Scary stories (dont read if you are easily scared)

[derision]

Noooo It stopped at the good part!

NOOOO I TOTALLY AGREE

[P o m]

No need to abuse caps and exclamation marks.

You Are My Sunshine

The memories I have with my Grandmother are very fond. She used to live with my parents and me when I was about six and stayed with us until I went to college.

She raised me on many wonderful things such as spontaneous trips to the Natural History Museum, how to pick out flowers for ever occasion and even her own mother’s secret recipe for the perfectly fluffy blueberry pancakes.

Every Sunday she would let me sleep in, but I would always wake up when I smelled those pancakes and heard her singing “You are my Sunshine”. She would always come into my room with a short stack and we’d share them before heading off to late-morning service, and then we would spend the day together.

Sunday has always been our day.

So, it’s my first Sunday back home after graduation and I can smell those pancakes and I can hear her singing in her worn and raspy southern accent just faintly.

The only problem is, my Grandmother died two weeks after I left for school.

And her singing is getting closer.

[climbing{the}world]

Ok. We REALLY need a scary story. Sorry, I don't have any. SOMEBODY LOOK1 I WILL TOO!

(Woah. That was scary.)

[~ForeverAndAlone~]

I found this on Google this is not mine!!!


This incident was experienced by me at a young age of about eight or nine. I was living in Singapore at the time and my family lived in quite a large house. There were 26 houses in the villa and we were number 16. We had a maid but it was the day that she was on her weekly break.

One day, my family went to the public swimming pool which was in the villa's property. We went up to the pool area which was positioned across from villa numbers 22 - 25. We had arrived at the pool after I had had a tantrum over not wanting to go swimming. My family was having so much fun in the pool that I now really wanted to swim but I didn't want to swim in my clothes.

I was told to go back to our house and get my swimmers. At my young age I was scared of a lot of things due to my imagination. It took me a while to be convinced by my family that nothing bad would happen and that there's nothing to be scared of, so I gave in to my fears and went down to my front door.

My house had six flights of stairs up to where my swimmers were. I opened our front door to the first flight of steps that lead up to the diving room area. I tip toed up and there was no sound inside the house, only splashes and other faint sounds coming from behind me. The further in I went, the quieter it got.

I made my way past the dining room area and past the narrow hall to some stairs leading up to the living room which was empty and quiet. I looked back to see just a hallway and the first step leading down to the front door. I did a 360 turn up past the living room area to another steep set of stairs.

I walked up these, which overlooked our courtyard which just had white painted walls and orange tiled flooring. I could see the sky above it as well. I made my way up the stairs to another long narrow hallway.

By now my fears were starting to arise from the quiet and alone feeling coming from inside the house. From the middle of the hallway, I looked down to the right to a small set of steps leading up to my sisters bedroom and further along to my parents bedroom. I looked to my left, which had nothing but a rug leading straight and then taking a sharp left turn down to my brother's and my bedroom. I steadily walked down the hallway humming to myself to keep myself company. I walked down the narrow hall to the left turn only to find the bathroom door open, and me and my brother's bedroom doors closed.

My swimmers were in the bathroom as I last recalled. I felt safe up till this point where there were no lights until I turned the bathroom light on. It was nicely lit up and I could see better. I went down to the bath where my swimmers were and picked them up. I walked back to the door and I felt really hot and flushed from fear. I turned the tap on which had a large mirror over the top of it. I leaned down to wash my face, still holding my swimmers in one hand, while splashing my face with the other. I turned the tap off and wiped my face with the towel to the side.

I looked in the mirror at myself only to see a figure standing directly behind my right shoulder. It's face as I remembered it had bulging blue eyes that were wide open. The face and shoulders in my quick glance were
covered in darkish brown hair all over. The face glanced at me and was breathing heavily over my shoulder. I was in complete shock as everything that I was afraid might happen before was now happening.

I quickly turned around and began running only to find that there was nothing to run into when I turned around. I flew past me and my brother's bedroom doors and slipped around the corner to the hallway leading to the flight of stairs. I was so scared that I began running down the stairs, skipping a couple on the way down not caring if I fell or not.

By the time I turned around past the living room area I couldn't see anything up the stairs following me. I ran straight down the next hallway only to hear a thudding noise coming from behind me. *thud thud thud THUD THUD THUD THUD* getting closer and closer. There was also a gradual deep voiced sound of *hom hom hoom hoom HOOM HOOMPH HOOMPH HOOMPH* coming closer toward the back of my head. It was like heavy breaths coming out of a giant man-beast.

