Posted on 10/31/2016 6:28:19 PM PDT by Vince Ferrer
Mommy told me never to go in the basement, but I wanted to see what was making that noise. It kind of sounded like a puppy, and I wanted to see the puppy, so I opened the basement door and tiptoed down a bit. I didn’t see a puppy, and then Mommy yanked me out of the basement and yelled at me. Mommy had never yelled at me before, and it made me sad and I cried. Then Mommy told me never to go into the basement again, and she gave me a cookie. That made me feel better, so I didn’t ask her why the boy in the basement was making noises like a puppy, or why he had no hands or feet.
I was invited to this party at a seaside mansion in an isolated property in California. A friend of mine knew the owner and got us RSVP invites. We drove their in one car, and parked in this parking lot that was edged by a giant dropoff to the ocean below. It was an amazing view.
Off we went, to the entrance gate and were let in to the front yard. A brisk walk to the door where we presented our invites and we were IN LIKE FLINT. Wow, is all I can say. Lots of people, lots of women dressed to kill, with food and booze aplenty.
We both chatted around the room and hit on the women. Not having that much success, we decided to sneak a peek around the house. We edged quietly around a door and entered a hallway. There were heads of wild game on the walls. Pretty impressive stuff. At the end of the hall there were two doors. One said no admittance. We went through the other door and it led to a study. Tons of books in there on all kinds of macabre subjects. Enough for me. Out of the room and back to the hall.
We talked about how we should probably quit invading this guy’s privacy and return to the party, but curiosity got the best of us. We went through the marked door and were in a short hallway. At the end of it was a long hallway heading both directions. As we stepped into the T of the intersection, we heard some growling coming from the left hall.
We quickly turned the other way and decided maybe we should follow that hall until we could find an exit to the outside. Maybe it was best to get out and go home. We turned right and briskly walked along. As we got further down the hall, which was not well lit, we noticed there were razor blades stuck all over the walls. What kind of insanity was this ?
No time to think. Time to move. About that time we heard a noise from behind us. It was the barking of dogs, and it was getting louder as if they were moving our way.
I looked at him, and he at me, and we both said at the same time, “run”. We started running as fast as we could , without brushing the walls. The hall seemed to be getting narrower as we ran.
And then the lights went out.
*SCREAMMMMMMMMMMM*
I just threw my razor away.
I read that EVERY year. Love the creativity! :)
The most frightening story I have ever read is still H.P. LOVECRAFT’S THE RATS IN THE WALLS.
It still creeps me out.
And the dogs better watch themselves or out they go, too.
I’m saving that for daylight hours...but...um..thanks...I think? LOL!
That one might require daylight. It is very impressive in that it is only a two and a half minute film, and in only about the first ten seconds, you're hooked.
I admire the way the authors twist and torture the sentence to make a story.
:)
Saving it for Morning Coffee, tomorrow AM.
Maybe with a shot of Baileys? LOL!
I love you! *SHUDDER*
A Haunting in Oklahoma
Many years ago, we lived at the end of a long road. It was actually “The last house on the left”, although that has nothing to do with the story. Previous tenants told us of odd things happening but we didn’t believe them. Our disbelief was short-lived.
It began with my four-year-old daughter screaming at something she had seen in the living room. She said it was a black cloud and that it had crossed the room and disappeared into a corner. We dismissed it until my wife’s sister visited a few days later. She said the cloud reappeared from the same corner and enveloped her two little girls. Later that same day, my wife saw the cloud come from the corner and wrap itself around her. She said it was suffocating, hot and stank of sulphur and burning meat. The cloud seemed to only manifest itself around women and girls. Unfortunately for my sons, males were not spared the haunting.
The front door of the old house squeaked loudly and no amount of WD40, graphite, or silicone gel would quiet it. Now, to understand the layout of the house, one has to realize that it was built into the side of a hill. The front door faced the West and one would enter there onto the second floor, which is where the living area, dining room, kitchen and bathrooms all were. The bedrooms and laundry room were on the first floor, which could be accessed by the East facing back door.
