re: Need to Kill Time: What's a story that you've heard that still gives you chills

I couple weeks ago my friend and I were drunk and decided to walk home. We were at the overpass area. Anyway, I live around hundred oaks and the quickest route to take is under the overpass. So we took it.

I lost my footing and fell, and had trouble getting back up, as I was on an incline of loose gravel and dirt. I finally got up and we continued. My friend didn't say anything during this whole ordeal I was having. Not even laughing at my comical attempts to stand.

We get back on perkins and back to my house. My friend kept looking over his shoulder the entire walk. When we got inside, he closed his knife and put it in his pocket. I didn't even notice he had it out. I asked him why, and he looked at me. "You didn't see the guy under the overpass?"
"What guy?"
"The one in the weeds. He was watching us the whole time. You were on the ground, and I was just staring at him with my knife out. Dude just stared back at me, not saying a word. When we started walking again, he followed."

Basically, don't walk under the overpass at night.There are some sketchy bums under there right now. This is especially directed at you LL.

When I was 3, I was with my buddy, also 3, and we wondered out of the house and ended up playing with some sailboats at the edge of his family's pond, supposedly being watched by his aunt.

Our mom's searched the house, then ran outside once they realized we weren't there. They found me up to my chin in the pond and asked me what I was doing. "Looking for Jim" was my response. Divers found him later on the bottom.

We called him Mr. Hungry. In the very back of the woods where on my grandparents property there was a thicket. Deep and dark and overgrown, with heavy woods all around, too thick to venture in to. Always dark, so clustered and shaded that you couldn't see far into it at much at all.
That was where Mr. Hungry lived.

We'd bring all the carcasses there. Rabbits, squirrels, fish, anything that bled. It was always the kids job to bring the entrails there, a long walk through a wooded corridor, back to the thicket...the thicket where Mr. Hungry dwelt, always watching, and always, always hungry.

That trek, eerily quiet when you reached it, it seemed. Like the birds would quit chirping there, and all you would hear is the wind...the wind, and the faintest whisper of utter silence, and that feeling of hidden eyes crawling over your skin.

So many times we'd bring the bloodstained bucket of steaming guts and skin and fur and bones and heads.
You'd walk slow there, eyes darting to and fro, watching for movement in the woods. And sometimes, sometimes you'd swear you'd see catch a glimpse out of the corner of your eye, some darting shadow moving swift just outside of your field of vision, and always when you'd turn towards it...nothing. Nothing but the feeling that you were not alone.

It was always better to feed Mr. Hungry with someone else. A sibling, a friend, a cousin. It made the walk easier, and the mad dash for home right after you threw the foul mix into the thicket a breathless race, almost fun.
But sometimes, you had to go alone. Alone to that place where there were never any bones or skulls left from previous visits..And you would swear, when the wind died, that you could hear the faintest whisper of heavy breath. Heavy, hot, and always so very, very, hungry.

But we made damn sure that there was something to bring when we visited, because if he didn't get fed...well, he might start looking. And maybe he'd leave that foul place where the brambles grew close as kin and ground was always wet, and if he did, he might be hungry for something...fresher.

Some of these stories are worded like they were written by Pulitzer Prize winners

Back in 2002 I lived in the D.C Metropolitan area and my wife and I were grocery shopping. As we were putting the groceries in the trunk we hear a loud bang and screaming. I look over at the car next to us and a lady is laying next to her car shot to death. She was one of John Allen Muhammads victims. We were 10 feet away when it happend. Could have been my wife.




Just joking I made that up. Would have been a good story though! People make these stories up all the time.

quote:

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Some of these stories are worded like they were written by Pulitzer Prize winners

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it's just the OT

LINK

I knew I should have not read any of these but I did and now it's going to make it really difficult for me to not be scared as cr..p to jog at 5 am in the park now

When I was about 7 my dad took me to a ranch near Columbia LA to buy a horse. On the way there he picked up a hitchhiker. An old black dude that turned out to be a deaf/mute. Anyway, we gave him a ride into Columbia, dropped him off, and proceeded the 5 miles or so to the ranch outside of town. We meet with the guy, see the horses, shoot the shite and leave. About halfway back to Monroe I look in the back of the Suburban and there the black dude is. It freaked me the frick out and I screamed. Dad, pissed, whips over to the shoulder and starts to drag the dude out. Dude starts fumbling in his jacket and about a 12" butcher knife falls out. This really puts dad in gear and he snatches the dude out and slams him in the ditch. While this is going on I hear some noise coming from the back of the Suburban and another dude is climbing over the back seat toward me. I try to jump out, but he jerks me back in and takes off in the truck before dad can get back in. Dude starts to U-turn in the middle of the road and I get the door open and jump out. He stops, throws it in reverse and tries to back over me, running over the toes on my left foot. Dad runs over to me and the deaf dude jumps in the Suburban and they haul arse back toward Columbia. This was pre-cell phones, so we had to wait about 10 minutes for a car to come by. When it did, we flagged it down. The old LTD pulls up and the deaf guy is driving and there was blood all over the him and the car. Dad grabs me up and we haul arse out into the corn field. We ended up walking about 15 miles to somebody's house and calling he cops. About 2 months later the Suburban turns up in a wrecking yard in Tyler Tx. That all we ever heard.

This happen to you or is it copypasta