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NO gently caress YOU DAD posted:Holy gently caress is the tulpa subreddit tragic. Just on the first page there's one guy asking if tulpas can be alternatives to real friends, another asking if his tulpa can be his girlfriend, and a full-blown schizophrenic being encouraged to hide his "tulpas" from his therapist. I was just about to ask what the gently caress a tulpa was, but I did my five seconds of research then went to the subreddit, and goddamn 
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Sep 28, 2015 00:29
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Eox posted:Collective belief making things real would be really neat, but if that were the case then ponies would be lurking out in the wilderness thanks to the Bronies doing the Tulpa thing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpYloHajJNs
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Sep 28, 2015 12:13
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Anybody know the story someone posted a couple years ago, about working in a mine (?) and having to check a particular room? I think the room had some kind of large machine in it, and the poster thought something was walking along with them on the other side of it. Also I could have some/most of those details wrong as I barely remember it. I think someone else asked for it upthread without getting a response, but I also love that one story (that barely got any notice) about the grandma showing her grandkid a trap door to a different location. I checked the last thread and couldn't find that one either, but I am garbage at searching.
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Sep 28, 2015 13:34
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Telemaze posted:Anybody know the story someone posted a couple years ago, about working in a mine (?) and having to check a particular room? I think the room had some kind of large machine in it, and the poster thought something was walking along with them on the other side of it.
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Sep 28, 2015 15:47
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12 Belt Dreagon posted: In 1980 I was working as a crusher operator at Homestake Uranium Mill in New Mexico. The Mill was the oldest mill in the area and of course had several fatal accidents over it's history. There were several places in the mill that were rumored to be haunted, such as a ghostly maintenance man in the filter building who occasionally fixed things, or allegedly the settling tanks were twice drained when two different people swore they saw someone thrashing in the water where a cleaning man had drowned years earlier. But (lucky me) I worked in Crusher building which had the most actually FEARED spot in the mill. The room was called "12 belt". It was an underground bare concrete room, about 20' by 30 ft long, whose only feature was a conveyer belt that ran along one of the 30 foot walls, about five feet from the wall. It had a chute that dumped ore from the crusher, which sat directly above the room on the main floor. The chute extended from the ceiling to the belt and ran the length of the belt, effectively creating a wall that seperated about five feet of the room from the rest. You had to walk around the head of the belt to get to the area between the conveyer belt and the wall. The strange thing is that there is no definate story as to who or what lurked in 12 Belt but unlike the joking and/or teasing that accompanied the other "hot spots" of the mill, people really didn't like 12 Belt. My first clue about that was the fact the room was so brightly lit. In the rest of the mill, about one quarter to one third of the lights were burnt out and people only got around to replacing them when it got to dim to work, but never in 12 Belt. As soon as a light burnt out, it was replaced. When I got transferred to crusher building from the labor pool (called Bull Gang) I naturally started at the bottom of the pecking order. And naturally I was assigned 12 Belt as one of the areas I had to clean. At first impression the only thing of interest was the sound, the crusher on the floor above made this incredibly deep hum that was very loud but so deep pitched that you could barely hear it. Other than that it was a bare, well lit concrete room. I was only in there 5 minutes though before I got the most powerful sensation I wasn't alone. If you have ever had the sensation that someone was watching you, imagine magnifying that to the sensation that someone was almost standing directly behind you staring right down your neck. It was that powerful. After spending several minutes constantly looking over my shoulder, my internal radar seemed to locate the "presence". I "felt" that it was on the other side of the belt in that five foot "alleyway" that was cut off from my vision and the rest of the room. I could also "feel" it begin to slowly move up the belt towards the head pulley where it could come around and be in the room with me. Again, the sensation was so powerful, that even though I was telling myself I was being silly, I was pacing down the belt with my shovel cocked like a baseball bat. When I reached the head pulley, I screwed up my courage and quickly stepped around the pulley and looked down the "alley". There was nothing there. I quickly finished sweeping up, and left. This happened almost every third or fourth night for the next month and a half and I almost considered quitting. Then the crusher operator quit and I applied for his position and got it. So no more 12 belt. While I was operator, they decided to just have different people from Bull Gang come work for us to take my place. One of them, a Navajo, quit on the same night he started for us. He just came up to the control room, visibly upset about something, and told me he was going home. That was all. I later found his shovel and broom where he left them, in 12 Belt. And then came the worst night. (God, I have goosebumps on my arms just typing this) The Bull Gang was short handed so each of the rest of the crusher crew had to divvy up jobs that the laborer was supposed to do. I got 12 belt. There was a big storm going on outside, but since we were inside I barely noted it. When it came time to clean 12 belt, I just gritted my teeth and resolved to be in and out of there in fifteen minutes time, so I went down there and started sweeping. I was somewhere in the middle of the room, when lightning must have hit a transformer and the power went out. Remember, this room is underground, so suddenly I was in absolute blackness, and had no idea which way I had been facing. Worse, I suddenly felt the "presence" even stronger than it had ever been before. All I could do was feel around with my broom until it struck something solid. When it did, I followed it until I felt that I was up against the chute and the belt. The bad part was that I could feel "it" was on the other side of the chute and starting to walk up the belt again towards the head pulley. I paced it about what I felt was half way up the belt and then blindly took an angle across the room to where I thought the stairs should be. When I bumped into the corner of the room, I was momentarily confused, and for a second had the unnerving thought that the stairs were gone. But then I realized I must have walked under them. The problem was that for the first time, I felt "it" finally reach the end of the belt and come around the head pulley for the very first time. It was now in the room with me. Naturally, I was telling myself the whole time to stop letting my imagination make things worse, and to just step forward a couple of paces take 5 paces to my left to where the stairs had to be. I was about halfway through this process, when something "clapped" onto my shoulder. The only way to describe that kind of fear is to say it felt like my spine had disentigrated in an electric explosion. I don't even remember how I found the stairs and got to the main floor. I don't remember if I screamed. My coworker Louis will never forget though, how I ran his rear end completely over when he stepped into the door of the building to yell for me and find out where I was. Even when I finally stopped, it took me several minutes to collect my mind enough to talk coherently. In the end, it was noticed that there was a huge dust smear on my shoulder, and theorized that what probably happened was that dust had caked up on the damp ceiling caused by the rain, and part had fallen off and hit me in the darkness. It is a plausible theory because I had swept up several dust cakes earlier. But I never set foot in 12 belt again. About 2 months later, the mill had a big layoff which I was part of so it never became an issue.
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Sep 29, 2015 01:17
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Hazo posted:12 Belt These details makes it sound like a real story -- Infrasound! 
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Sep 29, 2015 10:48
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Hazo posted:awesome story I was looking for Yay thanks Hazo! And I agree it sounds like infrasound was the cause, which is still spooky in its own way to me.
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Sep 29, 2015 12:29
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The 12 Belt story reminds me of another one involving a haunted part of a dam. I know it's in the Ghost Goons pdf but I'm phone posting and can't trawl through my copy for it, but it was also really atmospheric and creepy.
