locks all the doors and refuses to get out of the car. He comes up to the window (it was cracked about an inch) and mumbles something about them having similar license plates. At this point, she's really freaked out and has her phone in her lap calling the guy who's driveway she's parked in.
The old man lifts his hands and he has a rope in them. He asks her if she knows of a good place to walk his dog. She looks back toward his truck - there's no dog. At this point, her friend answers the phone and she tells him to get his ass outside. The friend opens his front door with a baseball bat in hands and immediately the old man starts to retreat. The guy chases him back into his car and partially tears the sideview mirror off the old truck.

Friday, February 10, 2017

Slot Canyon Screams

After I graduated high school, I went on a 10-day long backpacking trip with some friends of mine through the terrain of Utah and Arizona. One leg of this journey involved trekking for a couple days through the Paria Canyon/Buckskin Gulch system of slot canyons in southern Utah.

The hike initially began without a hitch; it was really, really hot so getting deep into the canyons was a welcome respite from the heat. This particular season had been extremely dry. Normally, when you're trekking through this system of canyons you can expect to go through sections that have water. Some of these flooded section of canyons are so prevalent that they are named features, like the 'Cesspool'. When we went through, it was bone dry. We didn't even need to get our water shoes out.


Now, what you need to know about slot canyons is that they are extremely prone to flash flooding, and thus can be extremely dangerous. Storms well over 50 miles away can send water cascading down these narrow, 2-foot-wide-in-places canyons in giant walls over 100 feet high. Not a lot of wiggle room for torrents of water, or for a hiker trying to feebly run away from the wall of death behind them. A morbid reminder is the presence of these giant logs wedged between the canyon walls, dozens of feet above you, indicating the height to which flood levels rise. This also means you can't set up camp just anywhere. It is vital you find a sand bar elevated above the floor of the canyon in the sparse sections where the canyon widens out, just in case you're unlucky and a transient flood just so happens to pass through. You can tell it to be safe by the presence of vegetation growing on the tops, unable to be washed away by floods. But as I said, it had been really dry up to that point, so we weren't really worried about that.

When we stopped for lunch about halfway through the trek, I looked up and noticed little cute cumulus clouds floating by. Fuck. The deserts are known for their random thunderstorms. As we continued walking, the sky began becoming less and less blue percentage wise, instead filling up with more and more grey. As it became overcast, there was a true sense of despair rising up within me. Total helplessness. In this sort of situation you have no control; there is nowhere to go, nowhere to run. I felt this vividly sad sense of acceptance, like as if a judge had sentenced me to death to be carried out that day, with no chance to tie up any loose ends in my life. This whole time my friends were oblivious to the dangers, and were joking, which made me feel worse due to the extreme juxtaposition of the situation, but I didn't really want to ruin their fun. And then it started drizzling. You know when people jokingly say they were so scared they shit their pants? As soon as I felt the drops on my cheeks, my bowels were seriously coming loose. That feeling of first-date nervousness x1000. I actually had to stop walking to regain composure and control of the muscles responsible for that function. At this point I pointed it out to my friends and the march down the canyon became a lot more serious. The drizzle continued for 20 minutes and this whole time I was listening intently to either ends of the canyon for the inevitable roar signaling our doom, fervently looking for little, green islands of safety. Thankfully, the drizzle abated, and the task at hand was to find a place to rest our poor bodies.


But finally, after a physically exhausting trek of 22 miles in the sand, made mentally exhausting by failed pack winching up rock falls (resulting in major loss of water), and most of all the surreal drizzle scare, we finally reached a section of land that could accommodate all of us (about 10ish). Too happy to put the trials of the day behind us, we wasted no time in getting dinner prepared and getting ready to turn in for the night. Little did we know. This was the start of the most bone-chilling experience I have ever had. To this day just the memory of it evokes a goosebump reaction similar to that which you get in horror movies.


