søndag 2. januar 2011

Babchia's Story

Originally posted by: End of Worlds

I'm relaying a story from my grandmother, who told it to me exactly once, years ago, and refuses to speak of it ever again.

My great grandmother was a Polish immigrant who came to this country around 1915. She married shortly after, and my grandmother was born in 1922. This story takes place when my grandmother was nine years old and my great uncle was an infant.. They lived in Brooklyn. The rest of this story is transcribed from what she told me.

"It was a cooler summer day, and Babchia (Polish for "grandmother," pronounced Bop-chee; it's what we all called her) and I were taking your great uncle to the park a few blocks away. It was a weekday and folks were at work, so there weren't many people out on the street. We were about a block away from the park on one street with no one else out when we saw a little girl walking towards us. She looked about my age, maybe a little older, with black hair. We couldn't see her face because she was looking down at the sidewalk as she walked towards us. The first thing I noticed was that Bapchia straightened up a bit and frowned, like there was something wrong. I started to ask her what was wrong, but a moment or so later I picked up on it too.

There was something weird about the girl. I didn't like looking at her; I got this watery feeling in my eyes and I felt afraid. She kept walking directly towards us. When she was around thirty feet away Bapchia pushed the stroller at me and told me quietly to cross the street and hurry to the end of the block, and most of all don't look back.

I was very afraid by now, so I did what she said. I waited at the end of the block, nervous as a wreck, waiting for her to come back. Finally she did, and she was pale as a ghost, and scared looking. She was holding onto the crucifix at her neck. I thought she'd been running. She wouldn't tell me what had happened, only that we had to leave.

It took me years to get her to tell me what she'd seen that day after I left. She never wanted to talk about it, and would yell at me if I brought it up. Finally one day she did, and she still looked scared to tell it.

She told me that after I had crossed the street, the little girl kept walking until she was just a few feet away, and then she stopped. Bapchia stopped too, looking at her. The girl slowly looked up from the ground to stare at Bapchia, who said her face and eyes were "like the dead," though she would never explain what that meant.

Then the little girl opened her mouth. Wide. Much, much wider than a human mouth could go. And she kept opening it. It stretched down to her chest, while her eyes stayed locked on Bapchia's. That was when Bapchia broke and ran, crossing the street to my side and hurrying towards me without looking back."

After she finished I wrote it down in its entirety as best I could. My great grandmother was extremely religious and, according to my grandmother, swore until her dying day that this story was true. My grandmother, though she did not witness the whole thing, was visibly unsettled by the memory. I haven't embellished or altered a thing here, everything I posted is exactly what she told me.

The Woman in White

Originally posted by: Khazar-Khum

I posted this one in the earlier thread, but it still creeps me out. To her dying day my mother was scared of what we saw.

We decided to go visit my sister, who lived in Texas at the time. Since we lived in Norco, CA, it was going to be a long drive. My Dad is one of those people who believes in getting up at 5 to go anywhere, and driving as fast as you can until you either reach your destination or are forced to stop.

So we loaded up the car and dutifully left at 5 AM. To reach the freeway the easiest route was something of a backway into Riverside, then down La Sierra to I 15. The road skirted the tallest hills. On the right was the cemetery, while on the left the land turned into rolling hills that dropped down to the Santa Ana river. At the time there were no houses of any kind for several miles.

As we drove up the road, we saw a flash of white to the left. There were no streetlights, so it couldn't have been something like an owl. Suddenly a woman in a long white gown ran out onto the road. She had long, dark hair, no shoes, no purse, nothing but her and the gown. She ran into our lane and lay down, facing us.

We guessed she was in her 40s, maybe 50s. Her eyes were wide open, staring right at us.

My mom had no idea what to do. There were no phones anywhere and this was before cellphones. We could see another car coming from the other direction. I thought we should wait until the other car got there, and then leave.

The other car was a pickup. They stopped, and started honking. Right then my mom remembered the shoulder of the road. We drove up the dirt, hitting some oleanders as we left. As we drove off I could see her still lying there, not moving, while the pickup honked.

And where, exactly, did this happen?

Right next to the cemetery.

lørdag 1. januar 2011


Posted by: Unknown

Last night, I was derailed from seeing a movie by a pal of mine 'J,' who needed a ride to a barbeque, with an invite as barter. Damn right I could see the movie another time!

We arrive at Lindsey's house, where her roommates were all running about, organizing the contents of 11 empty grocery bags; meat here, condiments there, booze here, etc...

I'd noted to Lindsey that I liked her new home, it's much bigger, roomier, and safer than her previous one, to which she looked a little puzzled.

"You... you must be referring to the house on 'Nashville St,' because you never saw..."
"...the other one," Lindsey's roommate Emily finished.
"So... you don't know the story of the place in between the place you knew us to live in and this one, right?" Lindsey asked.