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Sep 29, 2015 15:50
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I got you The Dam Man by Arthyarthyarthy My dad was an engineer, and when I was 17 he took a job renovating a dam about 40 miles away from our house. At the beginning it was just a normal job, but he started comming home more and more...I would almost say frantic. You could tell there was something wrong at work, maybe a bad coworker or something. My parents relationship was strained as it was, and this stretched it to the limit. They started yelling at each other late at night, and one day at the dinner table the straw broke. Dad told what was bothering him. The dam was haunted, he said. Mom and I stared at him. Me in interest, my Mom in...annoyance, waiting for him to crack a smile and say he was just joking. The smile never came, he just got up and went to his "office". Mom stared at her food a while then followed him, I hung around within earshot to see what was going on. The conversation started out with my Mom's raised voice, but gradually it became quiet, confidential. Dad agreed to refuse the job, to work a few more days until they could find a replacement - no more. This is where my intelligence came into question: I asked if I could come with him to work, and see the "ghost". He agreed, but told me to bring a friend. I called Josh, and he was stoked, and by the next day we were riding in the cramped back seat of my Dad's pickup towards the dam. Josh and I checked out flashlights, nothing fancy, just those little penlights you get at gas stations. We were a far cry from professional ghost hunters. When we arrived at the dam, both Josh and I were struck by the somber mood that abounded in just about everyone. You could have told us that we were in a morgue, and it would have been easily believed. We followed Dad down through the concrete labyrinth, past the bypass', past the generators, deep down into the access and maintenance tunnels below, where the construction was going on. Dad grabbed a 1mil candle power light and two radios from one of the carts, not really stopping as he walked. It wasn't construction really, just patchwork to make sure the dam didn't explode under pressure, necessary little injections of concrete into compression cracks and that sort of thing. We went down some stairs that took an abrupt turn to the right, and were met with a 100 foot long unlit hallway, with another set of descending stairs at the far end, lit by a single naked light bulb. "Alright," Dad started, "This is it. All you have to do is walk down to the other end of the hallway and back. Feel free to turn back and come here at any time, I'll be standing right here with the torch. Just yell at me and I'll light up the whole hallway. Take one of the radios with you just in case, noise has a way of...getting trapped down here." He said while gazing down the hallway. He was talking quietly, the sort of way you would if you were surrounded by sleeping creatures. Josh and I lit our flashlights and started walking down the hallway. Almost immediately we began to feel...pressure close in around us. It seemed the darkness itself had weight to it, pushing down on our shoulders, sneaking into out throats and choking us. We both walked slowly, concentrating on that light at the end of the tunnel, on our little bouncing pen lights. Dams are creepy places in general, and this one was no different. Minute shifts in the lake caused the drat to...moan in a way, but not in a way you could hear. More like you could feel it moan, somewhere deep in your stomach. Little drips would become gunshots when reflected the right way, ventilation shafts would seam to form whispered words, voices from far off managed to appear right behind you. I had experienced these things before, in other dams, but this one was different - completely different. I suddenly snapped alert, Josh was whispering my name from somewhere. I became aware that we were laying down on the cold, moist concrete floor. The light at the end of the hallway had gone out. Our penlights did little to hold back the wet, seeping darkness that was constantly encroaching on us. I pulled the radio out of my pocket, whispering into it: "Dad...dad...turn on the light...". No reply, just a that silent static that filled the air around us, Josh and I turned around and looked behind us, we could see Dad still sitting on the steps. I wanted to yell for him, but I couldn't. If I opened my mouth...the darkness would come in, pour in, drowning me. The radio crackled up in my hand, "Turn on the light...turn on the light...turn on the light..." whispered someone. It wasn't my voice. It was a sick, wet, almost gurgling voice. Gutteral and deep, it originated from the gut instead of the throat. Josh and I pointed our flashlights at the radio, and he curse as his light flickered and died. We were stuck, trapped in that hallway. We couldn't yell, we couldn't move, we couldn't use the radio. "Josh...we have to try to get back.". He nodded back, his face eerily lit by the pale blue penlight. I tried to ignore its brief flickering, as we both started to crawl back down the hallway, using the penlight to light the way in front of us. The darkness was complete, filling the edges of my eyes. Our whole world existed in that circle of dim light before of us, everything else was black. Then my hand touched something... I jumped backwards and pointed the penlight where my hand had been...nothing. But I knew without a doubt what I felt - a foot. I had layed by hand down on the ankle of a human foot. It had been wet, slimy almost. The skin felt soft and bloated, ice cold. It was so vivid, I thought to myself. I had felt the callouses on the back of the heel, the wrinkles of skin...the tension of the dead muscle. I had surprised whatever I touched as much as it surprised me. Suddenly, Josh was yelling at me. He was gasping and spinning around on all fours, his eyes wide with fear. "What the gently caress was that..." he started, "Something touched me, put its hands on my back." He turned around and showed me the back of his shirt, a grey T-Shirt that he wore in case it got dirty. Two defined hand prints were set in it, right behind his shoulders, showing easily against the rest of the shirt - whatever hands had touched him had soaking wet hands. His face set as he looked forward, I followed. It was wearing a poncho, the heavy wet gear that dam workers who have to do deep work wear. Brief reflections of light around the sillouete showed its emergency-yellow color. It was wearing a hat too, one of the rubber seal hats I had seen my Dad wear on so many occasions. Someone else had come down to talk to Dad? Then I felt it...look at me. From far away, even though Josh and I were in total darkness, I felt it look at me and knew - absolutely knew - it saw me. Then it started walking. It was a hurried walk, with a heavy limp. A determined walk, the walk of a man who has something important to do, someone who is late, someone who wants...to kill an intruder. I was paralyzed, there on the floor, shaking from the cold water seeping in through my shirt off the floor, from fear of whatever it was that was walking at us. Closer, closer, closer. I pointed the flashlight at it - him. He was maybe thirty feet away now, his walking had picked up pace. Little details shimmered in the penlight. His face was a sickly white, the eyes grey and swollen, only one pointing directly at us, the other lazily drifting off to the left somewhere. His cheeks had dark blue veins showing through, and his lips were torn and rotting in places. Shimmers of light reflected back to me as droplets of water caugh the light - whoever the man was, he was soaking wet. Still closer...too close.. The radio! Dad was talking through the radio! "Are you boys OK back there? I'm turning on the light, cover your eyes." I couldn't see him any more, the man was close enough that he filled our view. His wet boots heavily slapping against the concrete, his wet, labored breathing seeming to slide across the walls until they reached my ears. It occurred to me that my flashlight had gone out, and at the same time the boot steps stopped. I could hear the breathing though...only feet above me. Wet rubber squeaked against itself, and I felt a wet, swollen hand slide down the side of my face, then violently grip my hair and yank my hair back. Then the world erupted in light - bright, unbroken light filled every corner of that drat hallway. "Why are you idiots laying down? Whats wrong with Josh?" I heard my Dad yell, unseen behind the bobbing light, he was running towards us. I looked over, Josh was face first on the concrete. He had passed out. I started shaking him and he woke up, pushing me off him in fear at first. Dad reached us and helped me pick hip up. Then pointed the light down the hallway and dismissively shook his head. "Lets get out of here, I'm seeing things now. I thought I saw one of the other workers just go around the corner down there." "Was he wearing wet gear?" "Yeah, why? Are you OK?" He squinted his eyes, almost knowingly at me. He had a unique experience, I thought to myself, probably every day for the last two weeks. "Why is your hair wet?" Was the last thing I remembered him asking. I find myself waking up late at night now, soaking with sweat, thinking about that tunnel. Sometimes I can feel that wet hand on my face, sometimes I feel the foot, other times I just see his silhouette at the end of the hallway, any hallway. Afterwords: Dad fronted an effort to quintuple the amount of wired and emergency lights in that dam, and the personnel were more than supportive. He also suggested to change the emergency gear to red, so that everyone wasn't jumping out of their socks every time they saw another worker.