As we lay in our tents one of my friends told us all to shutup and listen to something he heard coming from one end of the canyon. He said that it sounded like a rape whistle. Sure enough, there was some shrill noise faintly coming from where we had just trekked. We kind of wonder what the noise could be, and we thought maybe someone needed help. Maybe they broke an ankle or were cornered by an animal. I jokingly threw out the possibility that maybe it was the ghosts of the native americans angry at us for disturbing some sacred ground of theirs, and the sounds were of them tracking us through the canyon. Then a friend suggested maybe due to the shrill nature of the noise it was a banshee stalking us. As we were discussing the possibilities I heard something coming from the other end of the canyon. I pointed it out to the other guys and as we fell silent I could immediately tell it wasn't an echo due to the noise being in a completely different register, yet still very shrill. However, it was still rather faint. But then a third noise popped up, and a fourth! And all the while the noises were getting louder, and louder, and louder, and louder. As it got louder, it became far more human like, but extremely angry. We were all scared shitless at this point, completely seriously referring to these noises as banshees. These sounds got so loud that eventually we couldn't hear ourselves talk, and the sound penetrated through our skulls into our thoughts. An endless barrage of extremely high pitched screaming, yet with it all seemingly completely in harmony and slowly undulating, like the breath of the ocean. It took up all sensation and all feeling. The moonlit night flooded this canyon with light, revealing the patterns created by dark streaks on the sandstone walls. After a while the fear subsided, and the noise, with its extremely pervasive quality, along with the scenery, completely freed me from my mind's stream of conscious thought that was the source of all worry.


It was hauntingly beautiful the way I remember it and this otherwordly sound we experienced in nature is what brings back the chills everytime I think of it. As weird as it sounds I am so thankful to have had experienced them. I will remember them as long as I live. If anyone is able to find sources of this sound I will be forever grateful. My friend recorded it but lost his phone a couple months after the trip, and everyone I have asked since can't identify what may have caused this sound. I want to hear them again and relive that experience.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

The Horton Mine

So, there's this guy, Frank, and he likes to explore abandoned mines, and old caves and such. Well, one of the abandoned mines, Horton Mine in Nevada, provided Frank with a little more excitement than he was expecting. Watch below and then tell what you think is happening in this video.


Scary Roadblock

Beware of late night road blocks.

Stories from the Woods

  • Here are some interesting tales from "Searchandrescuewoods" we recommend reading the stuff below and then following the link at the end to see more from SearchAndRescurWoods.


