CREEPY STORY THREAD

I remember in HS a kid told a variation of that clown story and said it happened to someone he knew
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His version had the kid liked clowns and had a collection of toy clowns, one was life size, and the girl saw it wink at her
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One of my favorite scary stories of all-time.

Poe was a genius.
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The Tale-Tale Heart




Spoiler [+]
TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture -- a pale blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with what caution -- with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously -- oh, so cautiously -- cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed , to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed suddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back -- but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close fastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening , and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, "Who's there?"

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening; just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief -- oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself, "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or, "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions ; but he had found all in vain. ALL IN VAIN, because Death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little -- a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it -- you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily -- until at length a single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.

It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness -- all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.

And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder, every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! -- do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me -- the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once -- once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence.

I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so cunningly, that no human eye -- not even his -- could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out -- no stain of any kind -- no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.

When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o'clock -- still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, -- for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, -- for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search -- search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My MANNER had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct : I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness -- until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.

No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND -- MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED IN COTTON. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why WOULD they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what COULD I do? I foamed -- I raved -- I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder -- louder -- louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly , and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! -- no, no? They heard! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a mockery of my horror! -- this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! -- and now -- again -- hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! --

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"
 
I remember one saturday nite/sunday morning just after havin an afterparty at my house

i was real draanked out and just as everyone left i locked my deadbolt on the door

(this has been my M.O. since 2007 , to make sure the door is locked before bed)



i then went to bed , it was around 6-7 am


well when i woke up that afternoon at around 4 or 5


I went to the door and it was unlocked
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but what was weird was that in the seconds that i was approaching the door, till the time i realized it wasnt locked, till the time i sat back down, it wasvery surreal


I had a very errie feeling for those whole 10-15 seconds.

like death or somethin'

it genuinely scared me in the middle of the afternoon


I know I had locked that door
 
Fact or Fiction was always scary because some of those stories were true...I remember bringing a knife with me into the shower before because of that
 
I went to Dixmont Insane Asylum with my cousin, his friend, and these 4 girls about 6 years ago....I was mad shook. It was one of those cold nights inNovember, about 3 inches of snow, and I seriously don't know what made me go [I mean, one of the girls there had a crush on me....but still, I don'tusually eff with the supernatural]. But while we were there, the girl that my cousin liked was sayin' some whole BS like, "If there's somebodyhere, show yourself."....abandoned insane asylum, all of us are together, and we hear, "Do you want that?" from a non familiarvoice........somebody shined their flashlight into the corner of the ceiling and a damn bat flew out...at the same time, a door slammed from the other side ofthe building, and the girl that liked me said she felt somebody pull her hair.

Needless to say, we all got loose....I was the leader of the pack, bein' as that I was playin' football back then, and I was in great shape. Luckily Iwas only 16, and not eligible to carry my gun.



In addition:
We originally planned on goin' into the morgue that was there, but that little fiasco made us think twice, and we just went to the girl's house.
 
cucumbercool wrote:
Fact or Fiction was always scary because some of those stories were true...I remember bringing a knife with me into the shower before because of that
Fam you cant be serious?
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There was a high probability you could have mistakenly off'ed yourself that night.
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This thread is highly entertaining... I enjoy these stories.. I'm a little b but these stories don't scare me at all
 
Originally Posted by Physicx

i didnt even read the lottery in class

we wrote an in class essay on it too
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thought i could bs it but got a huge "SEE ME PLEASE!" written and underlined next to the concluding paragraph
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I heard one that is not really a scary creepy story as much as it is just sad creepy.

My buddy was telling me about his dad's cousin (so kinda his aunt) who was a really nice, normal, sweet woman. He said growing up he never got the feelingthat she was strange or crazy in any way, in fact he said, she was about as normal as they come. A kind hardworking family woman who was good to her husbandand her kids.

One day there was a terriible lightning storm and her house got struck by lightning. The very next day his aunt told her husband that she started hearingvoices in her head. She tried to go about her business but the voices in her head persisted and she could not get them to go away. She went to go see a doctorto see if they could figure out what was going on but all the tests came back normal and the doctors couldn't make sense of it. Supposedly the voices gotmore frequent and it really started to wear on her. She told them that the voices in her head were telling her to kill herself. After seeking psychiatric helpshe was soon admitted to a psychiatric hospital (looney bin) for extended treatment but yet the voices persisted. This caused her to fall into a deepdepression as she was having difficulty coping with the voices telling her to kill herself. Finally one day (recently) she gave in. According to the autopsyreport, she killed herself by drinking a bottle of muriatic acid (the stuff you put in swimming pools to balance the pH levels). She was finally able to stopthe voices.
 
sorry to bump this thread but does anyone have any more creepy stories? all of them have been great so far. lmao at the "we don't have a clown statue
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If anyone wants to check out Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction, they are showing a marathon on Chiller right now, channel 257 on Directv
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Originally Posted by Phil Le0tard0

A young girl is left home alone with only her dog to protect her. When night approaches, she locks all the doors and tries to lock all the windows but one won't close.