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Sep 29, 2015 16:01
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Your dad and one of his co-worker friends owned the poo poo out of you and your friend lol
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Sep 29, 2015 16:33
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BurnBlackJay posted:Your dad and one of his co-worker friends owned the poo poo out of you and your friend lol Most municipal dams hire zombies and ghouls to patrol their inner walkways.
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Oct 1, 2015 07:24
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There's an old one I asked for in a thread years back but no one could pull it up. There were a group of friends that were out camping, sitting around the fire while the sun was setting when there was some kind of loud snapping noise or explosion or something. Next thing they remember it's dark and they're all in an extreme panic running through the woods half way to their car. When they check the time in the car it's several hours later and no one can account for the time or why they were so scared. Ring a bell to anyone?
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Oct 1, 2015 08:34
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kazr posted:There's an old one I asked for in a thread years back but no one could pull it up. There were a group of friends that were out camping, sitting around the fire while the sun was setting when there was some kind of loud snapping noise or explosion or something. Next thing they remember it's dark and they're all in an extreme panic running through the woods half way to their car. When they check the time in the car it's several hours later and no one can account for the time or why they were so scared. Could it be this one by Onic? This one happened to me a few years ago. I have only gone back to the spot once, and it was with another goon. That night however was completely boring and there was too many bugs. So, I'll talk about the more interesting night. Along Dog Creek So there I was, typing away on the internet. Making sure to waste my life the best I could. I then received a phone call from a buddy of mine. He sounded really high, which he usually did, but I listened anyway. He wanted me to go fishing with him and another friend. I asked him where exactly he wanted to go. "Dog Creek" was his response. Dog Creek is more of a river than a creek. It's pretty big and deep, and extends for a very long ways. The best you could hope to catch out of there was some catfish and carp. It was early spring though, so the fish weren't as muddy as they would be in the summer. Making them more edible. The creek itself is located in a wooded area, with some cliffs and other cool features. If you go there, chances are you wouldn't even think you were still in the farmlands of Iowa. So, I agree to go with him. He pulls into my yard and picks me up not to long after the phone call, and we set off. We drive the 45 miles to the area where it's located, but needed to pick up some bait. I was going to use canned corn, but he insisted on getting night crawlers. We stopped at this little ranch style home that sells bait. Outside of the house sat this leathery old man. I stayed in the truck, as I wasn't buying anything. My friend who we'll call "Mike" wandered over to the old man and conversed with him for a while. I sat there thinking, "this old fella must be a talker" because they went on and on for about 20 minutes. Mike finally did come back to the vehicle with his tub of worms, and we took off. I asked him what the old guy was talking about. He said it was just talk about fishing. I figured, yah, that sounds about right. We drove about another 10 minutes, then got onto a gravel road. From there it was a 5 mile drive to the woods. After you get in the woods, you can drive for about 2 miles. After the 2 miles we reached the dead end, and had to set out on foot. This is the part that I hated, because it was a walk through woods for about a mile to the river. We had 2 fishing poles each, our tackle boxes, a few coolers of beer, and some camping stuff. Talk about a load of stuff to carry around. I don't remember how long it took us to get to there. We set up camp when we got there, since we were planning on spending the night. We had decided to spend the night on a sand bank that had developed along the creek. It was the perfect area really. The sand bank itself was about 200 yards long, and 50 yards wide. Behind us was this wall of tall thin trees, so thick you couldn't see between them. The other side of the creek was probably about 60 feet away. You could tell erosion was taking it's toll on the waterway. The bank looked like it used to be about 8 feet higher, but all that was left was a crumbling dirt wall. In retrospect, I think the sandbank we were on used to just be the bottom of the creek. Anyway, we got the camp set up, and started hunting firewood since it would be dark soon. We cleaned out the sandy area of all the dried up driftwood, and soon ventured into the woods themselves. We split up since we could cover more area, and find more stuff to burn. There really wasn't that much to find out there. I was quite surprised. I figured the woods would yield lots of old branches and stuff, but nope. I returned with a pitiful armful of twigs and sticks. I waited and waited for those 2 to get back. The one friend returned with about the same amount that I had found, but Mike was nowhere to be seen. We figure he was just smoking a bowl or something, so we started fishing. Around an hour later, it was dusk and we heard rustling in the thin trees behind us. We glance back and see Mike stumbling out of the woods. He had a lot of sticks, and small logs. He dropped the stuff on the ground and started doing a little dance. I thought it was weird, so did the other guy. He then rips his shirt off and screams like a little girl. Ticks! By the dozens! Those little bloodsuckers were all over him. He starts doing a frisky dance shake deal while screaming. Which I personally found hilarious. Ticks take quite a while to actually suck onto you, so I think he was overreacting a tad bit. Then it hit me. I probably had them too. So the next 15 minutes was spent getting those horrid little parasites off me. Some actually got into my boots! When we were done, it was dark, so we started the camp fire up. Well, it was more of a bonfire. We had kind of went overboard with all the driftwood we found. Soon, we were fishing once again, and actually catching a decent amount of channel catfish. We got quite a few and cooked the the old fashioned way. Cut the heads off, gut them, shove a stick in them, and hold'em over the fire for a good slow cook. A lot of you probably think thats unhealthy. You're probably right, but I'm still alive, so I don't ponder on it too much. Mike dropped a couple of his in the sand unfortunately, but that didn't stop him. No sir. He ate them without washing or anything. You could hear the sand crunching between his teeth. Yikes. We kept on fishing, drinking, and telling stories throughout the night. The fire started to dull down at around 1 in the morning I think. So it was off to find more wood. Problem was, we didn't bring any flashlights. There was a bright moon though, so it should be no problem right. We took off into the woods, but decided to stick together this time. The Department of Natural Resources had confirmed that bobcats and mountain lions were in the area, so we were not up for getting mauled to death. The air was calm that night as we moved through the woods. Well, not really moved, more like stumbled. We couldn't see where we were going to well, so tripping over rocks seemed to happen a lot. A dark image up ahead caught our eyes. We moved closer to inspect what we had seen. My god, it was a stump pulled out of the ground. We could burn this thing for hours! Problem was that it was kind of big. About the size of a 30 gallon trashcan to be exact. Size wouldn't stop us though. We banded together and started to roll the stump towards the encampment. Not really roll, more like...Pick up on the big root and tip it over, then repeat. It took a while to get back, but we made it to the camp safely. The fire was long burned out by the time we got back. Just some glowing coals remained. We shoved the stump onto the embers and doused it with starter fluid. One flick of a lighter later, and the entire river was lit up with this fire that was way too big. The warmth of the fire was more than welcome, being as it was still very chilly outside. I plopped back down to continue fishing. I wasn't catching anything for a bit, so I decided to take a pee break. I shuffled off into the dark and relieved myself. On my way back I took a survey of the area and noticed some weird things. I got my friends up and told them to look at what I had saw. All around the camp was these weird footprints in the moist sand. We were baffled as to what the footprints could have came from. They looked like a human foot basically, only crooked and larger. I know you're thinking bigfoot, but that's not what I would compare it to. Imagine taking your foot and bending it to the outside down the middle till it's kind of at a 45 degree angle. That's what it looked like. We saw the prints leading off into the dark towards the tall thin tree's we had come out of. The problem was, is that these were not here when we showed up. There was deer, and raccoon, and all other sorts of things. But nothing