I ran as fast as I could and by then I had made my way to the last flight of stairs. I ran so fast ready to fling the door open still hearing the *HOOMPH HOOMPH HOOOMPH* staying right in my ear behind me. I jumped to the door off the fourth last step and flung it open and ran out. I didn't look back one until I got back up to the pool area where my family was. They didn't see me until I had calmed down. I never told them the story.

I tell my friends this story sometimes to freak them out. As well
as freaking them out, I scare myself. I can't bare telling the story, and in such detail as just now I had to stop and look around me to make myself feel safe.

I never found out what or who that thing was, or if I was hallucinating or not. I still wait for the day when the same figure will turn up in the mirror again, all hairy and bulgy eyed glaring at me, ready to chase me again.

[climbing{the}world]

Here are 3. They are from Everythingscary.com. NOT MINE!

Ehhh, arrgh,irgh,beep,ergh. The computer roared as Sally connected to AOL to IM (instant message) her friends as they had planned that day at school. "Weclome" Her computer greeted her. She was home alone because her parents were out at dinner. Almost right away, she found a chat room full of her friends. They greeted each other and began to chat. They talked for hours and Sally's eyes were getting tired. Then, someone else joined. They claimed to be a friend of one of the girls who was not in the chatroom. They all assumed that it was true and continued. The new person constantly made rude or just plain mean and hurtful remarks about the other people in the chatroom, but never about Sally. Some of the remarks made her feel better and put her above the other people. The person constantly singled out Sally and commented about her and flattered her. She began to like this person, but everyone else hated the new person. Sally wanted to know where this person lived so they could get together sometime. When she asked, the response was that he or she didn't want all these other people to know, only Sally, so he would send an email to her inbox telling her. He asked her for her email address and so she gave it. A few seconnds later, her computer told her "You've got mail", so she minimized the IM box and opened her email. There was an email titled "where i live" so she opened it, and read it, at first not understanding it's meaning, and then in horror, as she understand what the email meant all that was typed was "Behind the Couch".



Her parents came home to find their daughter dead, stabbed to death sitting in her own blood. They read what was on the computer, and when they searched behind the couch, they found a sheath for a knife, and a laptop, displaying the exact same email and chatroom that was on the computer.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was in the middle of winter and I was staying after school to rehearse for a dance production I was in. When it had ended, I asked for my mum to come and pick me up but she was at her Bridge Club. My friends offered me lifts home but I said I would walk, being in the active mood. I walked outside and it was already really dark. I looked at my watch and the time was 7.30.
I walked for about 20 minutes until I came to the alleyway that lead to my house. This alleyway is known to be quite dangerous. Many people have been mugged down it in broad daylight, including me. Anyway, I started walking down the alleyway, and luckily the street lamps were still on. As I was about a quarter of the way down it, I had a sudden urge to look behind me, being kinda paranoid about things. When I looked behind, I thought I saw the figure of a man. He looked strangely familiar. His sillouhette showed a top hat, a coat which fanned out at the top and bottom and he appeared rather tall. I looked closer and fear swept over me as I saw what looked like a long knife in his hand. I turned around and started walking faster, being careful not to run as he might chase after. It wasn't long before I had another urge to turn around, and when I did, he wasn't there.
I breathed a sigh of relief and caught my breath a bit, Feeling like I must have imagined it through paranoia, I turned back around. I couldn't help myself, I screamed petrifyingly as the same figure was in front of me, only a lot, lot closer. I could clearly see the details of his clothes, the knife, and then history caught up with me. The figure I saw was the deathly figure of the infamous Jack the Ripper. I didn't know what to do. Jack the Ripper died a long time ago, didn't he? I turned on my heel and started to run but my body didn't move. Someone was grabbing on to my arm, I slowly turned my head and a horrifying face startled me. His eyes were grey and bloodshot with huge black bags underneath them. His skin looked as if it was burnt and sore, and his teeth were yellow, but there were cracks in them with a red stain.
I screamed again and tried to get my arm free but the man had pushed me on to the ground. He kneeled down over me and moved the knife close to my stomach. I screamed in pain as the knife cut the surface layer of my skin. I couldn't lie there and let him kill me, so I bit the hand which was over my mouth and wriggled away from him. I ran back in the direction of my house but I forgot about my school bag which I had dropped while trying to get away. I then fell and smacked my head against the pavement. As everything went black, a tear came from my eye as I saw his boots stop near my side. I smiled a bit as I would not have to feel the pain as he mutilated my body.
To my surprise, I woke up in my bed the next morning. I thought I was dreaming and that I would have to go through that boring school day again, but as I sat up, a sharp pain cut through my stomach. I lifted up my top and saw a knife shaped wound. My mum came in my room, and saw I was awake. She asked if I was ok now and I asked her what had happened. She showed me a newspaper article about a guy who had been going around dressed as Jack the Ripper and killing girls. He claimed to be Jack's grandson. I asked if that was the guy who did the same thing to me, and why he didn't kill me. She said that someone had seen me fall and and ran to help me, the person had also said that he had seen a man run away as he approached.
I asked if we could send a card to the man to thank him but my mum said that there was no need as he was in the sitting room. I got out of bed and went downstairs to thank him. When I got there, the guy looked like he was really tall. My dad was in there talking to me and he told me the story of how the guy was feeling when he saw the Ripper guy run away. I went to shake the mans hand, and froze in fear, when the man smiled, his teeth were yellow, and they had cracks stained with something red...

