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re: Need to Kill Time: What's a story that you've heard that still gives you chills
Posted on 7/15/14 at 1:57 pm to CocomoLSU
Posted on 7/15/14 at 1:57 pm to CocomoLSU
quote:
Reddit looks like it's fricking up or something...the format looks all weird (you have to scroll down a little bit to get to the post/story). Anyway, it's a six part series, and it's very entertaining IMO:
Part 1: Footsteps
Part 2: Balloons
Part 3: Boxes
Part 4: Maps
Part 5: Screens
Part 6: Friends
I just spent the major part of my day reading through this. I loved it, thanks for sharing.
1
Posted on 7/23/14 at 4:41 pm to Fusaichi Pegasus
Bump. Would like to hear more
Posted on 7/28/14 at 9:51 pm to madcap
Bump! Any new hits!?
Posted on 7/29/14 at 8:35 am to barry
BHO being elected president of the USA.
Posted on 7/29/14 at 9:27 am to yattan
Posted on 7/29/14 at 9:32 am to magildachunks
quote:
magildachunks
i got the ol lady with that
it was great
Posted on 8/19/14 at 5:18 pm to brass2mouth
Posted on 9/3/14 at 11:25 am to Fusaichi Pegasus
We were driving to Colorado, taking some desolate highway through west Texas. Stopped for gas in a tiny strip of a town. Not even a town anymore, but a sun-bleached carcass long since forgotten. The population sign in faded numbers said 27, but even that was a lie long gone by, betrayed by boarded up windows and a thick, heavy layer of dust covering every building.
Every building save one. A well lit and old, but clean, gas station. "Last Stop Fuel" was the name painted on the faded metal building. The pumps were some of the oldest I'd ever seen, not digital but dials that turned, living relics in an otherwise dead place.
The inside of the building was that same curious mix of clean antiquity. Advertisements for long forgotten products hung on the walls. The proprietor was a gaunt but otherwise friendly old man with that unmistakeable west Texas warble in his voice, as if he ate a bowl of sand for breakfast each morning and washed it down with a glass of burning desert heat.
"What can I do you folk fer?" He asked, his sunken eyes bright but milky with the long suffering of cataracts.
"Just some gas and food." A fifty slid across the cracked linoleum and some jerky and chips and soft drinks were procured along with the gas.
"Town's pretty much dead, huh?" I asked.
"Pretty much," he replied, "but there's still some folks stirring around here and there if you know where to look. Even old bones have some life."
We filled our tank and rolled out of that one horse town and on to our destination without giving it much thought. Colorado was a blast. Skiing, snowball fights, hiking in the Rockies. Everything you could ask for. 10 days later we made our return trip, driving along the same route we had taken to our destination.
And we decided to stop at that same spot on that same desolate highway to get some of that particularly delicious jerky and to fuel up. It was dusk when we arrived and the setting sun cast long shadows on the abandoned buildings, shadowy tombstones of a long dead town. When we pulled into the gas station, no light shone above.
Something seemed off. No longer was the place clean and cheerful, but the same sand-worn and dun shade as the rest of the town. The windows were covered with years of dust, and when I wiped away the accumulated murk, I stared into a darkened and long disused space, scattered with rusted cans and broken bottles, long ago dried up and desiccated.
This was the same cheerful store we had stopped at less than two weeks before. Yet it was not some freshly dead corpse that had finally succumbed to that lifelessness that claimed many a way station once the interstate came through. We were in a skeleton, dead long ago just like the rest of the town.
We hurried back in the car and drove away quickly, past a sign whose 27 was now crossed through, a red zero in its place.
And as we drove off into that West Texas night, I could have sworn I saw shadows waving goodbye in the distance.
Every building save one. A well lit and old, but clean, gas station. "Last Stop Fuel" was the name painted on the faded metal building. The pumps were some of the oldest I'd ever seen, not digital but dials that turned, living relics in an otherwise dead place.
The inside of the building was that same curious mix of clean antiquity. Advertisements for long forgotten products hung on the walls. The proprietor was a gaunt but otherwise friendly old man with that unmistakeable west Texas warble in his voice, as if he ate a bowl of sand for breakfast each morning and washed it down with a glass of burning desert heat.
"What can I do you folk fer?" He asked, his sunken eyes bright but milky with the long suffering of cataracts.
"Just some gas and food." A fifty slid across the cracked linoleum and some jerky and chips and soft drinks were procured along with the gas.
"Town's pretty much dead, huh?" I asked.
"Pretty much," he replied, "but there's still some folks stirring around here and there if you know where to look. Even old bones have some life."
We filled our tank and rolled out of that one horse town and on to our destination without giving it much thought. Colorado was a blast. Skiing, snowball fights, hiking in the Rockies. Everything you could ask for. 10 days later we made our return trip, driving along the same route we had taken to our destination.
And we decided to stop at that same spot on that same desolate highway to get some of that particularly delicious jerky and to fuel up. It was dusk when we arrived and the setting sun cast long shadows on the abandoned buildings, shadowy tombstones of a long dead town. When we pulled into the gas station, no light shone above.
Something seemed off. No longer was the place clean and cheerful, but the same sand-worn and dun shade as the rest of the town. The windows were covered with years of dust, and when I wiped away the accumulated murk, I stared into a darkened and long disused space, scattered with rusted cans and broken bottles, long ago dried up and desiccated.
This was the same cheerful store we had stopped at less than two weeks before. Yet it was not some freshly dead corpse that had finally succumbed to that lifelessness that claimed many a way station once the interstate came through. We were in a skeleton, dead long ago just like the rest of the town.
We hurried back in the car and drove away quickly, past a sign whose 27 was now crossed through, a red zero in its place.
And as we drove off into that West Texas night, I could have sworn I saw shadows waving goodbye in the distance.
Posted on 9/3/14 at 11:31 am to Fusaichi Pegasus
I was living in Charleston, SC at the time. My roommate and I woke up around 3am to a bright light outside coming off and on. Like the sun couldn't decide to rise or set. We opened the curtains to see the sky turning bright orange and red, then go back to night. It went on for about a minute. The light lit up the entire sky. It wasn't fireworks or anything like that, too bright, and it wasn't any kind of time of year/day that would have a large celebration to light up the sky like that.
I called the news station the next day to see what it was, and they had no idea what I was talking about.
We honestly thought it was a bombing, or the end of the world. Haven't been that scared in my life.
I called the news station the next day to see what it was, and they had no idea what I was talking about.
We honestly thought it was a bombing, or the end of the world. Haven't been that scared in my life.
Posted on 9/3/14 at 1:15 pm to heypaul
Someone made a short movie about the smiling man story that's pretty good. I'm on mobile but I'll post the link later on if nobody can find it.
Posted on 9/3/14 at 1:31 pm to fr33manator
quote:
fr33manator
Glad you bumped this, but not with that stupid arse bullshite story.
Posted on 9/3/14 at 1:33 pm to LST
quote:
Someone made a short movie about the smiling man story that's pretty good. I'm on mobile but I'll post the link later on if nobody can find it.
I think I've seen that one.
Also, the light switch gif above is from a two-minute short horror movie: Lights Out.
Posted on 9/10/14 at 9:27 am to CocomoLSU
MOAR!!!
Posted on 9/10/14 at 9:36 am to CocomoLSU
I want the Smiling Man thing...
Posted on 9/13/14 at 10:29 am to VanRIch
I've been through all 60 pages of this thread and have thoroughly enjoyed it. I don't have a personal story to tell, but I do know of one that is true, and actually happened very close to where I live in the rural town of Mt. Hermon, La. It's another paranormal activity type of situation, where a demon latches on to a person and changes their life completely. You see the movies, and hear the stories about these situations..which usually I'm sure most people just ignore because they know most of them to be fake. But not this one.
I realize most of the stories on here are short and entertaining, the woman that this actually happened to wrote a book based on all of it. It's not a very long book, maybe a little over 100 pages. You can find it here LINK
I've read the book, I've met the woman, it's definitely worth reading. The devil's greatest trick is convincing you that he does not exist, has he fooled you?
I realize most of the stories on here are short and entertaining, the woman that this actually happened to wrote a book based on all of it. It's not a very long book, maybe a little over 100 pages. You can find it here LINK
I've read the book, I've met the woman, it's definitely worth reading. The devil's greatest trick is convincing you that he does not exist, has he fooled you?
Posted on 9/15/14 at 3:28 pm to The Sad Banana
Posted on 9/15/14 at 9:27 pm to toosleaux
quote:
Part 1: Footsteps
Part 2: Balloons
Part 3: Boxes
Part 4: Maps
Part 5: Screens
Part 6: Friends
what page is this on??
