The scary thread
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Here is one that I wrote for my English work. It was not coursework or anything like that. It was a simple assignment.
Be Careful, its a biggun.
Be Careful, its a biggun.
So what have I got to do?
It was 12.00 at night. Mark and I stood across the field from the small shack, right now it was just a quiet speck on the horizon, but we both knew something much more sinister had happened there, just a few months ago. A body was found, no witnesses, no suspect, and no idea. Over time the shack had become a sort of legend among the people of this town, a haunted building that will bring great pain to anybody who dares venture there.
All you have to do is spend the night there! Mark said with a smirk. Do it and you get £50, you said you would do it, are you going to pussy out now?
Mark was an arsehole, but he was a manipulative arsehole. With a sigh of discomfort, I picked up the sleeping bag with all my stuff in it and started across the field, the bag slung over my shoulder like a bag of potatoes. If there are any problems, all you have to do is call me. Good luck! He shouted mockingly as he walked along the path back to his flat.
I wondered to myself on the way over. Why do I do these things? If I just turn back now then I won?t have to do it, but then he would know I was a coward and he would never let anybody forget it. I could just tell him I did it and then nobody would know. No, he will be up bright and early to make sure I don?t do that. It?s fine, right? I can do this, right?
I arrived at the side of the shack, it was a well know place for the homeless to kip, until that girl was slaughtered. Don?t know why it has not been torn down yet, it?s basically a arrangement of congregated metal, nobody had lived here for decades. I took a torch out of my sleeping bag and, reluctantly, I went through the doorway and into the shack. It was just one room, along the walls there were lots of different graffiti marks, made by people like me, no doubt. The most noticeable thing in the room was a large cupboard in the corner, large enough to permit entry to somebody my size. I wondered why it was here, it was in pretty good shape and I was surprised it had not been taken yet.
I put my sleeping bag on the muddy floor and extracted the supplies that I brought out with me. Two pillows, a water bottle and a few snacks. I opted to get to sleep as fast as possible so to end this soon. After I had emptied the sleeping bag, I laid it down flat on the floor in such a way that it would permit easy entry. I then pulled it over so I was facing the door; I did this under the assumption that if anything came through the door I would be able to see it and react accordingly, it was very naïve of me. I took the two pillows and laid them down next to the opposite wall from the door. After I had placed the pillows, I noticed something on the wall. I moved in for a closer look and I saw it.
Scratches, scratches that looked like they were made by an extremely angry person.
Or possibly an extremely terrified and desperate person.
No, I shook my head to get such a thought out of my mind. It was just an animal. After a quick bag of crisps and a drink, I got into the sleeping bag (moved a couple of inches to the right to avoid sleeping under the scratch marks) and turned off the torch.
I must have been laid there for about two hour before I managed to get some sleep. But no sooner had this relaxation arrived it was quickly snuffed out as I head the unmistakable sound of crunching leaves outside. I immediately sat bolt upright in my sleeping bag. I reached for the torch, my hand clumsily feeling it way around the floor before I finally grabbed it and shone it around. There was nothing, not even a whisper. I shrugged it off as just a passing cat. I took my water bottle and had a few more sips before I put it back down and prepared to get back to sleep. About ten minutes later, something woke me up.
Footsteps, but not ordinary footsteps. These were not coordinated, not balanced, not human, and they were approaching the doorway. I quickly and clumsily, kicked away the sleeping bag and jumped to my feet. The slouching footsteps were getting closer and a small choking rumble had begun to accompany it. In a panic now, I waved my torch around the room in an attempt to find somewhere to hide. My touch made out the cupboard in the corner of the room, without thinking I ran over to the cupboard, swung the door open crouched inside and slammed the door shut. For ten seconds that felt like ten minutes, silence reigned. But then I heard it, it was scratching against the door of the cupboard. Those horrific scratching sounds on the door, persisted for about fifteen minutes without letting up and I could hear the horrible groan of whatever it was. After fifteen minutes, it began to slow down, get weaker until it stopped altogether. I was curious, but not curious enough to open the door. I sat there with my head in my hands silently cursing myself. Why did I come out here? Why!?