even closely resembling these prints. So in other words, whatever it was, must have showed up while we were out getting our stump. Well that's just fantastic! It didn't take long for me to remember my fun in the woods at the lakes not too long ago. I wondered if it was the same thing that I had seen up there. I actually wanted to leave at that point. We all did. Problem was that we didn't want to have to walk through the woods where this thing obviously was. That was the only way to get back to the truck. It was time to crack open the scotch. As cliché as it sounds, but I really needed a good drink. We made the best of the situation. We kept drinking and fishing. The fish however had other plans. They were not hungry at all. We couldn't catch a drat thing. I guess they just decided to move down the creek or something. An hour or so later we were feeling better about the situation. We had a little liquor in us, and nothing had happened. So we started talking and joking around once again. That's the poo poo that gets you. You put it out of your mind and then something happens. That something was those tall thing trees shaking behind us. I turned quickly and look at them. Something was moving through them. Not running, but more or less, pacing. The light of the fire showed these trees bending then springing back up through about a 20 foot length of land. Mike said something, I don't remember what, but when he did, the thing stopped moving. We all were still, not moving. Something caught my ear. It was a sound of heavy breathing. Like a really big dog was trying to pant with it's mouth shut. We stared into the trees for what seems like a thousand years. Then the breathing stopped and there was just silence. The silence didn't last long though, something took off through the trees back into the deep woods, it was big enough to sound like bowling balls being dropped in succession onto the ground. It was a thumping noise. We could hear it running until it just faded into the distance. "Was that a cow or something" asked Mike. A cow? That actually kind of made sense at the time. There was a lot of pasture in the area, so a cow getting out and going into the woods was more than possible. It was the only reasonable thing any of us could come up with, so we went with. Not more than 10 minutes later though we hear a howling noise. A very deep howl, sort of like a monkey that smokes 3 packs a day. It was very loud though, and it came from the direction the thing took off in. Then another Howl, this time from the other side of the river, and a lot closer. Oh poo poo. There is more than one of whatever is making that noise. At the exact moment I was thinking that, the bushes on the other side of the creek start moving. Then we hear splashing noises. We can just barely make out clumps of dirt falling into the water from the 8 foot bank. We are then treated to a large black thing jumping or falling into the creek. This made us stand up pretty drat fast. The splashing started as soon as we saw the dark image go into the water, and it was getting closer to us. Whatever was in the water was headed our way. We took off running down the sand bar we were on. I turned back in time to see this huge black mass lunge out of the water and block the complete view of our burning stump. We kept hauling rear end along the creek. We reached a point where we had to go back into the woods, so thats what we did. The truck was east of our point, and we had been through the area enough to know how to get back, even in the dark. Or so we thought. All the running got us turned around somewhere, and we found ourselves lost. I had ran so much, I had to stop and take a breather. The other 2 did the same. We stood there for a minute, trying to get find out bearings. It was really dark now. The sky had clouded over, covering the moonlight that we had come to love before all this poo poo happened. I still wasn't sure what the hell that was. Maybe it was just a cow. Sure the howling made no sense, but everything else seemed to. The cow must have slipped on the bank and fell into the water, then started swimming towards shore. That had to be it. I think I was just trying to calm myself at that point. We started walking after our very short break. Running seemed stupid at the time, since we had no clue where we were running. The problem with walking, is that you're more aware of whats around you, and your mind tends to play tricks on you. I swear I heard snapping noises in every direction and heard breathing all around us. My imagination was just loving with me at that point. We had to have walked for a good half hour before we stopped again. This time because of a god drat cliff. Well, an Iowan cliff, it's nothing impressive, but also nothing I wanted to climb up. The fact that we found this was a problem, because there are none of these around where we parked the truck. We started making our way around the small cliff type thing, but heard noises behind us now. Not imagination noises like I was hearing before, these were real. Something was tromping through the woods quite a ways behind us, you could just barely pick the sound up. Our walking turned into jogging. We had to get a move on, and fast. By this time, my legs were burning and my lungs were on fire. Being a smoker never helps with running. No matter though, we had to keep going. I'm not going to be the guy on the news that gets killed by a cow so it can lay it's eggs inside me! We were jogging along, but that noise was getting closer. Whatever was following us was moving at a faster pace than we were going. We saw what looked like a clearing up ahead. At that point our jogging turned into sprinting. We burst out of the woods onto a dirt road. "Where the hell did this come from!?" I think to myself. each side of the old decrepit road was the woods. It was running right down them, but I didn't even know this road existed. Neither did either of my friends. We took advantage on not being in the woods, and made a moderate pace down the road. After a few minutes we realized that the noise had stopped. Nothing was following us anymore. So we started walking once again. Thank God. I was pretty sick of moving around like a healthy person. We got probably 100 yards down the road, when The thing that was following us burst out onto the road in the direction we were heading. It turned towards us. It looked like it might be a cow after all! Until it kind of stood up on 2 legs...poo poo. The thing was probably 150 feet away from us, and the dull light from the cloud covered moon barely illuminated it. But I remember clear as day, how that thing stood up. We turned around and walked the other direction slowly. No I'm just kidding, we tore rear end down the road in the opposite direction of the thing. It had started chase once again. I could hear it tromping up behind us. It didn't hold chase very long, for soon there was a thump and skidding noise. One look back confirmed what I was thinking. The beast had slipped and face planted onto the road. We took advantage of this and kept running full speed. The road stopped, dead end. Tree's once again. What the hell is wrong with this place! Into the woods we go once again. This time however we saw something that we recognized. It was an old rusted out car frame, that the woods had consumed long ago. The truck wasn't far from here. We ran our smoke ridden hearts out and saw the truck up in the distance. We had made it! We jumped into the truck and fired it up. Mike tore rear end out of there. We had apparently made it just in time. For one look back proved that the thing was still chasing the truck! It wasn't fast though, so obviously there was nothing to worry about. We pulled away from it soon enough. 20 minutes later, and we had made it to some little hillbilly town. Civilization had never looked so good before. We took our breather there, and filled up his gas tank at the co'op. He had almost no gas in that truck. Thank god it actually started and we made it to a town. We left for home after the trucks tank was full. When we got back, we chilled out at Mike's place. That is when the discussions started. We talked and talked and talked about what the hell was after us. Personally, I thought it was a cow of some kind. Maybe something with rabbis...I wasn't sure. The howling and the standing up was bugging me too much to confirm my thoughts though. Mike and my friend both thought it was Iowa's bigfoot. Granted, there has been quite a few sightings of a bigfoot type thing in the area. That stuff though..I don't know. I also kept pondering back on the thing that I had seen up at the lakes. That thing however, was silent. It was quite enough to lick my drat hand. We went back after our stuff in the afternoon, after we got a few hours of sleep. This time we were armed with shotguns. Sometimes the redneck way, is the best way. We get to our camp to find that nothing is really touched. The one cooler is knocked over, and a fishing pole is gone, but thats about it. The ground around it told another tale though. The footprints that we had seen before were now everywhere. Not as neatly pressed into the sand though. They were more shuffled through the sand. It was all pretty messy. I figure it could have been our prints, but none of us emerged from the water. That's the story of Dog Creek. To this day I still don't know if it was a cow. I guess I'll just let you guys be the judge of what it was. Who knows, maybe those things are in your area too, and someday you can enlighten us with your experiences.
