Why we find it so much fun to scare ourselves silly, I’ll never understand, but I figure this is a good place to mention (cut & pasted from elsewhere I wrote it):
On Friday the 23rd (Fri/Sat), Art Bell will be doing an always funky Ghost to Ghost AM show. Listen to it because even if you don’t believe in ghosts, you’ll probably have the crap scared out of you at some point during it. It’s all Open Lines, so people phone in with their stories of freaky stuff that’s happened to them, and there’s a lot of it…Screaming children voices in the night, evil clowns, demons walking through the hallways, you name it. Listen to it live via RealAudio or Media Player (click around on the site at http://www.artbell.com/ to find out how). Ghost to Ghost nights are always fun.
And I don’t know about it being haunted, but that painting scared the hell out of me…That little girl is frightening, like a ventriloquest’s (I’m sure I’ve spelled that wrong) wooden dummy. Those things are beyond scary (you know the older kind (now they use Muppet sort of sponge things) with the big black/white contrast eyes that stare all over), topped only by clowns.
Tsugumo (who has scary stories, but won’t write them 'cause they’re too scary to him to go through step by step and write out, heh)
Last Saturday, I rented an X-Files video tape on the recommendation of the creepy movie thread. It’s the one that has “Home” on it.
As I was getting ready to watch it, I was thinking about how I was going to write up the story for this thread (still working on it, BTW). The story takes place in a gorge near “Windham,” the village I used to live in.
I’m not a big fan of the X-Files (or TV in general), but I figured I might as well watch the other episode on the tape, “Herrenvolk.” Well, they have a little intro where Chris Carter (I think) talks about the making of the episodes on the tape. He mentions they rarely shoot outside of Vancouver, but they decided to shoot part of “Herrenvolk” by these creepy, black fabric covered ginseng fields somewhere in BC.
The vaguely creepy thing for me is that you can almost see the gorge near “Windham,” the setting of my (true) story, from those ginseng fields. I used to live near where “Herrenvolk” was shot.
Somehow, I hadn’t heard that David Duchovny was a few kilometres away from my village, filming with the X-Files crew. I wonder if he liked the weather any better.
(And I suppose some X-Files nut reading this knows the actual location and will reveal the real name of “Windham.” ::sigh:: Oh, well, I had to share.)
You wanna know what’s very vaguely creepy? I’m not making this up just to elongate this played out thread either…the most very vaguely creepy thing on the whole fucking planet is… a wet doorknob
this is one of my first posts, but after being scared shitless on this thread, i thought i might share my experience…
This happened about a month ago. It was a Sunday morning and i was lying in bed trying to convince myself to get up.I looked at the clock and saw it was 7:05. I live in the attic (im still in high school)and the stairs to get up to my room are like a ladder and creak a lot. I heard someone come up the stairs and walk across my room. I figured it was my mother and i pretended to be asleep figuring if i looked like an angel, i could sleep in through church. Anyway, the person came and stood right next to my bed and said “Are you feeling cold?” Although the womans voice had a hispanic accent i figured it was my mother, she is hispanic and sometimes her accent seems more prevalent.Anyway, still acting asleep i just kinda said “yes” She proceeded in bringing all my quilts and tucking them under me like my grandmother used to do. She then began to sing me a song that my grandmother would sing to me as a child (she died the day i started kindergarten) At that very moment, my mother yelled from the bottom of the stairs for me to wake up. Alarmed (seeing how i thought she was sitting right next to me…) i sat straight up and saw the covers on my bed were neatly tucked under me. I looked to the clock and saw it was 7:07. I ran to the stairs and asked my mother if she had been in my room and she said no, but she had heard singing and figured it was my radio…
OK! My roommate’s bedroom door locks itself. Several times she’s been locked out of her room, but we’ve always figured she must have hit the lock as she pulled the door shut behind her. But then yesterday, we’re sitting in the living room (which connects to her bedroom), her bedroom door is closed, and we hear the lock click. Sure enough, when she tries the door, she can’t get in.