It was probably about eight o?clock when I finally worked up the courage to open the door. Slowly, I applied pressure to the door with my foot. It would not move, as if something was blocking it. I was slightly frustrated and tired at this point so I just wanted to get out of there. I pulled my leg back as far as it could and kicked the door open, pushing whatever was stopping me to one side. Slowly, I emerged from the cupboard, and saw it. It was Mark, dead in front of the cupboard door, his throat cut. I simply stared; I did not know what to do The shock had made me go completely silent. In silence, tears welling up in my eyes, I edged around the room attempting to keep as much distance between me and Marks lifeless body. I noticed the scratch marks against the wall where I had been sleeping earlier. I then looked over to the cupboard, scratch marks almost identical to the ones on the wall. It was abundantly clear what had happened. Mark had been scratching the cupboard while I was in there, but I did not help him. He could have been saved.
And with that thought, I finally found the lung power to scream.
It was 12.00 at night. Mark and I stood across the field from the small shack, right now it was just a quiet speck on the horizon, but we both knew something much more sinister had happened there, just a few months ago. A body was found, no witnesses, no suspect, and no idea. Over time the shack had become a sort of legend among the people of this town, a haunted building that will bring great pain to anybody who dares venture there.
All you have to do is spend the night there! Mark said with a smirk. Do it and you get £50, you said you would do it, are you going to pussy out now?
Mark was an arsehole, but he was a manipulative arsehole. With a sigh of discomfort, I picked up the sleeping bag with all my stuff in it and started across the field, the bag slung over my shoulder like a bag of potatoes. If there are any problems, all you have to do is call me. Good luck! He shouted mockingly as he walked along the path back to his flat.
I wondered to myself on the way over. Why do I do these things? If I just turn back now then I won?t have to do it, but then he would know I was a coward and he would never let anybody forget it. I could just tell him I did it and then nobody would know. No, he will be up bright and early to make sure I don?t do that. It?s fine, right? I can do this, right?
I arrived at the side of the shack, it was a well know place for the homeless to kip, until that girl was slaughtered. Don?t know why it has not been torn down yet, it?s basically a arrangement of congregated metal, nobody had lived here for decades. I took a torch out of my sleeping bag and, reluctantly, I went through the doorway and into the shack. It was just one room, along the walls there were lots of different graffiti marks, made by people like me, no doubt. The most noticeable thing in the room was a large cupboard in the corner, large enough to permit entry to somebody my size. I wondered why it was here, it was in pretty good shape and I was surprised it had not been taken yet.
I put my sleeping bag on the muddy floor and extracted the supplies that I brought out with me. Two pillows, a water bottle and a few snacks. I opted to get to sleep as fast as possible so to end this soon. After I had emptied the sleeping bag, I laid it down flat on the floor in such a way that it would permit easy entry. I then pulled it over so I was facing the door; I did this under the assumption that if anything came through the door I would be able to see it and react accordingly, it was very naïve of me. I took the two pillows and laid them down next to the opposite wall from the door. After I had placed the pillows, I noticed something on the wall. I moved in for a closer look and I saw it.
Scratches, scratches that looked like they were made by an extremely angry person.
Or possibly an extremely terrified and desperate person.
No, I shook my head to get such a thought out of my mind. It was just an animal. After a quick bag of crisps and a drink, I got into the sleeping bag (moved a couple of inches to the right to avoid sleeping under the scratch marks) and turned off the torch.
I must have been laid there for about two hour before I managed to get some sleep. But no sooner had this relaxation arrived it was quickly snuffed out as I head the unmistakable sound of crunching leaves outside. I immediately sat bolt upright in my sleeping bag. I reached for the torch, my hand clumsily feeling it way around the floor before I finally grabbed it and shone it around. There was nothing, not even a whisper. I shrugged it off as just a passing cat. I took my water bottle and had a few more sips before I put it back down and prepared to get back to sleep. About ten minutes later, something woke me up.
Footsteps, but not ordinary footsteps. These were not coordinated, not balanced, not human, and they were approaching the doorway. I quickly and clumsily, kicked away the sleeping bag and jumped to my feet. The slouching footsteps were getting closer and a small choking rumble had begun to accompany it. In a panic now, I waved my torch around the room in an attempt to find somewhere to hide. My touch made out the cupboard in the corner of the room, without thinking I ran over to the cupboard, swung the door open crouched inside and slammed the door shut. For ten seconds that felt like ten minutes, silence reigned. But then I heard it, it was scratching against the door of the cupboard. Those horrific scratching sounds on the door, persisted for about fifteen minutes without letting up and I could hear the horrible groan of whatever it was. After fifteen minutes, it began to slow down, get weaker until it stopped altogether. I was curious, but not curious enough to open the door. I sat there with my head in my hands silently cursing myself. Why did I come out here? Why!?