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Oct 3, 2015 03:00
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Don't entirely know if this is the right place to ask, but uhh: are there any good references for weird noises that urban animals make? Last night I heard something going through the bushes outside my place making this awful sort of slurping noise as well as a squeal that was somewhere between a pig and a dog's squeaky toy. I think it may have been a really hosed up raccoon or something, but nothing I've heard looking into animal noises really match up. I had my glasses off at the time and didn't think to look out the window until it was already fading away so I couldn't see what it could've been, but I'd love to know if it was anything in particular or if I've finally got an origin story for my cryptid-hunting career. I'm in Portland OR, if it helps!
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Oct 3, 2015 22:48
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Heavy Lobster posted:Don't entirely know if this is the right place to ask, but uhh: are there any good references for weird noises that urban animals make? Last night I heard something going through the bushes outside my place making this awful sort of slurping noise as well as a squeal that was somewhere between a pig and a dog's squeaky toy. I think it may have been a really hosed up raccoon or something, but nothing I've heard looking into animal noises really match up. I had my glasses off at the time and didn't think to look out the window until it was already fading away so I couldn't see what it could've been, but I'd love to know if it was anything in particular or if I've finally got an origin story for my cryptid-hunting career. I'm in Portland OR, if it helps! Beaver?
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Oct 3, 2015 22:59
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could be maybe a fox in heat or a dying rabbit? on that note here's a recent story from my mum she was walking the dog through some woods, nobody else around, this dog is a tiny little puffball made of cotton wool and hugs so really not much help in an emergency she hears this horrible loud panting like some huge creature is trying to sneak up but isn't very good at being quiet about it looks around, can't see anything, getting really worried and also confused because this is the UK and the only large wild animals around are, like, deer so what even the hell finally she spots what's making the noise two squirrels vigorously loving in a tree
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Oct 3, 2015 23:04
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vaguely posted:could be maybe a fox in heat or a dying rabbit? Definitely on the beaver/fox spectrum; I live across the street from a college campus that has a huge stream and forest running through the center of it, and beavers definitely show up pretty frequently in it, which would also explain why it sounded so wet. No idea what the fox situation is like in this part of town, but another clip showed off a call that sounded pretty close as well. Thanks! vaguely posted:on that note here's a recent story from my mum To be fair, that's a pretty creepy image.
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Oct 3, 2015 23:19
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I just found this iteration of the thread and wanted to make it known that we read The Drain Lady and Rotten Meat on my horror movie podcast this month. We made sure to give clear attribution to the thread, but since we read it from nothotbutspicy.com the authors were listed as unknown. If those authors want I can give them proper attribution in the next episode we record. I don't know if it's kosher to advertise my own poo poo in here, so I won't post it unless someone asks for it. I just wanted to clear the air about us sharing those stories. I've read a bunch of previous incarnations of this thread and gotten a lot of entertainment out of them and just wanted to share the joy/chills.
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Oct 6, 2015 03:53
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Drain Lady was written by Soulbane, formerly known as Kendrik Rotten Meat was written by Jip-Bip-Jo I cannot overemphasize how awesome it is that Noodle Incident made the It Is A Mystery compilation
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Oct 6, 2015 04:05
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coronatae posted:Drain Lady was written by Soulbane, formerly known as Kendrik Great, thanks! I'll be sure to give them their due when we record next.
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Oct 6, 2015 04:08
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mikeycp posted:I just found this iteration of the thread and wanted to make it known that we read The Drain Lady and Rotten Meat on my horror movie podcast this month. We made sure to give clear attribution to the thread, but since we read it from nothotbutspicy.com the authors were listed as unknown.  Seriously, we want to know about your podcast.
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Oct 6, 2015 13:10
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I work in security, and a lot of it involves being in large empty buildings by yourself at night. Most of the folks I work with have a story or two of weird stuff happening. Sometimes it's just the atmosphere of the buildings, and your imagination gets away from you. Other times, there's odd stuff that can't really be explained. I've heard bangs, slammed doors, pounding on the walls, and the sound of coughing in empty buildings. Was it ghosts? No idea, but I can't explain what it was. I've got very good night vision, so a lot of times I won't bother with my flashlight as I walk around inside many of the properties. However, a few of the sites just seem to have a 'vibe' to them, and I'll turn on every light that I can find. There's a few former employees who refused to go into certain buildings alone after having something weird happen. Anyway, I wanted to share a quick story that happened to one of my co-workers. He was patrolling one of our properties one night, when he found a door slightly ajar. The door led down a stairwell into a basement boiler room. My buddy went down into the boiler room to check and see if anybody had gotten inside. He said it was very dark, and the lights didn't work, so all he had was his crappy flashlight that we get issued. As he started searching the boiler room, he heard a screaming noise start up that he described as "like a cat slowly getting skinned alive." I probably would have said gently caress it, and bolted, but he kept his head and did a thorough search. He said whenever he got close to where the screams were coming from, they would stop, and start again somewhere else in the darkness. Eventually he gave up and left, making sure to lock the door behind him. We found out later that the building had a bit of a ghoulish history. After Hurricane Hazel blew through Toronto, that building had been used as a temporary morgue.
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Oct 7, 2015 10:38
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coronatae posted:I noticed a podcast was recommended in the OP and I wanted to add 2 more to the list that I think are pretty good: Does anyone remember a short little tale someone posted in one of these threads a year or two ago...it wasn't really a story, just a description of a place that you could find on Google Maps. It was supposed to be a house down some contry lane, and if you got close you could always hear screaming, maybe something about seeing people in the windows too...
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Oct 7, 2015 15:49
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The Zombie Guy posted:I work in security, and a lot of it involves being in large empty buildings by yourself at night. Most of the folks I work with have a story or two of weird stuff happening. Sometimes it's just the atmosphere of the buildings, and your imagination gets away from you. Other times, there's odd stuff that can't really be explained. I've heard bangs, slammed doors, pounding on the walls, and the sound of coughing in empty buildings. Was it ghosts? No idea, but I can't explain what it was. I've got very good night vision, so a lot of times I won't bother with my flashlight as I walk around inside many of the properties. However, a few of the sites just seem to have a 'vibe' to them, and I'll turn on every light that I can find. There's a few former employees who refused to go into certain buildings alone after having something weird happen. "A cat slowly getting skinned alive" is what cats loving sounds like (cat dicks have SPINES aaagh) so that's an entirely possible explanation.