I just stood there, curious of all of the wide-eyed, uneasy looks, making myself wordlessly obvious that I'd not a clue. They called in the third roommate, Brianne, followed by J.

They took turns adding in their 'two-cents,' confirming little details, adding others, to which they all agreed upon as the story progressed. Rather than make this a back-and-forth story of four people interjecting, I'll tell it to you third-person.

On Carrollton Avenue in New Orleans, Lindsey had parted with her previous roommate, and got together with two girls from school she didn't know so well, Brianne and Emily, and got a decent place. The place in question was rather roomy, in a good location, and, above all, a hell of a bargain. This house, like most in the neighborhood, is nearly one hundred years old.

When Emily and Lindsey arrived to move their belongings in, they saw a note on the door of the furthest room from the front door, there was a note by Brianne, saying that she'd already claimed it, which annoyed the other two girls.

A blessing in disguise.

Brianne's Mad Dash

Within the first week or two, Brianne and the girls were all in the house together, Lindsey and Emily supposedly asleep, and Brianne up all night, determined to finish the book she was reading. At somewhere between 2-4am, she reached the last page of her text, closing the book, and settling into bed to see if she was tired enough to sleep, just yet. Note that the book was NOT a mystery/horror book, and that she had an elated feeling about what she'd just read.

She was replacing the book back on the shelf, and general before-bed tidying up, when the light above her started flickering, then went out. Brianne then turned off all of the lamps around the room, leaving the one near her desk on.

She soon found out she couldn’t sleep, so she sat up again, and turned on the television, putting in a cartoon DVD, in the hope it'd tire her out before the sun came up.

She heard a rapping on the wall, and stood, not knowing if it came from her door or her wall. Brianne lowered the volume on the TV, fearing it woke up a roommate, and approached the corner of the room where the noise was coming from. It wasn't the door, it wasn't the wall, it was coming from the closet.

What Brianne didn't know at the time was that her deep closet shared a wall with Emily's equally deep closet, not Emily's wall.

Brianne assumed it was Emily who was knocking, and crept back to bed, in silence. Again, the rapping coursed through the room, so Brianne got up, exited the room, only to find Emily fast asleep in her own room, her body splayed nowhere near the wall in question. She checked on Lindsey, who was also fully asunder, her room too far for her to have knocked on the wall, to do so loud enough to gain Brianne's attention would have woken up the whole house!

Confused, and a little weirded-out, Brianne returned to her room, closed the door, and turned off the TV and remaining lamps, and reached for the desk lamp, which turned off before she could hit the switch. She retreated her hand in surprise, and the light flickered on; she then reached forward again, and she successfully managed to turn it off, the desk lamp having given up on a life of its own.

Suddenly, light flooded the room, the overhead light blasted into life; perhaps it wasn't the bulb that broke, but simply a loose socket?

Brianne, in the few seconds it took for her to turn around, and head towards the light switch, became uneasy. Sure, it was scary, and the visual impact of the overhead light flickering like crazy was intimidating enough, but it wasn't without the realm of reason that this old house had loose bulbs, sockets, even wiring, to which she'd have a chat with the landlord about investigating before a inner-wall fire could occur.

Brianne consoled herself with such thoughts, as she approached the light switch in the strobed room, to finally turn it off, and put an end to this ordeal for the night. However, she began to believe the strobing effect of the light flickering on and off maniacally was making her see things... or not, for once she got to the light switch...

The light switch was been frantically flipping up and down on its own.

She jumped back in panic, as the strobing continued for a full few seconds, then suddenly stopped. Following a few moments later, in the darkness, was the knocking making a re-appearance, but much, much louder than before.

Brianne grabbed what she could, and got the fuck out of there around 5am, not only not looking back, but too scared to even inform the other girls of what went on.

The Wireman

It took a long time for Brianne to be coaxed back into the house, since no strange events had occurred since, yet Brianne wasn't going anywhere NEAR that room, so, she slept elsewhere in the house. It was suggested that Brianne sleep on the second floor, since the weather was good, and the only reason it wasn't used was that the landlord had yet to repair the AC/Heating units up there. Brianne refused. As tall-tale hauntings go, Brianne reasoned, she was going to stay away from an attic as far as possible, despite the fact that all of the happenings occurred in the back bedroom that she once claimed.

Weeks passed, and Emily had some visitors come over on one occasion, and Lindsey had some of her own on another; neither group of visitors slept more than one night in that house, citing that they had 'strange dreams' that they refused to discuss, and they had an unnatural apprehension from going down the hall past Emily's room.

Lindsey decided to investigate a bit, and entered Brianne's room during the day, finding nothing out of order. However, upon inspecting the closet where Brianne heard pounding noises, she discovered that not only did the back of the closet share a wall with the back of Emily's closet, there was a sizable hole cut out of it, enough for a child to pass back and forth. Upon even closer inspection, the wall was shared, yes, but was hollowed, there was three feet or more difference between the two panels in the back of the two closets. Lindsey shined a light on the little space, and found a large spool of 'industrial' wire. She turned the light upward, toward the ceiling, and discovered this little 'hollow' went straight through the second floor, and into the attic, she could see a large beam stretching across, far above.