One night, the boys, aged eight and six, heard the front door open so they went to investigate. In the open front door they could see an odd green colored mist. When they approached to the door to see from where the glow was originating, the glow disappeared.
The younger boy discovered the specter’s aversion to pleasant smells. My wife set out store bought air fresheners, but this was useless. Once a room would be vacated, the fresheners would close. It was my younger son who pointed out this phenomenon, as well as the fact that scented candles would extinguish themselves once any room was empty.
The older boy was beset with his own terror. Frequently he would awaken on his bottom bunk to find a horrific and contorted face shrieking at him. The face was aged and wrinkled, the gender of the entity undefined.
He would also learn to put away his playthings. One night he was roused by the sound of his toys moving about the floor. He looked to see small black beings moving trucks, warships and cars against the door, as if to barricade it from entry. When they noticed he was watching them, they turned and began climbing the covers trying to get at him. He screamed and I came running to find him clinging to the bottom of the bunkie board of his brother’s upper bed.
Up to this point, I had seen nothing so I was still somewhat skeptical of all these stories. That changed on the last night of the haunting.
We were asleep downstairs, and I was dreaming. I dreamt that I walked into our bedroom, but there was no bedroom furniture there. It was furnished as a living room and on the sofa sat the most beautiful redheaded woman I had ever seen. Now my wife, beautiful in her own right, is a brunette. But in this dream, I knew the redhead to be my wife.
She was crying. She turned and looked at me through blackened, tear-filled and fear-filled eyes. I should have had pity in my heart for this woman, but all I felt was rage. She cowered into an arm of the sofa and I started toward her to continue the beating I knew she deserved.
It was when I heard a voice that I realized that the dream had been silent up to that point. In my dream I knew that this was because the wife was deaf. The voice I had heard was that of my six-year-old. I turned and looked to the doorway to see my real-life son standing there in clothes I had never seen before. He was wearing black pants and a long-sleeved red pullover shirt. He was soaking wet from head to toe and his skin appeared ashen and lifeless. Again, I felt no love for my family, only a burning rage.
The boy looked up to me and said, “Dad?” He too, had a look of abject fear in his eyes, but he continued, “Dad? Help me!” I turned toward him and raised my clenched fist and struck the child square in the face.
Suddenly I awoke sitting up in bed, my wife sitting up as well, screaming at me, “What the Hell is that?” I then realized that there was a fight going on in the living room above my head. Two men were yelling at each other, throwing around furniture and breaking glass. I jumped from my bed and ran upstairs. As my foot fell onto the carpeted hallway of the second story, all was silent.
No one was there. The windows were intact, the furniture upright. But the door stood open, shrouded in an iridescent green glow. Drawn, I approached the door and looked out onto the darkened street. There was nothing. All was quiet. Fallen autumn leaves swirled in the cool night’s breeze. I returned to my wife and my room to not sleep. We sat in silence awaiting the dawn.
And dawn did come. As it happened, it was October 31st. I stood on my front porch drinking my coffee, trying to rationalize my dream. And then I heard it. A chill locked into my spine as I heard my six-year-old son say, “Dad?” Scared, I turned and looked down the hill. My son said, “Dad? Help me!” I approached as the boy was using a stick to try to dig something out of the ground. It was a strip of black corduroy. I went to help him, but pulled him away when I saw the flash of white bone. I grabbed my son and ran into the house.
The police dug up the body of the little boy. He was six when he died. He was wearing black corduroy pants and a long sleeved red pullover shirt.
My brother is now a detective on our local police department. Although they have a lengthy file on the boy’s father, they remain unable to locate him or his beautiful, deaf, redheaded wife.
Weiner joke: Weiner went out to have sex with an underage girl, only he ended up f-—king a 70 year old woman.
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