It was probably about eight o?clock when I finally worked up the courage to open the door. Slowly, I applied pressure to the door with my foot. It would not move, as if something was blocking it. I was slightly frustrated and tired at this point so I just wanted to get out of there. I pulled my leg back as far as it could and kicked the door open, pushing whatever was stopping me to one side. Slowly, I emerged from the cupboard, and saw it. It was Mark, dead in front of the cupboard door, his throat cut. I simply stared; I did not know what to do The shock had made me go completely silent. In silence, tears welling up in my eyes, I edged around the room attempting to keep as much distance between me and Marks lifeless body. I noticed the scratch marks against the wall where I had been sleeping earlier. I then looked over to the cupboard, scratch marks almost identical to the ones on the wall. It was abundantly clear what had happened. Mark had been scratching the cupboard while I was in there, but I did not help him. He could have been saved.
And with that thought, I finally found the lung power to scream.
ok, the dead hand is a tiiiiny weeeney liddle bit scary, but that's the scariest bad guy in the N64 collection! and it isn't even in MM!!!Jabberwock xeno said:
yeah, there's nothing wrong with stealing positive aspects from someone else! in fact, that's how we evolved!Gunjack65 said:
I would also like to hear more personal/own writings please.
With love and fear - Mcupobob.
"I'm writing a horror story, would that count?"
With love and fear - Mcupobob.
"I'm writing a horror story, would that count?"
Greetings, girls and ghouls. Happy holidays to each of you, but you've been very naughty. So Santa is sending you something special this year, but I don't think you'll like it. It will really like you though. It does so love the taste of fear!
And now, without further ado, I present: Camera Obscura, a very creepy series about a camera that can capture demons. Not to be confused with Fatal Frame, because those were ghosts not demons.
http://www.dailymotion.com/Camera_Obscura
Enjoy yourselves, and hide under the covers when you hear noises coming from the roof, because that isn't the sound of merry hooves.
And now, without further ado, I present: Camera Obscura, a very creepy series about a camera that can capture demons. Not to be confused with Fatal Frame, because those were ghosts not demons.
http://www.dailymotion.com/Camera_Obscura
Enjoy yourselves, and hide under the covers when you hear noises coming from the roof, because that isn't the sound of merry hooves.
Thanks, I rushed the ending somewhat since I didn't know exactly what to type. It did happen though, and I'm glad I haven't had a nightmare since.David_G said:
Kinda weak actually, a good sort of middle ground for people who want to leave the scary thread, but need a sort of low level scary decompression chamber in order to get back to the surface.
Actually, I think this is all kinda funny. It?s a sort of barrier that we build to keep ourselves from getting too scared. Think about it, if we are scared of the big, unknowable things, then why should we worry about the little things. Why worry about getting mugged by a crack head on the way home, the slenderman is way scarier. No one is going to be scared about whether or not that lump on their chest is growing, because... Well shit, now all I can think about in terms of scarieness is the slender man. See what I mean.
Going on from that, we all know that these things aren?t real, honestly. Even if we do move through hte darkened hall just that little bit faster, we know that they are all little stories in the end. And so we aren?t scared of the real, because the fictional is of course so much worse and we can move away from the fictional because, well, it isn?t real. Does that make sense?
Seriously though, ask yourself, why is wolf creek scarier than Friday the thirteenth? Because there isn?t even the smallest chance that Freddy is real.
Take me for example, five years ago, I was just your average, slightly clever nerd. I went out with my mates, played games and did a fair bit of writing. Of course I had my little oddities, we all do. I was a bit of a perfectionist, kinda smug and had a very physical way of talking. You know, slamming my hand down on tables and that sort of thing.
Then, because no one wants to fade out and just be a face in the crowd, I allowed the oddities to define me. People called me the human dictionairy, which of course I corrected them, I was a thesaurus after all.
Over time, the oddities started being less and less voluntary, I HAD to correct mistakes. I HAD to slap the table when saying hello, I HAD to knock on it when I got up. I HAD to check that the car door was closed.