Lindsey kept this discovery to herself for a few days.

A night or two later, Emily was looking rather haggard, and explained that it was due to lack of sleep, since recurring nightmares kept jolting her out of slumber. The other two girls pressed on the contents of the dreams, the reslut of which much to their shock.

All three girls (and one overnight guest) had the same dream, as did the two previous guests, when contacted and insisted upon the details:

A very old, bald man was suspended above them, from wires somehow attached to his back, reaching up into the blackness; his arms were slung down, locked at the elbow, as to reach as far down as he possibly could; his arms began as skin, muscle, and sinew, but gradually terminated into a cluster of wires. The Wireman dangled above the dreamer, waving/scissoring his arms back and forth at locked length, as if trying to wipe past the faces of the startled dreamer. Finally, the man would buckle, as if a few inches of slack was granted from above, and the Wireman would immediately and eagerly grasp the sleeper’s throats with its wire-hands, and choke them vigrously. They could hear him smiling. The dreamer would suffer and die in the dreams, before awaking.

The vast majority of these factors were shared with the dreamers, without deviance.

Call in The Calvary

The profusely apologetic Landlord didn't question the girls' fright (obviously there's something he knew they didn't,) and offered to send in an exorcist. Apparently, Exorcists are few and far between, so the girls popped down to some of the (very few) reputable psychics that were marvelously expensive; she got three to come on half-pay, half-favor. Remember, this is New Orleans, even I know of 1000 'Psychics,' but I only believe 3 or 4 of them.

It should be noted that Lindsey was smart about this, she didn't mention anything about the room, dreams, or actual location of the house, and should the psychics wish to investigate before they come to the site. Lindsey convinced them to accept the job with as very little info as possible, and all of the girls were there when the Psychics showed up, offering them nothing, but listening to everything.

The Psychics entered the house and all of its rooms, feeling nothing, until they got to the last room of the hall, where all three of them looked at each other in discomfort. One began crying. They backed out of the room. Lindsey took them into Emily's room, and showed them the 'little room' between the closets (obviously from the 'safe' side,) and directed their attention upward. Soon after, the band of explorers would find themselves in the dreaded attic, and had found the crossbeam in question.

It had a deeply-etched groove of wear from a once-taut wire, and was indeed centered directly above that little hole.

The Psychics soon joined the girls in the living room, and discussed what they felt.

Apparently, a long time ago, a woman had run off from her husband, and little boy. The husband refused to let the child go outside, thinking that he'd run off, and the only way the mother would return was if the child was there, she'd surely not come back if it were just the father.

One day, tired of the wait, the father locked his son in his bedroom, and hung himself (with wire, we're not 100% certain, in the little room? Not 100% certain) until, of course, he died, assuming that the mother would soon come for the son. She didn't. The little boy died of dehydration in his room.

While this didn't explain a good half of what went on, the Psychic went on to say...

"Well, there was some sort of torture... perhaps self-torture, but I don't know if the preceded the man and his boy, or if it involved the man and his boy... we threw down many tarot cards, and, despite the meaning of 'The Hanged Man' that we all accept, it came up every damn hand... we use 108 cards, it came up EVERY three cards after a thorough re-shuffle. I think it's demanding a new meaning, perhaps an obvious one? We don't know, we don't normally do this, but certain impressions are undeniable."


The Landlord offered a second property, bigger, better, and cheaper, to which the girls took, and presently live.

The girls, when they think of it, did a little investigating, and here's what they came up with:

(1) Neighbors had seen six sets of tennants come and go in the last two years alone.

(2) Their pal, Brian, who had several nervous breakdowns (including crying in class, and walking around bug-eyed,) in the year previous turned out having lived in that very house, in that very room for six months. Brian was mortified when the girls admitted they stayed there. He even recalled the 'Wireman' dream with eerie clarity and description. Apparently his state has improved in the time he's been out of that house.

(3) The house is currently unoccupied.

It was our senior prom Friday, and afterwards we hung out at Denny's, because my friends are dorks. During a lull in our conversation, we started talking about ghosts, and I told them about the Wireman They got freaked, and 2 days later we went to Gettysburg (45 minutes away) for some ghost hunting.

We go to Gettysburg a lot and look for ghosts, but this was the one night we found anything. The party consisted of me with a flashlight, Barb the chauffeur, and Shannon with a digital camcorder. When we got there it was still light, but after it turned dark we left the battlefield for Sachs Bridge, where there were some other people. I had read earlier that the first path connected to the parking spaces was the most haunted, so we went down there first. We walked down a good distance, and stopped next to a puddle. I was just shining my light around and someone, either Shannon or Barb, said, "Hey, look at your breath!" So I shined my flashlight on them.

The temperature hadn't changed, it was probably around 65 degrees, but our breath was completely fluid white. We stood still for a few seconds, letting out a deliberate long breath, then they ran the fuck back to the bridge, and I followed. We checked out the rest of the area, including going back down there, but nothing else happened.

Then we went to the Gettysburg college and checked out the Stevens Dorm, where the Blue Boy is. Apparently, some girls were taking care of an orphan boy, but had to have him stand outside in a snowstorm while an RA checked their room, and he vanished. Shannon recorded and took more pics there, and on the front left side of the building she and I both felt unsual. Then we all headed back to Denny's for a bit.

Later we spent the night at Shannon's house so we could watch the video, and we all huddled around the small screen a few hours later. Nothing new was in it, and it was jumpy during the breath scare. But, right around there, Shannon had taken a picture, and there was a weird noise right after it. It sounded like a Polaroid picture or a power window, her camcorder can't make that noise, and there was no one else around. None of us heard it while it was recording.

So then she uploaded it all to her computer, and slowed down the noise. At half speed, it was a soldiers marching/horse noise. Barb brought a video over, one that she had shown me before, and during the Sachs Bridge part, it mentioned that soldiers had marched over the bridge to battle. Also, rather recently, a woman had gone down the path and was standing very close to where we had been standing, and her husband recorded a horse and soldiers moving deeper in the woods.

Then we looked at the dorm pictures.... In almost every one, there was a weird blue light, and in 2 of them the light was next to second story windows. After a while I got bored and did something else, until Shannon screamed, and pointed out that one of the blue blobs looked like a little boy. We looked, and it seemed like a little boy standing on the windowsill, his arms folded (like he was trying to get warm?).

We went back Monday even though it was crowded because of Memorial Day, but nothing else happened. Shannon still has to send me the pictures and video, otherwise I'd post them now. We might go back tonight, there's nothing else to do around here...

My House

Posted by: Unknown

Story 1. The People
This is a quick one. In October one year at 2 AM, I awoke to sounds. I looked outside my window and saw a group of white clothed and hooded (not kkk) people with torches standing at the end of our property (3 acres) on the gravel road. They were just standing there. I awoke my parents, they saw them, and they ordered us to lock all the doors and get upstairs and lock the door. We watched them for an hour, then they just turned around and walked into the woods. FUCKED UP? YES!

Story 2. The Faces
Upstairs in our house all the walls and ceilings are covered in swirl spackle designs. Most have been covered up with paneling and tile over the years. In the earlier days, I would wake up in cold sweats after having dreams of demons attacking me. I would open my eyes and look around the room in the moonlight. My eyes would focus on the swirling patterns. Now, I had a great imagination, but I know what's real. I'm always a skeptic. I would often see the patterns changing forming faces and watching me, their mouths gaping open and closed like screams. I would scream for my mom but nothing came out. My mom would finally hear me and comfort me. Also, my brother would sleepwalk a lot and sit and the top of the stairs. I would sometimes catch him and ask, "Why are you out here?" His response: "The faces" He attests he remembers nothing of these occasions.

Story 3. The Gateway
This one gets more fucked up every time I visit home, and I will explain why. For years as a kid and especially my high school years I would see a greenish vapor like form come between my room and my parents room. It would come thru the wall, hover, then vanish. This happened at least twice a month. As years went by and especially now when I go home, I look at the wall. The spackling is beginning to settle with age and an actual DOORWAY is coming thru the wall. It looks like it was covered up years ago. Definitely over 25 years ago, since we moved there.

Story 4. Fred
My dad is a light sleeper. If you wake him up, he stays awake. Well, my dad has many stories (my mom backs up) of him waking up and someone walking up and down the stairs. Loudly. It wakes my dad up. Also, sometimes during the morning, my mom sees a black shape of a man standing in front of her and then he disappears. My mom calls him Frank. My mom spoke to the former owners about this (we are good friends) and they say, "Oh Fred! Yeh, we've seen him many times"

Story 5. The Tombstone
There is a small, 1800's to early 1900's graveyard down the road. It's in a woods by a marsh. I would sometimes wander around it. Well, when I had my paper route for three years, I would ride by every day. There is a particular stone in the back corner that sort of resembles the Empire State Building. It is broken off at the base and lays 2 feet away. Every day, for three years, I would pick up that stone and set it on it's base. Every day for 3 years I would repeat. It always was laying 2 feet away in the same position.

Story 6. The Scariest Shit I've Ever Experienced.
Last year I visited home with my girlfriend. She stayed the night, we had a little fun, and she left the next day. The following night, as I'm sleeping, I wake up. There is an OLD child's rocking chair in my room with stuffed animals on it. The thing starts ROCKING. I'm freaking out and freeze with fear. I really wish that was it. Next, the stuffed animals start falling out of the chair one at a time. I'm freaking out and stiff as a board paralyzed with fear. So I'm laying there freaking out and I pull the covers up higher and turn on my side. The chair stops. I start calling for my mom. I couldn't produce words. Remember, I'm 24 years old! So I give up and lay on my side. Suddenly cold breezes start blowing on my ears. I'm REALLY freaking. SO I turn on my side and tense completely up. What happened next I will NEVER forget. I'm laying there and SUDDENLY a voice whispers in my FUCKING EAR. It was unintelligible, but imagine someone talking by breathing in and speaking backwards. I SCREAM AND BOLT OUT OF MY ROOM and jump into my parents' bed! I'm freaking out! My dad is pissed. My mom is trying to calm me down. She assures me it's ok. Finally she says "Oh that was probably Frank, we haven't seen him for about 6 months and we don't know why." That did NOT help. So I ended up going back into my room and turned on my light and managed to fall asleep about an hour later.

The next day I was talking to my girlfriend and she reminded me she was on her period. She also informed me that hormonal women are sometimes attributed to waking up sleeping spirits. Um.... She also informed me she's never sleeping over there again. She broke up with me last January, so that's not a problem.

There have been many other small things that have happened. Corner of the eye apparitions, things moving from where they were, etc. We also have an old dirt cellar with steps leading down. Let me tell you, I'm 25 now and I still cant go down there without thinking some fucking zombie is going to reach thru the steps and  grab my legs. We have holes in the side of our basement walls that lead into small rooms. We've explored in there as a kid and found all sorts of animal bones. Goddamn, my house was fucked up.

The Impostor

Posted by: Vienta

A few months ago the lease I shared with my boyfriend “Sean” ran out and we decided to find another place to stay. We had previously been sharing a townhouse with a few other people, and were looking forward to getting a little lovenest of our own, made complete with the addition of our new cat. If you’re already gagging, take comfort in the fact that everything cute about this story was already summed up above. What remains of this tale recounts the most terrifying and viscerally disturbing and utterly wrong experience I’ve ever had. I’ll take it slow.

The apartment we settled on was one on the edge of town. It had recently been remodeled after being in disuse for a period of time. It smelled like someone had picked it out of a rack at K-Mart and looked like it was hecho’d en Mexico. Sean and I reasoned that the cheap remodeling probably accounted for the low rent that matched more dated local complexes.

Since we had a few days left on our lease when our move-in date rolled around, we took our time moving our possessions, and kept sleeping/bathing/eating at the old place. Finally the time came to make the big switch, and we piled all of our big stuff and our kitten into a truck and made the move final.

That night we both had trouble sleeping. It was pretty uncharacteristic for either one of us to feel uncomfortable in the dark, but after a bit of hesitation Sean couldn’t help but turn on the lamp beside our bed and comment that he was feeling a little weird. We discussed the bad juju feeling for a bit, and I remember remarking that the place somehow felt naked, as if we weren’t really in an apartment at all, but somewhere under the stars, open to the elements. I chalked this up to getting used to the new place. Still, long after Sean fell asleep I stared at the ceiling in the lamp light, hearing creaks and groans in the floor and expecting at any moment to find myself in a nightmare.

The next day I worked during the day and Sean worked the night shift. We didn’t get a chance to see each other between our shifts and I felt even more isolated in the apartment once I got home. Our cat, Jazz, made me feel a little better with her excitement and curiosity about our new place. With her around, it felt almost like home. Feeling a bit braver, I decided to shower.

Normally showers are not all that interesting. Most people just think of them as something they lose time to every day. Before that apartment I felt the same way. Didn’t ever think about it, just turned the water on scalding and stepped inside. Now just typing the word gives me the creeps.

That night when I took a shower I tried not to think about the uncomfortable feeling that place exuded I tried to focus on some happy thoughts. But I kept hearing things. A distant creak in the living room, a cupboard door closing, and then a strange thump on the floor just in front of the bathroom—it was starting to get to me. Soon, I noticed that my skin was covered in goose bumps. Thinking I was letting my imagination get away with me, I called to Jazz, hoping she would reply and raise my spirits.
From the bathroom doorway I heard a “Meow.” Something in my intestines lurched, and I felt a shock of adrenaline enter my blood. Was the water muffling Jazz in some strange way? The response from the doorway didn’t sound like my cat at all. Trying to control myself, I mewed gently, something I’d taken to doing when Jazz was still a kitten. The reply came again. Again, the sound was something odd. A different timbre. A different tone. A tiny crack in the vocalization. It came again, and it was wrong. All wrong, like something with twenty times the bodily resonation of my cat trying to impersonate her, trying to use her voice to plead for me to come out of the shower and into the open.

And it was closer than before.

I had a barrage of possibilities flooding my mind— the Meower, a meth head who had broken in and was now having a bit of fun before he raped and killed me. The Meower, a crazy creature from out of a “Spawn” comic. I could practically see it, a disgusting huddled mass at the threshold grinning insanely. And I was trapped.