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Babysitting’s the way I make money to buy stuff. Clothes, make-up, and books – I love to read horror. Especially true crime and what makes those killers tick. It’s fascinating that they would think or do such things.

However, recently I was called to babysit at the Nelson’s. They were new to me, two boys and a girl, a comfortable house, somewhat old but clean. Mr. Nelson told me to make myself at home, watch what I want on TV after the kids go to bed, help myself to anything in the fridge, just don’t touch the jar in the back of the fridge.

My curiosity found myself peeking into the fridge right after I got the kids settled in front of the TV for a cartoon. There was a big jar on the bottom shelf, way in back, like one of those huge pickle jars. It was wrapped in what looked like plain brown butcher paper, with a rubber band sealing the rim. I shut the fridge. Creepy. What on earth could be in there?

Due to my personal crime library my imagination wanted to go wild – but I told myself it’s probably just one of the kid’s biology experiments from school.

I crashed on a recliner and watched cartoons with the kids until their bedtime. They went to bed really easy, without a fight. After the tuck in and story I felt like having one of those free snacks. My mind wandered back to the weird jars.

I was trying to remember what he said, did he say don’t eat what’s in the jar or don’t touch it?
I remembered clearly that he said don’t touch it. Which of course made me want to take the thing out and peel the brown wrapper back a little bit…so I checked the stairs, made sure none of the kids were coming down, then I went into the fridge and moved the milk out of the way, and got down on my knees so I wouldn’t have to move the jar at all, just peek a little…

I pulled down a bit of the brown paper without ripping it and saw a red area and a white area, like maybe meat and the bone? I was about to put the paper back gently and heard a noise behind me. I banged my head on the shelf above because it freaked me out so bad.

I hoped it wasn’t the parents back already…. I turned around it was the cat. I started getting this weird creepy feeling though, and put the paper back the way it was on the jar, and hoped the parents got back soon.

The next Friday night they asked me to babysit and I found myself saying yes, even though the memory of that jar creeped me out, I told myself it was nothing and I needed the money. This time I was to arrive later, the kids were all lined up in their pajamas ready to go to bed, so all I had to do was sit and watch TV while they slept.

I said goodnight to them and their mom tucked them in before she left, so I just stayed downstairs and watched TV. During a commercial I went for a snack and couldn’t help but notice there were now two large jars in the back of the fridge covered in paper. I was trying not to let my imagination get away with me when the news came on and there was a breaking story about a teenage girl who had gone missing last Friday, and she was finally found hacked to bits in an alley dumpster.

I’m thinking, Oh my freaking God! Now I was convinced I had to see what was in those jars and maybe even call the police…so I get up and go take a look. I make a mistake of not turning on the kitchen light, so the large room is incredibly creepy I realize with just the light of the fridge showing some of the floor and the walls – I am thinking to myself someone could be standing in the corner and I wouldn’t be able to see him.

I shudder and look into the fridge, partly with terrible fright and partly with morbid curiosity about what could be in the jars. Partly thinking I am overreacting and partly thinking I need to do this…

I reach in and rip off the front paper on one of the jars and all I can see is a long white hunk of meat like the skin of a person and that same red I saw before, surrounding a white circle on the end. I rip part of the other jar’s paper and I see skin and some hair…long hair.

By now I am peeing my pants and hoping I can call the police before they get home.

The front door clicks from the sound of a key turning and I know I am screwed. In a panic I wanted to bolt out the back door and I knew it was locked, and it was dark back there so it wouldn’t be like I could get out in a hurry. I stop my urine stream before it gets to be a waterfall in my pants, and head back to the living room.

Mrs. Nelson smiled at me pleasantly and asked if everything went okay. I smile and say yeah, and look at the TV. Phew, that awful news about the murder isn’t on anymore.

She tells me I am welcome to finish my show here if I like and I say no, I really need to be going now. The understatement of the year!

I was heading towards the door, not even caring if they even paid me, and Mr. Nelson says, “Please stay a moment. I’d like to talk to you about those jars of ours. I really hope you haven’t touched them.” His eyes are a little bit beady and weird as he’s saying this.

Holy crap! I bolt out the door which he still left open and ran like hell and never looked back. I called the police when I got home, but the Nelson’s conveniently were gone by the time the police arrived at their home, with no jars in the fridge of course. I’m thinking the police think I am nuts.

The last one I think has been posted a long while back, but I like it, so read on!

[derision]

( NONE ARE MINE BUT THE VERY BOTTOM )
i will do one :
Axe Murder Hollow



A Pennsylvania Ghost Story

retold by S.E. Schlosser

Susan and Ned were driving through a wooded empty section of highway. Lightning flashed, thunder roared, the sky went dark in the torrential downpour.
“We’d better stop,” said Susan.
Ned nodded his head in agreement. He stepped on the brake, and suddenly the car started to slide on the slick pavement. They plunged off the road and slid to a halt at the bottom of an incline.
Pale and shaking, Ned quickly turned to check if Susan was all right. When she nodded, Ned relaxed and looked through the rain soaked windows.
“I’m going to see how bad it is,” he told Susan, and when out into the storm. She saw his blurry figure in the headlight, walking around the front of the car. A moment later, he jumped in beside her, soaking wet.
“The car’s not badly damaged, but we’re wheel-deep in mud,” he said. “I’m going to have to go for help.”
Susan swallowed nervously. There would be no quick rescue here. He told her to turn off the headlights and lock the doors until he returned.
Axe Murder Hollow. Although Ned hadn’t said the name aloud, they both knew what he had been thinking when he told her to lock the car. This was the place where a man had once taken an axe and hacked his wife to death in a jealous rage over an alleged affair. Supposedly, the axe-wielding spirit of the husband continued to haunt this section of the road.
Outside the car, Susan heard a shriek, a loud thump, and a strange gurgling noise. But she couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
Frightened, she shrank down into her seat. She sat in silence for a while, and then she noticed another sound. Bump. Bump. Bump. It was a soft sound, like something being blown by the wind.
Suddenly, the car was illuminated by a bright light. An official sounding voice told her to get out of the car. Ned must have found a police officer. Susan unlocked the door and stepped out of the car. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she saw it.
Hanging by his feet from the tree next to the car was the dead body of Ned. His bloody throat had been cut so deeply that he was nearly decapitated. The wind swung his corpse back and forth so that it thumped against the tree. Bump. Bump. Bump.
Susan screamed and ran toward the voice and the light. As she drew close, she realized the light was not coming from a flashlight. Standing there was the glowing figure of a man with a smile on his face and a large, solid, and definitely real axe in his hands. She backed away from the glowing figure until she bumped into the car.
“Playing around when my back was turned,” the ghost whispered, stroking the sharp blade of the axe with his fingers. “You’ve been very naughty.”
The last thing she saw was the glint of the axe blade in the eerie, incandescent light.



The Brothers' Revenge



A Wisconsin Ghost Story

Retold by S.E. Schlosser

The blizzard was raging fiercely around them as the brothers stumbled down the long road. they were miles from any farm, and knew they had to seek shelter or freeze to death. So it was with gratitude that the two brothers spotted a saloon and pushed their way through the door.
Every eye in the room turned upon them, as the boys ordered coffee with the last of their money. As the bartender went to fetch the hot drink, most of the regulars returned to their conversations. But one man continued to stare; a massive butcher with a mop of red hair and a long red beard who was the worse for drink.


“You’re looking at me funny,” the butcher slurred, looming over the two boys.


“We weren’t looking at you,” said the older boy. “We were just warming ourselves by the fire.”


“Are you calling me a liar?” he shouted. Around the room crowd grinned; they loved a good fight.


“We didn’t say that,” said the older boy quickly, waving his hands and accidentally striking the butcher on the arm. That did it. The butcher grabbed the boy by the collar. “No one hits me and gets away with it,” he roared and threw the boy headfirst into the huge fire raging in the hearth.
There was a moment of stunned silence in the saloon, and then the elder boy screamed in agony as the flames engulfed him from head to toe. The younger lad shouted in terror. The older boy stumbled out of the fireplace, as the little brother tried to beat out the fire with his small hands.
The butcher loomed above them, grinning sadistically as the flaming boy lost consciousness, his screams dying away.


“Your turn,” the butcher said to his brother. The younger boy gasped in fear and fled for his life out into the raging snow. The boy’s little frozen body was not found until the spring.


One evening, a decade after the death of the two young boys, a burly man with a long red beard came strolling down the road one taken by the brothers. The butcher had heard rumors of a ghost but had discarded them as so much poppycock and tavern talk.