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Oct 7, 2015 16:10
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Pope Guilty posted:
We're doing the thing where we watch a movie for every day in October and doing a podcast about it. The first episode is about a bunch of short films and Paranoia Agent, and we have Mary Kish from Gamespot as a guest host. We also do a thing at the end where we each tell a spooky story (probably all of them will be read from somewhere). There'll be an episode every week. Here it is on YouTube If audio-only is more your thing, here's that e: We're also on iTunes, listed as Pod Kiwi. mikeycp has a new favorite as of 16:21 on Oct 7, 2015 |
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Oct 7, 2015 16:18
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While we're talking about audio and shows and things, I'm looking for more like the Kimberly Story. http://youtu.be/prjUzSkaOjU More stories being told by the person who experienced them. Sort of like a paranormal Risk or The Moth. There are tons of videos of people reading creepy pastas or submitted stories, but they're either crappy actors or read it like a robot. Is there anything like that out there?
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Oct 7, 2015 19:09
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Pope Guilty posted:"A cat slowly getting skinned alive" is what cats loving sounds like (cat dicks have SPINES aaagh) so that's an entirely possible explanation. Yeah I would imagine that's what it probably was. He's not a guy to let things like weird noises bother him, but whenever he talks about wandering around that boiler room he gets that "Vietnam Vet 1000 yard stare" kind of thing going on. He was very happy when the building was sold and we no longer had to patrol it. An odd thing happened to me a few years back during a break-in at one of the buildings. 3 guys had gotten in through an unlocked door and set off a bunch of motion alarms. Cops came and arrested them. Everything was settling down, and I was getting ready to turn the alarm panel back on again. Just as I was about to leave, I heard a voice come on over the building's internal PA system. It sounded like an angry man with a hand over his own mouth, mumbling nonsense. It went on for about 15 seconds, and then stopped. I freaked out because I figured "Oh poo poo, there's a 4th guy in here somewhere", so I dashed outside to grab the cops before they left. They came back in and we went through the whole building again. My dispatcher also went over the surveillance cameras. Nothing. The PA system was behind 3 locked doors, and there was no signs of any entry into that area. Really weirded me out, because I couldn't figure out what could have made that noise over the PA.
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Oct 8, 2015 04:49
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Possible radio interference, I lived a few blocks away from a taxi office and their radios would constantly interfere with my speakers even when they were switched off.
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Oct 8, 2015 14:40
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Mystery Steve posted:Possible radio interference, I lived a few blocks away from a taxi office and their radios would constantly interfere with my speakers even when they were switched off. Many years back I lived with some folks who had a toddler that had yanked on the coax cable where it hit the wall, exposing some. TV image quality was fine, but certain channels were always picking up ambulance radios.
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Oct 13, 2015 01:54
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Hello friends. This one is a little long, and not as scary as others. Hope you all still enjoy it. De Aoiri The Shepherds After a long tale involving a debt owed to an brew master, we found ourselves in a small village to the north of Lough Beagh - what would have been a beautiful scene, except for the exceptionally rough terrain we had crossed. The north of the island was a terrible muddy mess this time of year, and the thin wheels of our cart cut into it easily and left deep ruts behind. It was a relief to reach the village - a small place with no sign, but called ‘Don Holland’ after a founder - and find that there was something of an inn. I had to sleep on the floor, but the benefit of being dry made it comfortable. The next morning we were treated to an honest breakfast of sausage and egg, and waited for the man we were supposed to meet. We had heard he returned every Friday for supplies, and as luck would have it we arrived perfectly - for we had only just slept Thursday off. So, my father lit his light morning tobacco and gossiped with gruff looking men who came in and out of the village. I have said before, it is always news when he arrives. I busied myself by exploring the single store, which sold everything in bulk and wrapped in brown paper, and noticed that from the outside of the village you could easily see a large mountain to the north. It was from this mountain that two large wagons were being pulled by stout draughts. Dragged, maybe. From this far away it was hard to tell, in my experience (and our muddy cart’s) it was a labor to move any weight in this quagmire. These carts reached us early in the day, I would guess around 10 (there were no clocks in this place), and as promised they brought the man we were supposed to speak to. An Andrew Vollen. He was a slender man with silver hair that stuck out from under a leather cap, and had a substantial nose that only comes with age. He was assisted by three younger men that he constantly cursed at. “A man in Ghurrick said you have a problem at the mine.” Said my father. “Aye, a little one. A bunch of poo poo, if you ask me. You know, for the weight of you two, I could carry another two days back.” said Vollen. “We have a horse, and are capable of pulling our own weight.” Said my father. Vollen took one look at our wretched pony - still exhausted from yesterday’s work - and laughed, thumbing us to the back. -------- “First time to - screw it all Lahn, do you lay your mother like that? - to Muckish Leah?” Yelled Vollen at us. The carts’ passage through mud was not particularly loud, but Vollen was a man who was constantly shouting over unheard things. At the moment he was shouting at Lahn, who was laying boards under the rear cart. “Yes, but I am familiar with it.” Said my father. “Aye, you and most people within sight - except for Lahn who doesn’t have a bloody eye in his skull. She’s gonna pop, Mucky is, you just give it 10 years and soon Satan and his children will be pulling quartz out of her.” Said Vollen. For clarity, I will leave out his further distractions. “I had heard some of it, is there money in it?” “It’s a wealth up there if your back can take it - open face piles just waiting for an opportunist.” “Or Satan?” said my father. “Ha! Mr. Steide beat Satan this time. Won’t be the first, I bet. Ain’t that right lads?” Vollen drummed the cart with his boot, and the men around laughed. -------- “What’s your price?” Asked Steide. He was managing to wear a clean black suit in the mud bath that was Muckish. Although, the mud had eventually given way to loose white and pink gravel. “Sir, you haven’t asked us for anything. What is wrong?” My father laughed and leaned back in his seat, a rough wooden thing that creaked beneath him. “Wrong? Who told you anything was wrong?” Steide raised an eyebrow. We were in a large hut with several benches, and men were coming in one by one. Near the end of the hut, a fat laughing man poured soup into bowls out of a sizeable iron oven. “Nothing wrong other than trying to beat last month’s numbers.” Although, at saying this, several of the men eating soup went quiet and stared at him. “Well...perhaps there has been an abnormality or two.” He whispered. The room went back to normal. “I’ll preface this by saying I don’t believe a word - not a mother’s word - of this nonsense. But, since I’ve lost two working employees to it, I’m happy to take it seriously. You see, Leah, there have been several incidents around here involving...umm...bells.” “Bells?” Asked my father. “Umm...yes...you see.” At this point the man who had been serving soup interjected, “Oh for gently caress sake Steide, let’s not drown the poor man in poo poo. Look - we have men coming back who say they’ve heard bells out in the fog - only - in the fog. Not a man here will swear he hasn’t. Tisn’t that right lads?” There was general agreement. “Now, many the man just been content to let them ring and come back to base in the fog. But about a month ago, some poor idiot - what was his name?” Someone answered ‘Warrand - god bless him’ - “Warrand, got it in his head to see what the bells were about. Never came back.” “He didn’t quit out?” Asked my father - the during the cook's speech he had dampened the inside of his pipe with some whiskey, packed