I’ve known people with CP who walk with their arms in a position like that. If they can run, I presume it would be with their arms that way too. And some of them toe-walk when they are in a hurry. It’s just how they are wired. I don’t have any idea what specifically produces this, just that it’s a pattern I’ve seem several times.
Yes, I’ve known a number of people with CP. Deafness and CP often go together, so if you know a lot of Deaf people, it follows that you know several people with CP.
Once when I was exploring the wilds of rural Ohio on an antique hunt I came to an intersection with a large sign explaining the road was closed a half mile ahead. But the sign was crooked and it was not obvious which way was closed. I picked the wrong one.
I approached the now obvious end of the road looking for a driveway to turn around. Only one remained. Now, as a courtesy, I hate to turn around in people’s driveway anyway and will normally look for a store or gas station to turn. But there were none left.
As I pulled into the drive several guys came off the porch and one was yelling something about dumb drivers that can’t read signs. I whipped the BMW backwards and made a hasty bootleg turn and got the hell out of there with scenes from Deliverance running through my head.
Or its own film noir.
This is more than vaguely creepy but there is a vaguely creepy part to the story.
Many, many years ago, on a cold, winter weekday night, I was walking from my job to the bus stop which is 8 blocks away. Downtown Mpls can be quite creepy with quiet once the sidewalks are rolled up after the workday is done, but I was young, strong, and alert to my surroundings. I carried a soft briefcase with a wide cross-body strap on it. Once that puppy is on over a winter coat, it would be pretty much impossible for someone to snatch it and run. And that’s exactly what someone tried to do.
As I was walking, I noticed a man walking quite slowly ahead of me so I crossed the street to walk on the opposite side. I was walking fast to keep warm and to make sure I wouldn’t miss my late bus. I heard, rather than saw, him cross the street behind me and speed up his walk. With two blocks to go before reaching the busy street his walk turned into a run and I braced myself for the snatch. As we reached the alley, he body-slammed my left shoulder in an attempt to loosen the bag, but failed because I had it strapped across the other shoulder. But he still ran down the alley, his planned escape route but looked back over his shoulder at me as he ran. I kept walking fast and hopped on the bus just minutes later. Whew.
The vaguely creepy part? When he looked back at me, I realized I knew him from high school.
Mpls???
(Memphis?)
(That was definitely kind of creepy though!)
MPLS, MN
these are some creepy stories, 
except for the frog census, that croaks me.
That would put you within a few miles of Ed Gein’s farmhouse in Plainfield.
It was further south than that, so maybe 50 miles south. Besides, the farmhouse got burned to the ground after his conviction.
A friend of mine lived about a mile from Gein, and I was at his house the year before Gein was arrested
Meh, it’s just another gig.
::snerk::
I’m embarrassed. It took way too long for me to get that. What sharp wit.
It’s the sharp wit that keeps me coming back and back. Daily I will find at least one post that puts me in stitches. 
Getting back to the vaguely creepy theme…
I and my husband were once the Deliverance part of the story for someone else. We didn’t ask or want to be.
Our very rural property sports a longish private road down to the home area. To get to the house from the public road, you drive over 2 streams and make a sharp curve toward the house. The place is heavily wooded and the home is not visible from the road.
One Friday night after 11:00 p.m. as we were relaxing before bed, our 3 dogs started going berserk. Thinking a wild animal was causing a problem, my husband grabbed a shotgun and headed out the door. This set off several motion sensor lights around the place. I followed him out the door with a phone in my hand in case we needed to call help.
It was then we noticed a vehicle that had just turned the corner and saw the scene unfolding in front of them. The car was thrown into reverse and the occupants were clearly desperate to find a way to turn around.
Only there isn’t anywhere to turn around without driving all the way down into the home area.
They finally recognized the inevitable and drove in the rest of the way. The dogs continued their crazed barking, my husband still held his shotgun (though not aimed at them), the lights lit the place up like a prison complex. The offending driver was yelling, “We’re lost!! We’re lost!! Please don’t shoot!!” We had already worked this out, though why they ignored the very prominent “private property” sign at the top of the drive was never explained.
I stepped toward the car to give them directions on how to get back to the main road. They rolled up their windows as fast as they could and took off at a hasty clip.
I’ve never regretted the sturdy gate I put in at the top of the drive. And I’ll bet they still tell the story of the night they lived Deliverance.
OK, I’ve got one in which we were the Vaguely Creepy:
Back in the 1970’s, I lived for a while with a group of people on a narrow dirt road. The road was two-lane with open fields on the sides on both ends, and did go through between two other roads – it wasn’t a dead end; but in the middle, including the area where we lived, it became a one lane road between trees coming in close on both sides, and looked a good deal as if it was about to disappear altogether.
Several of us were out looking for firewood; so we were walking along the road, a mixed-gender group of people in our 20’s, carrying among other things a couple of axes.
A clearly lost car full of people came down the road, looking horribly anxious. As they came next to us, the driver rolled down the window a crack and asked if the road went through and directions to the next town over.
And, as they came close to us, all of us heard all of the door latches click into locked position (done individually by hand, in those days; so each individual person in the car was locking their doors.)
I’ve wondered ever since why, if they didn’t trust us not to ax murder them, they trusted us to give them the right directions. We did, though.
I forgot about this one until just now:
A friend of mine and I were at a state forest with a lot of open area, so it operated more like a park that strictly a forest.
Like a lot of state parks and forests in Indiana, a big part of it was once a private farm, and there was a family cemetery, and like some of the family cemeteries on now-public land, members of the family could still have burials there as long as there was room, so it wasn’t terribly disconcerting that there was what appeared to be a fresh grave-- you know, turned soil, mounded up on it.
But then we noticed that the stone had some weathering, so we looked at the date.
The burial had been 10 years earlier.
We let this creep up out for a while, with zombie and vampire possibilities that we didn’t believe.
Then we thought of something else: we were in Indiana, near Terre Haute, during the trial of nurse-serial killer Orville Lynn Majors. A lot of bodies had been exhumed for re-autopsy for his trial. The “fresh” grave was of an elderly person (Majors preferred victim type) who had died right in the middle of Majors active, Indiana time period.
That was much scarier than any zombie or vampire scenario we could think of.
Good story.
This reminds me of a vaguely creepy incident that happened to me and a friend of mine.
She and I have met to walk together in our rural area for years. We try to go several times a week. Before COVID, it had been our habit on Fridays to drive in our separate vehicles into the nearest town to a favored cafe for breakfast and a good chat. She follows me because I’m a more impatient driver.
There is a particular twisty part of the road, heavily forested and isolated, we take to get to town. This is an open carry state. It’s not uncommon to see hunter types with rifles slung over their shoulders in the season in all sorts of outdoor settings.
But on this one day, there was a lone fellow walking with purpose along the road and carrying an AR-15 style weapon. He held it loosely in his arms, appeared ready to aim if necessary. He looked straight at me, nodded and carried on his way.
I’ll admit I pressed the accelerator a little harder.
He was the first thing my friend mentioned when we met up at the cafe. He just looked so out of place. We both agreed it was vaguely creepy. Maybe a bit more than vaguely.
On our road trips, we stick to lightly traveled roads, so I’m often not as attentive as I would be in heavy traffic. In Iowa or thereabouts, I was suddenly passed by oncoming car I didn’t see coming, just Whoosh. I just caught out of the corner of my eye, and before I fully regained my sense of reality, Whoosh, anotheer identical car a few seconds behind it. Rewindind and replaying my memory, I saw two big sedans, dark gray no-gloss, like priming paint, no chrome, black wheels, heavy tint. All I could think of as an analog was black helicopters.