As he meandered down the road, he became aware that a silence had fallen. In the odd silence, he heard the footsteps of a large animal. They walked when he walked and stopped when he stopped. Pulse pounding madly, the butcher turned. Behind him, large as an ox, stood a black dog with blazing blue eyes and sharp teeth. The butcher had seen those blue eyes once before, gazing at him from the face of a young boy trying to save his burning brother.


The black dog growled softly and took a step forward. The butcher whirled around to flee and found himself face to face with tall figure covered from head to toe in flames. The burning boy reached out toward the butcher with hands withered and blackened by fire. The butcher gave a terrified scream and fell, blood gushing from eyes and nose. He was dead before he hit the ground.


To this day, the black dog and the flaming figure still appeared in that vicinity to harass travelers and speed them on their way.


( want more? )


Bloody Mary Returns



A Montana Ghost Story

Retold by S.E. Schlosser

My stepmother was vile. I guess most kids think that when their father remarries. But in this case, it was true. She only married Father because he was rich, and she hated children. There were three of us – me (Marie), my middle brother Richard and my youngest brother Charles. We were the price my stepmother Gerta paid for being rich. And we were all that stood between her and inheriting Father's money when he died. So she took steps against us.

She sent my youngest brother Charles away to boarding school overseas. It had a good, scholarly reputation, but it also had the reputation for being a hard school that was full of bullies and strict discipline. Not a place where a delicate child like Charles, who had been sickly as a baby, would thrive. He was miserable there. Somehow, Gerta contrived to keep him there for all but the summer holidays, and when he came home the first year he was pale and thin with dark circles under his eyes that looked like bruises. He cried – he actually cried! – when Father told him he had to go back to the school. But Father didn’t listen to him. Gerta thought it would be good for Charles to go there, and so Charles went.

I did everything I could – encouraging letters and daily phone calls – until Gerta said it was too expensive and restricted calls to five minutes once a month. I even got Father to book me a ticket to Europe so I could visit Charles. Gerta was enraged when she found out. Her blue eyes went so cold it made chills run up my spine, and her pink mouth thinned into a bitter line that bade ill for me since I had dared to interfere. Two days before my plane left for Europe, the school called and told us that Charles had climbed up to the tallest tower and flung himself off. He was dead.

Father was shocked, of course, and Gerta was quietly triumphant. For a few months, Father paid more attention to Richard and myself then he had since our mother died. But Gerta was beautiful and had winning ways about her that soon drew my Father’s attention away. And now that one of her hated step-children was dead, she focused on another. Poor Richard was next.

Richard was a sturdy chap who was about to enter high school, and he was really into sports. He would have thrived at the boarding school that had killed Charles. So Gerta sent him to an arts school instead. He hated it, but Gerta had told Father he had “talent”, so there he went. (You’d think my Father would have learned his lesson with Charles!) But Richard was a survivor, and he grimly practiced piano and violin when he would rather have played soccer and football. But Gerta was clever. She introduced Richard to a couple of high school boys who were everything Richard craved to be – rich, popular, on the football team. And into drugs. Gerta made sure Richard had a very large allowance, and kept increasing it as Richard was drawn deeper and deeper under the influence. Until one day Richard overdosed, and Gerta only had one step-child left. Me.

I was sure (sure!) that Gerta knew Richard was doing drugs in his room that day. She knew he was ill and possibly dying in there. If she’d “found” him even ten minutes sooner, his life would have been saved. So said the doctor, and I believed him. But Father wouldn’t believe me. He was angry whenever I said anything against Gerta, and told me to hold my tongue. Still, I knew I was next, and I was sure that Father would not live long after willing his fortune over to his wife. I decided that if Gerta got too bad, I would run away and live secretly with my aunt in New Jersey until I turned 18.

From the moment Richard’s body was found in his room, I forced myself to be a model child. My homework was done on time, I was polite to Gerta and all her friends, I went on all the family excursions with Gerta and Father – even the dangerous ones like shark-fishing. You can be sure that I took care to be “sea-sick” indoors and stayed away from the edge of the boat. Gerta was clever with her tricks. Everyone thought it was an accident the time we were out shopping and I fell onto the subway in front of an oncoming train. I managed to roll out of the way on time, but it was way too close for comfort.

I had almost decided to run away when my father brought me the sad news that my aunt in New Jersey had died suddenly in her sleep, poisoned by person or persons unknown. I was appalled. How had Gerta known? But she had – I could tell from the smirk on her face.

I went to my room that night and locked myself in to think. I could run away, but the money wouldn’t last long. And I’d need to finish high school or my chances of getting a good job were nil. Besides, Gerta would still be out there somewhere. If she could hire someone to poison my only living relative (besides Father), she could hire someone to kill me, whether I was living at home or not.