Something inside of me, some hysterical thing from beneath my skin and struggling through my constricted vocal cords made my hand go to the shower curtain. Was it my imagination or my hand on fabric making the shuffling sound just outside of the shower? With a sickening succession of clacks shower curtain rings rushed to one side of the rod and I stood wet and completely vulnerable in the face of…


Before you start celebrating, I should point out that by “Nothing,” I mean exactly that. To my horror, I realized I had let Jazz outside before my shower. She hadn’t been in the apartment at all.

(Alright, I’m taking a break from this story for now. Even though I’m not in that apartment anymore it’s freaking me the hell out and I need to wait until daylight tomorrow to finish.)

As time went on, my fear—and somehow, memory– of this event dulled. It didn’t make any sense at all, and since Sean and I had similar shifts on most days I didn’t have to shower alone all the time. Within a week I had convinced myself that I had heard Jazz or some other cat through a window, and the distance had distorted the sound. Or something.

It sounded good enough to me at the time.

Then I began to notice the whispering. It would happen when I ran the tap. At first I thought it was “just pipes.” One evening I put my ear close to the wall where I knew the plumbing ran through and realized the whispering was coming from elsewhere. I left the tap on and tried to follow the sound.

I ended up in the middle room just off of the kitchen, at a closet that was built onto a wall. Desperately hoping that somehow the pipes snaked through the apartment and behind the closet, I opened the doors leading inside. Barely registering that the whispering had stopped, I choked back a wave of nausea caused by the rancid stench of rotting meat wafting out of the compartment. After I closed the doors, it took a moment to compose myself. I knew I hadn’t seen any meat in that closet. It was completely bare. Not to mention, when I closed the doors it seemed to completely disappear. To make matters worse, I could once again hear a low whispering from the closet. Preparing for the worst, I opened the doors again.


The smell was gone. Truly wondering if I was crazy at that point, I woke Sean up from a nap. I took him over to the closet and had him listen. By that time, the tap water running in the kitchen sink had gone from hot to tepid. Confused and bleary-eyed, Sean walked with me to the closet. Only now the whispering was gone.
Before I could even open my mouth to explain, Jazz darted past us from the bedroom where Sean had been sleeping and cowered in a corner, her huge pupils fixed on a window by our bed. Looking where her gaze was directed, I froze and felt again that shower-terror I had a week ago.

A human silhouette crouched on our balcony. Its outline was barely discernible against the black of trees and night, but what was terrifying, truly terrifying, more than the fact that someone had spooked our cat, more than the fact that someone was looking through our bedroom window, more than the fact that some large thing the color of the very void itself was on our balcony, were the eyes. The tapeta lucidum eyes that glowed like a cat’s as our bright kitchen shone on them. The eyes that gazed inward at us without emotion or apology. They were dead eyes, but impossibly alive with light at the same time. I was transfixed, completely. In that moment Sean and my cat might have been on different planets. Fear had begun to flex its muscles, and every muscle in me seemed to stop. Those fucking eyes.

And then it was gone. The shape slid away into darkness. I heard no sounds of running, only a tiny whisper of what might have been fabric or breathing as the shadow disappeared. Its eyes were on mine even as it swayed out of sight.

I turned to Sean, every hair on my body standing on end. I wasn’t trying to speak, but words came out anyway.

“Did you see that?” I felt like I was in a dream.

Sean turned to me, from where he was examining the closet. He could see I was upset and looked to the bedroom, where my finger was pointing, again, nearly without my knowledge of it. “See what?”
It seemed impossible, but Jazz and I were the only two witnesses to the thing in the window. To this day, Sean still claims that he was only looking in the closet for two seconds after the cat ran into the room with us and before I asked him if he had seen what I’d seen. For me, it had seemed like minutes.

The Intruder

Posted by: (Original Poster under Investigation)
Reposted by: Rhandhali

The Intruder is a silhouette and similar in shape to a
Siamese cat. When sitting, it is about 7.5 feet tall.
It has two overly large, slanted eyes, which glow a
bright fluorescent green, and have no pupils. It
blinks these eyes occasionally. Other than the eyes,
it has no other discernable facial or body features.

Whenever you enter your home after dark, The Intruder
is always watching. It sits about 10 feet away from
you in plain view. It remains immobile and does not
even try to conceal its presence. While outside, it
can only be seen by one person at a time. If it were
to be within the sight range of two people then the
first person who sees The Intruder would remain being
able to see it while it would remain completely
invisible to others.

It emits no noises of its own. The only time it can be
heard is when it is stretching its claws on a tree or
your house siding. If you approach it then it will run
away very quickly and violently, kicking up dirt and
rocks. The sounds of the wind from The Intruder’s
movements and flying debris from under The Intruder’s
feet can be heard. If you were to throw an object
toward it or discharge a firearm at it you would get
the same effect. Once you turn back to the door to
insert your key you will find that The Intruder has
noiselessly returned to its previous position where it
continues to watch you.

