Shadow people (also known as Shadow men, shadow folk or shadow beings) are said to be shadow like creatures of supernatural origin that appear as dark forms in the peripheries of people's vision and disintegrate, or move between walls, when noticed.

Reports of shadow people are similar to ghost sightings, but differ in that shadow people are not reported as having human features, wearing modern/period clothing, or attempting to communicate. Witnesses also do not report the same feelings of being in the presence of something that 'was once human'. Some individuals have described being menaced, chased, or (more rarely) attacked by shadow people. There have also been reports of shadow people appearing in front of witnesses or lingering for several seconds before disappearing. Witnesses report that encounters are typically accompanied by a feeling of dread

Most accounts of shadow people describe them as black humanoid silhouettes with no discernible mouths, noses, eyes, or any expression whatsoever, though purported witnesses have also described child-sized humanoids or shapeless masses. Some reports also include glowing red eyes. Generally, they are described as lacking mass, though their specific nature varies from a two-dimensional shadow to a vaporous or distorted three-dimensional form. Their movement is often described as being very quick and disjointed; they may first move slowly, as if they were passing through a heavy liquid, and then rapidly "hop" to another part of a witness' surroundings. Some witnesses describe this movement as though the shadow entities they have seen "danced" from one wall to the next, or as moving around the room "as if they were on a specific track". Some accounts differ from the above and instead describe a completely black creature with red eyes,a cloak, and a gentleman's hat. This variation has become known as "the hat man".

Various depictions and artists rendering have been posted on the internet.

Several explanations have been proposed for the appearance of shadow people.

Explanations for shadow people have been drawn from the fields of parapsychology, metaphysics, cryptozoology, demonology, religion, and the occult:

* A creature/s in an alternate reality whose dimension occasionally overlaps with ours, allowing it to be partially visible.
* A Manifest Thoughtform (egregore), ghost or demon created by negative psychic energy and related to a places or event in which extreme emotional or physical stress/trauma has taken place.
* A creature in some way linked to Grey and Reptilian aliens
* An unattended shadow or shade (mythology), said in some cultures, to be similar to that of a ghost, a flicker of a life unable to end for some reason.

THE PREGNANCY
Since before I could remember, I’ve wanted to be a mother. It seemed my whole childhood and teenager years were spent yearning for a child of my own. By the time I was nine, I had names–and color schemes for the nursery–picked out. All I needed was someone to make them with. But college was disappointing. I went through a whole string of bad boyfriends and bad father material. Getting on with my career didn’t seem to help much. I realized, though–when I was twenty-seven, and there were no suitable prospects on the line–that, technically, I did not need a man to have a
child with. Just a very particular product of his. I found a sperm donor bank, chose the best prospect they had, got out my turkey baster and… well… hoped for the best.

I was overjoyed when my first pregnancy test came out positive. My doctor was surprised to see me coming in sooner than he’d expected. Before I was four weeks along, I had the nursery painted, and the furniture set up. Toys and diapers, bottles and books, bibs and coveralls. I had everything a new mother would need.

I couldn’t explain all the weight I was losing. I kept getting thinner–everything except for my belly. My friends all joked that it had to be at least twins. Or the biggest baby they’d ever seen.

I got weary of the kicking somewhere in the third trimester. And the scratching.

Just one more week until my due date.

I just wish it would stop gnawing.

>>677806

Internet to you.

STANDING IN THE RAIN
He stood there, unwavering.

When the rain began, he did not falter. His clothes and hair became soaked, but he hardly noticed. It probably would eventually lead to the onset of a cold, but that wasn’t an important thing at all. At this point, hardly anything mattered to him. There was only one thing on his mind.

Patience was a virtue he luckily possessed, because the wait seemed to last forever. The rain ceased, then started again. Thunder cracked around him, but the noise never made him jump.

Finally, the door to the house he had been staring at opened.

He could have rushed after him, but chose not to. It was better to make him come to him.

And rather foolishly, the man did just that.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment a long time,” he said to the man before connecting with a right hand that sent him onto the muddy lawn below.

The look of fear in the man’s eyes told him the lesson to not mess with his wife had been learned.

And yet he still didn’t relent.

16 CHOICES
Every individual will make 16 choices in their lifetime that will forever alter the course of humanity. No more than 16, no less than 16. These choices will be small, and at the time of decision, will mean nothing. They won’t have to be choices which result in action, they could be choices that result in inaction. But months, years along the way, when the full impact of your decisions and the chain reaction of events they have caused are felt… you may have been the one who caused the end of the world. And you will never know.

THE REFLECTION


You are home alone, and you hear on the news about the profile of a murderer who is on the loose.
You look out the sliding glass doors to your backyard, and you notice a man standing out in the snow. He fits the profile of the murderer exactly, and he is smiling at you.

You gulp, picking up the phone to your right and dialing 911. You look back out the glass as you press the phone to your ear, and notice he is much closer to you now.

You then drop the phone in shock.

There are no footprints in the snow.

It’s his reflection.

NOT ALONE
She was in her bed, but she had not slept a single wink. That’s because she kept hearing the noises. And the more they continued, the more terrified she became.

The first time she heard the sound of the floor creaking downstairs she tried to convince herself it was her imagination. But it just kept going to the point that the sound was completely undeniable.

And then there were the other noises. Things had been falling in the last few minutes, and her not knowing just what any of it was made her condition even worse. More than ever, she wished Roger wasn’t away on that business trip. If he were here, he would take care of whatever was down there.

But there was no time left to think of any of that. No matter how scared she was, she knew she’d have to take care of business herself.

Thankfully, there was at least Roger’s gun to protect her. She leaned over onto the nightstand and held it firmly in her hand.

It was now or never.

With her hands trembling, she kept the gun pointed in front of her as she walked down the steps. The sounds of the floor creaking continued, along with something else.

Footsteps. And they were coming in her direction.

She was halfway down the steps when the footsteps stopped. The outline of whatever was down there was clear to her.

She fired one shot.

The figure disappeared to the floor in a heap. When several minutes passed without any movement, she finally got the nerve to turn a light on and see the thing face to face.

It was Roger

A little known fact is that the Eisenhower Interstate system is built over major leylines. Rumor has it, that if specific conditions are met, weird phenomena will occur. Phenomenon the first: Observed while driving westwards on I-80. Two occupants in car, middle of the night, no other cars around. The first sign of this phenomenon is that you will lose ALL radio reception, and devices such as MP3 players, Discmen, tape decks and other music players will cease functioning. Your heater will begin to only dispense cold air, regardless of setting. After the first mile of this, you will notice a fog growing at the edges of the road, and you will see no exits, regardless of whether they were supposed to be there. If you continue on, you will begin to see the occasional pedestrian. Some of them will gesture that they would like to hitch a ride. Under no circumstances should you stop for them, no one has ever stopped and survived. If you see lights approaching from behind, and it is a hearse, do NOT let it pass you. No matter what. After 13 miles, the phenomenon will end, and you will be safe.

DONT LOOK DOWN
The moon cut through the darkness with its milky shaft of light. Lewis strained his eyes into the glow as this was his only point of consolation. The large beech tree scraped against the window with twisted branches luring him to look, but Lewis was too afraid. His youthful mind taunted him with the notion that it was under the bed. Every muscle in his body twitched with anticipation from the imminent manifestation of the bogeyman to slide from below and to grab him down to the cavern of hell where it dwelled. Turning his eyes to the window, the tree had finally won. Lewis focused his weary eyes onto the gnarled branches that rhythmically and relentlessly scratched the glass surface. Dark silhouettes of beguiling arms reached out beseeching Lewis to not look under the bed.

“Stay with us…” The wind and branches whispered to him with hypnotic tones, caressing him away from looking below. The wind sneaked through the tiny open window with a pleading crescendo embracing Lewis, securing him with its soothing breath.

“Shh!” Lewis abruptly retorted as the sound became amplified inside his cluttered head. Reluctantly his mind began to wander. He recalled the moment the pencil ground into the soft vulnerable flesh, the pale neck vomiting claret fluid with a pair of pleading eyes bulging with intense incredulity. A quiver of a lip, a fruitless lift of a wavering arm and it was all over. So quick, so final. No child should see such a pitiful death.

>>677880

Though Lewis was fourteen years of age, he still yearned for a comforting hand to stroke his clammy brow. It never came. Only the bogeyman continued to terrify him, just as it did when he was of a much more tender age.

Rancid emaciated hands would slowly secrete and slither from under the valance, a rusty substance oozing from behind the sharpened fingernails as they wormed their spindly bony arms around Lewis’s panting and heaving body, crushing eventually his neck until he no longer had the breath to scream, or even to weep. Lewis would wake within the damp moist sheets, perspiration budding from under his hairline, his body throbbing with panic nevertheless relieved it was only a nightmare. His brother in the next bed often brought him back to reality with his irritable “What the hell, Lewis, shut the fuck up!” bawl. However every night the thought of the bogeyman plagued him, teasing and testing his conscious and subconscious mind.

>>677885

But at this moment it was paramount. As of tonight the unremitting hellish visions were about to reach their final climax. A conclusion. Struggling against his will to look under the bed and that of the comfort he gained from the tree with its lullaby of calm, Lewis eventually managed to force his ridged body with laboured exertion to look down. Curiosity peaked to a point of obsession. He had never done this before, fear had always paralyzed him, but in order to end these horrific nightmares tonight he was compelled to look. The rustle of his duvet interrupted the cooing wind as he leaned over his bed. Squeezing his eyes securely shut, he could see a myriad of floating abstract images darting and waltzing within his head.

“He’s not real, he’s not real.” These words circulated desperately as his chestnut hair flopped to the floor; hands gripping the edge of the metal bed. Lewis eventually opened his eyes. His mother’s decomposing body lay still, silent, her eyes staring into the coils of his mattress. The pencil still jarred into her bloodless neck.

From her unyielding mouth echoic words uttered repeatedly:

“It’s you. You are the bogeyman, Lewis. You. Look what you did to me!”

Lewis with frantic hands muffled his ears and screamed. Disorientation engulfed him. The nurse heard his maniacal cries; with a syringe by her side she strode down the whitewashed corridor and entered his stark sterile room, as she did almost every night.

MARRYING MAUD
Twilight picked out blue forget-me-nots straggling the downward path. The rockery took on a somber air and evensong absolved the day. Maud and her shadow, both of them grey, swept ghostlike towards the water’s edge where she stooped to lay flowers, picked along the way. This was where he’d proposed: her first husband. Mist covered the water and mallards settled onto the bank, their familiar calls like laughter. She thought she saw a rippling of the water, heard a faint plash but there was no breath of wind. It had been a long while since she’d taken the boat out on the lake. Well, not tonight. Dear Spencer… He’d never really understood her.

Summer always reminded her of Frederic–the most gracious host. There were post holes where the marquee had stood, first, for their wedding, then for anniversaries, birthdays, parties… Their last, according to Frederic, had been the best–a hundred guests, champagne, sparkling music, salmon, ices, strawberries… How Frederic had celebrated life! Maud had retired early with a headache but could hear laughter and music and ducks, protesting at the invasion of their territory. Later he’d come making conjugal demands. She’d suggested taking the boat out for a romantic view of dawn. She’d warned him to be careful. The rockery steps were treacherous enough when sober. Any little trip up could result in a tumble. She’d held a memorial in the marquee, had worn black that day. It would have pleased him–at least a hundred guests. Later, alone by the lake, she thought she saw someone waving across the water. It was just an illusion of the gathering fog.

>>677892

The shed among the oaks was not a favorite spot for Maud but it had come in handy more than once. Saws were stored there, spades, hoes, sacking. There were… unpleasant associations. Maud had had a row with William here. About money, of course. The upkeep of the house and garden were enormous. She’d been quick to point out that it was her house and that the expensive furnishings and artworks were heirlooms but there was no reasoning with him. He knew a good dealer who would give them top price. She knew how to wield a pickaxe. She sawed off his head and buried it with the others by the lake. Then she rowed out to the middle and heaved the weighty sack overboard.

>>677895

cant seam to do the ending

There's a small building somewhere in north western America, up along the border between Oregon and Washington. It's just a short, little, old shack in the woods, off the highway. Anyways, inside, there's a spiral staircase made of grating that goes straight down. If you go all the way down, you'll find yourself stepping out into an endless field of tall grass. There are many bones surrounding the bottom step of the stairs, and things move in the near distance. Nobody who has ever seen these things has come back to say what they are.

There's a small, inconspicuous building called "Padraic Willoughsby (Willoughby?) and Co." in the industrial district of Birmingham, UK. Most of the time, its doors are locked and the windows are draped. However, on February 29th of every leap year, there will be a small plastic container outside the front door containing business cards. On the front of the card it says in large capital letters, "PADRAIC WILLOUGHSBY AND CO. ENGLAND'S THAUMATURGICAL SPECIALISTS". On the back, in nearly illegibly small type it says "The blood of the innocent." Any night after midnight one can come to Paidraic Willoughsby and Co. and slide their card through the door, and the door will instantly unlock. Inside there is an empty room with white walls. No light reaches this room, except for a small sliver from the other end of the room. When you approach this room you will find that it is actually another door. When you knock on it, a voice will ask "What makes a man become exalted?" and you must respond with the phrase on the back of the card: "The blood of the innocent." The door will open and you will come into another room, a kind of lounge. Inside it you will find around 5-10 people, depending on the night, sitting around smoking and drinking brandy, all in late Edwardian period dress. There is absolutely no conversation at all in this room and, it is nearly silent except for the phonograph which plays the exact same record over and over, ad infinitum. If you attempt to speak to one of the patrons, they will promptly ignore you and pretend as if you were not there. Towards the south wing of the room you will find a large, round table, slightly different from the others. On it will be a quill pen and a document. The document shows all of your personal information: name, birthdate, place of residence, criminal record, greatest fears, etc. At the bottom of the document is a long line that asks for your signature. No one knows what happens after you sign it.

There is a book that has only been spoken of in terrified whispers behind closed and locked doors. It is said that only seven people have ever seen this book over the course of all of human history and only four have opened it. Only one man has ever read it. The book...isn't really a book at all, but a machine. The binding opens and locks, with a grate in the center where the pages can slide through. When the book is opened, and the pages lie flat, they can be shifted into different positions. Each page is made of metal, the words embossed on it. On each edge of the page is a specially cut design; no two designs are the same. It is said that one must find the proper arrangement of each of the five hundred and thirty six pages and go to the "Rock of Chaos", where time is the only constant. It is a place of madness where lightning moves from all directions and the sky itself burns with an insane blue fire. The Rock is the face of an immense cliff, the bottom of which can never be seen by mortal eyes lest they go blind and mad. Somewhere on the face of the rock there is a single hole, an opening just the right size for the book. Properly aligned, the book must be brought to this "keyhole" at the exact moment specified by the stars and spoken of within the book. One places the book in the hole at the exact moment, and unlocks the Chaos Chain. This is a chain of pure ether, which runs from our world deep into that of the Void, and there, at the Throne of Darkness, the Chain binds that dark soul who rules the Void and would wreak apocalypse on us all: Unenon, the Blind Angel of Darkness. What the book says...well, only one man ever read it, and it is said that he locked himself in his room for thirty days before emerging, tome in hand, and swore to take the book to the ends of the earth before he died. He has never been seen or heard from since.

