Scary stories (dont read if you are easily scared)

[Major and Junie]

look at the pic its just like she has cuts

[Zoruakat]

My aunt and I watched Bat man the dark night or what ever before she told me the story so I could think of how her scars should look.

[Forever is Now]

can you please not spam? I really dont want this thread locked.

Massey was a soldier unfortunate enough to cross me, his commanding officer. He did not live to regret it. There was something very satisfying in the moment when I thrust the tip of my sword into the soldier’s heart during our duel. I watched him fall to the ground with the satisfaction of a job well done.

The men under my command seem depressed in the following weeks. They mention Massey frequently, but I ignore their conversations.

One night, I retreat to my chambers to sulk and soon was joined by a delegation of men who were friends of Massey. I am surprised and delighted to learn that they had come to their senses and now saw the impertinent lieutenant for the cheat he really was. We share a round of drinks and laughed together. I’m afraid I drank far too much that evening.

The other soldiers suggested we explore the lower dungeons. That sounded like a fine idea to me. We set off in merry spirits, drinking and singing and laughing, our voices echoing through the narrow passages. Deeper and deeper we went. My head started spinning and my legs felt like rubber after all that drinking. I am afraid I passed out from drunkenness, much to my shame.

When I came to, I was lying on my back with my wrists and ankles shackled to the floor. Drunken men, fooling around, I thought.

“Very funny, lads,” I called out. “Now set me free.”

The soldiers didn’t answer me. A moment passed and Massey’s best friend appeared in the doorway, holding mortar and a mason’s trowel. The other men began handing him bricks and I realize that the soldiers are bricking up the entrance to the cell in which I lay shackled. “Very funny,” I said again.

No one answered me. They worked in silence, laying brick after brick until one row is done, then two. They were playing a nasty joke on me, of course.

Then Massey’s best friend paused in his work and looked directly into my eyes. At that moment I realized that this joke is no joke. Scream after scream ripped from my throat as I struggle against my bonds. But the dungeon was too deep within the fort, and no one heard my screams.

They were on the final row of bricks. I was reduced to bribery now, desperately using my wealth in an attempt to escape my fate. But no one listened to my bribes. I watched in heart-thudding horror as the last brick is put in place, as the last chink of light faded from my sight. I have been entombed alive in the deepest, darkest dungeon of the fort. I howled in panic, writhing against the iron manacles binding hands and feet and twisting my body. Eventually I fell back against the floor, my wrists and ankles wet with my own blood.

My fingers were torn and throbbing from their intense scrabbling against the hard floor. I found myself weeping angrily, though I have never shed a tear in my lifetime.

The agony of the thought sent me writhing again in spite of the horrible pain racking my wrists, ankles, and hands. Daylight. I must see daylight again. Just once more.

“Don’t leave me here to die alone! Don’t leave me!”

But I was alone, and the sheer brutal horror of it overwhelmed me. My eyes strained against the complete and utter darkness, and I wondered if they were even open.
I can’t get out. I can’t get out. I CAN’T GET OUT!

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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.

[daz]

this is one i made up called, "The yardstick that was halfway there."


One foggy night, a young librarian was walking home. he stopped by the store and bought a yardstick for his wife. he had promised to get one for her and they would stay together all that night to play her favorite game that needed the yardstick. he got home, and police were all over his house. he asked, "What's going on?"

"Your wife was murdered." the police answered.

The boy, John, was terribly sad. at the end of the ceromony, John stepped up to his wife's grave stone. and laid the yardstick over it, "For you. rest in piece darling..."

He sadly weeped there through half the night and then left. well when he was halfway there, he heard a voice behind him. it said, "You promised to stay..."

John stared around, then kept walking. well he was halfway up the stairs to his room when he heard the voice say, "You promised to stay. but you left the yardstick only. not your love. now i'm halfway there with the yardstick..."

John wipped around, worridly calling, "Who are you!?"

Then he felf rough breathing on his neck, "You're halfway there, i'm coming to."

John edged his way into his room, and sat on his bed. The voice came again, "I'm here my sweet. now follow..."

he felt a hand touch his shoulder, "No! i won't follow you until i learn who you are!"

The voice screamed, and a knife attatched to the yardstick thrashed it's way at John.

in the morning, John's brother went to his house. there on the bed wasn't john, but a yardstick with a bloodspattered knife on it's edge. his brother followed John's blood trail, and found the grave of his wife. now there was a new grave HALFWAY by eachother. it read, "Here lies John, the traitor."


if you didn't get that ending, the wife was always halway close to killing him. so they could be together, so in the end. they were halfway close again.

[derision]

I like that story with the black dog!


ohhh nice! the yardstick one made me shiver.

[daz]

thank you metalwolves.

[Major and Junie]

cool!!!!!!!! i luved it!

[daz]

thanks to you to Major!

[Major and Junie]

lol!!!:D
cool! i could try to make one up

[derision]

welcome! heres one by me called:"A Haunting"

Misty, a little girl hummed along as she put her bathing suit on. They had just yesterday bought a old time house with a nice little pool. Misty jumped exctiedly to the pool, and jumped in before you could say 'haunting'. Misty didn't feel comfortable in this pool though. It was ice ice ICE cold. At least her parents came out in time. Mother ( lets call her Rosa ) Gasped in horror.
Misty was getting scratched to death, and something was holding her in the middle of the pool, not reaching the surface or bottom. Rosa threw out a float in her direction and helped her out of the pool. The nine year old was in tears. Something popped out of the pool and then floated back in. It was at least five giant RED orbs. Misty cryed. She never forgot that day.
( true story )