and lit it. “Leave? Certainly not, was the day before pay, and not a man here who would leave with pending pay.” Answered Steide. “You mentioned this had taken two lives - what was the other?” Asked my father casually. Again, silence fell on the room and a man near the door left. “We uh...we don’t talk about him. Look, since then we have a simple rule. Isn’t that right, fellows?” Said Steide. “Never a man alone.” Answered the men in hushed tones. -------- “I’ll be honest.” Started my father. It was the next morning, and we were walking across the back of Muckish, heading north. “I haven’t a clue what to think. I have heard of several incidents of ‘The Bell of Saint Peter’ on mountains, but as far as I know, Saint Peter has never killed anyone.” “Perhaps he is getting tired of his rock?” I joked. My father chuckled - it was difficult to get him to laugh. Encouraged, I went on - “Multiple men seem to have heard it at the same time, and it has harmed people at least twice. So it doesn’t sound like a spirit?” “Very good. What else?” Said my father. We walked easily along the mountain’s back. The ground had turned from mud, to sand, to sporadic flat stones (which the locals called capall marfóirHorse Murderers ). The view was breathtaking, a green expanse that seemed to flow away from us in all directions, except to our right where the flat peak rose up. “They haven’t heard it in their camp, so whatever it is fears humans?” “Or is smart enough to not anger them. Tell me, what do you know of Muckish?” He asked. “Only that it is one of the Seven Sisters.” I replied, waving my hand at several nearby hills. “Only in modern times, my boy. When it was younger, it answered to the name An Mhucais - the corpse of Arduinna’s hunting boar. It has been a monument of the northern tribes since before written word.” “You told Vollen that you didn’t know much about it?” “No.” My father shook his finger at me, “I said I knew some of it. It always pays to show less than you know. And plus, Vollen didn’t strike me as the man interested in history.” ------- It had been three glorious, beautiful days. The sun shone and dried the earth, and every day we walked back to camp empty handed. I had never hoped for fog so much in my life. But, on the fourth day, we were granted relief. We sat together on a small trail, well used by thin mining carts, that overlooked the valley to the north. From here, we could see a bank of fog pouring in across the field. Already a preemptive mist hung above the few unnamed lakes and ponds below us - glowing pink and orange in the sunset. “We’d better hurry - it doesn’t look like it will make it this far up.” Said my father, as we gathered our things and descended. -------- The fog spilled in, and beneath it the breeze (which I hadn’t noticed) died, leaving an oppressive weight over me. My father had picked a wide, flat rock, maybe two and a half men high, which we had climbed on and sat comfortably. Behind us, the fog glowed blood red as the last wish of the sun fell beneath the hills. Then, we heard the bells. I would not call them bells - more like a ‘plink’ of two stones struck together. They were faint - very faint - but we heard them. They did not ring out once, as a bell, but rang several times in one spot and then went quiet. Then another spot. My father put out his pipe and made the hand signal for silence. Far away, the ‘plinks’ continued. There were many of them, spread out over a small distance. It was hard to tell, the fog scattered and muffled the sound. Over the course of many minutes, I noticed the bells moving in the distance. They appeared to be coming closer, but there was no fear in my heart. I was nearly thirteen at this time, and had seen many things. I did start to worry, however, when I looked at my father who faced his palms down to me - a sign to lay flat - and stretched out on the rock. I followed, and we waited. Closer the bells came. Then a smell...a stale, animal smell, settled on us in the still air. It was perhaps the image of animals that brought my attention to the sound of hooves coming. The bells were very close now. I could see movement in the fog - dark red in the last light of the sun. The scent was stronger now, perhaps the mustiness of a cellar. I will admit, at this point I was frightened by what looked like a flowing mass moving towards us, the bells were so close, but then the shapes realised themselves… Goats. A herd of goats wandered silently below us. I noticed immediately that something seemed wrong, though. There was a fetid smell to them, and many of them had wet, matted fur. They also behaved like they were sick, for many of them bumped into the rock or one another as they grazed past. All were thin enough to see their spine and ribs. I was so amazed by this strange sight that I had forgotten about the bells, which were now nearly under us. My father gripped my wrist, and I noticed a large figure emerge in the fog. This was no goat, but perhaps a man riding a long, lanky horse. A man draped in ragged cloth and beads, which clicked together gently as the horse walked along with the goats. The man - I will say a man, although he seemed much too tall - had a long staff that he carried in one hand. With one end, he gently nudged his flock along. On the other was what looked like a ball, the size of an outstretched hand, which emitted the bell noise. He would shake it above himself, and the goats would hurry ahead of him. He passed close underneath us, close enough that I could have reached out and touched the top of his staff, and at his closest I could hear him uttering what sounded like a terrible song - a song formed together by corse and harsh words, from no human mouth. I did not understand the words, but they reached into me... A picture formed in my mind, from this scene - around us, in the fog, must be a large flock of goats passing through the valley. Behind it, and on either side, were these shepherds. These last of a dead kind, who lived in dark places and starved. They had a caretaker once, a leader perhaps, who had left them long ago. Now they just survived; survived until they died. It was a calming thought. As they left, so too did the fog. My father, later, expressed that he did not believe that they had called the fog - but instead that they only came out in its safety. He said the goats behaved as if they were blind, and wondered if the riders were too. We did notice, after getting down from the rock, that the horse tracks were very peculiar. The hoof appeared to be completely split, and my father and I argued over whether this implied that the horse was rather a large, thin goat. These arguments continued as we made our way cautiously back to the camp. ------- In the end, Steide was not at all pleased with us. We had not “fixed the problem” as he put it, but said that if we suspected that the things lived in caves then they would should “plug their ears because we’ll start blasting once the open mines run dry”. The road away from the village was much easier than the road in - the ground had dried nicely. Perhaps it was also my want to remove myself from the affair, for the thought of a man driven by money destroying the last of an olden race pulled at my heart. My father, who was normally emotionless, was also quiet. I believe he felt the same hurt, for in a way, he was the last of his own small group - like the shepherds, being killed not by weapons, but by progress.
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Oct 24, 2015 04:07
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Man, I love when you post your tales Tewbrainer. I always gush when you post, but it feels like they're tales from an old leather diary that you always meant to read when your grandfather was alive, but it's only now, that you're cleaning out his stuff, when you realize there was a world you just barely missed out knowing about. Thanks for sharing!
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Oct 24, 2015 05:12
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Yeah that was a good read. Thanks.
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Oct 24, 2015 07:14
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Thirding this. I love your stories. It's a shame you haven't tried to publish a book of them.
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Oct 24, 2015 09:22
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Yay tewbrainer story!  are these actually stories from your gramps or are you that good at story telling?
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Oct 24, 2015 13:39
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I've recently been playing 80 Days, and that story sounded like it could have been a very captivating sidequest/adventure for Fogg and Passe-Partout. It was very, very good.
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Oct 24, 2015 13:59
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So, no ghost stories for this year's Halloween?