If you are watching television, and the signal cuts out to static, turn the TV off immediately. If you watch the static on TV for long enough, the static will suddenly pause. All sound in the room will cease; even the white noise of the TV itself will disappear. If this happens you must not look away from the screen. You will probably not notice at the time, before you lose your gaze on the TV, your body will freeze as well. Time around and with you have paused completely. Specks of the black and white dots slowly come to life, creeping slowly in seemingly random directions. Not static as you know it, but organizing themselves into a moving picture again in front of you. As the static returns to normal, and the white noise of the TV comes back, you will regain control of your body. You must never watch that television again. It will only play static, even when unplugged. If you watch the static any longer, these same events will reoccur, but with disastrous results. What exactly happens is unknown, as it is obvious that anyone that has been unfortunate enough to experience this has disappeared. It is rumored that if one continues to watch the static again, or during their experience, looks away, the white and black specs will slowly start to move again, but you will not. Your eyes will then be permanently fixated on the screen as you watch the picture come back to life, and what seems to be your station's signal return. You learn soon this is not the case, as all sound is still absent, and the picture on the TV shows a familiar surrounding: the room in which you sit. The only thing you see next is movement on the TV, as you see yourself from behind, and subsequently, the cause of your disappearance.

In almost every building, there is one corner, one small enclosure that no one ever looks at. It's the corner in the basement that has been blocked by a disused sofa for years; the thin space in the attic between the wall and the stacks and stacks of crates full of junk you never use, but could never throw away. The space that never sees the light of day, or any other kind of light at all. Where darkness does not merely dominate, but practically oozes out from around the edges of its prison. No one knows quite how long a space must remain concealed for it to acquire this particular property, nor if there are any specific conditions it must meet. But it is a far more common occurrence than you might think.
In newer buildings, when this happens, the residents often report feeling cold when passing by, even in attics during the hottest of summers. Whenever contemplating taking a quick peek to see if there is anything actually there, an unnatural dread seizes them, and they leave the room quickly, if not quite running. Once left behind, the feeling passes, and it is quickly forgotten, or laughed off.
What actually happens in these forgotten sanctuaries of the dark? It is impossible to tell. For while many such corners have been exposed to reveal absolutely nothing, some brave souls have lost their sanity through nothing more than an ill-timed glance. The safest thing to do when encountered with such a phenomenon; close your eyes, rip away the area's covering in a single motion, then keep a tight hold on what you've pulled away. No matter what you hear or feel, do not get up, do not look around, and do not try to cover your ears. You might be one of the lucky ones.

Typing in a certain phrase on /b/ with your e-mail address on the second line will cause you to get an e-mail. It won't say what address the e-mail is from, just 'OTHER'. Don't open the e-mail. Delete it. Opening it will give you a clue as to where you should to 'recieve your reward.' This clue will haunt your dreams for eternity unless you follow it. If you ignored my advice to delete it, then don't follow the clue, no matter how bad the dreams get. If you do follow the clue and find the location, then you will find where the person who sent the message lives. If that person asks 'if you want your reward', say no. The 'reward' is heaven and hell contained within your hands. So to speak.

There's a dark forest deep in the heart of the Rockies, surrounded on all sides by mountains. In the center of the forest is a lake on the shores of which you will find a large black stone. If you swim out into the center of the lake, the stone will drag you down into the darkness. You will emerge from shadows in the alley of a frightening dark city of heavily arched roofs and buildings built on stilts. You must not talk to a single citizen of this city, or you shall be trapped there forever. The citizenry is horrid and mutated, and they will leer and curse at you, and their hideous and deformed women shall offer you unknown and horrible lewdnesses. At the edge of this city is a highway. Walk down the left side of the road (yes, against traffic) with your thumb out and a man in a dark truck shall pick you up and drive you back the way you came. The city will be gone, and he will take you to any place on Earth as long as you can name it and there's a road there.

THE HITCHHIKERS


There are stories about a certain kind of hitchhiker - they only ever appear at night on quiet roads, seeming to flicker into existence in the very edge of headlights, never carrying a sign, always with an expression of deep despondency on their faces, swathed in a heavy coat and long pants, usually with gloves. If you stop, they will seem cordial enough, polite, but hardly chatty. They will assure you that the next town or city along your route will be a fine spot to leave them. Normal enough. Unless you try killing them.

They die easily enough. But look underneath their clothes, and you will see that their skin is marred with lines of scars, forming repeating patterns that are unsettling to look at, and even more unsettling in the context of their skin. They have no wallets, no identification. If you slice their belly open, however, they’re different inside. There’s no blood, no muscle, only a hollow cavity containing a single object. The object varies. Examples include a single coin, heavy and golden and engraved with runes nobody could ever decipher. A diamond gem with fractal edges that slice bare flesh to ribbons. A small vase, quite unbreakable, that smells of the ocean and is always damp…

Once you possess a hitchhiker’s object, you’ll find yourself always driving the quiet roads at night. You’ll never mean to, but somehow, you just will. The lure of possessing a second one will hum quietly in your head. You’ll strain to catch sight of a figure appearing in your headlights, try to resist the impulse to stop, and sometimes you might. But sometimes you won’t. You’ll try telling yourself that this is just a normal person on an adventure, someone who ran out of petrol. The logical part of your brain will scream at what you’re doing. You’ll smile and nod and they’ll get into the car and you’ll slowly, casually, reach under the seat or across to the glove box…

REMEMBER TO TURN THE LIGHTS ON


I was six, maybe seven years old when this happened. My family had just gotten back from visiting my aunt’s house. My cousins were watching a scary movie in the basement, and even though my parents said I would get scared, I snuck downstairs and watched some of it. I don’t remember what part I saw, but there were little monsters with teeth that would eat people in their sleep.

When we left for home it was dark outside and my parents scolded me for watching that movie. I secretly hoped they would keep scolding me, because I was feeling sleepy and didn’t want those things to eat me. We got home fine and my parents even managed to calm me down enough to the point where when my bedtime came around I could go to sleep.

I fell asleep almost immediately and slept pretty well. I woke up sometime during the night. Knowing where everything is in my house I didn’t turn the lights on, but instead used the street light coming in the windows. I went to the bathroom and then got a glass of water. As I was putting the glass in the dishwasher, something pricked my hand. I pulled my hand back and switched on the lights, but there was nothing in the dishwasher.

I looked at my hand and it had four little indents on the top and bottom where something had broken through the skin. Since that day I’ve had little bumps on my skin where the marks were, and I always remember to turn the lights on.

There are seven words in every Gideon's Bible - the one they stuff in every hotel room - that can't be found in any other bible. If you repeat those seven words to yourself while grasping the doorknob to your room, the door will open to any hotel room in the world. Of course, if you want to control where you're going, you'll need to know the Gideon's Key - one more inserted word, unique to each copy, which acts as an index for each room.

There's a movie theater in downtown Phoenix, Arizona that only plays movies from 1987. If you pay for 3 tickets and buy a large popcorn, they will play a film that shows you your future. If you watch the entire film completely, you will have sleeping problems for the rest of your life.

Legend has it that if you come face to face with your doppelganger, it's an omen or warning of death -- for both you and your twin. Because of this, if you see a replica of yourself, run for your life. If you keep seeing your doppelganger, chances are that your days are numbered, because you'll soon see your demise. There are many stories regarding encounters with doppelgangers, none of them pleasant. Often, a person does not actually see their own doppelganger, but someone else does. Can you be two places at once? No, but it's a very strange feeling when someone who knows you very well insists that they saw you just thirty minutes ago -- and you were nowhere in the vicinity. Imagine this happening time and time again and you'll soon go insane. Hence, the myth that a doppelganger will precede the arrival of the real person. Many stories explaining their experiences with these apparitions have this in common. Perhaps he's one step ahead of you?

If you watch every State of the Union Address since it's been filmed and available on tape, you'll see that halfway through--exactly halfway through--the President always says the same word. Most say it under their breath during the standing ovations, but some are forced to work it into the speech itself.

Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean is an island, surrounded by a swamp filled with the carcasses of fish and other, less recognizable things poking out of the mud. The mire extends as far as you can see. Every so often, the mud will dry enough under that you can walk on it; about a days travel from shore is a large mound, at the top of which is an immense canyon, the bottom of which cannot be seen, although if the moon is large enough you will be able to see the slope of the canyon, and eventually the bottom, which is covered by a strange body of water. Rising from the water is a monolith, which is covered in bas-reliefs.

There is a village somewhere in England that has not been inhabited for over 20 years. It has long since been forgotten off of most maps, and only has one road in and out of it. If you manage to find it, it will seem a peaceable enough place, the derelict buildings being overgrown and nature taking back the land for herself. However somewhere within the village is a vending machine which still has power. it will still have it's original look and sell ordinary brands of drink (though with 20 year old packaging) however the one at the very bottom will be marked "E". pay only in 10p pieces to buy this drink. When you recieve it, before drinking it, peer inside the can to check it's colour (do not try to pour some out. it will refuse to
leave the can despite vigorous shaking). if it's green drink heartily, it will give you an unnaturally long lifespan and go luck in everything you do. if it is red, however, it will spread a horrific pestilence over you, claiming one of your senses every 10 years after you drink it.673

At the edge of the Pacific Ocean, on some abandoned beach in the tropics, there is a large, smooth rock that sits just beyond the reach of the highest tides. It is not cracked or marked in any way, and the smooth black stone reflects even the faintest of light. It's curved and formed in just such a way that if you are very careful, you can climb on top of it from the side, and stand on a flat area at the top. If you stand on the rock when the moon is full and shining, and the water is at its highest point, you can see something in the sea below you. A faint shimmer of light, a flash of something you can't quite identify. It gets brighter, easier to see as you kneel down and lean closer, over the edge of the rock. Once you are leaning out further than would probably be safe, your left leg will slip on the slippery stone, and you will fall forward into the light. There is no splash, no sound; you simply disappear into the ocean. No one knows what happens after you disappear. But there are some who claim to have fallen off the same rock, what seems like a lifetime ago. According to the earthly calendar, they were gone for one day, and then washed up on another beach, sometimes half a world away. But their eyes are hardened, and they rarely speak anymore, only occasionally muttering of fiery paths and gibbering demons.

The lottery gives you a three digit number and a four digit number each day. What else has seven digits split into three, then four? It's a phone number. The lottery is a telephone oracle. Whoever is on the end of the line when you call that number knows something that you need to know, though sometimes getting the prophecy out of them can be difficult. It helps if you have a winning ticket, I believe.

If you kill a person at midwinter, and then bathe in its blood two days later you will live as long as the other person would have lived if you hadn't killed him. This only works for people of your own gender, though. Bathing in the blood of another gender will kill you, and bring the person you killed back to life for as long as you would have lived.

Everyone has a ceramic egg that is right for them. It's hard to explain what's 'right' about the eggs, but you'll understand when you find it.

In the most deserted part of Wyoming there is a restaurant. There are no roads leading to it, no signs advertising it. It's just there, in the open. Walk inside however, and you will learn two things. One, it's jam packed with people talking, eating and enjoying themselves. Two, the entire place looks like it's a scene from the 50's including the people, the food, the newspapers, the music, everything. Take a seat, observe the atmosphere, relax. When the waitress comes to get your order, make it a cheeseburger with mashed potatoes. Afterwards, a red-haired lady should ask you to date to a tune on the juke-box. Find the song on it that has the same number as your current age, pick it, then dance you heart out. When the song ends, a flash of light with engulf the whole scene, and you will be standing outside your home the following morning.You now should have the power of clairvoyance for the remaining year. If you did not, then woe is you. For you also missed out on the best fries and shake you'll ever eat.

They say that the olfactory senses (the sense of smell) is the sense closest linked to memory. Go on eBay, or to a high-end antiques dealer. Find an item made a good amount of time before you were born that was hermetically sealed, vacuum packed or tightly packaged in some way. Make sure you are in surroundings of completely neutral smell with little or no wind. Open the package. The smell should hearken back to your collective subconscious or memory of a past life. If you are successful in choosing the right item, with the right smell, you will have at least a memory flash, or likely a memory flood of years before you were born

Rumor has it that every Halloween during the hours of 2am and 5am, there exists a void. You must stand in front of a mirror in a pitch black room with your gaze fixated on the mirror. If you remain in the room when the moment arrives, you will feel a chill seize your body. Place your right hand on the mirror and whisper "I accept." If done correctly, in the mirror there will be a faint image of a fleshless infant with pitch black eyes. He will stare directly into your soul and you will hear the buzzing of flies and nervous whispering. You will not be able to make out the image in the mirror but you will be filled with unspeakable terror. The infant will ask you five questions about events that have occurred within your life. His voice will sound like the rubbing of sandpaper and will be devoid of all emotion. For each question that you answer incorrectly, one of your five senses will be consumed. For each question that is answered correctly, you will be able to recite the name of someone you know. That person will be found dead the next morning, after a night of unimaginable horror, with their flesh removed and their eyes missing.

At 12:17 am, on any given night, arises the opportunity to awaken an alternate soul. The most common way of viewing them? Through a mirror.
It is through said medium that the process must take place. Begin at exactly midnight. By no light but that of a single candle, stand before the selected mirror. For ten minutes you must concentrate in silence, focused entirely on your reflection. Do not look away from the eyes; for it will be interpreted as weakness and you will be overcome.
After ten minutes have passed you must draw blood to smear in a line across the eyes of your reflection. Doing so will blind it, and you will watch as your own features begin to warp. Slowly, gradually, they will mutate into a frightening creature--one beyond the comprehension of those who have not experienced it. You must not look away through the entirety of the change.
Soon the writhing movements of the image will cease. By now an echoing, inhuman sound will resound all around you--the creature will begin to ease toward the mirror's glass. You must keep watching as it approaches.
If you do not extinguish the candle at exactly 12:17, the creature will escape.
Be warned, should you succeed; through any polished surface--be it mirror, wood, or window--your reflection will always be watching.

A secret society meets once every three years at a small diner in West Virginia. To join, you must come to the American Grill diner located in Cricket at 9:30 PM on September the twenty-first. The only uniform is a heavy overcoat and a green tie. Order an "Eggs and bacon platter with coffee." The waiter will tell you that the breakfast menu is unavailable, reply, "Well, just the coffee then." You'll be allowed to stay after closing time for the meet. The meeting itself is a meeting of minds and philosophy regarding immortality. The society is called "The Socratic Method." They hoist their mugs at the beginning and end of the meeting and say "Death to Socrates." It's rumored a little hemlock is added to the first cup, and an antidote to the last.

They say that somewhere in western America, some say in Utah, others say on the California coast, there's a small motel on the side of the road. When you go inside, it's decorated in very common hotel attire, with the paneling and old fashioned key-lock doors. The thing is, there's a room in there for everybody. Everybody has a reservation for exactly when they show up, and the number of rooms available is always one more than the number of people there. One person to a room, that is the rule.