Some say that The Intruder listens to your key hit the
lock. They say that The Intruder can eventually
ascertain the shape of your key simply by hearing the
pins of your lock moving. It is unknown how many times
The Intruder must hear you unlock your door before it
can determine the exact shape of your key.

You see, The Intruder wants to kill you, that is, if
this creature is even capable of wanting anything.
Perhaps it is better to say that it intends to kill
you. However, The Intruder can only kill you inside
your house, and may not force its way in. Furthermore,
it cannot enter an empty house. You must already be at
home in order for it to enter. If you were to run
outside of your house once The Intruder enters, The
Intruder will pursue you, drag you back inside, and
then kill you.

If you ever hear a key hitting your door in the dead
of night then it may be The Intruder trying out its
key that it has made. The Intruder only tries to use
its keys when it is close to perfecting them, so if
you do hear it trying to unlock your door then you can
be certain that it will have a proper working key
within a few nights. If you enter your house through
another means, for example a garage or screen door,
then you may suddenly find it them inoperable from the
outside, through both remote or attempted physical
operation of the door. If you attempt to leave your
door unlocked in order to prevent The Intruder from
hearing the shape of your key, then you may be
disappointed to find that the door has been locked by
the time you arrive at home.

If you hear a key hit your lock it is advised that you
turn off all of your lights and attempt to push on the
door to try and prevent The Intruder from entering,
although it likely outweighs you. Once The Intruder
enters your house all light sources above that of a
candle become blinding to all inhabitants other that
The Intruder. If you have time to light a candle then
it is suggested, as this will still allow you to see
the silhouette without becoming blinded. A very small
advantage that you may have is that, once inside a
home, all inhabitants are able to see The Intruder

The Intruder will kill every human inside of the
house. It will only attack pets if the animal chooses
to engage The Intruder. Most animals choose not to
engage The Intruder. The only time that the Intruder
will make any noise of its own is during a kill
strike. The Intruder will make a quick hissing sound
during this strike, and will not make this noise again
until it claims its next victim. The Intruder has
never been known to kill anyone without hissing during
the kill strike. It will usually try to completely
disable its prey to the point where it cannot move
before it makes the kill strike. It is thought that
The Intruder prefers to disable its prey before a kill
strike because the act of hissing may be the only time
that it is vulnerable to damage. This is purely
speculation however.

Voodoo Dolls

Posted by: The Jabberwock

Becka was a little batshit. I had originally met her my freshman year of high school, and she was two years ahead of me. The only reason I ever knew her was because I became fairly close friends with her younger brother Andrew, who was in my class. This was in my junior year, 2003, when I had gone over for a weekend of hardcore D&D and gaming until our kidneys burst with mountain dew. Becka had gone off to college, and her old room had been turned into a guest room. So of course, it was a logical place for me to stay when I was over.

Now I never once had a negative perception or emotion connected to anything in that house. I was pretty iffy on the idea of supernatural entities, but I knew when a building or a room creeped me out. I got no such vibe from this place.
So needless to say, when I suddenly felt faint walking into the guest room, I tried to figure out what might be the cause of this. I sat down for a moment, collected my thoughts, and waited for the light-headedness to subside. I looked around the room for a while, and after a bit, my head cleared. Now my eyes were drawn to something, or rather, things, I had never seen here before in previous visits.

Becka collected dolls. That's right. Dolls. Now I never had an aversion to anything doll like in my life, but she collected them in large quantities. This wouldn't have been a huge problem, if it weren't for the pair of the most eerie, cold black dolls I had ever seen in my life. I called Andy in and asked him about them. I could tell from his expression that he could see I wasn't feeling well, and when he saw the dolls I was pointing at, I could see the color drain from his face. "What happened..?" he asked me. That's a confusing thing to say after I had just asked him where they came from.
"I was just feeling sick for a second...dude..what the fuck are those?"
He was keeping his eyes off them intentionally, and that made me more nervous.
"My sister went on a road trip to New Orleans over spring break...she picked those up there. Fuck if I know why.."

Becka had bought herself a pair of real, authentic, Louisiana Voodoo Dolls.
Why? She thought they were unique. Unique doesn't begin to cover it. Both of them had twisted black hair, not like doll hair, and it seemed like it had to be lightly greased to keep it together like it was. I currently had no desire to intentionally come within arms reach of these things, but one of them looked like it might've been made out of leather. It had that sort of soft, worked shine to it. The other was a duller gray/black. They had white, glassy eyes, and by far, the worst feature between them, were the nails. These dolls, probably only 7 inches long, had nails made of smoked glass, 3 inches long. They were so intricate, 1 glass talon to a finger.