There was only one thing I could think of. And it was a terrible thing. A family secret passed down from my Mother’s side for many generations. It involved a witch named Bloody Mary, who had once tried to kill my many times great grandmother and use the child’s blood to make herself young and beautiful forever. The witch had been stopped by the child's father (my many times great grandfather) in the nick of time, and the witch had cursed him as she burned at the stake. Cursed his mirror, and the mirrors of all the men who had condemned her to death at the stake, so that anyone saying her name in front of those mirrors would invoke her vengeful spirit.

The story had gotten mixed up over the years, as it was passed down first in their village and then all over the country. These days, school kids everywhere scared themselves silly chanting Bloody Mary’s name in front of darkened mirrors during sleepover parties, and nothing happened to them. So no one really believed in the curse. Of course, no one knew the real story of Bloody Mary. That was a deep secret handed down by the villagers of long ago. But I was a direct descendant, and I knew how to summon the witch. You had to use a mirror owned by someone in the direct blood-line of one of the original families that lived in Bloody Mary’s village. And the witch's name must be spoken by candlelight a certain number of times in their native tongue.

It was an evil thing to do, I knew. But it was the only way to save my life. It was either Gerta or me. If I didn’t fight back, I was dead. So I took my hard earned money and went out to a specialty store to buy hand-dipped, beeswax candles. Black ones. I followed my mother’s directions carefully, placing them at certain intervals around the living room so that they reflected in the huge mirror behind the couch. Then I lit each one, speaking the spell passed down in my mother’s family. And I waited. Father was away on a business trip, and Gerta was out at a party with her latest boyfriend. She came home late, and scolded me for staying up to study. Her voice was playful and light – I hated that voice. It made her sound like she was nice. But there was also a note of suspicion underlying her words, and she stared hard at the flickering black candles.

“Holding a séance, little Marie?” she asked, emphasizing the word little, knowing I hated when she called me that.

“I just like working by candlelight,” I said mendaciously, turning a page in my text book.

Gerta frowned. “You know, little Marie, I think it’s time we had a talk,” she said, walking over to the mirror behind the couch and primping her hair.

“Yes,” I said softly. “We should. You killed my brothers. And my aunt. But I won’t let you kill me.”

Gerta laughed. “As if you stood a chance against me!” she said, fluffing her long blond hair up behind her shoulders.

I spoke the name of Bloody Mary in the native tongue of my ancestors. Once. Twice. Three times. Inside the mirror, the image of Gerta burst into flames, and another face looked out. It was the malevolent face of a twisted old crone, ruined with age, and altogether evil. I ducked behind the chair as Gerta gave a scream of sheer terror, her eyes fixed on the witch. As I watched from my hiding place, heat burst forth from the mirror, blistering her beautiful alabaster skin. I could hear the flames roaring as the witch laughed evilly and held out her arms toward my step mother.

“Gerta,” crooned Bloody Mary. “Come to me, Gerta.”

And she took my step mother into her arms.

Gerta’s terrified scream was suddenly cut off. The flames disappeared as suddenly as they had come. When I peeked out from behind the couch, Gerta and Bloody Mary were gone.

I called Father at his hotel the next morning to tell him that Gerta hadn’t slept at home. (Well, it was true!) He wasn’t pleased. He called a few of her friends from his hotel room, and quickly discovered she had been carrying on with another man. With several, if the truth be known. Father hated infidelity. He flew home at once to confront Gerta, but she was still missing; presumed run away with one of her flames.

Somehow, Father managed to divorce Gerta without ever trying to find her. And since she had no family in the area except us, everyone accepted the cover story, and no one ever tried to locate her. Gerta was gone for good. And Father and I were safe at last.



( i made dis one up. )
Never Unbeleive.

There were two girls, Katie and Nicole. And they were going to summer camp. They were both really excited and couldn't wait to get away from home.

When they got there, they were warned of a wild animal killing people who wandered out in the dark. Some people laughed, others were worried. Katie was worried, while Nicole said "How fake is that!"

After a long day of hiking, swimming, canoeing, roasting marshmellows, and telling campfire stories, the girls went back up to the cabin and went to sleep.

In the middle of the night, Katie thought she heard someone walking in and out of the room. She looked down onto the bottom bunk to ask Nicole who it was, she wasn't there. She thought she got up to go to the bathroom and went back to sleep.

What felt like about 5 minutes, Katie was getting shook by one of the camp councilors that they had to leave right away and the camp was getting shut down for good. She packed quickly and walked out to the bus. When she got outside, she saw Nicole, dead, hanging from a tree, skin scraped off, and the only thing not covered in blood were her eyes.