On the east bank of the Susquehanna River somewhere in central Pennsylvania, there is a small patch of ground where no plants will grow. At the right time of day, at the right time of year, the sun shines directly on this spot. If you stand there at precisely this time, a whirlpool in the river will appear, revealing a trap door leading to a system of identical tunnels. If you can successfully navigate through the maze of tunnels, you will find yourself face down in an alley behind an Irish pub called Kelley's just outside Boston, with no memory of how you got there. In your pocket, you will find a day planner. Important events of the future are described within, but in random order and no dates.

Look behind you. What do you see? Invariably, there will be a wall somewhere in your view. Now stare deeply into the space on the wall that lines up best with your eyes. Nothing will happen, but makes sure you are clear on where this particular spot is. That spot contains all the negativity in your mind. Whenever you are on your computer, reading scary stories or whatever you do, sometimes you will get spooked. what do you do when this happens. You check behind you, thats what you do. As you read this now, a feeling of dread will come over you. Check the spot. Nothing again. Thats because right now, all the evil is locked safely in your mind. Some people, upon learning of this "negative spot" resolve to remove the spot in an attempt to remove the negative energy. This is a grave mistake. You must never let harm come to this spot. If you do, you will have released the energy. Now when you sit at your computer at night, you will feel chills even in the summer time. The feeling of dread that only presented itself when you were genuinely scared will now hang in the air constantly. Within a week you and your loved ones will have a string of bad luck. On the anniversary of the spots destruction, you will dream of your most horrible fears. The dream will seem to go on forever, and when you wake up you will notice your vision has darkened. Every year on the same day, the dream will repeat itself, and your vision will grow darker and darker. After you go totally blind, don't ever turn your back on that spot again. That is if you can still tell where it is.

There is a house somewhere in China, built some time after the First Emperor has unified it. The house is built in treacherous terrain, and has not been seen by human eyes for some time. The architecture is typical of Imperial China, but that's not the strange part. If you stay in the house, you'll notice something very strange. If you take measurements, you'll find that the inside of the house is larger than the outside. First it'll be a fraction of an inch, than an inch, then a foot, then a yard...you'll even notice features from the inside that are impossible to find externally, like extra rooms and hallways. Going within these is safe, and you can see the outside, but strangely enough no one AT the outside can see you or the feature. Most people get out at this point, but their vision is forever altered; the world keeps distorting in dimensions and size in their eyes. Then there are those who choose to stay further, and have never been seen again. It is said that they occupy the parts of the building that only reveal themselves to those who stay longer.

There is a small island in the Mediterranean Sea that does not appear on any map. It cannot be seen from any other island, nor can any other land be seen from it. On this island is a lighthouse, rotting from age and sea water, which is never lit. There is nothing inside it, save for a spiraling staircase that leads to the top, and an ancient, dusty bookcase. The case is filled with unmarked books; bound in ancient leather, save for a single space. If you remove a book from the shelf, it will fling itself open in your hands, and the words inscribed in it shall start screaming to the air. You must wrestle the book closed and shove it back on the shelf, or the immortal evil contained within its pages shall break free, and you will be forced to take its place, with pages, ink and binding crafted from your own flesh and blood. However, if you bring the correct book to the island, and place it in the empty space, the lighthouse will light. As long as it is lit, the world shall enjoy an unending paradise, for all the evil in the world will be contained in the lighthouse. And while it is lit, nothing can go in or out. The only problem; you will be trapped for eternity with all the evil ever known or conceived, by man or god. And the only way to escape is to douse the light.

There is a moment each leap year, at exactly three minutes past three on the morning of February twenty-ninth. If you possess the courage, await that moment in darkened room, with no other present. At that moment, the darkness will deepen. If you were to hold you hand directly before your face, you would not see a thing. But you must not do so. No, for that would be to waste the moment. Instead you must reach out, into that impenetrable darkness. And it will reach out to you. An unseen hand will grasp yours. You must not flinch away, nor tighten your grasp. To do so will only slough away more of the decrepit flesh that covers it, and anger its unseen owner. Remain perfectly still, as the withered fingers move over your palm, tracing unknown patterns. Do not move an inch as it crawls slowly up your arm. And most of all, do not even breathe as it caresses your face, touching what cannot be seen. Should you remain still through this, the hand will be withdrawn and a voice will speak, so close you can feel its breath on your face, smell the scent of decay it carries. It will ask you for one simple piece of information: your name. Answer truthfully. Answer truthfully, and the presence will retreat, leaving only a whisper in the air as the darkness lifts. "It is done." From that day on, untold good fortune will be yours, and mysterious power. You will lack nothing, and have everything. But in a year, perhaps two, you will feel your skin begin to decay, and smell the sweet smell of death upon your breath...

http://www.anonib.com/paranormal/

Last spam for awhile. New cancer free /x/ that needs help to get good.

There's a tent in a traveling circus in the India. Inside this tent there's a man who is an expert in poker, you can recognize him because he always bets exactly 2 U.S. dollars and 31 cents. If you beat him after 3 rounds, he will bet his soul on the 4th round. Nobody has ever beaten this man on the 4th round, and if you lose well... You don't want to know.

Somewhere in Ohio, there's a soda-vending machine that instead of selling root-beer, inside the can you'll find the cool, carbonated blood of people who go missing on roads in the middle of the night. It does not take paper money, despite having the apparatus necessary.

In a small suburb of western Detroit, there is a manhole on the road which leads directly down to a dead end. The manhole was originally a large pothole created by two fathers who'd been dared to dig a hole in the middle of the road. They hit a natural shaft leading downwards, and plummeted 200 feet to their death. Sometimes, when homeless people are looking for a warm place, the crawl into the sewers. When the crawl into that manhole, they fall to the bottom, and die.

During the noon of a day of June, a rare, one-in-a-year light phenomena provokes a raindow-colored circle appear around the sun. This phenomenon makes it possible to stare at the sun without harming your vision. The rumor says that if you stare at this circle for exactly 1 minute and 3 seconds, your lifespan will increase for 1 year and 3 days. However it will be followed by 2 months of the worst luck imaginable.

In the town of St. James, Missouri, there is a surplus store where the back room is always kept unlocked. Behind one of the shelving units is another door. Behind that door is the secret of perpetual motion. But this secret would destroy you.

If you go to Montpelier, North Dakota, you will find a small school. If you go into the school, and then proceed to the basement, you'll find yourself in a boiler room. Go into the boiler room, and you'll see blood spattered on the walls. On closer inspection, the blood forms a pattern... Words. Before you can read the blood, the lights turn off. You try to leave, but the door has slammed shut and is locked. It is said that fifty years ago, some punk kids locked the janitor in the boiler room while it was malfunctioning, exploded, and killed the janitor and the children. The spirit of the janitor now haunts the school, and lures children into the boiler room where he murders them in an act of revenge.

There is a Wal-Mart somewhere in Indiana, with a concealed trapdoor in the frozen food section. If you tap on the door three times with your left foot, a voice will ask you for a toll. Open the trap door, put three lemons inside, and close the door. After ten seconds, you will hear a knock on the trapdoor and find a red piece of paper that tells you two of the following three things: the exact location of your death, the manner of your death, or the exact date and time of your death.

Every 23,375 days, exactly at 12:04PM (at exactly 64 equal rotations of the planet) at zero degress latitude, and zero degrees longitude, the tide of the ocean will suddenly drop, a building roughly the size of three city blocks, covered with bas reliefs will rise suddenly from the depths. This building will then begin to sink immediately, and will submerge completely within 2 minutes. According the eyewitness accounts, the reliefs depict certain famous events in human history, including events that had not yet happened.

should i stop or continue dumping as many stories i can find?

>>678066
The spam seems to have died down, take a break. Thanks for your help.

>>678070
thanks
please continue this

bump

Every version of the Old Testament contains instructions for creating a real golem hidden in the text. Rumor has it that the principal ingredient is semen spilled during an act of incest-by-marriage, in much the same way that Onan did. This is difficult to research, however, as Israel tracks down and kills anyone who threatens to become too successful and steal their monopoly.

Investigated by the witnesses after they read instructions they found in a book, left behind in a rest stop bathroom. Participants must mix a shot of whiskey, a drop of their own blood (One drop for each participant), a pinch of salt, and a small amount of used engine oil. Mix with water from a rest stop fountain in a glass bottle, and smash it on the interstate in the evening or morning. If the instructions were followed correctly, the way will become densely foggy. an unmarked exit will appear, and if you pass it by, it will be closed to you for six years. If you take the exit, go left and under the interstate. half a mile down the road, is an old gas station. Inside, it is said that a full glass the coffee sold there, will keep you awake all night, and the other food and beverages are purported to have various properties themselves. Pay the proprietor only in metal. No bills, no checks, no cards. There are also an old fortune telling wizard in a glass case, in the back of the store. He knows how you will die. Accept no sexual favors that are offered to you while there, and do not anger anyone.

In the hills surrounding the town of Bodega Bay in California, there is a tree, sitting right in the crook of two hills. Scattered 10 paces around it are 7 different fresh-water springs. It is said that one of them cures any disease, another grants immortal life, 4 will kill you instantly and cause your body to dissolve into powder. But the last spring is special. If you bottle water from this one and take it to a small cave hidden in the hills north of the tree, you will find a single large stone at the back of the cave. If you then splash the water on the stone, it will dissolve, leaving you a baseball-sized red stone. As long as you have this stone in your possession, you will always be in the right place at the right time. If you pour water from any of the other 6 springs on the rock, the cave will seal up, and you will be lost forever under the earth.

All mirrors are actually windows to another world. This world cannot be reached, and shouldn't be reached, as all our mirror-selves are extremely malicious. Try watching the edge of the mirror after sneaking into a room. The images we see in the mirror are the pure incarnates of evil. They are only allowed to exist in the area reflected in the glass. They only come to exist, though, once a person has gazed into them. To them, life is like a never-ending hell, rotting away in the same room day after day. The only release from this purgatory is death, and the only way for them to die, is if you die. They are bound by a code, though. You are their master, and they must mirror your every movement and expression. To do otherwise would break an unbreakable law, unraveling existence. However, there is a loophole, and it can only be triggered by you. To force them into error is to free them from their contract; by letting them out of your view. Know this: when you watch them, they're watching you back. They're watching. And they're thinking. There was a time, though, when things weren't always like this...

There is a certain road near the Everglades in Florida, which, if you drive down it alone in the rain, day or night, you will suddenly have a very real feeling of being completely lost. Your radio will turn to static, your CDs will skip, and your tapes will play slower than normal. If you try to find a map in your car, it will have mysteriously vanished.
If you continue forward down the road for more than a minute, you will find that you can't turn around, and everything behind you is pitch dark. There are no other roads and no other cars.
Continuing down the road, you will come upon a fork with no signposts. In the middle of the fork, there will be a man, covered head to foot in various pieces of clothing. The only skin visible will be around his eyes, which will be bright green.
You must get out of your car, but do not turn it off or close the door after you. You must approach the man, but stop at least three feet away. You must stand there silently, waiting for him to speak first. If you break the silence first, you will find yourself back on a main road, but you will die within 24 hours.
If he speaks first, he will ask you what you require. Tell him that you need to know which road will take you to your destination. He will then ask you what you will offer him in exchange for his assistance. If you offer him a ride, he and your car will disappear, and you will become the new guardian of the crossroad. If you offer him an umbrella, he will take it and stab you through the chest. If you offer him your love, he will take your heart still beating from your chest and eat it, condemning you to walk the earth without a heart, insane from the pain and loss.
You must offer him your loyalty and kneel before him. If you do this, he will close his eyes and bow in return, extending a hand to whichever path will lead you back to safety.

On the farthest point of Long Island, the last scrap of land that still counts as New York, there sits a tremendous, abandoned building. Protected by its own isolated location, there is also at any given time two to three Security Guards there. However, if one approaches the cast iron gates on the night of December 4th, even those few security guards refuse to work. The gates are left unlocked, and the wind will be utterly still, a nearly opaque fog filling the peninsula. Go directly to the main doors and step within, there will be a single long hallway , the end occluded by that fog. If you look to either side upon entering, you will see a modern operating room through a glass door. The farther you walk, the older the equipment will get, the more old fashioned the doctors will be dressed. As you can finally see the end of the hallway, the screams of the patients will be nearly deafening. The hall will terminate in an open door leading to a single wooden table, a man in woolen medical clothing, stained brown from blood, will be bent over a corpse. The body's face will be covered, and the man will turn silently, screwing the top onto a cloudy jar of liquid, filled to the brim. He will hand this abnormally heavy object to you, before turning back to his work. Instantly, you will be outside of those cast iron gates. From that point on, disease and injury will never affect you, but if you ever open that cloudy jar and pull out the contents... you will find a heart, pulsing and beating loudly in your palm. A sudden feeling of horror and revulsion will pass through you as realization strikes, that you have just pulled your own living heart from your chest.

In New York City, there exists a pathway somewhere on the FDR drive that is only accessible at 2:30 A.M on either the winter or summer solstice. During any other day of the year, this pathway does not exist.
Furthermore, the only way you can enter this pathway is mainly, by accident, since consciously thinking about it will prevent it from emerging.

It is said that somewhere in the desert, no one knows which desert but it is within a desert or at least a large place wholly made of sand. There stands a single unwithering red rose. Of course you could just pick it and keep it but that would just give you a never withering rose. The true power lies within the fact that if you bring it ten rose petals (Three from a pink rose, Two from a red rose and Five from a white rose.) on a new moon, a new never withering rose will sprout and you can pick it. You can repeating this trick as long as you like and yes the roses themselves are not fake and they never wither so they make for a great gift, the only problem is that you have to find the right rose in the right desert. It is said though if you give it a black rose and the blood of a new born goat a black rose will sprout, once that is picked, it is rumored that you will receive a rose whip but no one knows if this has never been tried.

In four different subway stations around the world, there are four different hobos.
If you speak to one for a while, they will start to recount tales of incredible treasure that they accumulated back in the 1800s.
Now, they could just be crazy bums, but...
All of their stories are exactly the same, in every detail.
Except for where they hid it.

If you watch long enough, under certain conditions, shadows grow impatient. When in a room alone with your a small light source, focus on it. The shadow will slowly close in on you, until you move. Of course, it is afraid of the light, as dark cannot snuff out light, but light can indeed destroy the dark. Watch sometime in a room with only internal light. If you stare at them for long enough, the shadows will begin to move. Sometimes you can make out shapes. These things have lived with you your whole life, and will follow you wherever you may go, unless you command them in the proper authority to leave, and ensure they have no legal right to be there. Few know and understand the proper authority, and even fewer know just what to do.
The shadows are always watching.

There is a snake that lives in Burma that is believed to be an actual naga; if one is bitten by it one or two things happen. If the person is kind they themselves become a naga, but if the person is heartless and cruel they die by the venom.

There is an abandoned mental hospital at the top of a hill in Worcester, Massachusetts. Once every 5 years an old rusty box spring appears within the courtyard of the hospital. If you can sneak inside and sleep through the night on the bed, in the morning a man with a shirt that reads "Observe and obsolve" will take out his wallet and give you a picture. This picture will show you how you will die. If the picture is of the man standing before you, running won't help.