    I have a pretty good track record for finding missing people. Most of the time they just wander off the path, or slip down a small cliff, and they can't find their way back. The majority of them have heard the old 'stay where you are' thing, and they don't wander far. But I've had two cases where that didn't happen. Both bother me a lot, and I use them as motivation to search even harder on the missing persons cases I get called on. The first was a little boy who was out berry-picking with his parents. He and his sister were together, and both of them went missing around the same time. Their parents lost sight of them for a few seconds, and in that time both the kids apparently wandered off. When their parents couldn't find them, they called us, and we came out to search the area. We found the daughter pretty quickly, and when we asked where her brother was, she told us that he'd been taken away by 'the bear man.' She said he gave her berries and told her to stay quiet, that he wanted to play with her brother for a while. The last she saw of her brother, he was riding on the shoulders of 'the bear man' and seemed calm. Of course, our first thought was abduction, but we never found a trace of another human being in that area. The little girl was also insistent that he wasn't a normal man, but that he was tall and covered in hair, 'like a bear', and that he had a 'weird face.' We searched that area for weeks, it was one of the longest calls I've ever been on, but we never found a single trace of that kid. The other was a young woman who was out hiking with her mom and grandpa. According to the mother, her daughter had climbed up a tree to get a better view of the forest, and she'd never come back down. They waited at the base of the tree for hours, calling her name, before they called for help. Again, we searched everywhere, and we never found a trace of her. I have no idea where she could possibly have gone, because neither her mother or grandpa saw her come down.
  • A few times, I've been out on my own searching with a canine, and they've tried to lead me straight up cliffs. Not hills, not even rock faces. Straight, sheer cliffs with no possible handholds. It's always baffling, and in those cases we usually find the person on the other side of the cliff, or miles away from where the canine has led us. I'm sure there's an explanation, but it's sort of strange.
  • One particularly sad case involved the recovery of a body. A nine-year-old girl fell down an embankment and got impaled on a dead tree at the base. It was a complete freak accident, but I'll never forget the sound her mother made when we told her what had happened. She saw the body bag being loaded into the ambulance, and she let out the most haunting, heart-broken wail I've ever heard. It was like her whole life was crashing down around her, and a part of her had died with her daughter. I heard from another SAR officer that she killed herself a few weeks after it happened. She couldn't live with the loss of her daughter.
  • I was teamed up with another SAR officer because we'd received reports of bears in the area. We were looking for a guy who hadn't come home from a climbing trip when he was supposed to, and we ended up having to do some serious climbing to get to where we figured he'd be. We found him trapped in a small crevasse with a broken leg. It was not pleasant. He'd been there for almost two days, and his leg was very obviously infected. We were able to get him into a chopper, and I heard from one of the EMTs that the guy was absolutely inconsolable. He kept talking about how he'd been doing fine, and when he'd gotten to the top, a man had been there. He said the guy had no climbing equipment, and he was wearing a parka and ski pants. He walked up to the guy, and when the guy turned around, he said he had no face. It was just blank. He freaked out, and ended up trying to get off the mountain too fast, which is why he'd fallen. He said he could hear the guy all night, climbing down the mountain and letting out these horrible muffled screams. That story bothered the hell out of me. I'm glad I wasn't there to hear it.
  • One of the scariest things I've ever had happen to me involved the search for a young woman who'd gotten separated from her hiking group. We were out until late at night, because the dogs had picked up her scent. When we found her, she was curled up under a large rotted log. She was missing her shoes and pack, and she was clearly in shock. She didn't have any injuries, and we were able to get her to walk with us back to base ops. Along the way, she kept looking behind us and asking us why 'that big man with black eyes' was following us. We couldn't see anyone, so we just wrote it off as some weird symptom of shock. But the closer we got to base, the more agitated this woman got. She kept asking me to tell him to stop 'making faces' at her. At one point she stopped and turned around and started yelling into the forest, saying that she wanted him to leave her alone. She wasn't going to go with him, she said, and she wouldn't give us to him. We finally got her to keep moving, but we started hearing these weird noises coming from all around us. It was almost like coughing, but more rhythmic and deeper. It was almost insect-like, I don't really know how else to describe it. When we were within site of base ops, the woman turns to me, and her eyes are about as wide as I can imagine a human could open them. She touches my shoulder and says 'He says to tell you to speed up. He doesn't like looking at the scar on your neck.' I have a very small scar on the base of my neck, but it's mostly hidden under my collar, and I have no idea how this woman saw it. Right after she says it, I hear that weird coughing right in my ear, and I just about jumped out of my skin. I hustled her to ops, trying not to show how freaked out I was, but I have to say I was really happy when we left the area that night.
  • This is the last one I'll tell, and it's probably the weirdest story I have. Now, I don't know if this is true in every SAR unit, but in mine, it's sort of an unspoken, regular thing we run into. You can try asking about it with other SAR officers, but even if they know what you're talking about, they probably won't say anything about it. We've been told not to talk about it by our superiors, and at this point we've all gotten so used to it that it doesn't even seem weird anymore. On just about every case where we're really far into the wilderness, I'm talking 30 or 40 miles, at some point we'll find a staircase in the middle of the woods. It's almost like if you took the stairs in your house, cut them out, and put them in the forest. I asked about it the first time I saw some, and the other officer just told me not to worry about it, that it was normal. Everyone I asked said the same thing. I wanted to go check them out, but I was told, very emphatically, that I should never go near any of them. I just sort of ignore them now when I run into them because it happens so frequently.

    Read more http://searchandrescuewoods.tumblr.com/post/135815264734/master-list-of-stories