Katie later found out that the thing that killed her friend was a cannibal, found in the forrest, eating her friends flesh.

The end.

[folle]

A middle-aged couple decided one day to move out into the country. They didn't have much money, so when they came across a reasonably new house on a good-sized plot of land for very cheap, they were delighted. They purchased it without further delay, and on their first day in it they had a housewarming party.
One of their new neighbors, an old, wizened lady, came. She refused to step foot in the house but requested to speak with the owners. The couple came out, confused but polite.
"Do you know why this house was so cheap?" the old lady asked them, not even introducing herself of asking their names.
"Well, no, but we're just grateful it was," the man said truthfully.
"All its previous owners died," the old lady croaked. "They were all murdered. All in the same way- knifed while in their beds, the room locked and the windows bolted."
"Sounds like a good topic for a mystery novel," the wife kidding, trying to lighten the mood.
The old lady swung her agitated gaze onto her. "You must leave. This isn't a joke. Nobody wants to see another death. Leave!"
With that she hobbled away, her shoulders drooping.

TO BE CONTINUED.

The couple looked at each other, and uneasily tried to laugh the eerie tale off.
"Well, if you ask me, she was a few cards short of a full deck," the woman said, and the man laughed. They returned to the party and shrugged off the incident, but they couldn't get rid of the tingling feelings of disquiet or the vague, unformed sense of doom. As evening fell and the sun set, the feelings intensified. They waved their guests good-bye, joking and laughing and telling them to come again. When the last long-lingering guest had left, they went back into the house together.
Up to that point they had managed to forget the old lady, but alone in the darkness it came back to them. A creak sounded upstairs, and they both jumped.
"Oh," the woman said, and laughed. The man made no reply, but reached over and flicked on the light.
They were both unwilling to go to bed and both unwilling to admit it. They found every possible way to stay up later, making hot drinks, touring the house, exclaiming over every detail. But finally it was past 11:30 and they went upstairs.
The woman went into the bathroom to take a shower. She kept hearing footsteps- the footsteps of her husband, she knew, but that didn't make it any less scary. Once her imagination dreamed that she heard a muffled scream, and she scolded herself for being so easily scared by superstitious nonsense.
She shut off the water and dried herself off quickly, spooking when she saw her own reflection, humming a tune under her breath to try to calm herself down.
She dressed at top speed and hastened out of the bathroom. The cool air soothed her frayed nerves, and in the open hallway, with the carpet soft under her bare feet, it was easier to tell herself she was being silly. She passed a small nightstand on her way to the bedroom, then paused and doubled back. Hadn't there been a decorative ceramic bird there? Just a little red one, about three inches high? She had noticed its startling shade of red in their earlier inspection of the house. The color of blood...
Shaking herself, she wondered at how her unease was causing her thoughts to turn so creepy. She knew it was stupid, but that didn't stop her from turning the lock and checking the window when she went into their bedroom.

(Sorry guys, I'm going to have to continue this later! Bad place to stop, I know, but I need to be up early tomorrow. See you!)

[climbing{the}world]

Woah! That is SCARY! And very well written!

[folle]

A middle-aged couple decided one day to move out into the country. They didn't have much money, so when they came across a reasonably new house on a good-sized plot of land for very cheap, they were delighted. They purchased it without further delay, and on their first day in it they had a housewarming party.
One of their new neighbors, an old, wizened lady, came. She refused to step foot in the house but requested to speak with the owners. The couple came out, confused but polite.
"Do you know why this house was so cheap?" the old lady asked them, not even introducing herself of asking their names.
"Well, no, but we're just grateful it was," the man said truthfully.
"All its previous owners died," the old lady croaked. "They were all murdered. All in the same way- knifed while in their beds, the room locked and the windows bolted."
"Sounds like a good topic for a mystery novel," the wife kidding, trying to lighten the mood.
The old lady swung her agitated gaze onto her. "You must leave. This isn't a joke. Nobody wants to see another death. Leave!"
With that she hobbled away, her shoulders drooping.

TO BE CONTINUED.