Eventually, people started to notice, it stopped being funny, it stopped being charming and my friends drifted away. A few said that they were embarrassed to see me like this, going over strange routines every time I took a slash. One actually said that it was unfair on who
I used to be to encourage me to continue to act like this, but I think it just unsettled them. Like I said, five years ago I was normal, so I guess they saw a very real threat to who they were in me.
So now here I am, sitting at teh same table that I have for the last seventeen hours, wanting to get up and wash and eat and sleep, but not wanting to knock on the table first. I am DEAN ********** and I will not let pathetic shit like this beat me. I don?t care how long it takes, I will stand without following the ritual and.....
Fuckit, you?re focused on my spelling mistakes aren?t you. Have a fun couple of years.
Going on from that, we all know that these things aren?t real, honestly. Even if we do move through hte darkened hall just that little bit faster, we know that they are all little stories in the end. And so we aren?t scared of the real, because the fictional is of course so much worse and we can move away from the fictional because, well, it isn?t real. Does that make sense?
Seriously though, ask yourself, why is wolf creek scarier than Friday the thirteenth? Because there isn?t even the smallest chance that Freddy is real.
Take me for example, five years ago, I was just your average, slightly clever nerd. I went out with my mates, played games and did a fair bit of writing. Of course I had my little oddities, we all do. I was a bit of a perfectionist, kinda smug and had a very physical way of talking. You know, slamming my hand down on tables and that sort of thing.
Then, because no one wants to fade out and just be a face in the crowd, I allowed the oddities to define me. People called me the human dictionairy, which of course I corrected them, I was a thesaurus after all.
Over time, the oddities started being less and less voluntary, I HAD to correct mistakes. I HAD to slap the table when saying hello, I HAD to knock on it when I got up. I HAD to check that the car door was closed.
Eventually, people started to notice, it stopped being funny, it stopped being charming and my friends drifted away. A few said that they were embarrassed to see me like this, going over strange routines every time I took a slash. One actually said that it was unfair on who
I used to be to encourage me to continue to act like this, but I think it just unsettled them. Like I said, five years ago I was normal, so I guess they saw a very real threat to who they were in me.
So now here I am, sitting at teh same table that I have for the last seventeen hours, wanting to get up and wash and eat and sleep, but not wanting to knock on the table first. I am DEAN ********** and I will not let pathetic shit like this beat me. I don?t care how long it takes, I will stand without following the ritual and.....
Fuckit, you?re focused on my spelling mistakes aren?t you. Have a fun couple of years.
I hate this thread. And I hate that "Go to Sleep" picture.
I woke up at 3:40 a.m. seeing and hearing things. I stayed up until 6:00 trying to get that picture out of my thoughts. Then I decided to make a run for the light switch, and I figured whatever was trying to scare me wouldn't hurt me if I acted as stupid as possible.
I woke up at 3:40 a.m. seeing and hearing things. I stayed up until 6:00 trying to get that picture out of my thoughts. Then I decided to make a run for the light switch, and I figured whatever was trying to scare me wouldn't hurt me if I acted as stupid as possible.
My family has gathered for christmas, it's me and my parents, so that's three people, also my three sister's are here, two of witch brought their better halves and four small children, so that's twelve people in all and also two cats.David_G said:[http://img713.imageshack.us/my.php?image=1282994669147.jpg]
I heard a thump as I read this, and despite all logic telling me it's nothing I cannot help but peek towards the doorway of the room I am in.
I have been switching between this forum thread and the PC game F.E.A.R for the past four days, I am already insane though so I doubt I will get worse....... not much worse.
Thanks for the stories.
You're welcome, it was fun for me, too to read those stories before posting them.kroldok said:My family has gathered for christmas, it's me and my parents, so that's three people, also my three sister's are here, two of witch brought their better halves and four small children, so that's twelve people in all and also two cats.David_G said:[http://img713.imageshack.us/my.php?image=1282994669147.jpg]
I heard a thump as I read this, and despite all logic telling me it's nothing I cannot help but peek towards the doorway of the room I am in.
I have been switching between this forum thread and the PC game F.E.A.R for the past four days, I am already insane though so I doubt I will get worse....... not much worse.
Thanks for the stories.
It's the world's creepyist Rick Roll.sgtshock said:
As for Scary things the only thing I could put up would be the car commercial but everyone and there dog has probably posted it already. On second thought there is this: http://www.cracked.com/article_15628_the-5-creepiest-urban-legends-that-happen-to-be-true.html