Posted on 9/16/14 at 6:56 am to Hook Em Horns
Deep down in the swamp where the water's black,
With mosquitoes big as birds,
There lurk in the mists of the bayou things,
Few men have ever heard,
Those souls that ventured in, not out,
And drowned where they got stuck,
Of restless dead who won't stay down,
Buried beneath the muck,
Some searched for sunken treasure,
Some outlaws on the lam,
Some sacrificed to a voodoo queen,
But one and all are damned,
In that silent sunken cemetery,
Amongst the cypress knees,
No tombstones mark their resting place,
Except for tow'ring trees,
But on moonless nights when no light shines,
And only stars come out,
It's said the dead entombed therein,
Climb up and walk about,
With sallow skin and sunken eyes,
They clamber out the mud,
Escaping the gallows or lusting gold,
Now all they crave is blood,
When the owl hoots its haunting call,
In tune with croaking frogs,
Their gnarled hands claw through the dross,
From beneath sunken logs,
Their footfalls echo through the pitch black bog,
With stumbling, shambling splashes,
Illuminated in the blinding white,
Each time the lightning flashes,
Their flesh in moulder'd, rotting strips,
And gaping maws they moan,
As woe fills any living soul,
Caught in the swamps alone,
In sinking shacks and hovels old,
Brave men quail, quiver and quake,
For no sleep comes that endless night,
When the dead keep you awake,
As muddy fingers on window panes,
Scratch with a sickening schlock,
And bang upon the bolted door,
In time with the ticking clock,
They wail and gnash, 'til suddenly,
Their violent vigil's done,
They scrabble back beneath the murk,
Before the setting sun,
So now I tell you, heed my words,
And listen well my friend,
Some stumble deep into the swamp...
And Never Come Out Again!
With mosquitoes big as birds,
There lurk in the mists of the bayou things,
Few men have ever heard,
Those souls that ventured in, not out,
And drowned where they got stuck,
Of restless dead who won't stay down,
Buried beneath the muck,
Some searched for sunken treasure,
Some outlaws on the lam,
Some sacrificed to a voodoo queen,
But one and all are damned,
In that silent sunken cemetery,
Amongst the cypress knees,
No tombstones mark their resting place,
Except for tow'ring trees,
But on moonless nights when no light shines,
And only stars come out,
It's said the dead entombed therein,
Climb up and walk about,
With sallow skin and sunken eyes,
They clamber out the mud,
Escaping the gallows or lusting gold,
Now all they crave is blood,
When the owl hoots its haunting call,
In tune with croaking frogs,
Their gnarled hands claw through the dross,
From beneath sunken logs,
Their footfalls echo through the pitch black bog,
With stumbling, shambling splashes,
Illuminated in the blinding white,
Each time the lightning flashes,
Their flesh in moulder'd, rotting strips,
And gaping maws they moan,
As woe fills any living soul,
Caught in the swamps alone,
In sinking shacks and hovels old,
Brave men quail, quiver and quake,
For no sleep comes that endless night,
When the dead keep you awake,
As muddy fingers on window panes,
Scratch with a sickening schlock,
And bang upon the bolted door,
In time with the ticking clock,
They wail and gnash, 'til suddenly,
Their violent vigil's done,
They scrabble back beneath the murk,
Before the setting sun,
So now I tell you, heed my words,
And listen well my friend,
Some stumble deep into the swamp...
And Never Come Out Again!
Posted on 9/16/14 at 7:40 am to HatefulTiger
quote:
I've been through all 60 pages of this thread and have thoroughly enjoyed it. I don't have a personal story to tell, but I do know of one that is true, and actually happened very close to where I live in the rural town of Mt. Hermon, La. It's another paranormal activity type of situation, where a demon latches on to a person and changes their life completely. You see the movies, and hear the stories about these situations..which usually I'm sure most people just ignore because they know most of them to be fake. But not this one.
I realize most of the stories on here are short and entertaining, the woman that this actually happened to wrote a book based on all of it. It's not a very long book, maybe a little over 100 pages. You can find it here LINK
I've read the book, I've met the woman, it's definitely worth reading. The devil's greatest trick is convincing you that he does not exist, has he fooled you?
Nope nope nope
Posted on 9/16/14 at 7:44 am to Old Money
Penn St/Jerry Sandusky story... rhythmic slapping 
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