The couple looked at each other, and uneasily tried to laugh the eerie tale off.
"Well, if you ask me, she was a few cards short of a full deck," the woman said, and the man laughed. They returned to the party and shrugged off the incident, but they couldn't get rid of the tingling feelings of disquiet or the vague, unformed sense of doom. As evening fell and the sun set, the feelings intensified. They waved their guests good-bye, joking and laughing and telling them to come again. When the last long-lingering guest had left, they went back into the house together.
Up to that point they had managed to forget the old lady, but alone in the darkness it came back to them. A creak sounded upstairs, and they both jumped.
"Oh," the woman said, and laughed. The man made no reply, but reached over and flicked on the light.
They were both unwilling to go to bed and both unwilling to admit it. They found every possible way to stay up later, making hot drinks, touring the house, exclaiming over every detail. But finally it was past 11:30 and they went upstairs.
The woman went into the bathroom to take a shower. She kept hearing footsteps- the footsteps of her husband, she knew, but that didn't make it any less scary. Once her imagination dreamed that she heard a muffled scream, and she scolded herself for being so easily scared by superstitious nonsense.
She shut off the water and dried herself off quickly, spooking when she saw her own reflection, humming a tune under her breath to try to calm herself down.
She dressed at top speed and hastened out of the bathroom. The cool air soothed her frayed nerves, and in the open hallway, with the carpet soft under her bare feet, it was easier to tell herself she was being silly. She passed a small nightstand on her way to the bedroom, then paused and doubled back. Hadn't there been a decorative ceramic bird there? Just a little red one, about three inches high? She had noticed its startling shade of red in their earlier inspection of the house. The color of blood...
Shaking herself, she wondered at how her unease was causing her thoughts to turn so creepy. She knew it was stupid, but that didn't stop her from turning the lock and checking the window when she went into their bedroom.

(Sorry guys, I'm going to have to continue this later! Bad place to stop, I know, but I need to be up early tomorrow. See you!)

The wife turned away from the window. The sky was cloudy tonight but the dim light was enough for the wife to make out the figure of her husband, already gone to bed. She could hear his deep, slow breathing, and guessed that after the exhausting day he had fallen right to sleep.
I should be so lucky, she thought, and she got into bed, still feeling unsettled.
A few minutes passed as the woman tried to relax and go to sleep. An owl hooted right outside her window and her eyes flew open. She edged closer to her husband and grabbed his hand. It was sweaty and clammy, probably much like her own felt, she guessed.
They lay like this, holding hands but not touching otherwise, not wanting to show fear beyond that. The wife could feel her pulse, quick and nervous, and tried to calm herself by listening to her husband's breathing. In... out... in.... out. Slightly muffled- by the dark blue comforter, she guessed.
An hour passed, and the wife felt her husband's hand, instead of taking heat from her own, cool. Soon it seemed as though she were holding hands with a mannequin. He must have a fever, she thought. Or something. His steady breathing proved that he was all right, though.
After another hour, during which the wife shifted and fidgeted, passed, and the wife began to wonder: why is he so still? Many a night he had kept her up, rolling over in his sleep, pulling covers, pushing pillows.
He's kept up by fear, same as I am, she thought. She said his name softly, to confirm this, but he didn't reply, just lay on his side, breathing.
Doesn't want to admit it, she thought, but she was done pretending she wasn't scared. A story about dead house owners was ten times as scary in the dead of night, and she wanted to be comforted. So she sat up and called his name again, this time in a normal speaking voice. Then, when he didn't speak or move, she yelled it and shook his shoulder. There was no response to either, and so the wife got up and went over to switch on the light.
The first thing she noticed when she turned the light on was that there was a smear of redness on the back of her hand. She flipped it over; the palm was covered with scarlet, both dried and still wet. She had her back to the bed, facing the light switch. She had been holding her husband's hand, she had noticed how sweaty it was.
Not sweat...
She spun around, breathing heavily, almost panting, her heart going twice as fast as was healthy.
Her husband lay on the bed, his eyes blank and empty. The beginning of a huge cut started at his neck and from the blood stain, seemed to go all the way down his body. He was under the covers, and the comforter was stained, its dark blue covered with a darker stain. One of the husband's hands hung over the edge of the mattress and touched the floor. A stream of blood had run down his arm and pooled on the floor. There, in his limp fingers, was the red ceramic bird, precisely the same shade of scarlet as the blood.
His wife screamed and ran to his side. She fell to her knees by the bed, sobbing and gasping. She felt sick with terror and grief, and laid her head down on the edge of the bed, crying silently.
Suddenly she remembered how she had laid in bed, listening to his breathing, trying to fall asleep.
He's dead, she thought, and now she could clearly hear it in the silent room, the steady sound that had helped calm her down and now scared her out of her mind.
So who is that breathing?
As though in a dream, moving very slowly, tears drying on her cheeks and her heart thumping wildly, she lowered herself until she was looking under the bed.
He grinned back at her. The knife in his hands glinted as he moved it.
The next morning they fought the two bodies, lying side by side on the bed, not touching, not breathing.

Written by me, although I sort
of wish I hadn't. Despite the
90°+ temperature, I'm going
to go huddle under several
blankets and check under every
bed in the house. Bye!

[folle]

Woah! That is SCARY! And very well written!

Thank you, if that was intended for me