If you need to get home quick , there's a special bus that only runs a north-south route. Tell the bus driver, "I need to catch the sun before it sets." You won't have to pay fare and he'll make a special stop along his route. Another bus will be waiting for you, heading west. After five minutes and fifty five seconds you'll end up in the town you were born at sunset

If you wake in the middle of the night, don't move. No matter how uncomfortable you get, you will eventually lose the urge to move.
Soon after, you will be awake, but you will be unable to move. You will not be able to feel the bed against your body, or your own breathing. As you do this, you are watching yourself fall asleep. In your mind, say to yourself: "I welcome the servant and the watcher."
Once your body falls asleep, you will be visited by two people that you know very well. If you have treated these people well, they will bring you a gift. This is a gift of the mind, which you must never misuse, or speak about.
If you have mistreated them, they will bring you something which you have never seen, but will recognize instantly. You will wake up and forget the object. You will see that object one more time.

During the spring of 1902 in the Dry Tortugas islands off of the coast of Key West, a man was shot and the bullet protruded slightly from the back of his skull into a tree (which he had his back against at the time). As time passed and the three continued to grow, his putrefied corpse was lifted into the boughs as his skull was still attached loosely to the tree by the bullet. As time passed, the tree grew around the skeleton. If you can find this tree on one of the Islands, tap it thrice with the heel of a cow hide leather boot, you will be granted the ability to make anyone forget anything at will.

There's a mail box somewhere in the city which can solve your direst problems. Which city? That depends on who you ask. There may even be more than one, who knows? Anyway, this mail box isn't emptied anymore - the mail service has completely forgotten about it. But it clings on. It is located in some relatively unlikely place so you won't spot it immediately. Mail you put inside it won't go anywhere. But the box is special. Write a letter about your most pressing problems to the persons in charge of dealing with it: write to your significant other, your boss, the IRS, and get it all off your chest. Ride yourself into deep shit with that letter. You'll see that the problem will dissolve soon, in some way you hadn't thought likely. Of course, you can't really be sure whether you have found the right mail box until you try it. And if you haven't things are going to get much worse once your letter gets delivered...

bump for moar

There is a child in a hospital in Decard, Tennessee. The child is a quiet toddler that remains in the nursery with all the other newborns. If you ask the staff, they will ignore you, but the tag on his arm is yellowed and marked 1948. He will not cry, only rock quietly. If you speak the name on his tag, his eyes will open, something you don't want to happen.

Remember this -
Should you ever despair of life so much that you want to die, you have the means at hand and yearn to end your life, you have written a suicide note to those you will leave behind and you are prepared to die....at that moment, stop.
Get a pair of scissors. Cut away at the note until you end up with a piece of paper in the shape of a key. Go to a door, any one will do. Push the paper key forward and turn your hand as if unlocking an imaginary lock.
The lock is real. Open the door. There you will find it. The other earth. The one that waits to replace this one when it dies. That death is inevitable, but in the meantime the other earth will belong to you.
Be warned: the other earth is very different from this one.

There is a doorway, one that can be any door, at any time. This door leads nowhere, yet there lies a realm of twisted reality to the opener. This door exists for everyone - some never encounter it in their lives, others unknowingly open it and step through. The problem is you can't tell if the door is open to you, until years after you step through it. You'll see them, and they'll finally see you.

i am going to sleep for now
keep this alive untill i wake up and i will put much more in here

>>678169
Thanks a lot OP.

moar spam: http://www.anonib.com/paranormal/

needs more /x/philes

>>677880
>>677885
>>677888
Holy shit.One of the most confusing stories I've ever read, and by far the best ended. 10/10

This thread is feeling kinda paranormal right now.

Item#: SCP-173
Special Containment Procedures: Item SPC-173 is to be kept in a locked container at all times. When personnel must enter SCP-173's container, no fewer than 3 may enter at any time and the door is to be relocked behind them. At all times, two persons must be looking at SCP-173 until all personnel have vacated and relocked the container.
Description: Moved to Site19 1993, little is known about item number SCP-173's origins. It is constructed from concrete and rebar and was once painted with Crylon brand spraypaint.
SCP-173 is animate and malevolent, if given the chance it will kill anyone within its line of sight. Its weakness however is that it does not move while being watched. Despite this paralysis it is still highly dangerous, able to cover at least 2 meters in the literal blink of an eye. It typically kills by either snapping the victim's neck from behind, or grabbing the victim's throat and strangling them. Whatever animates SCP-173 does not give it much force with which to break things; as seen above, a large room with unbarred windows is fully capable of containing it. Its grip however is unbreakable, as when it is not moving the statue is as hard and strong as concrete.
While left alone in its room, one can hear a stone-on-stone scraping from within that is believed to be the sound of the SCP-173 moving about.
The reddish brown substance on the floor is a combination of feces and blood. We don't know (nor wish to find out) where it comes from or how it arrives but SCP-173's container will slowly fill with these substances. In order to ensure that bacterial growth within does not begin to damage the building it is contained in, and to maintain some level of sanitation, the enclosure must be cleaned on a bi-weekly basis.

The Gallery of Henri Beauchamp

If you go into this one tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, and the right bartender is behind the counter that night, you might be able to see a very exclusive gallery show of the lost works of one Henri Beauchamp. But, to get in, you have to prove you're a devotee of the artist to get in.

You'll be asked, in clear and perfect English, "What would like to partake of this glorious night?". Answer absinthe, no matter what. Any other drink, from whiskey to water, will kill you as you sleep.

The next question will regard the type, and you MUST answer one of two things: "The stuff that Man himself could not bear to take," or, "The good stuff. The best stuff." If you ask for any other absinthe, in any other way, you will be plagued by nightmares for 13 days. Each night's dream will be more horrible than the last, until, upon the thirteenth dream, your nightmare will follow you, every moment of your waking and sleeping life. Don't try and cheat the barkeep: the door locked behind you. You have to drink what he gives you, doom or not. That such a powerful man granted you audience should be enough. Besides, I've heard that the dying complimented his drinks in their death throes.

If you make it that far before sealing your fate, the bartender will say, "Be sure you handle this with care; this is the finest I have." From here, you may do one of two things: Say, word for word, "I overestimated my fortitude, and I bid you good eve.". If the barkeep nods, you may leave the door you entered, unharmed and with nothing gained and nothing lost (except the time spent inside).

>>678335
Or you can go on. You will be given a glass with a seven-sided rim, with each side twisting ever so delicately around the basin until forming a sleek and simple handle. You will also receive a very, very, very special absinthe spoon, in the shape of a key; the holes at the key's top serve as the draining point for the alcohol to pour over the sugar cube. And, of course, an unmarked bottle, stripped long ago of its label, scraps of paper sticking to its sides, covered in the rot of the decades past.

The spoon is completely flat, but has two distinct sides: one with a groove along the shaft of the key, and one without. Turn the shaft down, so its groove will be face down. If you attempt this face up, your absinthe will taste foul, your nose will burn, and your eyes will shrivel in their sockets with unspeakable horrors not of this world. Now, if your spoon is the right way up, begin preparing the absinthe as one would (put the sugar on the spoon, and pour the alcohol over so it gains its color and "special qualities").

Say "cheers" to your friend, the barkeep, and bottoms up. If you don't, the absinthe will burn every innard it touches with the power and pain of sulfuric acid.

If you've done it right, the already dim lights will go off, and darkness will consume the bar. Don't be afraid; the darkness is the cue that you've been approved for the exhibit. Wait out the darkness, and keep silent as the dead, lest the bartender decide to make you so.

>>678346
Eventually (not too long, two to three minutes), a green floodlight will shine brightly on a door on the far wall of the bar. The bar will be bathed in green, and not just from the floodlight. Little luminescent spheres will gently drift through the room, and the barkeep will no longer be there... nor any other unassuming patron inside before. There's no danger by this point... consider it a safe point. If you didn't finish the absinthe, you don't have to, but you might need the alcohol. Either way, take the spoon and put it in the keyhole of the green-lit portal's doorknob. It will fit perfectly, and reach the end of the keyhole with a resounding click.

Inside is a small elevator, with the most beautiful woman any mortal eyes can imagine, bathed in the green glow in just such an angle that the light refracts beyond her into the shape of wings.

The Green Fairy herself will ask you, "Going up?”, and considering all the trouble you went through, it would only make sense to say yes.

Now, you have one more hurdle to clear. She will ask you, as you cross the line from the bar to the compartment, "How would you compare Beauchamp's surrealism to that of, say, Rene Magritte?" For your reply, you must say, "I've come to see more than art tonight."

>>678352
If you don't, the green floodlight will blow out, the doors will slam shut, and the elevator will plummet through a seemingly infinite blackness before a rea light grows brighter as the elevator nears the very depths of Hell. Now, if your elevator begins to go up, the green light will also fade, but in its place will be the cool glow of the moon. But, before you even recognize it, the elevator will reach the top of its... well, let's call it a shaft to not get too intricate.

Now, I'm not as sure about this as the rest, but I've heard that, if the Green Fairy kisses you on the cheek as she leaves the elevator, you will always be blessed with a creative inspiration: a permanent, ever-changing muse. You can't ask her, you can't kiss her; she has to do it of her own volition. If not... well, nothing, but no reason to do it anyway and anger the woman who is responsible for keeping the Beauchamp paintings safe for so many years.

You will enter, from the elevator, a turn-of-the-century parlor, with a large poster of Henri Beauchamp on the left side of the opposite wall; on the right is a door.

Taking the time to read the poster is a fairly good idea, as it explains the very significance of Mr. Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920s, always making art to try to be free of all premeditation, and managed to do so. You see, after one night in a tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, he began to paint... patterns. First it was geometric patterns. Then complete fractals. Then images that would be in the newspaper the next day. Then next week. Then from fifty years ago. 100 in the future, 200 in the past...

>>678354
Then, on his last night of life, he kidnapped three young girls from their homes at night, murdered them, and painted his finest masterpieces in reds and yellows with the blood and bile of virgins.

He committed suicide immediately after painting exactly 13 of these.

These are behind the door.

The first six, from the left, show, from left to right: the genesis of the universe, the only true visage of God as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Jesus Christ, the sprawling clouds of Heaven, every Pope from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of Jesus' appearance in his Second Coming.

The other six, on the right, show, from right to left: the cataclysmic of the universe, the only true visage of Satan as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Judas, the sprawling flames of Hell, every human-embodied demon from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of the Antichrist in his Second Coming.

>>678357
Now, six and six makes twelve. But what of the thirteenth?

This thirteenth painting is turned around on its wall pin, the image facing the wall. The space around it is roped up at a very wide diameter, and under the flipped image is a sign, in three languages. The top is in the scriptures of the seraphim, the bottom in the runes of the highest demonic orders, and in the middle, in Roman letters.

DO

NOT

TOUCH

Now, like the kiss, I can't say this part with as much certainty, but all the same... I heard that, somehow, as he died, Beauchamp flayed his skin, his organs, his very soul, into some sort of collage. How he took his dead body and created such a horrific masterpiece, I could never say, nor would I ever dare to.

So... if you make it, maybe you can flip the canvas over and tell me sometime? You can tell me about it over a drink.

>>678232
OMFG CANNOT UNSEE

>>678085

THIS IS AWESOME.

>>678335
I like it! ^_^

>>678232
This scares me :(

This is one of my favorite creepypasta threads. I'm too lazy to type it all out, so here's the screencap for you.

>>677778
my god its so origional its like lovecraft himself wrote it, oh wait...(protip: wiki lovecraft)

>>678509
IT'S A GIF!

>>678509

Aw man, you got me. Very nicely done whoever made that one.

>>678509

Oh, you asshole.

Well fucking played.

itt win

>>678509

I jumped and my knee hit my keyboard tray, and my cat took off because it made a loud sound. -_-
I hate you.

In Council Crest Park in Portland, Oregon, at the top of the knoll there is a large paved circle enclosed by a short stone wall. The area has a couple dedications on it, and there is a massive compass of inlaid marble paved into the area, so you know which way you're looking. Stand on the west compass point and walk over to the wall it is pointing to (this is easy because there's a line in the pavement coming out from the point to the wall). Now look at the stones that the wall is made of. Moving south along the wall, count 10 stones along the bottom row and then give the 11th stone a nice hard kick. As you will easily hear, this stone is hollow. Feel free to kick all the other stones everywhere else in the wall... the 11th stone is the only hollow one. What's hidden inside? As yet, that remains a mystery.

Go into a Subway and tell the clerk you want to order the sandwich they'd always wished a customer would order. They will quickly, quietly, and without expression, craft the sandwich from many different ingredients. The sandwich will be the best thing you've ever tasted. This only works once per clerk. If you ask them to make it again, they will not recollect how. If you attempt to re-construct it, you will fail.

Go to any high traffic bathroom. It must be a high traffic bathroom; otherwise the room won’t have enough latent residual energy to carry out the task. A hotel bathroom room is perfect. Make sure its after 12pm, and make sure you have 2 clove cigarettes. The stronger the cigarette, the higher your success rate. Sit in the dark and begin smoking one of the cigarettes. Make sure there is a mirror present, and that you look at your reflection at all times. The burning cherry should provide just enough light for this. When you’ve smoked the cigarette within a 1/4 in of the filter, the room should be full of smoke. Your eyes will no doubt be watering, but don’t blink. Don’t take your eyes off of the mirror or your reflection whatever you do. To blink will make all you’ve done at this point for naught. You’ll begin to notice that your reflection will begin to fade into black. The reflection of the cherry from your cigarette will begin to separate into two red eyes. The smoke in the room will begin to condense, and before you even realize it’s happened, a shade will be sitting on the ledge of the sink. He’ll ask you for a cigarette, which is why you’re instructed to bring two. Give the shade a cigarette, which will light itself once he brings it to his withered lips. At this point, you can ask the shade any question you want, and he'll answer true. Anything you could possibly think of. Be sure to keep an eye on how much of the cigarette he’s smoked. When it gets to the point where it will only take a few more hits to kill it, the smoke from the other cigarette will begin to define more of his features, making him more material than etheral.

At this point, stand up and snatch out his eyes in one sweeping motion. He should still be mostly smoke, so your hands should pass easily through his head. If you let him finish the cigarette he WILL attack you, almost surely taking your life in the process. The shade will begin screaming and cursing you and the hand holding his eyes will be burning intensely. DO NOT OPEN YOUR HAND! Even though the eyes are disembodied, they can see if they are out in the open. Run to the light switch and flip it on. This will banish the shades physical form and send him back into the ether. Leave the room and wait until 3:00 am to open your hand. The burning will be unbearable until then, but to do so will blow all the lights out in your house, allowing the shade to return and seek vengeance. You will have 4 burn marks on your palm when you open it. All cauterized of course, and mostly healed. From then on you can never be in a dark room with a mirror, because the shade will be able to track you through the burns in your hand. He'll have black hell dogs now, given his loss of sight, and they are far more terrible than the shade could ever be. The number of hell dogs depends on the strength of the shade you made contact with. After this, you’ll always be cold, no matter how warm it is, and you’ll be given the ability to perform minor miracles. Your dreams will always be nightmares, but in them, you will be granted a kind of third sight. You’ll never be able to see anything good, only the most horrific future events. And these events will only be known to you at a point where you can’t do anything to stop them. A small price to pay for absolute knowledge.

Get on any passenger bus that travels a long distance; Greyhound is usually a good pick. Anything that's on the road for longer than 24 hours. Get a window seat facing west, then stare at the sun, waiting until sunset. Just before the sun touches the horizon, close your eyes. Hard. Do not turn away, don't look at anything else. Cover your ears if you have to. After a while, you'll notice that the bus has stopped moving. That's the signal that you can open your eyes. When you do, you'll see a gas station, illuminated only by a few flickering flourescent lights. There will be no sun, no moon, no stars in the sky. The convenience store will have its windows boarded up, but the sign will say 'Open.' If you feel you can't go through with it, get back on the bus, return to your seat, and fall asleep. You'll wake up at sunrise the next day, well on your way to wherever the bus was going. If you enter the store, the door will slam shut behind you. You will spend an unknown amount of time there, living out your worst nightmares made real. If you survive the ordeal without going mad, you will awake back on the bus, as it reaches its destination. Nothing will ever scare you again. Some say that after this ordeal, anything else simply pales in comparison. Others say that all that room contains, is all the fear you will ever feel in your entire life, and exposing yourself to it all at once keeps you from feeling any more. This, however, can only be done once. There are some exceptions to the ability, as well...

In the heart of the Rockies, lies a grove of trees growing in a perfect circle. A grove that, aside from this geometric oddity, appears perfectly innocuous from the outside. If one should step foot into this grove however, the inside with be as dark as any moonless night in those mountain woods, even on the brightest summer's day. Those who have mistakenly wandered into the grove are rarely in any condition to say what happens inside, many simply never come out. However, if you are very brave, or very foolish, you can attempt to camp within the grove. Go in with your eyes shut tight, lie down in your sleeping bag, and no matter what you hear, no matter what you feel, do not open them again. If you somehow manage to find your way to sleep before the grove takes your sanity or your life, you will awaken in the middle of the day to the light of the sun on your face in a the middle of a grove; a grove that, aside from growing in a perfect circle, and containing your heart's one greatest desire, is perfectly innocuous. If one should step foot outside this grove however, they will find the outside to be dark as any moonless night in those mountain woods.

In a cave, somewhere, is a severed mummified head.
If you remove your own head and replace it with the severed mummified one, you will be imbued with immeasurable arcane power.

>>678819
Mark Twain is there too. And an android.

>>678819
LOL How're you supposed to pull that off? (no pun intended)

There is a special word in each holy book of all the great religions; The Koran, The New Testament, The Torah, The Bhagavad Gita; and nine other forgotten books spoke of in the Dead Sea Scrolls. If all these words can be collected and spoken backwards in their native tongue, then you will vanish to Elysia, the most beautiful of the heavens. You can stay forever, or return to Earth. If you stay too long, you will forget your life, but if you leave, you will have to kill a child at each full moon to survive. However, while you live you will have untold power over the secrets of the Earth. You will also know the location of "The Soft Places", the lands between dreams and waking.

>>678793
ZOMG it exists?!?!

In Central Australia, there is an unremarkable service station along a straight and barren stretch of road. If you walk straight in and ask for the key, you will be given an unremarkable key attached to an unremarkable piece of wood. The key will unlock a door at the service station, leading to an impossibly long stepped corridor, dimly lit from an unseen source. If you follow these stairs, you will begin to hear hungry cries of birds of prey that grow louder as you descend. After an amount of time, the light will vanish, leaving you in the dark, and a rasping voice will ask for your desires. For each desire, you will experience all the sensations, unforgettable, branded into your memory, of bodily mutilation, of being torn asunder by impossible strength, of having an arm slowly flayed, each nerve individually pulled from your flesh. You may speak as many desires as your sanity can take. Then you must turn and return up the steps and never look back. Return the key and go about your life. Your desires will be granted, but you will always have to live with the memories given to you in that dark place.

An odd occurrence has been rumored to happen in a certain pub at night in southwest Germany. If you sit in the stool farthest from the door while one beside it is empty, order a round for yourself and offer to "buy one for the Baron". The bartender will without question or expression will pour 2 beers from tap. He'll place one beside you and the moment the other one hits the table the room will go dark and silent, save for the sound of footsteps as a man in uniform sits beside you.
It is believed that it is indeed Captain Manfred von Richthofen, although no one is sure because they can barely see their own glass, much less the person's face. No one who's told this story has had the nerve you touch him or risk insult, and the figure does not say a word. But apparently if you were to ask him "So sir, what's the condition at the front?" he would tell you startling details about the region's future and sometimes how they connect to the world as a whole. Those who lived long enough after the fact claim that these events took place the exact about of years from the date they asked as from the date Baron von Richthofen died in battle. Yet this cannot be confirmed, because every time the figure has been asked the question after 1964 he's only replied with a cold laugh.

In Central America, there are tales of a little man called Tata Duende. This little man of the forest is distinguished by no thumbs, backwards-pointing feet, and a big red sombrero. He is known for pulling pranks, riding horses and cows at night, turning people invisible, and kidnapping children.

It is said that around Easter, you can summon him by walking into the forest with a pure white rooster, rum, and cigars. If you're lucky and he accepts your offerings, he may grant you a wish, teach you to play his magic guitar, or lead you to buried treasure. However, you must take special care to hide your thumbs from him. Many are those who go out looking for him only to be found hanging from a tree with their thumbs ripped off.

Out in the barrens of western Montana, there is a rock shaped like a raven's head with half of the beak broken off. If you use your forearm to complete the beak and hold the position for seven minutes and 26 seconds, you will feel a tingling sensation in your arm. You must then get at least 1 mile away from the rock within the next 66 seconds.
If you do this, you will be able to shape shift into any bird, at will.
If you begin the process and fail, you will turn into a crow and never be able to return to human form.

>>678856
Real legend BTW

There is a forest somewhere in the Northeast that takes on a certain quality in the dark of the witching hour. If you go to a certain spot between three granite rocks at precisely midnight, a man in a white suit will appear with a contract written in an unknown arcane tongue.If you sign it, you will lose all your memories, except for one. You will only know the bloodstained path to immortality.

It awoke. A voice of ages.
It had no name but the names men gave it, names held little meaning. Yet, it gave it pleasure to hear those names uttered forth from the lips of men - men who often came to such varied and deliciously painful ends.
It reveled in death for death was its purpose.
An existence without end was wasted without purpose and the one constant without end was death.
Death became its purpose.
It had seen the universe die uncountable times and the inevitable rebirth countless more. Dark unto light, death unto life. This was the way of all things and it gave it immense satisfaction to be part of the grand clockwork of existence.
Throughout its existence and all the varied incarnations of the universe which had been no creature had fascinated it more than man. It seemed they shared a common purpose for man was elevated to the pinnacle of greatness amongst the ecstasy of carnage. For this reason it pleased it greatly to accompany man when he sought perfection.
It presented itself in varied forms, but became tangible only on the rarest of occasions. Periods when its influence was strongest and death and conquest grew heavy on the minds of men, prized jewel of a Trojan female, Roman spear, Mongolian Warlord - amongst others, these were some of its more noted and fruitful forms.
An endless existence yielded many moments for introspection.
It questioned the path it had taken, was death truly the alpha and the omega? For an infinitesimal moment in time it pondered the nature of death and imagined a universe without it, reviewing its actions in turn and assessing the very nature of existence.
Yes.
Death was the only path.

>>678863
Moar IRL secrets/easter eggs

It was her eyes that first attracted me to her. I didn’t believe in love, but the
first time I gazed into her beautiful green eyes I knew she was the one.

I loved seeing myself reflected in those eyes, looking deep into her soul and
knowing I was a part of it. It’s kinda stupid, but I even wrote poetry about them. I
don’t remember much, but I told her “There’s so much life within your eyes, and so
much love”.

Oh God, I loved the way the light danced within them. I just couldn’t imagine not
being able to stare dreamily into them.

Now if I could just find a box that was half as beautiful as her eyes, I could stop
carrying them round in my pocket.

I really shouldn't be reading this when I'm about to go to sleep.

/r/ing the one about that demon that only killed witnesses or something like that.

It knocked on the door a number of times and each time represented.

Please deliver anon.

I am currently sitting in front of my computer, scared witless. Any moment now I am going to be killed.

Today a friend of mine told me a story.

His aunt had taken care of him since he was a small boy, and she told him last night about how his parents died. He did a very fair imitation of her (I knew them both pretty well):

“They were doing mission work in some nasty little south american country when a man burst into the mission hospital one night, terrified out of his mind. He told them that his sister had been killed by a Muerto blanco, and that he was certain that it was coming for him next. What is a Muerto blanco? Apparently it was some sort of bogey-man, something like that dumb chupacabra or whatever. They called it the White Death or the White Girl, because it was the soul of someone who hated life so much that they came back in their shrouds to kill those who told of them.

The man had been told about the vengeful spirit by his sister hours before her death. It was a girl with dead, black eyes that wept bile. The thing moved without ever actually moving its legs, and it stalked its victims back to their homes. Now, if you weren’t already aware that this thing was following you, once it got back to your house, it would start knocking on your door…

* Once for you skin, which she’ll use to patch her own decaying flesh.
* Twice for your muscle, which she’ll gnash her teeth on between victims.
* Thrice for your bones, which she’ll make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victims.
* Four times for your heart, which she’ll wear around her neck.
* Five times for your teeth, which she’ll polish and keep in a box.
* Six times for your eyes, which she’ll see the faces of your loved ones through.
* Seven times for your soul, which she’ll eat whole - you can never pass while you’re in her stomach.

>>679241
She has to repeat this on any mirror or door between you and her.

You can try to outrun her, but she’s faster than the fastest man. And if you leave your home while she’s knocking on your door, she won’t be so courteous when she catches up to you.

Now the man was certain that this thing had killed his sister, that he had tried to tell the police, but they would not listen. Next he had tried to tell his priest, but the priest turned him away when he saw that the thing was following him now - oh, that’s right, I forgot about that - it can only get you if you tell someone else about it, or you saw it kill someone else. The man, after finishing his tale, stole a car from the mission, and was never seen again.

Apparently his mother and father had immediately called his aunt about this when it happened. They were found in the morning, skinned and dismembered. Their bodies were covered in tiny, child-like handprints.

>>679252
His aunt was really drunk the night before, and had told him about that. He told me this story early in the morning today at school, before the cops arrived. His aunt had been murdered that night. I called him later that night, and he told me that he was being chased by someone, and now they were knocking on his door. I told him to stop kidding me.

He held the phone away from his face for a minute, and I could hear slow, deliberate knocking. A moment later, I heard the door rip from its hinges and the dying screams of my friend.

Then a little girl’s voice spoke over the line: “WITNESS.” I hung up.

Three minutes ago someone started knocking on my door. She has to knock 28 times on my front door, 28 times on the mirror in the hall, and another 28 times on the door to my bedroom. She’s doing it slowly… I think she wants to scare me some more, let me know that my death is just moments away. I will not run - I couldn’t get to my car in time anyway. She started knocking on my bedroom door a minute ago, she should be done any moment.

Nice knowing you guys, it’s been funjklm,.-

WITNESS

PUTTING ON YOUR BEST FACE
He stared into the mirror tilting his head up, then right, then left. The skin on his jaw was a little tight and there were too many lines now at the corner of his mouth. Some sagging under the cheek bones was occurring as well. His jaw clenched briefly. This just wouldn’t do.

“It might be time for a makeover, Mr. Bellson,” he said to the face staring back at him.

He opened a drawer under the vanity and halfheartedly fingered through the dozens of bottles of gels and creams. Lotions for dry skin. Treatments for wrinkles and sun spots. Skin tone, revitalizing pastes and every manner of foundation and highlighter.

None of them would do him any good. This was the part he hated.

He removed the sandy brown hairpiece and placed it carefully on a metal tree behind the toilet. Reaching into the back of the drawer, he pulled out a box of latex gloves. Starting at his jaw line he began to feel for the seam. Slowly, as if uncrimping the edges of a pie crust, he began to loosen the skin and roll it back. His fingers worked deliberately, kneading then peeling the flesh over cheeks and brow and finally his forehead, until he was able to pull the last of it back from the skull like a hood.

He glanced briefly at the limp mask of flesh before casting it into the plastic-lined garbage pail below the sink. The whites of his eyes had an unearthly glow against the red and pink striated muscles twitching on his face. With a sigh, he turned around and bent down to the small refrigerator behind him. He opened it and looked inside. Carefully smoothed out on a manikin head was an unblemished, pale-skinned face. He reached inside to remove it from its perch.

“Hello, Mr. Reggante,” he whispered as it slipped into his spidery fingers.

Mel asserts that, for years, locals had known about the "bottomless" nature of the hole, dumping garbage down the hole, including dead cattle, truckloads of old auto tires, and large appliances like refrigerators and TV tubes. When garbage was dumped in the hole, no sound of the object hitting the bottom was heard.

Mel claims he began a series of experiments with the hole on his property, including one where he lowered a roll of Life Savers into the hole, to detect if any water was at the bottom of the hole, at the end of progressively longer lengths of fishing line, up to the 80,000 foot (over fifteen miles) length of the last attempt.

At that point, in 1997, Mel sent a Fax to the Coast to Coast AM show describing the hole, and shortly thereafter appeared on the show.

Soon after the broadcasts, Mel claims that men he identified as government agents told him that there was a plane-crash nearby and that he could not approach the hole. He says that the government then offered to pay him a large monthly stipend to lease the land in perpetuity, which he used to move to Australia and fund a wombat-rescue operation. These alleged payments are said to have continued from March 1997 through the beginning of 2000.

In December 1999, Mel returned to the US. While on a bus to Olympia, Washington, Mel claims he witnessed an altercation between police officers and another passenger, after which he was taken off the bus to sign a police statement. According to Mel, the next thing he recalls is walking around San Francisco, twelve days later. He claims he had been physically beaten and his rear molars were extracted. An alleged IV scar on his arm convinced him that he had been drugged.

>>679504
Mel claims that he later returned to the hole, at which time he was served with papers indicating that his ownership was now in question, due to modifications that had been made, presumably by the government tenants. Mel alleges that his assets were frozen for unstated reasons and that his wombat rescue facility in Australia was dismantled.
On his appearances on Coast to Coast, Mel Waters described the hole as being roughly nine feet across and at least 80,000 feet deep. He also claimed that it had numerous supernatural powers. According to Mel, a dead hunting dog thrown into the hole by a local was seen much later running through the woods, as if hunting with somebody else.

After his appearance on Coast to Coast in 2000, Mel claimed on a subsequent appearance that he had found a second hole. This second hole is alleged to be on public land in Nevada, under the management of the Federal Bureau of Land Management. According to Mel, the land nearby is used by Native Americans as well as "members of the Basque community" who were using the land for grazing sheep.

Mel described the second hole as being 9 feet in diameter, the same dimensions as the first hole. Unlike the first hole, however, Mel claims that the Nevada hole has a solid metal liner, or "collar" sticking out of the ground, 2 feet high, 2 feet deep, with several notches in it. Mel speculated on Coast to Coast that, "in my estimation... it could possibly be a locking collar... something could be lowered onto it and locked into place."

>>679505
Mel claimed that the alleged second hole's collar was composed of a substance with the following unusual paranormal properties.

* Mel claims that he dropped a box wrench on the metal collar, but that the impact did not make a noise. He says this implies that the collar absorbs the sound or energy.
* According to Mel, the hole is "solidly lined" with this metal as far as one can see into the hole.
* Mel claims that even in winter, the area around the metal collar is warm to the touch and will keep nearby tents warm. He says the collar is not hot to the touch, however.

According to Mel, local Basques say the hole has been there, in its current state, for their community's entire existence, dating back to the 19th century. He claims one man had personal recollection of the hole since he was young, over 70 years ago at the time of the interview (since around the 1930s). In addition to his claims regarding the Basque community and the second hole, Mel has also speculated about a Basque connection to the second hole: He claims he found a whale bone near the first hole, which he asserts could have Basque origins to a history of whaling in Basque culture.

Mel further claims that the hole occasionally emits a "black beam". He acknowledged that, "this is a contradiction, but a black beam of light, okay, comes from the hole. It lasts a very short time, but it just goes directly up to the sky... if you had a flashlight, and it was capable of throwing up a solid black..." However, Mel admits that he has "never personally witnessed the black beam."

>>679506
Mel claims that he and assorted Basque locals performed an experiment with the Nevada hole, in which they lowered in a bucket of ice they bought from the grocery store. Allegedly, one bucket of ice was lowered 1500 feet into the hole, and the other bucket of ice was kept at the surface as a control. By the time half the ice on the surface bucket had melted, the bucket in the hole was to be retrieved.

According to Mel, the ice in the lowered bucket had not melted, and additionally, was no longer cold to the touch. He claims that the ice had been changed in an undefined way, and described it as having a texture like silica desiccant found in packaged food.

As a further experiment, Mel claims they placed the alleged bucket of unmelted ice on a cooking fire, and instead of melting, the ice allegedly began to "burn." Mel Waters described the fire as "not so much a flame, as kind of a... have you ever used a gas stove? it was like the barest turning of a gas stove on. It was like that last flicker before you turn it off."

According to Mel, additional trials of the same experiment have resulted in melted ice, unchanged ice, and occasionally (about one out of three times) more of this supposed "burning ice."

Mel goes on to claim that this new substance could be used as a source of heat, saying that "one guy took some stuff home, he put it in his wood stove... and the thing's been keeping his place warm" for over three months (September to January). Mel claims this man also reported that steam from a nearby kettle was absorbed by the burning ice, and that the area surrounding the burning ice was always very dry.

>>679507
According to Mel, after a few months the stove with the burning ice crashed through the floor of the man's cabin for unknown reasons, and that the man returned weeks later to find the entire cabin collapsed into "wood dust." Mel attributed this alleged phenomenon to all of the moisture being sucked out of the wood by the burning ice. He claims that on a later visit, the stove with the burning ice had sunk 5 feet into the ground.

Mel claims that a team of unknown researchers, which he speculated as possibly being related to the government, appeared later at the site of the cabin and attempted to use construction equipment and metal chains to remove the stove. He alleges that upon pouring water into the hole created by the stove, the metal chains fused with the stove, after which it was successfully lifted by multiple construction cranes, loaded onto a large truck and driven away by the unknown researchers.

Another experiment Mel claims to have performed on the hole involved lowering a living sheep to a depth of 1500 feet, resulting in the death of the animal and the appearance of a mysterious "seal-like" entity.

Mel claims that the sheep was led to the hole, but became agitated when it approached the hole and had to be stunned and placed in a crate. According to him, the sheep awakened as it was being placed over the hole and began trashing around in its crate and making "screaming" noises.

The crate was allegedly lowered to about 700 feet, at which point Mel claims that the vibrations caused by the sheep's agitation could no longer be felt. He claims that when the cable had been lowered to its full length of 1500 feet, the metal collar around the hole began to vibrate. According to Mel, the sheep was left at this depth for thirty minutes before being winched back up the surface, where it was found to be dead.

>>679509
Mel claims that from an external perspective the dead sheep appeared the same as when lowered, but that inside, "the sheep looked like it had been cooked." In addition, Mel claims that he then observed a jellied blob that filled the body cavity where the internal organs normally would be, which he described as looking like a "huge tumor."

According to Mel, the alleged "tumor" was removed, and the experimenters believed they saw some movement inside it. He claims that when the tumor was cut open, it released a "fetal seal," with human-looking eyes, connected to the tumor with an umbilical cord. Mel explains that the "seal" seemed to have a hold on those present, and that it and the human experimenters viewed each other for over two hours.

Mel claims that the seal seemed to him to be a being "filled with compassion," and that after nodding at the experimenters, it dove back into the hole. The tumor and sheep remains were allegedly bundled in a tarp and thrown back into the hole, thereby removing any evidence of the experiment.

>>679512
Mel claims that he had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer prior to his experience with the seal, but that afterwards the cancer was entirely gone, with no evidence it had ever existed. Mel feels that he was healed by the seal-like entity from the sheep carcass.

In a later interview, Mel claimed the seal entity was now making regular visits to the Basque shepherds camping around the surface of the Nevada hole. He claimed that the seal was able to communicate with the shepherds through a portable radio. However, when recorded, Mel says that the result was only a series of unintelligible sounds, as one might hear in interference on a short-wave transmission.

Mel claims that a new species of bird has been spotted in the area of the second hole shortly after his alleged encounter with the seal. The bird was said to be bright red with a bluish beak and an estimated wing span of 14 inches. He claims that at least six individual birds have been seen in the airspace around the hole since the seal incident, but that no professional can name the species from a distance, and said bird has not been captured as of yet.

>>679513
It developed into an urban legend, and gained the nickname SunBird. Mel claims that the so-called SunBird never lands, except near the rim of Mel's Hole. He speculates that the bird comes from deep within the hole and he claims that the locals believe that these birds are the cause of the sheep's death, and the tumor that produced the seal entity. Mel professes that he himself has shot at one of the birds, in an attempt to bring it down for possible analysis and perhaps dissection, but that after being hit directly twice, and tumbling twenty feet, the bird pulled out of the fall, and continued flying. According to Mel's story, no birds were seen until three days later. Mel reports finding two crushed bullets in his yard. He says it is inconclusive if they are the same two bullets shot at the bird.

* Mel claims that a local Basque man volunteered to be lowered into the second hole, but that the man was convinced to reconsider by Mel and the other experimenters.
* Mel expressed his wish to have his body thrown into the Nevada hole after his death.
* The Handsome Family recorded a song inspired by Mel's hole called "The Bottomless Hole" on their 2003 CD Singing Bones.
* The description of Mel's 2nd Hole in the Nevada desert bears a strong resemblence to the hole or bottomless pit believed in by The Manson Family and discussed in the various court proceedings. Manson preached that a bottomless pit with mystical powers existed in the Death Valley area. The Manson pit figured prominently in his end times predictions.

Mel Waters initially appeared on Coast to Coast on February 21st, 1997, and again on February 24, 1997. His next appearance was in April of 2000. There was then a hiatus for about two years, until January 29, 2002. Mel last appeared on Coast to Coast on December 20, 2002.

To homeless children sleeping on the street, neon is as comforting as a night-light. Angels love colored light too. After nightfall in downtown Miami, they nibble on the NationsBank building -- always drenched in a green, pink, or golden glow. "They eat light so they can fly," eight-year-old Andre. Andre explains that the angels hide in the building while they study battle maps. "There's a lot of killing going on in Miami," he says.

God fled Heaven to escape an audacious demon attack -- a celestial Tet Offensive. The demons smashed to dust his palace of beautiful blue-moon marble. TV news kept it secret, but homeless children in shelters across the country report being awakened from troubled sleep and alerted by dead relatives. No one knows why God has never reappeared, leaving his stunned angels to defend his earthly estate against assaults from Hell. "Demons found doors to our world," adds eight-year-old Miguel, who sits before Andre with the other children at the Salvation Army shelter. The demons' gateways from Hell include abandoned refrigerators, mirrors, Ghost Town (the nickname shelter children have for a cemetery somewhere in Dade County), and Jeep Cherokees with "black windows." The demons are nourished by dark human emotions: jealousy, hate, fear.

The homeless children's chief ally is a beautiful angel they have nicknamed the Blue Lady. "The demons made it so she only has power if you know her secret name," says Andre. "If you and your friends on a corner on a street when a car comes shooting bullets and only one child yells out her true name, all will be safe. Even if bullets tearing your skin, the Blue Lady makes them fall on the ground. She can talk to us, even without her name. She says: 'Hold on.'"

A blond six-year-old with a bruise above his eye nods his head in affirmation. "I've seen her," he murmurs.

>>679549
LOL

Bumping thread. Did the thread that the Iron Man guy post with all of his creepy pasta already get 404'd/archived?

Bump god dammit.

bump

>>677836


BUT WHO WAS PHONE????

>>678827
You sir are awesome.

>>677778
If you think this world has sealed it's fate in it's own destruction, consider this.
Once we truly become aware of the insane roles that we unconsciously play, and the knowledge that is used in the service of destruction, it is the birth of true sanity... Which is surprisingly rare in this world (ie: Dali Lama).

The sense perceived physical universe, is no more than a misperception of who you really are. Even who you THINK you are, is not who you are.

So who are you?
You are.
who am I?
I am.

It's a bump, it's a bump. Bumpity bump.

>>680355

MOAR MYTHS N STUFF!!!!!!!11!!!

MOAR Bumps!!1!

Bumpit MOAR

Taken from: http://www.anonib.com/paranormal/
(Please visit)


Real Life PacMan: The Madness of Mission 6

True story: In 1976, Cosmonaut Nikolai Peckmann was sent alone to an orbiting space station for what would be called Mission Six- to study the radiation levels and strange circumstances that killed all four crewmen of the last research mission. By the third day, Peckmann's broken transmissions were coming back to ground control filled with increasing paranoia and delusion. He claimed that the spirits of the dead cosmonauts were coming to claim him, and that he had to keep moving to evade them. He shouted that if he could capture consume these spirits himself while he still had strength, he could move to the next level of consciousness...Truly the rantings of an insane man. Indeed, video recovered later would show Peckmann running around the confined but maze-like station, downing emergency sedatives like a madman....pausing in a corner momentarily, only to throw back vitamin pills and give chase to his invisible demons. He had exhausted the entire cargo of vitamins, pills, and fresh fruit well ahead of schedule. There was no way another crew could be assembled to rescue him before he starved. After one rather violently garbled transmission, the static cleared and the last live image on record is that of Peckmann's empty, wilted spacesuit on the cabin floor. It was determined that another mission to recover any remains or gather any more research would be a waste of the people's money, and the station was allowed to drift out of orbit and into space- a failure never to be mentioned again. It was ordered and assumed that all video and paper evidence had been destroyed.

..then, at the dawn of the eighties, a fledgling arcade game company called NAMCO would stumble across the transcripts of these events, and the rest -as they say- is history.

>>680104
Could someone post the creepypasta that this came from?

>>680627
Why does everybody freak out about "Who was Phone?" Its not even that funny.

bump?

>>680630
Freak out? I just haven't been on /x/ for a while and missed the joke. I wanna see how stupid this meme is.

People wont shut up about this stupid fucking copypasta. Like all unfunny memes, they keep repeating "WHO WAS PHONE" over and over again. This is just an example about how low this site had gotten, and how overrun it is with children off on summer vacation with no friends to hang out with.


[i]So ur with ur honey and yur making out wen the phone rigns. U anser it n the voice is "wut r u doin wit my daughter?" U tell ur girl n she say "my dad is ded".
THEN WHO WAS PHONE?[/i]

See how fucking shitty and overrated this meme is?

>>680651
Quite.

>>678509
Holy shit I screamed.

thank you all for keeping this alive while i was at work
i will now continue dumping in 30..29..28..27

Black Eyed Kids (sometimes called Black Eyed Children or BEK) are said to be children with eyes that are solid black, with no differentiation between sclera, pupil or iris. Those who report encounters with them often feel that the children were somehow supernatural and very dangerous. The first known sighting was recounted in a 1997 usenet posting by journalist Brian Bethel.
In his initial post, Brian Bethel reported of a meeting with two unusually confident and eloquent children who attempted to talk him into giving them a ride in his car. Bethel said in his post that he nearly opened the door to admit the children, even though he found them vaguely unsettling, until he realized that their eyes were completely black, with no iris or sclera. He reports that, as soon as he realized this, the children became angry and insistent, and he drove away quickly. His posting implies that the children may have been using some form of low-level mind control to induce him to open the car door.
Since Bethel's original post, there have been other reports of similar experiences in other parts of the country. These accounts are similar to Bethel's in that they generally involve the children's request that the person let them inside their car or house, frequently using an excuse such as "I need to get home to my mother" or something that implies the child is in need of assistance.

>>680729
Experiences involving the Black Eyed Children generally do not explain the cause of the children's eye color (not to be confused with Aniridia which is the lack of iris; Black Eyed Children have no sclera or white either) or the origins of the children themselves. Some imply they could be ghosts or demons, specifically vampires: the encounters frequently emphasize that the children must be voluntarily admitted or invited into the house or car in question, and in this way are reminiscent of some vampire legends.

“Lights out,” Larry announced, surveying the converted warehouse. Forty cots covered the floor, each one occupied by a huddled form. The building was a sea of mismatched clothes and ragged blankets.

He flipped the light switch, dousing the sallow fluorescents and consuming the room in darkness. There were a few random mutters, but they subsided and the sounds of deep breathing and light snoring soon took their place. Industrial-sized heaters hummed in the background, their soft red glow invisible from the doorway.

Larry stepped outside and lit a cigarette. He’d started the Homeless House, as it had come to be called, almost two years ago–the best way he could think of to help those less fortunate than himself. In the beginning he’d had sponsors–several local businesses that had wanted their names in the paper. But over time they’d dropped off–like a one night stand, they got their publicity and moved on. Not wanting to close the House, Larry had to find another way to finance it before he went broke and his wife threw him out on the street. Wouldn’t that be ironic, he thought.

>>680734
He took a long drag and stared down the street. Abandoned buildings lined the road on both sides, giant football players ready to charge each other at the snap of the ball. Larry wondered–as he did every night–why he didn’t just shut the House down and let the homeless fend for themselves. He was keeping them out of the cold, but at what price?

A tall silvery shadow slid out of the darkness beside him. The figure coalesced in the moonlight into a well dressed man with long black hair. Larry ignored him and took another drag. The man pressed something into Larry’s trembling hand and gave him a conspirator’s smile. The pointed tips of his canines caught the moonlight, reflecting it like twin beacons.

The man entered the shelter, locking the door behind him. Larry stuffed the crumpled bills into his pocket and shuddered. He snubbed out his cigarette, then plodded up the street.

“Stay alert, men,” the captain said on the loudspeaker as they sailed off the coast of Africa. “This place’s a haven for Blue Beard’s pirates.”

Blue Beard pulled Captain Paddock back from the loudspeaker in a chokehold.

“Now, tell me what you did with the Zenyatta booty!” Blue Beard hissed. “And enough with your curse talk! I ain’t buyin’ it!”

Gagging, Paddock grabbed a handful of Blue Beard’s flesh, and squeezed hard. When Blue beard shouted, Paddock dropped to the ground and broke free.

Blue Beard dove out the door of the Captain’s nest. Paddock followed but was too late. His nemesis had already reached the water and was swimming toward shore.

Several men ran to the captain’s headquarters with swords drawn.

“What happened, Captain?” one asked.

Captain Paddock pointed to the water. “Blue Beard was after our loot, again.”

“That scoundrel!” another griped. “Ya better swim away, ya vile dog!”

“Captain, what are we going to do?” another man asked. “This is the third time since we picked up that chest off of Zenyatta that someone has come after it. You think we got spies aboard?”

“No telling.”

“What about the booty, have you got at it yet?”

“I wish I had, but I still have not been able to get the chest open.”

Golt, the newest man picked up in Zenyatta, stepped forward.

“You said that before, Captain. I for one am beginning to doubt it.”

“All are welcome. I’ve said this before. But, if this is the chest that Count Stricker left behind after the raid of Zenyatta’s kingdom, then this may be the work of the snake curse.”

Most of the men stepped back, shaking their heads. The only one who stepped forward was Golt.

“You think you’re on to something here, do you?” the captain teased. The other men smirked at one another, nodding their heads to the captain behind Golt’s back.

“I’ve got nothin’ to lose, and if your lyin’ I’m gonna take your loot, ship, and your men.”

Captain Paddock stepped aside and let Golt lead the way down the steps to his quarters.

Golt ran to the chest.

“You may want to think this out, Golt,” Paddock said.

“Think… about… what?” Golt said, struggling to unlatch the lock.

“The curse, of course,” Captain Paddock said.

Golt removed a knife and wedged it into a seam on the lid. He rammed it in with a few hard blows and had successfully stuck it in the box to the hilt.

“Now, with some slicin’ I’ll peel this open like a skull,” he bragged. “To hell with your curse!”

Captain Paddock leaned against his bureau and dug at the grime under his nails with a knife as Golt proceeded.

“Ain’t you gonna stop me, Captain?” he asked, smiling.

“Oh, no, Golt, I can clearly see you are a clever man not to be denied his fate. Please, continue.”

Golt glared at Paddock. “As soon as I finish with your phony curse, I think I’ll get to workin’ on your pretty little head.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Golt,” The captain said without looking up from his nails.

Golt paused as though he considered whether or not he should take the captain’s abuse. He returned his attention to the chest. As he peeled open the lid, a green-and-red-striped boa latched on to his face and coiled around his body. With each breath Golt took, the snake squeezed tighter until his face had turned utterly blue and blood trickled from his nose and mouth.

“Nice work, Curse,” Captain Paddock said as he leaned over the snake and scooped a handful of jewels. “Nice work, indeed.”

He staggered for an eternity then paused to rest. He glanced back.

Had he lost them?

He peered back between the gnarled limbs. He couldn’t see them.

He listened to the falling branches crunching to the coppery ground.

Sharpe picked himself up and kept going. Up ahead the pine trees began to thin a little. Further along he saw a clearing and burst out into it. He let out a strangled scream as a thick putrescence invaded his nostrils with terrible force. He gazed in disbelief at a meter-high pile of bodies–all adults, stacked in a crude tangle of arms and legs like discarded store mannequins, all in varying states of decay. It looked as if they had been prepared as part of some morbid, human bonfire. He bent over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the spongy ground.

>>680753
Then he heard the sound of crunching branches and whirled around. From every direction the mass of children emerged into the clearing, closing in, surrounding Sharpe again. This time there was no way out. None of them spoke a word. Sharpe looked helplessly into each face. They regarded him with unearthly stares with no trace of emotion. The children suddenly parted like the red sea. A little boy appeared through the gap. A sizable chunk was missing from his head. Blood was still oozing from the gaping wound.

What was meant to be a scream came out as high-pitched squeak as Sharpe’s voice cords failed him. This was the kid he had hit with the car.

The boy looked at his friends and then stepped back. A little girl suddenly moved in and swung her wicket stump with a force a small child simply shouldn’t possess. It connected squarely with Sharpe’s skull. The wicket exploded into splintery shards. Sharpe screamed and fell to his knees, holding his head.

Another child brought a hunting knife down, striking the soft middle-aged flesh between Sharpe’s shoulder blades. He screamed again. Another boy with a hatchet swung it like a pro baseball player, chopping into Sharpe’s rib cage with a spurt of crimson. He gurgled a strangled, agonized cry.

>>680756
Now that the attack had begun, the children advanced on Sharpe in a swarm. They pounded, stabbed, chopped, hacked and sawed at his flailing limbs despite his pleading cries as his punctured lungs collapsed. All he could do was wheeze, hoping for oblivion.

Finally, he pitched forward and fell flat onto his face, dead long before the children had finished their merciless slaughter. A large pool of blood spread beneath Sharpe’s lumpy mass of broken bones and hacked limbs. Something that used to resemble his head was now smashed into pulpy lumps and splintered bone. The children finally began to disperse, most of them spattered with their victim’s blood, melting into the pine forest until they all disappeared. The remaining five children picked up what was left of Sharpe and tossed the pieces onto the growing mountain of rotten adult bodies.

>>680743

Akimi posed naked on the banqueting table. She thought of the money as caterers arranged copious amounts of fruit over and around her.

Halloween guests arrived, witches, vampires, ghouls–spectacular costumes. Akimi hid her embarrassment as the fruit was consumed, exposing her. A cardinal proffered a drink “against the chill.” The amber liquid burned in her veins.

He crushed grapes over her bare breast and roved his tongue around the nipple. Powerless, she could neither move nor cry out, even when he bit deeply and tore away a mouthful of her flesh. The feast began at midnight’s first chime.

A graveyard seemed a peculiar location for a pumpkin patch. Tombstones, fresh mounds, wilting flowers, mourner’s remnants… and a small collection of orange orbs stands out from the drab landscape. Even from a distance you couldn’t help notice they were all the same size: average; none puny or gigantic, all just right. As if chosen. You had to get really close to notice the dripping orange paint, the stumps still bleeding into the earth, and the faces that needed no carving.

Hurrying down the boreen homewards under a harvest moon Finuncane wondered, how long until midnight? Tomorrow was samhain, when the worlds collided and the dead walked the land.

A stranger fell in with him, a dark figure on the country lane. Finuncane said howyeh but the other stayed silent.

And Finuncane thought he knew who walked with him.

Hoping for two birds from a single stone, Finuncane asked the stranger had he the time at all? And the stranger, in a voice from behind the sky, said it had just turned midnight when he left Hell.

Mort checked his watch; 9:00.

“Three hours to go,” he said as he finished painting the last sigils on the pentagram, and whipped the goat’s blood from his hands. He then checked on the candles and the incense, and made sure the ropes were tight. Murielle began to stir so he placed the chloroform over her nose a moment and she was still.

“Shhhh… Don’t want you freaking out when we’re so close. It is Samhain, after all.” The arrangements of his instruments were meticulous. Every angle of every blade was part of a larger design, the Great Masterwork.

THIS IS SOMEONES ACOUNT ABOUT THE BLACK EYED CHILDREN

Black-Eyed Car Encounter (first account, mentioned above)
I don't really know what I'd call this story if I was submitting it for publication in Fate or something of its ilk. "Brian vs. the Evil, Black-eyed, Possibly Vampiric or Demonic But At Least Not Bloody Normal Kids" doesn't have much of a ring to it. (Shrug.) original.gif
But that's at least an accurate title.
As so many things do, it all started out innocently.
My Internet Service Provider used to have offices in a shopping center before they moved to their (comparatively) lush accommodations elsewhere. There was a drop box at that original location. The monthly bill was due, and thus, there but for the Grace of the Net I went. It was about 9:30 p.m. when I left. From my relatively isolated apartments, it's about 10-15 minutes or so to downtown (Abilene has a population of about 110,000).
Right next to Camalott Communications' old location is a $1.50 movie theater. At the time, the place was featuring that masterwork of modern film, Mortal Kombat. I drove by the theater on the way into the center proper and pulled into an empty parking space.Using the glow of the marquee to write out my check, I was startled to hear a knock on the driver's-side window of my car.I looked over and saw two children staring at me from street. I need to describe them, with the one feature (you can guess what it was) that I didn't realize until about half-way through the conversation cleverly omitted. Both appeared to be in that semi-mystical stage of life children get into where you can't exactly tell their age. Both were boys, and my initial impression is that they were somewhere between 10-14.

>>680778
Boy No. 1 was the spokesman. Boy No. 2 didn't speak during the entire conversation -- at least not in words.Boy No. 1 was slightly taller than his companion, wearing a pull-over, hooded shirt with a sort of gray checked pattern and jeans. I couldn't see his shoes. His skin was olive-colored and had curly, medium-length brown hair. He exuded an air of quiet confidence.Boy No. 2 had pale skin with a trace of freckles. His primary characteristic seemed to be looking around nervously. He was dressed in a similar manner to his companion, but his pull-over was a light green color. His hair was a sort of pale orange.
They didn't appear to be related, at least directly."Oh, great," I thought. "They're gonna hit me up for money." And then the air changed. I've explained this before, but for the benefit of any new lurkers out there, right before I experience something strange, there's a change in perception that comes about which I describe in the above manner. It's basically enough time to know it's too late. wink2.gifSo, there I was, filling out a check in my car (which was still running) and in a sudden panic over the appearance of two little boys. I was confused, but an overwhelming sense of fear and unearthliness rushed in nonetheless.
The spokesman smiled, and the sight for some inexplicable reason chilled my blood. I could feel fight-or-flight responses kicking in. Something, I knew instinctually, was not right, but I didn't know what it could possibly be.I rolled down the window very, very slightly and asked "Yes?"The spokesman smiled again, broader this time. His teeth were very, very white.

>>680780
"Hey, mister, what's up? We have a problem," he said. His voice was that of a young man, but his diction, quiet calm and ... something I still couldn't put my finger on ... made my desire to flee even greater. "You see, my friend and I want to see the films, but we forgot our money," he continued. "We need to go to our house to get it. Want to help us out?" Okay. Journalists are required to talk to lots of people, and that includes children. I've seen and spoken to lots of them. Here's how that usually goes: "Uh ... M ... M ... Mister? Can I see that camera? I ... I won't break it or anything. I promise. My dad has a camera, and he lets me hold it sometimes, I guess, and I took a picture of my dog -- it wasn's very good, 'cause I got my finger in the way and ..." Add in some feet shuffling and/or body swaying and you've got a typical kid talking to a stranger.
In short, they're usually apologetic. People generally teach children that when they talk to adults, they're usually bothering them for one reason or another and they should at least be polite. This kid was in no way fitting the mold. His command of language was incredible and he showed no signs of fear. He spoke as if my help was a foregone conclusion. When he grinned, it was as if he was trying to say, "I know something ... and you're NOT gonna like it. But the only way you're going to find out what it is will be to do what I say ..." "Uh, well ..." was the best reply I could offer.

>>680781
Now here's where it starts to get strange.The quiet companion looked at the spokesman with a mixture of confusion and guilt on his face. He seemed in some ways shocked, not with his friend's brusque manner but that I didn't just immediately open the door. He eyed me nervously. The spokesman seemed a bit perturbed, too. I still was registering something wrong with both. "C'mon, mister," the spokesman said again, smooth as silk. Car salesmen could learn something from this kid. "Now, we just want to go to our house. And we're just two little boys." That really scared me. Something in the tone and diction again sent off alarm bells. My mind was frantically trying to process what it was perceiving about the two figures that was "wrong."
"Eh. Um ...." was all I could manage. I felt myself digging my fingernails into the steering wheel. "What movie were you going to see?" I asked finally. "Mortal Kombat, of course," the spokesman said. The silent one nodded in affirmation, standing a few paces behind. "Oh," I said. I stole a quick glance at the marquee and at the clock in my car. Mortal Kombat had been playing for an hour, the last showing of the evening. The silent one looked increasingly nervous. I think he saw my glances and suspected that I might be detecting something was not above-board.

>>680782
"C'mon, mister. Let us in. We can't get in your car until you do, you know," the spokesman said soothingly. "Just let us in, and we'll be gone before you know it. We'll go to our mother's house." We locked eyes. To my horror, I realized my hand had strayed toward the door lock (which was engaged) and was in the process of opening it. I pulled it away, probably a bit too violently. But it did force me to look away from the children. I turned back. "Er ... Um ...," I offered weakly and then my mind snapped into sharp focus.
For the first time, I noticed their eyes. They were coal black. No pupil. No iris. Just two staring orbs reflecting the red and white light of the marquee. At that point, I know my expression betrayed me. The silent one had a look of horror on his face in a combination that seemed to indicate: A) The impossible had just happened and cool.gif"We've been found out!" The spokesman, on the other hand, wore a mask of anger. His eyes glittered brightly in the half-light. "Cmon, mister," he said. "We won't hurt you. You have to LET US IN. We don't have a gun ..."
That last statement scared the living hell out of me, because at that point by his tone he was plainly saying, "We don't NEED a gun." He noticed my hand shooting down toward the gear shift. The spokesman's final words contained an anger that was complete and whole, and yet contained in some respects a tone of panic:
"WE CAN'T COME IN UNLESS YOU TELL US IT'S OKAY. LET ... US .... IN!"

>>680783
I ripped the car into reverse (thank goodness no one was coming up behind me) and tore out of the parking lot. I noticed the boys in my peripheral vision, and I stole a quick glance back. They were gone. The sidewalk by the theater was deserted. I drove home in a heightened state of panic. Had anyone attempted to stop me, I would have run on through and faced the consequences later. I bolted into my house, scanning all around -- including the sky. What did I see? Maybe nothing more than some kids looking for a ride. And some really funky contacts. Yeah, right.
A friend suggested they were vampires, what with the old "let us in" bit and my compelled response to open the door. That and the "we'll go see our mother" thing. I'm still not sure what they were, but here's an epilogue I find chilling: I talk about Chad a lot. He's still my best friend, my best ghost-hunting companion and an all-around cool guy. He recently moved to Amarillo, but at the time this happened was still living in San Angelo of Ram Page fame. I called him and talked to him briefly. He had two female friends with him at the time, both professing some type of psychic ability.
I started telling him the story, leaving out the part about the black eyes for the kicker. One of the women (we were on a speakerphone) stopped me. "These children had black eyes, right?" she asked. "I mean, all-black eyes?" "Er ... Yes." I said. I was a bit taken aback.
"Hmmm," she said. "One night last week, I had a dream about children with black eyes. They were outside my house, wanting to be let in, but there was something wrong with them. It took me a while to realize it was the eyes."

>>680785
I hadn't even gotten as far as them wanting to come in. "What did you do?" I asked. "I kept the doors and windows locked," she said. "I knew if they came in, they would kill me." She paused. "And they would have killed you, too, if you had let them into your car."
Well, there you have it. I'll write some more later. But for now, your comments are welcomed as always

I want to save you but you're fucking GIF. Anyone care to give a time laps on when I'll shit bri/x/?

>>680729
Long Black Eyed Kids post: http://www.anonib.com/paranormal/index.php?t=21&tcss=0

then next one is a long one

>>680806
nvm Its being posted as I posted this...

Black-Eyed Waitress
First, I just want to say that I have never been a believer in the supernatural, paranormal, etc. I think that everything has a logical explanation that maybe only seems "bizarre" because of a certain kind of over excitement that many people have about "an experience from the other side," or what have you. There is absolutely no explanation for what I'm about to share with you, and it absolutely scares the crap out of me. Just recounting this is giving me a really creepy feeling that I don't think I'll be able to shake, maybe ever.
About three years ago, I was sitting in a local coffee shop in upstate New York during a little road trip. The restaurant was empty except for me and the night waitress. She was really pleasant and talked a lot; she was offering places to check out while I was in town and seemed amazingly astute. In fact, she seemed almost prescient, even guessing my age almost to the day and month and even certain things that I was actually planning to do the next day. It was so light-hearted, I thought I really lucked out by meeting a easy-going, smart young lady quite out my my normal way.
At closing time, she went to the back to, I guess, put some cash in the safe or something. As I was sitting there wondering what time I wanted to get up and hit the road again the next day, I momentarily thought I might even invite her for a few hours of "R&R." I decided instead to just remember the store and next time I passed through the area, to remember to stick my head in a say "hi" (no reason, I just wanted to play it cool and not seem overanxious at very first).

>>680810
So, I got up and knocked on the door in the back of the coffee shop where she went in. At this time, there were only two dim lights in the main eating area, and barely any lights in the back room where she was. I opened the door. This woman who I just finished talking to was standing facing me, JUST STANDING THERE in the back of this dark room when I opened the door. Her skin was suddenly a clammy, cracked olive color, and her eyes were just BLACK. I mean, no white at all. Her eyes and mouth was open really wide, and she was screaming in the most spine-chilling sounds, something I couldn't understand, but it definitely wasn't sounds of goodwill.
I literally SCREAMED myself, and she started moving from one spot to the other through the room. Not running, just MOVING. Her clothes now looked all old, and she moved so fast; the back of the room must have been 15 feet or so back, and she just DARTED from one side of the back of the room, still facing me, to the other side, at an IMPOSSIBLE speed. Then she ran directly straight at me as I was now standing away from the door in the middle of the restaurant.
I got the hell out of there, and jumped in my car still seeing her nightmarish face in the restaurant, darting it seemed to every window at this impossible velocity. The worst thing was, as I tore out of the parking lot ... I looked in my rear view mirror ... and she was SITTING IN THE BACK SEAT, still with that nightmarish expression, still screaming. Then she just vanished as I was panicking around. Just gone. I don't know what that was that spoke to me in the restaurant that day, but I know that it wasn't a prank. I swear at night sometimes I see her shadow moving in the dark in my room, just grinning a really ugly, evil grin. I haven't slept properly since.


...or not

Black-Eyed Children - Knocking at Your Door
Adele was at home when she had her experience with the beings. More unnerving, perhaps, they were small children. "I was sitting in my bedroom reading a book," Adele says, "when at about 11:00 p.m. I heard a knocking… a slow, constant one. I got up out of bed to see what it was. I looked out of the window and to my surprise saw two children. I opened the window and asked them what they wanted at this time of night. They replied by saying simply, 'Let us in.' I said no and asked what for. 'We want to use your bathroom.'
"I was quite shocked that children of about 10 years old wanted to use a stranger's bathroom at this time of night. I told them no, closed the window, but looked at them through the glass. I glanced at their eyes... and I have never ever seen eyes like them. They were black, completely black. I got the feeling of evil and unhappiness. It surrounded me. It was horrible."

Black-Eyed Airline Passenger
I retired in 1999 and a few years before retiring, crews were needed to man domestic flights. In reality, I only flew international, mainly to Asia. I was the senior crew member and the flight destination was LaGuardia, N.Y. It was a turn, meaning flight "6" was "7" on the return. The layover was to be about an 40 minutes.
It is customary to be briefed by the captain on weather conditions, their meal preferences and flight time. I offered pre-flight beverages. Making coffee with cream, and getting two cans of coke and Aqua for the other two pilots, I squeezed past two passengers getting off the aircraft. I glanced up just in time to see a late arriving passenger, noting his well-appointed leather jacket, pants and shoes all were nice complimentary shades of brown. His haircut was in the European cut with tendrils on the nape, instead of the precise American haircut. I froze as I looked into his eyes. They were black in entirety. He looked European or a light Arabian. I don't remember seeing the white part of his eyes. I sniffed hard in fear and told the pilots as I gave them their drinks, "We got a weird one on board, sir." Macho old captain lolled around and said, "Is he bothering anyone?" "Negative!"

Here comes the cutesy blonde who had been taking tickets. She puffs, "We're full, and by the way we got us a weird one, with green eyes on board and he asked who was the chief flight attendant. Meanwhile, the gal in the back was making coffee, etc. and her final pre-flight is to give me an accurate count of passengers. I noticed as she gave me the information of two empty seats -- meant full minus two passengers, no babies. She was tight-lipped and pale white looking, no color what soever in her face. She then announced there's a man in..... I added "6F" and she answered, YES!! He has the strangest blue eyes!
The cockpit door closes and we are latched down for departure. I give the safety announcements and I am noticing that the fourth girl keeps looking back at me and she is trembling. I finish and she returns to sit with me on the jump seat. "That man is very scary, I am so afraid."
I was very frightened too, ready to pee my pants. I laid my arm on the door ledge and watch out the porthole and wondered if we would survive this trip. The feeling was unanimous with the other girls and we were on total edge. I was pondering why each of us thought his eyes were a different color. I didn't like this. We were spooked to the ninth degree. I told the captain, something isn't right about this man. It was then we realized that the passengers who had seats next to him had gotten off the flight. I MADE the girls do the breakfast service and told then, do nothing else but remain on high alert and stay in the back. New York flights are very noisy flight; this day there was absolute silence. Nobody rang for us. There was a great sense of doom.

We were so distressed that the Captain put on his hat to come out for a look. That passengers closed his eyes and appeared to be sleeping. We landed without ado and matter of fact, the airplane emptied in world record time about 2-3-minutes. This man was coming and the Captain was saying goodbye. I refused and hopped back into the galley. I whispered, "Here he comes and I watched the Captain as all the color drained from his face, when the man passed out the door.
The captain said, WOW...whoa that was a strange man! I said, "Captain, he's not through with us. He's coming back on our flight and if he does, I'm off this flight right now!" Captain pooshed that and, sure enough, I followed at a not-too-close distance to see where that man went. I didn't see him. I sat down in the boarding area behind a pillar and waited, because I saw his bags, one on the floor and a hefty one on the seat and it was wide open with all kinds of camera, radios and other quite sellable items, if stolen... nobody touched that bag.
Momentarily, I saw him coming and he got RIGHT IN LINE for a return trip to Chicago. I flew to the phone and informed the passenger agents that this man just came in on our flight and no way should he be allowed back on our flight. If he was, I was outta here! I won't tell of the steps taken to prevent him from the return, but we were on edge until the doors were latched down and we were taxiing into take-off.
I never forgot him, and when 9/11 occurred and one of the gals who registered the pre-hijackers for flight lessons, I realized that when she said, one of them just gave her the absolute creeps... his totally black eyes freaked her right out, I knew in my heart, there went THAT MAN into the twin towers with a dear in flight friend of mine. Now all were dead. Now I know that some of the terrorist were coming into our country from Canada through Maine and I saw that on his ticket.

Black-Eyed Man In Elevator
I am an executive of a bank in Australia. After being told about this site by a friend, I found to my surprise that a few people have had similar experiences regarding people with pitch-black eyes. Unlike some, though, I didn't feel a sense of dread or a feeling that I was about to die. I felt more an awareness and discomfort, like when you see someone advance angrily toward you only to walk past you.
Anyway, it was September 2, 2000, and one of the roles as an executive is you sometimes have to put in really late nights. My office was on the fifth floor and it was coming up to 12 in the morning. I was the only employee, as far as I know, on the first five floors apart from Ben, another fellow banker on my floor and Stan, who is a security officer.
I decided after finishing the files I was doing that I was going to go home. I said farewell to Stan, who more or less grunted and took the hall to the elevator. I then pressed the B2 level as the B levels are the car parks. As I'm descending, the elevator flashes that it has been called to floor 2. I thought it was very strange, seeing as I said the only other two people on the first five floors where me, the banker and Stan. Regardless, the elevator stops at floor 2 and in comes a tall man with more or less a black crew-cut.

>>680824
The first thing i did was open my mouth to ask what sector he was from and who gave him permission, but as I looked into his eyes they where entirely black. The pupils, the retinas everything. I remember not really being spooked about his eyes. To be honest, I just thought he might've had a disability in his eyes. As the elevator slowly starts up moving back on route, he asked me where I was going, and I simply replied, "home." He then asked why, and I more or less laughed and just said I want to go to sleep and see my wife. He then just mummered very softly, like he was talking to himself, "It must be nice to have a home."
I figured he was just being friendly and that he must be renting. As we got to B1, I realized he hadn't pushed the button on where he was going, so I asked, "Where are you going?" to which he replied rather angrily looking at me with his creepy eyes, "Nowhere."
Feeling a little annoyed with his outburst that made zero sense at the time, I was glad to leave when we reached B2. As I walked to my car, which was roughly 10 meters from the lift, I saw that he didn't get out; in fact, he hardly moved. He just kept staring at me and where I was walking to. Starting to get freaked out that the guy was some warped-out creep, I ran the little distance to my car and turned to see the lift was on a ascent up to floor 6. Feeling a little relieved, I drove up the ramps and coming to the security door I swiped the card and drove out onto the road.

>>680825
Now the real freaky part. As I drove down the street, all the lights were out - and this is in Sydney (city of NSW). Then I turn... and guess who is walking just ahead of the car - our favorite black-eyed man! No need to say, I sped home, probably breaking five road laws. How could he have left the building and be ahead of me when he had no car, and went up to floor 6?
It gets weirder. On the videotapes and records, there shows no one using the elevator at that time apart from me.

Black Eyed Woman
This incident happened a little over a year ago, and I've never forgotten it. My husband and I were on our way up north on I-75 during the afternoon. Luckily, it was not at our normal time in the evening. We have a little place in northern lower Michigan, and often go up there for the weekends. As was our custom, we pulled in at our usual rest stop, and I went into the women's restroom.
As I was preparing to leave the room, I suddenly noticed a thin, dark-haired woman standing alone and starring directly at me. I instantly felt a terrible sense of dread, as though there was something deeply unnatural about her. I then noticed the eyes which had been staring coldly at me, and they were completely black. I saw no color whatsoever, and no pupils. I felt an extremely strong need to get away from her as quickly as possible, as there was something quietly threatening about her. Her stare was devoid of any emotion other than something very cold and disconnected.
My instant and unwavering feeling during this whole experience was that she was not human. I don't know what me made feel this so strongly, but it was my most singular, strongest sense while looking at her. There also was something almost predatory about her, as though she was homing in on prey while she stood there so still. I also had a strange sense of her feeling superior or stronger in some way. Again, the sense of a predator watching its prey. I left as quickly as possible, showing as little reaction to her as possible. It seemed important, for some unknown reason, for me to act unaffected by her while in her presence. I felt a huge sense of relief as I got back into the car and left. I have to say that this was one of the most memorable brief experiences I've ever had around a person, especially a stranger. I have never been able to shake the unexplainable feeling that she wasn't human.

I don't even know where to begin. I'm sitting here, in this hospital, waiting on the doctors to come give me some new drug to put me under and find new ways to write me off as an insane psychopath, delaying a death sentence only by turning me into some goddamn lab experiment. They told me I'm inhuman, but my calm and resolve, though offset by the occasional and only momentary lapse into delirium and hysteria, tells them that they have something to learn.

I hate roaches. And her. I blame it on her. She comes to me when I sleep, or when I used to sleep--the nightmares are too much now, so I don't sleep much anymore. But she's still there. She watches me, from the corner of this goddamn hospital room. I can't scream. Not while she's there. I know what she'll do to me. She's right there, but there's something on the other side that waits for her to call. Waits for me. I can feel it lurking there, in the darkness between silences. And now, the nightmare doesn't end.

>>680899
I was in a hotel in Lisbon. Visiting a friend. That's where they picked me up. I guess I was in the wrong hotel, but crime was pretty high there. Lots of murders, apparently. Just happened that quite a few happened around that hotel. But these were something else, though. You see, there was a funeral, an unclaimed little orphan girl, they had to give her a proper burial anyway. Problem was, she kept disappearing. The morticians couldn't explain it. They'd be working on the autopsy, and leave the room for a moment and she was gone. They'd leave to go search for her, but when they'd come back, she'd still be there, just the way they left her.

Then, that night, someone would call the police because they hear screaming. They'd trace it, and find an empty room, with a mortician's head on a platter, roaches crawling everywhere. No sign of a body. Since they lost a mortician, they autopsy would get delayed. The same thing happened the next night, though. She'd disappear, reappear. Someone would call in a scream that night and the mortician's head would be found on a platter, covered in roaches. I hate those fucking things.

>>680900
I had a horrible nightmare. She was hurting me, tormenting me. I could hear the scratching of that beast in the shadows. I could hear the scurrying of those goddamn roaches. Everything was red. I could hear the screams of someone, death-yells and blood-curdling, tortured wails. Those roaches are coming under the door, and that shadow beast is getting louder. She's there, smiling. Her skin rotten, falling away from her mangled and deformed face.

That's when they found me, they said. Covered in roaches, sitting in the middle of a pool of blood in a hotel room, a severed head on a platter on the dresser, devouring what was left of the man's body. But I swear, it was her. And even now, as she's standing in the corner, I see the door opening into a darker silence, one that sucks the air from my room and paralyzes me with fear, I know it's her.

That beast is in the doorway now. This thing ate those men, and she called it. It's hers. And now I'm hers.

There is a tale drifting around certain parts of the Midwest about a certain young man named moot.

Now, it seems this 'moot' was a god of sorts, the god of an ancient realm named 4chan. It is said by ancient mystics that, if certain conditions are met and a sacred ritual is followed, one can become this 'moot' for a certain period of time.

The ancient ritual is as follows:

Execute the "copy" function with this text:

moot !Ep8pui8Vw ## Admin

and "paste" it into the "Subject" field. Next, press the ancient combination of letters [Alt + 0173] (available on your keyboard) into the "Name" field. Now, post to your liking, for you have become "moot" and you are god of the realm 4chan.

But beware, for other fuckers will try and do the same as you. And 4chan will never be the same again.

Archive request: 677778

>>681132

Huh....the space didn't work (yes I used the key combo). Oh well.

>>680900
Like this?

Live thread live!

And all the rappers in the top ten -- please allow me to bump thee.

LIVE!!!!!!
come back to life already =[ Someone give it CPR!!!!!!!!