"..dude I am not fucking sleeping in the same room as those things. I'll sleep on the couch or something"
Andy shrugged a little. "..We can put em in the dresser or something if they really bother you. They're creepy but they're not goin anywhere. Chill out dude.."
Hey he was right. They were just dolls. Fucking creepy Creole Voodoo Dolls. Put em in the dresser. Won't bother me. Plus, who wants to act like a pussy and be afraid of dolls when you're a big bad junior? Andy went ahead and took them off the shelf they had been sitting on, and stuck them in the top drawer of the dresser.

So the videogames commenced. We shot the shit and played into the wee hours as we usually did. Eventually we retired and I slept. I don't recall much of the first night. I just remember having all sorts of trouble getting to sleep, and chalked it up to the copious amounts of sugar coursing through my 16 year old body.

The next night, we had done a similar routine. Andy's mom had made the bed for me, which was of course, pretty normal in high school. So I shouldn't have thought too much of the fact that the two dolls were back out on their shelf where Andy had taken them from.

"Andy's mom probably went in and got them. I guess the spot on the shelf was pretty bare. TOO FUCKING BAD YOU'RE GOING BACK IN YOUR DRAWER."

I picked them up and sure enough, the darker one was made out of supple leather. The lighter one might've been suede or some other soft fabric. Despite the fact that I was trying to play tough guy and recover a man point or two from my initial shock, I remember my arms shuddering as I held them, and I very, very hastily stuck those puppies in the top drawer of the dresser. I thought for a moment, then decided that trying to wedge the drawer shut would negate any of those mystical man points I might have gained back....but of course I did it anyways. I crammed a pair of pencils into the bottom corners of the drawer, so that I thought that they would wedge it fairly securely, certainly securely to negate any doll strength.

So I went to bed. It was probably 3am when I did, so I must not have been out for very long before I woke up. It was still dark, and the room was tinted that very slight blue of well past midnight. This was no drowsy awakening. I was totally awake. Wide awake. It was like I had never closed my eyes, and I felt sick to my stomach in the instant that my eyes were open. I looked around, and my eyes were drawn to the empty white spot on the shelf where the row of dolls sat across from the bed, and as I shifted to sit up further, I felt my foot bump something through the sheets. Sitting at the foot of the bed, to the outside of my right foot, was that dull, black leather doll. I remember how badly my eyes watered the moment I saw it. It was just sitting there facing me and I remember my eyes wet and tears steaming down my cheeks even though I wasn't crying or making a sound. I didn't move and I felt the wave of ill paralysis intensify. I managed to tear my eyes away from it, and saw the black figure sitting on the flat white pillowcase to the left of where my head had been lying. I thought I was screaming when I threw the pillow across the room, tossing it with everything I had and kicked the sheets off like they had caught fire. I remember my feet hitting the ground and I was outside, on the back porch, and I didn't have a clue what the fuck had happened.

Apparently, I hadn't made any noise beside my running out of the house. No lights came on, and after a minute, Andy's mom came out in her nightgown looking sleepy and confused.
"Michael, what on earth are you doing out here?" she asked me with a bewildered expression.
I shook my head. I'm sure she couldn't see how wet my cheeks were in the dark, and she fumbled for the patio light while I told her "...I can't sleep in your house tonight.." Eventually, she coaxed me into sleeping on the couch. I didn't sleep. I just stayed up for the night with the lights on, paying attention to every flitting shadow and corner.

The next day, Andy talked to me about how 'freaked out' his mom had thought I was. He asked me about the dolls, and I told him what had happened. Of course, he now takes the time to tell me the things he had kept from me on Friday. Since his sister had brought the dolls home, no one had slept in her room, but occasionally, their mom used it as a sewing room, and watched television in it. Twice, Andy had been walking down the hall, and thought he heard voices coming from his sisters room. He assumed it was the TV, but the second time, his Mom wasn't home. When he checked, the room, the TV was off. Nobody else home, and the whispering just stopped as he came to her door.

I haven't stayed a night at that house since, granted it's been like 6-7 years now. I *HAVE* considered the possibility that Andy was just fucking with me, snuck in that night and placed the dolls to scare the ever living fuck out of me. Problem number 1) I am an extremely light sleeper. The door wasn't locked or anything, but I ALMOST always wake up when anyone enters/exits the room I'm sleeping in. This rule does not apply to Stealth, Glass-clawed voodoo dolls. 2) Andy was never the type to pull a prank like that. Andy told me more things about what they would do sometimes. They moved the other dolls around, and pushed them off the shelves. My freshman year in college, he told me how he wanted to do something to destroy them before he moved out. He didn't want to leave them in the house with his Mom and Dad. We ended up putting them in a small, wooden packaging crate. Covered them in an inch or two of charcoal, and a hefty dose of lighter fluid and enough wood to keep a fire going for a few hours. We wanted the glass all melted and unrecognizable. We burned them, and never even looked through the ashes to be sure. I didn't want anything to do with them after that. I feel unbelievably ill after having written all this.