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Oct 25, 2015 18:07
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Another great read, thanks Tewbrainer. 
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Oct 25, 2015 20:39
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Part one (Whatever I could get written down before work, didn't think this would be so lengthy) 2 months ago, I made a major change in my life. I did the single most adult thing in my life. That being, I bought a house. Up until now, I’ve spent my days living in a house of 3 dysfunctional humans. My best friend, a college fail-out who happened to land a well-paying managerial position at a local restaurant, a weed dealer whose love life tended to dictate their perpetual foul mood, and a young woman that, well, I’m not entirely sure what she did. I think she spent most of her time doing freelance coding and tripping on acid. Needless to say, I needed to break away from the constant chaos of my roommates I spent 2 years building my savings and meticulously watching my income and credit in order to buy a home that was entirely my own. 6 months ago, by some dumb luck (meaning family connections) I scored a job managing payroll for what I would call a Home Depot Lite. It was finally time to jump from roommate to homeowner. It’s a small farmhouse, on a good 10 acres of nothing, less than ten minutes outside of town. And it was cheap. Less than a mile from the highway and surrounded by similar, but newer homes. To be honest, it was run down, but not bad for a first home, I wanted my privacy and that’s what I was sure to get, granted none of the neighbor’s chickens made their way in to my yard. The property was a large clearing, with a transition to wooded area about 3 or 4 acres back, it then extended in to the woods which was overlooked by ridge of cliffs with a brook that snaked its way through the property, edging my yard. The hint of the property’s long retired use as a small gentleman’s farm is a small silo on the edge of the field and about 200 feet in to the woods, a smaller, more decrepit silo. My plans for the property include demolishing those and using the acres of clearing for bonfires and space for friends to camp out drunk, pretty standard for the first home of a single 26 year old man. My first nights in the home were quiet, it was old and a bit creaky, but pleasant and warm. I have my Australian shepherd mix, Gandalf to keep me company and his excitement to have a yard to run in is unparalleled. He’s 9 years old now, but still as agile and playful as he was as a puppy, if there was any place I would want him to age, it would be here. Jeremy, the restaurant manager and one of the dysfunctional beings I spent the last few years living with, spent a good amount of the first week here. After his shifts, which would end around 11pm, he would help me paint and do small fixes around the home. By this I mean that we get completely obliterated by 2am and would pass out in the second floor family room where I managed to hook up the PlayStation. We got a lot of work done. By the first weekend, we were exhausted by our “work”, and although thankful to get away from the psychiatric unit that was his home, I know Jeremy was looking forward to a party and a housewarming. This meant we would have to suck it up and do some much needed yard work, and maybe lay off the whiskey for a night. I had all Friday morning off to spend some time exploring the property, clear brush, and chop some firewood. So far we hadn’t explored much beyond the edge of the clearing, we briefly poked inside the larger silo to find nothing of interest but overgrowth and disappointment. “I was hoping for something creepier, some dead bodies or blood on the walls,” Jeremy took a pull from a bottle of Wild Turkey 101. So much for taking a break from drinking. “My life isn’t a movie,” I retorted “I would prefer it not to be.” I gestured him to let me have a swig “So, you up for a hike then?” We stepped out of the nearly collapsed building and agreed to do a little exploring. We so far have seen very little of the remaining property and decided to follow a slightly overgrown path weaving alongside the brook. Not much of interest was there. A few fallen logs, some empty beer cans, most likely from neighbor’s teenagers, and quiet. It was peacefully silent, nothing but the sound of the gurgling brook that quickly veered away from us. Not even the rustling of trees or fauna. Jeremy and I, although drunk at noon, didn’t even have the urge to crack a joke about the tree with a growth that looks like a pair of balls. I don’t even feel like we could if we wanted to. Deafening silence. Oppressive silence. I was suddenly uncomfortable and I wasn’t sure why. Gandalf trotted alongside us, content as ever, so I wasn’t terribly worried. It threatened to rain, the sky was dark and the air got bitter. We walked mostly without talking, collecting some kindling as we went along. “You loving see that?” Jeremy chimed in, pointing at the ground. I adjusted my gazed downward, seeing just some mushroom growth. Some Fly Agaric, pretty neat looking. “Nice find, buddy” I told him “No, no, no,” He shook his head and pulled me back a little bit bringing the bigger picture in to view. It was a series of pockmarks on the Earth’s surface. Each approximately 3 inches diameter and at least 2 inches deep, indenting the grass and fallen leaves on the ground. They were evenly spaced and made the shape of a W on the ground. There were about 20 of them total. “Well, what the gently caress makes that kind of imprint?” he asked me. I shrugged, could it be any of the neighbor’s farm or horse riding equipment? I saw no sign of tire tracks from a tractor, not that a tractor could make it through the trees this far back, there is no clear cut trail. But, who knows, I don’t farm, and I don’t plan to. We walked around it and came to the base of the cliff area. Around here is old mining grounds, so the township has barbed wire fencing surrounding a good portion of it. Our city is known by the nickname of Irontown due to everything being based around the iron ore mines, these ones have been retired for a good 30 or 40 years. You can see where the ground has sunken in and vegetation has either fallen or attempted to tie the giant holes and pits together. I figure those weird pockmarks had something to do with the caving grounds. There is a particular hole that looked as if some animals had made a home in it, although we hadn’t seen much of the animal population at all during our walk. We curiously looked around the area from outside the barbed wire. “Well I’m ready to go back, it got loving cold” He drinks the last of the bottle of bourbon and tosses it over the fence. rear end in a top hat. As if the Earth was responding to his blatant disrespect for it by littering, it groaned, like a giant’s yawn. Coming right from the caving grounds. I’m not sure if it was my imagination or not but I could swear I felt the ground tremble a bit. “Yeah I think I’m ready to go” We exchanged glances that we were clearly both very disturbed by the noise, but made no mention of it. The caving grounds make me feel uneasy. I’m curious as to the history behind them. You never know with that kind of thing, there might some interesting circumstances to their retirement. I do know that the area made me feel uneasy, and I think Jeremy felt the same. I’m thinking I’ll do some digging on the mines (pun intended). After all, we have an entire Iron Ore history museum down the road, so it shouldn’t be hard.
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Oct 25, 2015 21:29
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kazr posted:There's an old one I asked for in a thread years back but no one could pull it up. There were a group of friends that were out camping, sitting around the fire while the sun was setting when there was some kind of loud snapping noise or explosion or something. Next thing they remember it's dark and they're all in an extreme panic running through the woods half way to their car. When they check the time in the car it's several hours later and no one can account for the time or why they were so scared. I think it was called The Noise or The Sound? I remember it but I haven't been able to find it since. Good story though, if anyone can find it.
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Oct 26, 2015 01:25
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empty sea posted:I think it was called The Noise or The Sound? I remember it but I haven't been able to find it since. Good story though, if anyone can find it. That's mine and it actually happened. I'll post it tomorrow when I get to a computer if you want. Otherwise I think I posted it in the unexplained/mystery thread several years ago. Solice Kirsk has a new favorite as of 03:27 on Oct 26, 2015 |
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Oct 26, 2015 03:13
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