She decides to leave it unlocked and goes to bed. Her dog takes its customary place under her bed.

In the deep of night she awakens to a dripping sound coming from the bathroom. The girl is too scared to go check so she reaches her hand under the bed. She feels a reassuring lick from her dog and falls back to sleep. She reawakens to the dripping sound, reaches her hand down to the dog where she feels the reassuring lick and falls back to sleep. Once more she awakens to the dripping sound. She reaches her hand down and feels the lick of her dog.

Now curious about the dripping sound, she gets up and slowly walks towards the bathroom, the dripping sound getting louder as she approaches. She reaches the bathroom and turns on the light. She is greeted by a horrific sight; hanging from the shower nozzle is her dog with its throat slit open and its blood dripping into the bathtub.

Something on the bathroom mirror catches her eye she turns around. Written on the bathroom mirror in her dog's blood are the words "HUMANS CAN LICK TOO".

add your own

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For weeks, I had been plagued by horrible nightmares, each one more graphic and clear than the next. All the same. They were of me, running through the woods, frantically searching for something or someone, and then coming upon a young girl, about seven or so, on the ground, dead. Her skin would be cold to the touch, her gorgeous white Sunday dress stained with blood, and her throat ripped open. I would always walk forward and feel for some kind of a glimmer of life, a breath, a faint heartbeat. And always found none. Then, giving up, I'd turn to leave. A small, frightened, tremulous voice would call out for me to stop. "Please," it would say in a scared, yet perfect, British accent, "help me. It hurts. Mother, please find me. Help..." Whenever I'd turn around, the little girl and her glazed, dead, sad eyes would be staring at me, and she'd be sitting up, crying, her hand reaching out.

Well, a couple of months after the first dream, about April 8th, 2008, I went to let my dog out. Now, she's a small, Pekingese-Pomeranian mix, so she's not too aggressive, I guess. Well, this tiny, harmless dog let loose a growl that would frighten the worst of any hardened criminal before running out into the woods out back.

I took after her, shouting, "Come back!" She didn’t come back, so I forced myself to look for her even though darkness was falling. After about two hours, I finally sat down and rested. My eyes started to droop just as I heard whimpering. Jolting up, I saw a little girl holding my dog. She was staring at me with the strangest look, like she didn't know what I was, and if I was bad.

"I found your puppy, ma'am..." she said in a quiet, scared voice. Her accent triggered a strange feeling of déjà vu. She sounded like she was from England.

I reached my hands out to her, giving her a relieved smile. "Thank you."

When she handed me the dog, I stood up and looked her over. "Do you live around here?" At her nod, I asked, "Do you know how to get home?"

She nodded once more, and then began to fiddle with her dress. That was when I noticed it was a clean, white, formal dress. A little voice nagged at me, saying that I knew her from somewhere—that I'd seen this before. I ignored it.

Just then, the dog heard my mother's whistle and leapt from my arms. At least now I knew she was going home. I turned to thank the little girl, but she was gone. I sighed and turned to leave. That was when I heard small cries coming from in front of me.

"Mother? Mother, help me...please. My neck hurts so much...someone please find me..."

My mind reeled, and my dreams flooded back. I pushed back a few branches and saw the little girl again. Her back was turned to me, but I knew something was off. Her dress, once white as the moonlight pouring onto it, was now dull, tattered, and dirty. Her skin, once peachy, was now a bluish-white color. I gasped. There was no way—she probably fell, and the light was hitting her wrong. Right?

I stepped forward and put my hand on her shoulder. It didn't seem very solid, but it was icy cold. She turned.

Blood soaked her beautiful dress, falling from a horrendous gash in her neck. She looked up at me with her glazed, dead eyes. "It hurts so much," was all she said, before, like magic, she just disappeared.

To this day, I still see flashes of white coming from in between the trees in the middle of the night. I just hope that someday I can find a way to help the little girl.
 


A couple months ago my friend’s cousin (a single mother) had gotten a new cellphone. After a long day of work, she placed her phone down on the counter and started watching T.V. when her son came to her and asked if he could play with her new phone. She told him to not call anyone or mess with the text messages and he agreed to do so. At around 11:20 P.M. when she was getting tired, she decided to tuck her son in and go to bed herself. She proceeded to his room to see that he wasn’t there. She went to her room to him sleeping on her bed with the phone in his hand. Browsing though her phone, she noticed only minor changes such as a new background, banner, etc. and headed towards the picture section. She began deleting the pictures he took when she came across the last one. When she first saw it, she couldn’t believe it. It was her son, sleeping on her bed but it was as if the picture was taken by someone else above him. It shows the left half of what seems to be an elderly woman’s face.
 
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