The best holiday of the year, Halloween, is soon upon us. In that spirit, let’s all share something creepy, be it a site, picture or story, whether real-life or fiction. To start, I give you The 99 Rooms.
It’s just weird.
Creepy real-life event (I’ve shared this story on here before, but what the hell).
When house-hunting, my wife and I visited many houses in various stages of repair, from fixer-uppers to all-done-up. However, one house stood out for sheer creepiness.
The place was definitely at the “fixer-upper” end of the spectrum, and entering it we noticed at one that it had a sad, depressing feeling to it.
The creepy came in when we looked in the basement. The basement was mostly unfinished - just bare concrete with a furnace - except for one room, furthest from the stairway, This was set up as a bedroom with a small ensuite washroom. The creepy detail was this - the room had a very substantial door, with a hasp for a paddlock - on the outside.
We called it the ‘Boo Radley House’, and made no offer on it …
My brother-in-law flips houses for a living. In one house, in the basement tearing out a wall, he and my sister found a hidden sealed-up cabinet that held a bunch of creepy old medical instruments. Seriously weird.
When somebody smiles, you can see a little of their skeleton.
Have a nice day!
Better than this renovator …
“So … do you think this will affect the resale value?”
I think I ran over one of those giant black/brown wooly caterpillars on the way home today. It was so big I could clearly see it on the dark gray road surface. I wonder if it will puncture my tire.
Seriously, I feel bad. Didn’t see it in time, had plenty of room to swerve a little.
When I walk past cute teenagers, I like to pass very close so I can smell their hair and perfume…
Oh. You meant like a story or ghost anecdote. Never mind.
Rick Scott casting a creepy shadow.
When you’re on a crowded bus or subway, your face is often close enough to someone else’s crotch (or vice versa) to be not only within the intimate zone, but the sexually-engaged zone. Good thing for those scant millimeters of fabric, huh?
This has been making the rounds on the internet lately, but has stuck in my mind because I have two little girls:
In each of our lives, there came a day when your parent picked you up, then put you down…and never picked you up again.
(Also collected from somewhere on the internet)
Eating: the process of using pieces of your skeleton to mangle the flesh of another living organism so that you can engulf it within your own body. Once inside, it sits in a pool of acid secreted by your own tissues, which causes it to completely dissociate in order that you can take the other organism’s energy and use it for yourself.
I have a friend whose last name is Brody*. When we were kids, maybe 16 or 17, we were running through the graveyard that was in the neighborhood where we hung out. It was at night and dark out. We had probably been drinking and/or running from the cops (it was about 30 years ago). Well, Brody couldn’t see it, but there was a freshly dug grave which he fell into as he was running. As he was climbing out, he noticed the headstone.
It read “Brody".
[SIZE=“1”]*Names have been changed to protect the guilty and/or underaged.[/SIZE]
WTF?!
Where are you riding the subway that people are their faces into other peoples crotches and vise versa?
Maybe he’s a midget. Or a giant. Or he alternates between the two. :eek:
One thing I don’t get in that story is: Why did they have to get a search warrant to take the body out? Couldn’t the renovator just give them permission? Or was it not his house?
Any one that has seats and standing riders… which, IME, is all of them.
I’ve been on an NYC subway, a Metro North train and a Boston MTBA car in the last couple of weeks and had this [del]strange[/del] creepy occurrence on all of them.
Because it’s a probable homicide, and could be far more recent than 1928 or whatever the gross evidence shows. No point in possibly screwing up some “clever” cozy-mystery murder prosecution by failing to dot all the I’s.
I am reminded of Frederick Forsythe’s wonderful short story “Used in Evidence.”
When my ex was a kid, his family bought a house. The previous owner died when he got accidentally locked in the basement, and the coal-burner didn’t vent properly. When they checked out the basement of their new home, they found claw marks on the inside of the door from when he tried to escape.
On my first day of work at a previous job, I met a man who was retiring. That was his last day.
When he realized it was his last day and my first, he told me that when he was a young man, he was once passing through a graveyard. He paused to read a gravestone, but it was so old, and the weeds so high that he had to bend down to read it.
The inscription said: “When I was a young man, I had to bend to read headstones.”
Was the old retiree having me on? I don’t know. It was a good story either way.