Also, a few days ago, I woke up around 6:00 and had to go to the bathroom. As I walked into the bathroom, I looked down the hall and saw that her bedroom door was closed. A few minutes later, I looked down the hall as I went into my bedroom and the door was open. I thought my roommate must be up and moving around her room (though it was awfully early for her to be up). Later, around 7:45, I was puttering around the kitchen as I got ready to leave for work. From the kitchen, I could look into her bedroom (through the open doorway) and I saw that her bed was still made. She never came home that night; she had stayed at her boyfriend’s place. And I swear the door was closed earlier that morning!
I don’t know if the following counts as Very Vaguely Creepy, because it’s kind of nice, but: about 10 years ago, a new neighborhood was built in the heretofore empty field next to my house. One evening, my father and I decided to walk through the newly paved streets to see how the construction was coming along. Along our walk, I saw clumps of little yellow wildflowers growing along the streets, and I picked a small sprig so I could take it home and identify it in one of my wildflower guides. Towards the end of the walk, I got bored with the flower and tossed it on the street. The next morning, I was helping my father do some yard work and he said, “By the way, why did you leave all those flowers on our front porch?”
Someone had picked several big handfuls of those yellow flowers and put them on our doorstep. My father swore it wasn’t him, and I believe him. Someone must have watched me carrying the single flower on my walk and decided to give me a present. I pressed the flowers in my dictionary on the page that has the word “mystery” on it. I never did identify them
When my older boy was about a year and a half old, he was
sitting in his bedroom talking to himself. My wife went in
and asked him who he was talking to. He said, “Bebe,” and
started laughing.
Since my mother’s name was Bebe, and she died in 1971, and
my kid didn’t know of anyone named Bebe (my mother or anyone
else), that freaked her out a little bit, but she figured it
was just nonsense, or a mangling of the word ‘baby.’
So she asked, “who told you about Bebe?”
And my son said, “Bobby.”
Bobby was my father’s name, and he also died long before my
son was born.
Every day I drive over the part of I-5 that the suicide jumper recently leapt off of. It just freaks me out, thinking, “A woman tried to end her life RIGHT HERE.” VVC.
That happens to me, too, Cisco. It happens to us all.
Remind me again who’s slythe?
More creepiness:
Anyone see that SNL sketch with Jerry Seinfeld, the one where they make fun of how news commercials. Saying things like “This just in, a very common house hold item has just been proven deadly- and in fact, you may be holding it at this very moment- we’ll tell you which object, by the end of the hour.” Which is really true to life. So I flipped to channel 11, which was showing one of those ads at the very same time. Strange. Plus it would be quite creepy if someone lost their life just because the news people wanted to keep the suspense.
My first post, and just the right subject for me.
Our house is sort of haunted. I say “sort of” because only two VVC things have happened, one slightly (okay, very) creepier than the other.
First VVC event: I get up from bed to go down the hall to the bathroom. Through the closed door, I hear Mr. Bodypoet traipse down the hallway into the kitchen, talking the whole time. He stops talking abruptly and walks back into the bedroom, and when I return, asks me, “Where were you?” I tell him, and get the, “Oh, okay, never mind” bit, which of course doesn’t satisfy me. Finally he admits that as he came out of the bedroom, he saw me (or at least a blonde woman, who the hell knows who) just turning the corner into the kitchen. When he followed her, there was no one there.
Second VVC event: Two weeks later. I am home alone in the midafternoon, taking a well-deserved long hot shower. When I climb out (with no glasses, so I’m basically blind), I spot something on the floor that I can’t identify. Fumble around for my glasses, and lo and behold, it’s my tennis shoes. Except that they are standing on their toes, heels touching, balanced juuuust right. (Later I tried to duplicate the pose, but it wouldn’t work.) Weird, very very weird. Enough so that I decided it was the perfect time to visit my neighbors. For a couple of hours, until Mr. Bodypoet got home. :eek:
