Thu, 23 May 2013 19:40:40 -0700 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/ Lussumo Vanilla 1.1.4 & Feed Publisher http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308423#Comment_308423 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308423#Comment_308423 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 02:19:28 -0700 Horrible Warning Si
THE RULES:

1. Recount a tale on the below topic. You have 300 words. Anything more than that will be flambéed with the righteous heat of Deletion. Repeat offenders will be banned.

Linking to a longer version of the story, or posting subsequent chapters, or anything which indirectly pushes it past that 300 word limit, will be similarly nuked.

2. Read – and comment on – the other entries, before you post your own. Partly that’s because you’ll look like a fucking plum if your story is a rubbish shadow of someone else’s. Mostly it’s because you’re not an impolite shit, are you?

THE LEGAL CRAP:

By telling us your story, it’s in the public domain. Don’t get pissy about that.

Right now you’re in a pub, surrounded by writers, artists and socialites. If you recount an interesting tale to entertain and endear yourself to your fellows, you do not get to bitch about it if a twisted version of the same tale shows up 30 years later on the other side of the planet. Stories are contagious. My advice? Be honest. Don’t make shit up. Don’t treat this like a fiction thread. It’s a chance to entertain and move us with your life experience. That’s plenty good enough.

THE TOPIC:

"I'm not necessarily saying I believe in ghosts, but there was this one time..." ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308426#Comment_308426 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308426#Comment_308426 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 03:42:46 -0700 texture http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308445#Comment_308445 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308445#Comment_308445 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 07:02:29 -0700 evilhare http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308450#Comment_308450 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308450#Comment_308450 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 08:22:07 -0700 sebfowler http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308452#Comment_308452 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308452#Comment_308452 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 08:28:51 -0700 Horrible Warning Si http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308453#Comment_308453 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308453#Comment_308453 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 08:30:56 -0700 Horrible Warning Si http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308455#Comment_308455 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308455#Comment_308455 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 08:47:23 -0700 sebfowler I was living in Bali at the time, sharing a house with a friend. The bedrooms were upstairs and everything was tiled and echoey.
One night, I’m fast asleep, when around 4am I’m woken up by the most horrendous, deafening screeching coming from INSIDE MY BEDROOM. I jumped bolt upright in bed, screaming involuntarily, almost having a heart attack. Two feral cats had burst into my bedroom mid fight and were trying to kill each other under my bed. By the time I figured this out, they'd chased each other out of my room and off the balcony, still fighting.
You know those scenes in action movies where the cop is chasing a crim through a neighbourhood and they bust through someone’s house breaking shit, leaving the residents all flabbergasted and pissed off? It was like that, but at 4am with cats. It would’ve been a good hour before I’d calmed down enough to go back to sleep. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308460#Comment_308460 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308460#Comment_308460 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 09:31:30 -0700 WaxPoetic sebfowler, that is an unnatural noise - way to not have a heart attack.

Here's mine:

… things – happen – in libraries. Librarians are not terribly superstitious in my experience, but still. Things happen in those places. Working in the periodical’s stacks brought us into a world where dust smelled some days of lemon drops, some days of chocolate pudding and the shelves rearranged the letters of the alphabet.

We joked that we could hear the volumes buzzing, shrugged and acknowledged that ‘knowledge is power.’ Not enough power to stop the stacks from the eventual 80% weed that has left the space empty and filled with horrible lights and training areas and walls that need repainting. Enough, though, to knock volumes off the shelves onto our heads as we muttered and grumbled and went searching for the titles that played hide-and-seek with our list-motivated weeding.

It got more and more difficult to find things after a while: short runs would go missing (not helped by us) and every now and again an unknown title with 5 volumes would just appear on the shelves, dusty and fading and fascinating. My co-worker is far more eager to play in dark places and chat with the shadows over hot chocolate than I, but even I started hanging back in the stacks, feeling like maybe I could help preserve something of what we loved, maybe I could hear or feel something that would be the right thing to do to save the periodicals.

Nothing ever came of it and now the stacks are gone. I do wonder if maybe something was living there that has moved into an office or file drawer, wreaking havoc on invoices. I kind of hope so. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308471#Comment_308471 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308471#Comment_308471 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 12:33:12 -0700 curb
Now, I know that several things could account for what my stepmum heard, and I don’t believe in ghosts, but I did sleepwalk a couple of times as a child. And the cellar, down three slights of steep stairs, was full of many sharp, rusty and pointy things that could have done me harm. But what really creeps me out to this day is the idea of me, stood alone and unconscious in that pitch black cellar, stroking a dog that wasn’t there. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308484#Comment_308484 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308484#Comment_308484 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 14:16:48 -0700 adrian r
youdothatvoodoo -- fighting the good fight ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308485#Comment_308485 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308485#Comment_308485 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 14:19:45 -0700 adrian r http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308501#Comment_308501 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308501#Comment_308501 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 15:50:15 -0700 RobSpalding
Sorry ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308514#Comment_308514 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308514#Comment_308514 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 18:52:16 -0700 government spy
Many prisons have similar stories. It was also said, the spot in which the two inmates were buried eventually became Administrative Segregation, sometimes called Solitary or "the Hole."

I was a rookie and supposed to work an overnight shift in the Hole. Now, the Hole had been converted, from a 30-cell unit, down to four. The four Segregation cells were blocked off from the rest of the unit, and the other cells were converted into housing for what we called Cadre, aka "Trustees." One of the four cells isn't locked; it just has a dirty old rag stuffed into the lock. They used to be electronic locks, but at some point, all the electronics had been removed. There's no power to the cells, and they are all operated by a key. So I saw the dirty rag and I removed it from the door, and locked it with my key.

During the night, the cell began locking and unlocking itself. A very loud, CLICK-CLACK! CLICK-CLACK!! All night long. Eventually one of the inmates yelled "Who pulled the fucking rag out of the door??"

Sheepishly, I put the jammed the rag back in the lock, and the noise stopped.

Months later, I trained an officer to work in the same area overnight. I told the story of the dead inmates buried under Ad-Seg, but didn't tell him about the malfunctioning cell that nobody used. On my way out, I pulled the rag out without him knowing. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308521#Comment_308521 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308521#Comment_308521 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 19:58:36 -0700 TheEndsOfInvention http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308522#Comment_308522 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308522#Comment_308522 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 20:07:58 -0700 razrangel
As for me, I don't have nearly so much fun but...

I don’t disbelieve the possibility of ghosts, I’ve just never had the occasion to experience any such thing. I do, though, believe in a lot of things supernatural including the soul and ties that go beyond life and death. I also believe that grace and gentleness are not to be underestimated and I seek them out when I’m losing my shit and need something by which to get my bearings.

So it was when I was falling apart horribly a few years ago. I was depressed and completely worn out by anxiety, unable to eat or sleep normally. For some reason I would regularly think of my aunt, a Franciscan nun named Sister Irene. She is my personal paragon of a sweet, giving person who could ride any trying situation. Well, almost any, she died of leukemia in 2003. I missed her like mad. I still do.

It wasn’t intentional but I started thinking about how Sister Irene would handle the challenges I was facing. At times I would think as a nun she had sworn chastity and poverty among other things so that’s why she didn’t have the stresses I did and therefore in life she could be calm and generous. At other times I could remember the little pleasures she had to make it through each day like painting and her little dogs. I’m Catholic. On one troubled night I prayed to her in between sobs. (I’ll skip over the theology of this…I have a word limit!) Usually praying is a sort of alchemy that settles me, and I found I could finally relax. I was drifting off to sleep when I distinctly heard my middle name in her drawling, slightly raspy voice. Awake and alone in my apartment I was sure she heard me. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308530#Comment_308530 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308530#Comment_308530 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 21:10:37 -0700 HEY APATHY! @ government spy- beautiful fun thanks for the weird tale!


I had a shared artist’s studio in a small sort of dingy mall located in Toronto’s Kensington Market. While I worked there I got into numerous physical altercations with other tenants, other artists and a group of racist gangster drug dealers. I hadn’t been involved a fist fight and rarely even an argument since I was a young boy so I decided to move my practice out of that space. As I was leaving one of the elder tenants shook her head and said to me “So you are leaving too, everyone always leaves. I think something bad happened here a long time ago.”

Since then most of the people I knew or fought with have also vacated the accursed strip, however the troubles have continued. The storefront has changed 4 times within a year, a meth lab was discovered in the basement, and three people were shot (one murdered) in the alley way behind the emergency exit.

( I'm not much of a story teller but every word of it's true!) ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308531#Comment_308531 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308531#Comment_308531 Mon, 05 Sep 2011 21:13:48 -0700 Purple Wyrm
My mother worked as a paediatric nurse. She did her training at the now long-gone Westminster Children's Hospital in London. As a trainee she got all the crappy jobs, including patrolling the wards in the middle of the night.
This one night, early on in her training, she was doing the rounds. In one particular ward she'd checked that everything was OK, and was walking out the door when she heard a noise. Investigating, she discovered a tap in the sink at the far end of the ward running – which was strange because she'd walked right past it earlier and noticed nothing. She turned it off and resumed her rounds.

At the end of her shift she reported to the supervising matron before heading home. Asked if anything out of the ordinary had happened, she mentioned the tap incident.

The Matron's face fell and she blurted out “Oh no!”. She then explained that there was a ghost on that ward that would always wash it's hands if one of the children was about to die. My mother thought this ridiculous, as all the children on that ward were well and about to be sent home, but the matron refused to be reassured. My mother thought no more of it and left.

When she reported for her next shift the following afternoon she discovered that one of the children in the ward had taken a sudden turn for the worse and passed away in the early hours of the morning.

A coincidence? A prank? Or even a hand-washing ghost? I don't pretend to know... ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308562#Comment_308562 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308562#Comment_308562 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 08:45:04 -0700 taphead
I was 12 or so when this happened. I was visiting my grandma in the country one summer, and I had the upstairs room all to myself, which, for a youngster who likes to read well into the wee hours, was totally awesome. My parents weren't with me on this trip and my grandpa had passed away a few years back, so it was just me and my grandma at the house.

There I was, reading a book well past midnight. Grandma downstairs, sound asleep. The staircase leading upstairs had this slat paneling that I always liked to run my fingers against when going upstairs. So. All of a sudden, in the middle of the night there's this LOUD AS FUCK racket, like someone running their fingernails across the slats. TRATATATATATATATRATATA. This went on for 15 minutes or so, I can't say I managed to keep track of time.

When it ended, I was sitting in the opposite corner of the room from the door, I had the TV and radio on, getting mostly static at this hour, and clutching my dad's shotgun (empty).

The options are: 1) I'd gone totally nuts, 2) grandma had gone totally nuts, 3) neither of the above.

I still can't decide what the best option there is.

(Did I go to look what was making the noise? OH HELL NO.) ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308572#Comment_308572 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308572#Comment_308572 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 10:13:31 -0700 Alan Tyson
@WaxPoetic: Libraries are, almost by definition, where old things come to rest. Not surprising that they should make good ghost condos.

@curb: I've had a few spooky, but not unpleasant, dreams about our dog, a Newfoundland named Mariah. Cats get all the credit for being able to see the dead, but it seems to me that dogs have an easier time looking in from the other side of the glass. That's probably for the best.

@govspy: See my comment on libraries, only replace "old" with your favorite descriptor for prisoners. I have a sneaky suspicion it will also apply well to ghosts. Also, you bastard! That poor guy probably didn't piss straight for a week.

@razrangel: Catholics always have the best ghost stories, in my experience.

@HEY APATHY!: I've walked into houses, apartments, and schools where I just could not help but look over my shoulder or twitch at every little sound. Some places are just plain mean.

@Purple Wyrm: I wonder why the ghost's M.O. was to wash it's hands... maybe an old echo of a doctor or nurse, cleaning up after post?

@Taphead: Basements get a bad rap for being creepy places, but all the really, inexplicable scary things that have every happened to me take place in attics and top floors.

For example -

Back in The People's Republic of Cornistan, there's this ancient farmhouse. It's history matches the classic "farmer went crazy, killed his family during the Depression" story. No idea how true that is, as I've never done any concrete research on the place, but (like I said to Apathy just now), the house definitely doesn't feel like a nice pocket of space. It gave me the feeling, in fact, of a large, hairy spider scuttling in and out of a crack in the wall. The corn still grows there. No idea how, or who tends it, or if any of it ever gets harvested, but it's still there. Growing in the fields, in the front lawn, and poking up through the floorboards, along with a few gnarly-looking sunflowers. In the dead of night, with nothing but cold stars to see by, that is an unsettling sight. Shiver-city, my friends, Shiver-fucking-county.

So, of course, my friends and I have to go visit it.

It was the girls' idea, but they didn't want to go in. There were three guys - the Clown, an old friend of mine, the Vulcan, a fellow that one of the girls had a pretty big crush on, and yours truly. As the resident Sorcerer Supreme (for my ability to read Tarot cards and for having a few books on magic lying around my room... credentials for these sorts of things, and competition for the position, aren't too demanding in small-town Iowa), I was elected as the one who would step inside first.

The house was obviously being worked on. There were floorboards pulled up, relatively recently, dust had been brushed off the old kitchen table, and there was a half-full can of Pepsi sitting on the counter. I sniffed the can. Still smelled of Pepsi. Yet, I could think of no reason why anyone would come around here, besides stupid kids looking for a cheap thrill. WEIRD.

I go upstairs. The floors creak, but not badly. I guess they built these places to last, back in the '20's. At the top of the stairs, there's a little room, like maybe a kid's bedroom or nursery. Sitting in the middle of the room is one of these:



... full of rich, black, odorous Midwestern farming dirt. And a half-grown, dead sunflower sticking up at a jaunty angle, right in the middle of it.

We left, fucking pronto, and made tracks for an all-night gas station. Nothing cures the creeping shivers like florescent lights and a Snicker's bar. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308573#Comment_308573 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308573#Comment_308573 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 10:28:59 -0700 curb
That sounds pretty damn spooky, and reminds me of an old dilemma. If you think you see some hideous face staring at you from outside a window, then look again and it's gone, do you go out and investigate or choose to ignore it? Because kind of like you said, there's a chance that either you're being watched by some crazy person, or you are some crazy person.

@Alan

I'm sure it is for the best. If any of my cats could come back and see me, they'd probably just use the opportunity to shit me up good! ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308575#Comment_308575 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308575#Comment_308575 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 10:48:11 -0700 sellmeyoursoul
First off, it is probably important to tell you that I rarely remember my dreams. When I do, the details are fuzzy and fade pretty quickly. The first night I spent in the guest room at my ex-wife's parent's house (where she was living at the time), I slept with the door open (all the better for nocturnal visits). The foot of the bed was against the wall opposite the door and there was a mirror above it. For some reason I woke up, as if from a nightmare and most definitely didn't see a shimmering woman in a white dress pass the open doorway reflected in the mirror. The adrenalin faded and I fell asleep again, this time with my head facing the door. I began to dream (for that's what it must have been) that I woke up in that bed with something pressing down on me. I couldn't breathe and could barely move. I managed to slowly work my hand to the edge of the bed. I used all my strength to try and get off the bed. I found myself wide awake, rolling to the edge. That happened again twice before I decided I was not going sleep anymore and sat there, staring at the hall for the next few hours.

The next morning, I told my ex and her response was "oh, that's the lady. She's never tried to hurt anyone before." She’d never seen the “ghost,” but her mom and brother claim to have done so.

The pressing dream happened again two nights in a row, after my first back surgery. I had to make physical contact with my ex to get the pressing to stop. Although, it's possible all the narcotics I was on at the time were making my brain do odd things. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308576#Comment_308576 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308576#Comment_308576 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 11:28:30 -0700 lampcommander
House #1: The festering house. This was the least-creepy of all the places that we looked at. The wood floors were all so warped that they noticeably curved upward to the center of the room like bean bags, and every room was painted a bizarre different color: purple with a gray toilet, black and red tiles on the kitchen walls. There was also a toilet in the kitchen.

House #2: The "try it out" house. Every room was painted gray or black. The back yard was as massive as it was overgrown and full of dead weeds, like an abandoned wheat field in need of threshing. Across the yard was what the agent called an "artist's shack," which was basically a single-wide that was completely bare except for bizarre red writing on the walls and a meat grinder and circular saw in one corner. I am not making any of this up.

House #3: The "practice makes perfect" house. Smallish apartment, relatively normal--until you get to the master bathroom on the third floor, where every. square. inch of the place is covered with mirrors. Mirrors on the walls, on the ceiling, on the back of the door so you could close it and be surrounded by images of yourself, presumably riding that hooker corpse for all it's worth in the blood-filled bathtub. Even the shelves and the sink counter were made of mirror glass.

House #4: Abandon all hope ye who enter here. An apartment with one unbroken set of stairs servicing six stories. Each floor was: living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, bathroom, bedroom. On the last (bedroom) floor, the stairs kept going...up half a flight, ending in a closet. Open the closet door, which had a lock on the outside, and there were no shelves, no poles for hanging clothes. Just a metal chair bolted to the floor.

I didn't hear any ghosts, but probably I couldn't over my own terrified screams. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308578#Comment_308578 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308578#Comment_308578 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 11:45:05 -0700 lomopop http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308581#Comment_308581 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308581#Comment_308581 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 11:54:08 -0700 WaxPoetic Good and freaked out now.

@lampcommander - I am Never House-Hunting Again. Ever. guh.

@govspy - Evil man! Wonderful story!

@razrangel - Love this. It is a warm thing.

@sellmeyoursoul - I am forever delighted when people know about 'ghosts' in their homes and just refer to them like decoration.

Thanks, all! ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308582#Comment_308582 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308582#Comment_308582 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 11:55:26 -0700 government spy
When I was a teenager, I stayed with my dad for a little while, before the house he lived in became a crack-house.

I was told when he first moved into that house, that it was completely empty save for a bottle in the bathroom medicine cabinet, half-full of water and labeled "Holy Water."

One day, my Uncle Jack from Nebraska, came to visit with his kids. My cousin Christopher was what the family called "touched." The whole family (except me) was Pentecostal, and had odd superstitions.

Christopher was about 8, and went wandering around the house. Past the living room and dining room was a hall that led to the kitchen. On the left hand side was a door that seemed like a closet door. Really, it was the size of a closet, and had another door that went to a bedroom, and also had a staircase that led upstairs. All in all that little room was maybe 4 or 5 foot square.

Chris opens the door, walks in for a minute, closes the door and walks back. He asks "who are those guys in that room back there?" We all act confused and tell him there's no room; just a staircase.

He proceeds to tell us that he walked into a large room, with a card table and chairs, and that there were four men sitting around the table playing cards. They were wearing suits and hats. When he walked in, he said they stopped playing and turned to look at him, but none of the men had any faces.

We all showed Chris the room, and he argued that it was a different room; this wasn't the same room he'd been in.

None of us could figure out if he had made it up or what; he seemed quite serious. That was seriously about 20 years ago, and I've never forgotten it. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308600#Comment_308600 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308600#Comment_308600 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 14:51:28 -0700 RenThing
Some of the closed batteries could be gotten into. Bars bent open or cut away let sneaks like us inside. Most of the batteries were filled with graffiti and old bottles and cans, a few condom wrappers. One though creeped me the fuck out.

We went in deep until we were out of reach of the day light. We got to what must've been the central room because passages branched off from it in a few different directions. In the center of the room was a circle in what I'm pretty sure was red paint (it was faded pink, rather than flaking red-brown of blood) and on the wall was a pentagram done in the same. Candles were scattered around the room and showed signs of having been used. Words in a language I didn't understand were written on the walls and floor. Looking back it was pretty amateur stuff, like someone had read about a spooky Satanic ritual and did their impression of it, but to a kid as young as I was it was terrifying.

Especially when we heard something from one of the back passages, a scrape like a rock being dragged against the concrete floor by a shifting foot.

We booked for day light and never looked back. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308614#Comment_308614 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308614#Comment_308614 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 17:25:50 -0700 taphead http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308618#Comment_308618 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308618#Comment_308618 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 18:11:57 -0700 DC I live in the same apartment since I'm 8. We moved when the building was almost finished so it's not old and doesn't have any "baggage". One day, when I was young (probably 10 or something) I was watching television on the living room. I craved chocolate or something like that and called my mom (I had to had permission to eat sweets). She didn't answer so I went to the bedrooms to see where she was. On the hall I called "mom, where are you?" and distinctively heard "in here". "Here where?" to which she answers "here". I suddenly remember my mom was cleaning up the garage so I was alone at home and yet a woman's voice answered me. In panic I ran to the living room shutting every door I came across. Never heard any voices again so I don't know if it was imagination or not. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308621#Comment_308621 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308621#Comment_308621 Tue, 06 Sep 2011 18:19:52 -0700 scs
In 1974 I was taking a driving tour of the US. I'd picked up a hitchhiker somewhere in Utah, and thank God there was a witness. We were barreling down some state highway. It was late afternoon, and we started seeing birds and squirrels. Or maybe it was prairie dogs, I dunno. Rodents. Squirrel-sized rodents. Dead ones.

The birds eating the squirrels, but weren't making a dent in them. There was a dead one every few feet, too many to successfully avoid at 70mph. Ka-thump. Ka-ka-thump-ump. Zillions of em. We were astonished. And it went on for miles. Overstuffed birds and dead squirrels.

Then up ahead we saw one lone live squirrel. He sat tall on his haunches, eyeing us from just off the side of the road. He didn't twitch until we were almost on him. At the last possible second, he dashed into the road, stopped in our lane, flopped onto his belly, and put his little squirrely hands over his face.

Ka-thump.

The hitchiker and I looked at each other. "Did you see...?"

"Yes."

Thank God he was there, because right at that moment I'd have doubted my senses.

We kept our eyes peeled, but never saw another live one. A few miles later, the corpses thinned out and the road became clear. A couple of hours later I dropped the hitcher in western Colorado, and have never again seen him, that highway, or suicide squirrels.

Utah. There's something about that place. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308673#Comment_308673 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308673#Comment_308673 Wed, 07 Sep 2011 03:42:11 -0700 government spy
So, post-coitus, we're laying there, in this 100 year-old+ 3-story brownstone in Logan Square, and it's the middle of the night. We can hear footsteps running up and down the hall; it sounds like one of her roommates is chasing their pet rabbit. As we lay there, we both realize we could hear the footsteps running while we were having sex.

Then we hear a crash, like breaking glass. We hear a couple other bangs and thumps as well.

We get up, partially dressed to check it out.

In the dining room, outside her bedroom, there's a broken glass, and it must have been full of water because the floor is wet. On the wall on the other side of her bedroom, one of her paintings had been thrown off of the wall. It was too far away to have just fallen. In between the dining room and the living room was the door to the stairwell downstairs. There usually is a skeleton key in the lock. It was across the room. Kind of like if the key had just shot straight out of the lock.

There was one roommate home during this time; she was out cold. I ended up shaking her awake; she didn't know anything about what had happened, though she was having a nightmare when I woke her up.

The glass being broke, I figured the rabbit knocked off the coffee table. But I couldn't figure out how the key shot out of the lock or who threw the painting. Also, we couldn't figure out who was chasing the rabbit. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308742#Comment_308742 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308742#Comment_308742 Wed, 07 Sep 2011 19:01:27 -0700 Peter Kelly
2nd I'm probably stretching the topic a bit here it's not a "real" ghost story, but I thought it worth sharing cause it shows the flip side of where some of them come from.

My father is a practical joker, who grew up in rural Ireland in the early 50s.
Near where he lived, was a road that curved, had a bit of a straight away and then curved back. The straight away was lined with trees that stretched over the road and created a canopy that made it dark. At night, it was pitch black.

So my father tied a long rope to a bucket and placed the bucket in the ditch at the side of the road at one end of the straight bit, then walked the rope down the end of the road and stopped at the other end and then sat down.

When a couple of his friends came along, he waited for them to pass the bucket a bit, then he began reeling it in. The bucket scraped the ground and the friends turned back to see what the noise was, at which point he, of course, stopped.
Whenever they started walking he would start again.
After a couple of starts, they just ran like hell.

he apparently did this a couple of times so of course that started rumours of that bit of the road being haunted.

A joke a little while later backfired though. When walking down that road with a friend conversation died as they approached the dark patch. They walked silently for a bit when he suddenly turned and grabbed his friend's shirt and yelled "I'm going EAT YOU" as if he was possessed.
The buddy ran off. But my father was then left to walk that bit all alone in the dark, scared.

Didn't stop his practical jokes, but it damn well made him start to think them through a bit more. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308762#Comment_308762 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308762#Comment_308762 Wed, 07 Sep 2011 23:34:34 -0700 curb http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308798#Comment_308798 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308798#Comment_308798 Thu, 08 Sep 2011 09:54:52 -0700 espada
These stories are all great

government spy- Love the stories...also oncluding the others you have posted in other threads.

As not to just be a free loader...here is one of mine...true story (aren't they all)

Being a latchkey kid, Matthew knew how to stay entertained the two hours he was alone after school. His imagination must have traversed universes by age nine.

“My brother told me that the field behind our house used to be an old cemetery…and our clotheslines out back are just old crosses that used to be in the cemetery.”

Adan was 11, brought up devout Christian and believed what he believed simply because he was told…why else would he believe otherwise?

“What does your brother know? He sleeps all day in your garage and worships the devil.”
“My mom says it’s true….and in the past when people have talked about it in our house….weird things start to happen around here.”
“It is probably just demons.” Adan said, as it was habit for charismatic Christians to explain away everything with demons.

So Matt and Adan went on talking about the weird things they noticed in the field behind Matt’s house. The old grayed-out abandoned cars, the half living/half dead trees that grew sideways out of the ground. Both of them agreed that it was very strange that there was never a shortage of Crows in the field staring at them as they went back there to play. Just as their words grew more hushed…and they were both deep in thought with terror about ever going back out into the field to play again. There was a deafening sound of rushing water coming from Matt’s laundry room. A hose hooked up to the washer had broken.

“Turn the red handle until it is off.”
Matt reached out to touch the hot water handle.
“It’s too hot to touch”
“But the water coming out of the hose is freezing.”
“I told you weird stuff happens.” Matt said. Adan nodded and shook…unable to speak. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308862#Comment_308862 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308862#Comment_308862 Thu, 08 Sep 2011 23:58:22 -0700 Rootfireember looks like a dirtier and less wormy version of my bathtub. Best tub ever for bubble baths, btw.

Great tales all :) Guess it's time for my own...don't eat me!

I grew up on ghost stories. Tales of sunken ships seen sailing, dead milish from the French and Indian Wars appearing here and there, thieving Goodfolk and angry Lutin. Almost everyone had a story that began "I don't believe in ghosts but I swear, one time..." As kids we told each other tales over roasted marshmallows and grahmcrackers. Nowadays, they're murmured over cheap beers or mike's hard lemonades, while we pretend we don't look over our shoulders in the dark on cold nights when the wind screams like a hurt child.
I could say I saw this. I could say I saw that. The mind plays tricks, and in night, it tries to make sense of the patterns of the shadows of leaves in the wind. After watching various shows of 'real ghost stories' and drinking coffees, you can can see anything if you sneak out into the cemetery with your friends at night.
Strange lights. Human shapes in the mist. Inhuman screams.
In the day, it turns to something more reasonable. Electric memorial candles. Other kids looking for ghosts. An owl.
But not everything can be so easily explained away.
Once upon a time, walking home from a summer course, I came across a friend of mine. He was leaning against the door frame to his apartment, smoking like a chimney, as was his habit. We spoke briefly; small talk, and I was trying to get home before dinner. It was a mundane conversation. Dull. Pointless. We said we'd talk later.
A few days later I found out that he'd died of lung cancer some weeks before my last chat with him outside his apartment. Was it a trick of the mind-- or a goodbye from a friend beyond the grave? ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308870#Comment_308870 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308870#Comment_308870 Fri, 09 Sep 2011 02:46:15 -0700 Kieran
We broke through a first floor window. No electricity, silence, piles of moldering crap, dust and spider webs. Upstairs, we found a stair that climbed to a room with lights on and an eerie music is coming from somewhere.

We step into an atelier. A webbed dying tape recorder plays classical music in a loop and everything is dust covered. Suddenly we hear a breaking sound from below. We weren’t alone; we ran and never went back.

But, just before running, on the atelier’s table, we were looking at five, wrapped in plastic, real-sized heads made of wax. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308919#Comment_308919 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308919#Comment_308919 Fri, 09 Sep 2011 12:58:06 -0700 phill_sea Government Spy and Alan have the stickiest stories, but thank-you all for sharing! I don't know that I could work in a prison, for those exact reasons, and kudos to Gov't Spy for being able to hack it.

Also, lampcommander. . . what a nightmarish house hunting experience. . . ugh. Texas.




I'd gone to New Orleans, and, unsurprisingly, drank a lot and forgotten all about some chicken bones I'd put in the pocket of my cargo pants. I took them to antagonize the friend I'd travelled down with. I forgot about them until I put the pants back on; they'd been through a wash, so the bones were clean.

As a late christmas gift to a friend, I made her a "Voodoo Wish Charm." The charm was made of the chicken bones, some black cloth scraps of my trench coat, and a shoelace from a pair of my dad's running shoes. Bones wrapped in the cloth, all tied together with the shoe lace -- It looked witchy, and she liked it.

I explained she'd have to write her wish down, wrap it around the charm, then burn the lot in a coffee can, on a full moon. No, I didn't know what I was talking about.

A few weeks later I woke up in bed, it was dark, and I could not move. I heard a truck pull up next to my window, or close to it, since i was on the 3rd floor, but the lights were blaring through, and I tried to get up and look, but still couldn't move.

My inability to move started to frighten me, and I considered calling out to my roommates, but couldn't even speak.

Then, something turned my head. I didn't turn it; it was turned for me. Standing there, towering over me was a gigantic, pitch black man with yellow teeth and eyes, totally naked.

I knew he wasn't screaming, but his voice rattled my head and my teeth felt loose. As the yelling went on, he climbed onto my bed, and stood over me, gesturing madly and yelling the whole time. I broke a sweat and tears streamed down my face, but that was the extend of my movement.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I woke up feeling like death.

Talking to my friend a few weeks later, I asked if she'd used her charm yet. She told me no, her mom had found and destroyed it. My stomach knotted. I asked: Did she destroy it on [the date of my night terror experience]?

Of course, my friend's response: "Yah! How'd you know that?" ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308922#Comment_308922 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308922#Comment_308922 Fri, 09 Sep 2011 13:57:40 -0700 VertigoJones In the early nineties, I was an animation student down in leafy Surrey, living in college digs with two of my friends from my former college, as was typical of myself, having gotten on a fairly prestigious course, alongside good friends, I squandered it drinking. One night, we spent the evening with a friend from another room watching "Genesis of the Daleks" as he was an avid Dr. Who fan, and in the course of watching, I accidentally drank a bottle of Jack Daniels. All of it. This was followed by copious emergency vomiting, and being guided, across the room to my bed.

*lights out*

Now, Loukie was my roommates girlfriend, She was terribly sweet and pretty much the human being that Blizzard designed gnomes off of. Loukie was 4'10, quite curvy, but very, very small. She giggled a lot, when she giggled, it sounded like a child.

Having passed out from nearly brain-killing myself, I awoke and found, much to my chagrin, that firstly, my other roommates TV was on, and it was tuned into static at full volume, and Loukie was sitting on my chest, giggling, something that I did not particularly approve of. So, I pushed her off. Or should I say, I attempted to, because as I pushed her, she moved away from me, through the air, floating gently, like... well, a lot like Ralph in Salems Lot and at this particular point, despite being able to think with all the speed of a brick being dragged through treacle, I realised I was in a whole world of shit.
Above the beds in our dorms, we had lamps mounted on the wall, activated by a push button on the side, and given that "Loukie" had suddenly started to look a lot like one of the transformed angels from Raiders of the Lost Ark as she sped back across the room toward me, I made straight for it. I couldn't make it, I swear even now, knowing that this was a dream, that I could not get my hands on the light, because the thing kept pulling my arms down, somehow, utterly frantic, I got the light on.

The TV was off, other than the illumination from my lamp, the room was pitch black, My two roommates were fast asleep. (one kneeling on the floor, face down on his bed, where he stayed till 5 the next evening) and the Loukie thing? Hung around, like an echo. If I looked at the areas of the room that were still dark, I could see her plainly, shifting about. I got up, shambled down the corridor, went into a girl associates room (shared, oddly enough with Loukie) where they were still awake, and got into bed there, in tears, refusing to leave, and finally passing out, to awake in the morning, with a terrible headache, and inexplicable reason for uninvited bedsharing, and a fear of going to sleep that would last the next three years. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308951#Comment_308951 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308951#Comment_308951 Fri, 09 Sep 2011 21:28:07 -0700 Greasemonkey
So, in the early eighties I was working as a farm hand on a property in the Australian outback, and there was a well known ghost legend involving the old shearing shed on the road into town. Back in the thirties, the shed had been fully operational; three dozen employees shearing thousands of sheep through the season. One of the farm kids, aged about four or five, had fallen into a wool press while playing and suffocated under a bunch of fleeces. Most of our neighbours claimed to have heard a child crying in the abandoned shed on quiet nights, and the local high schoolers used to dare one another to sneak in there and look for the ghost. Anyway, I was walking home from the pub on a Saturday night, somewhat the worse for drink, and passing the shed I heard what was unmistakably the sound of a little kid crying, coming from way back inside. I stuck my head in through the door, the place was abandoned, the noise stopped. Walked around inside with my torch, nothing.

What was it? Fuck knows. It wasn't an animal or a night bird, and I wasn't anywhere near hammered enough to be hearing imaginary sounds. I don't believe the spirits of the deceased hang around the places where they died, but maybe there's something to the idea that traumatic events leave an imprint on places, and sometimes we hear echoes. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308980#Comment_308980 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=308980#Comment_308980 Sat, 10 Sep 2011 07:45:17 -0700 government spy
My grandfather was raised on a farm in Illinois. His grandmother had become senile, and would wander out of the house and get lost in the woods. They would have to go out looking for her, and find her scratched up and hurt, sometimes worse. Now, obviously, this is several decades ago, and I do not condone the practice, but the only solution they could find, was to tie her to her rocking chair at night to prevent her from getting lost.

Eventually, she passed away. I'm not sure of the time frame here, but I do know that when my mother was a teenager, the rocking chair came to stay at their house. It was a large chair, and with long, flat arms. You could see where your wrists would rest on the arms, that the wood was worn down from where they tied great-grandmother Musselman to the chair.

At night, after everyone had gone to sleep, they could hear the chair rocking all by itself. They would lie in bed wondering if their great-grandmother was haunting her chair. But no one was brave enough to go look.

So one evening, as everyone got comfortable in the living room to watch The Twilight Zone, all of a sudden the chair began to rock. They all turned to look at the chair, and the family cat had jumped into the rocking chair, and weighed just enough to start the chair rocking. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=309066#Comment_309066 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=309066#Comment_309066 Sun, 11 Sep 2011 11:21:56 -0700 Finagle
Short but sweet anecdote of life on the frozen American prairie. Small-town boredom gives rise to many an amusing tale.

I was involved with a woman named Phoebe in college, who was from [redacted], Nebraska. Growing up in [redacted], there aren't a lot of chances for serious amusement. The best, and most readily available source is of course, your family. Phoebe is a bit of a nerd, and it so happens has a sister a few years younger, who we'll call Pepper. Pepper was sort of more of a social and somewhat gullible child, and this became the target, of course, of familial pranking.

Phoebe invented a tale about the Invisible Duck. Nothing elaborate about it - the whole area around [redacted] was allegedly patrolled by a giant, invisible carnivorous duck that ate bad children. Any chance she got, Phoebe would build up the myth and legend around our Invisible Duck.

The matter came to a head when they were perhaps 12 and 9. A heavy overnight snow had cancelled school, and Phoebe caught wind of this before Pepper awoke. Stealing quietly downstairs, she used some cardboard to fashion giant duck-shaped snowshoe cutouts. She tied these to her feet, and laid a track down outside that ended just outside Pepper's window.

Then she rushed inside with great alarm, shook Pepper awake yelling about the Invisible Duck, got her dressed and led Pepper out there to behold the tracks of her doom, with the pride of any polar explorer putting plaster in a Yeti-track. It really is a shame that digital cameras on phones weren't common then, to document her sister's reaction.

I understand it took some time to get Pepper to come out of her room. It was never really forgiven or forgotten, and became a sort of underground smouldering coal-fire of sibling conflict that as an only child, I'm gladly unaware of personally. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=309091#Comment_309091 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=309091#Comment_309091 Sun, 11 Sep 2011 19:24:26 -0700 KeeperofManyNames

There is a rather large abandoned cement plant complex near my house, directly to the side of a bicycle trail that at one time was a railroad track. A small creek runs between the complex and the actual path, and you have to get across this creek and then through a chain wire fence to get in. My sister and I periodically broke in there to get photographs and to explore, so we were pretty familiar with the place.

During the winter, a while back, I was walking the trail at night with a friend, having a heart-to-heart of some sort. We drew up next to the complex and paused there, looking at the water and the barren trees against the sky and so on. And then we noticed a silhouette of a figure standing there, watching us, on the far side of the fence. We paused our conversation and stood there for a bit, staring back. The flashlight didn't carry far enough to illuminate the figure, and it didn't make any sound. Eventually, weirded out, we calmly and coolly vacated the area. As we got further away, we heard voices, so this silent person must have been meeting up with friends.

All rather mundane. Except for the fact that I swear, when we first caught sight of the silhouette, it was on all fours, and much, much bigger.

I went back to college after that, but at some point I asked my sister if she had gone back to the cement plant to get more photos. She informed me that on her last trip she found a deer leg sitting in one of the buildings, perfectly sawed off, just sort of lying there. No blood, no other deer parts, just one sawed off leg.

We haven't been back since. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=309785#Comment_309785 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=309785#Comment_309785 Mon, 19 Sep 2011 21:40:59 -0700 CamyLuna
One night about three in the morning I’m fast asleep, and Nadia starts to put paws up on the bed. She’s whining and jumping, uber - excited and very annoying. After of a few minutes of pushing her off, I realize that this is pretty strange behavior for her. I wonder how she got into my room because I usually shut the door when I go to bed. So, I open my eyes, and Holy Shit!

There’s a small blonde haired little boy, about 4 years old standing next to my bed petting the dog! Nadia’s tail is wagging, and she’s looking at me like - See! See! There’s someone here. The boy doesn’t look at me at all.

Then I realize that the room is brighter than it should be, and I look over at the door. There’s a man standing there that I don’t recognize. He’s giving the kid a hurry up lets get out of here look. We lock eyes; I look back to the kid - and they’re both instantly gone.

I went to bed completely sober. If the dog hadn’t been there, I would have thought that it was a dream. It was the only time this dog ever woke me up in the middle of the night. I’d felt weird things before, but this was the first time I’d ever seen a full on apparition. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310402#Comment_310402 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310402#Comment_310402 Mon, 26 Sep 2011 15:41:10 -0700 jurgan
So I walk to the neighbours front door and peer through the front door window. I can see the hallway beyond, in the twilight grey hue of the early morning where light is filtering in but its not that bright yet. I could see a man stood there, smoking a cigarette staring at pictures on the wall , his hand rising and falling. I knocked on the door, taking a step back.

It took five minutes before the neighbours boy opened the door. It didnt occur to me, of the lack of cigarette smoke or the fact that if that person was actually there, he would have answered the door. The son went and asked his ma for cigs and she ran out of them the day before. So off I went home to tell my mother the news.

A few days later, as my mother and her friend were sat at a table in the kitchen, I brought up the man in the hallway smoking. She freaked out majorly, running home and back with a picture of her husband who was killed by a bus. He seemed familiar, I just said ye, I recognised him. And the pictures he was looking at were his kids. She almost mentioned hearing footsteps in the attic for the past few days and me saying I saw what was her dead husband, pretty much freaked her the fuck out. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310405#Comment_310405 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310405#Comment_310405 Mon, 26 Sep 2011 16:15:57 -0700 StefanJ
Had one a few years back, while sleeping in the family vacation cabin in the Adirondacks. It was well below zero out, but in the dream it was summer, and there where great gaps in the walls through which I could see a bunch of goofballs, including one dressed up in a blue robe and wizard's hat, roaming around spraying water at the place. I really wanted to pound on the wall to get them to get the hell away, but couldn't.

Another occurred at a time when we had mice in the house. I felt, under my finger, a mouse's tail. Real as hell, right there. I couldn't move my finger to let the mouse go, nor grab the thing to keep it from biting me. Eventually I realized that the "tail" was the tubular piping that edged my blanket. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310446#Comment_310446 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310446#Comment_310446 Tue, 27 Sep 2011 00:25:52 -0700 Horrible Warning Si http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310452#Comment_310452 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310452#Comment_310452 Tue, 27 Sep 2011 04:09:51 -0700 jurgan
But I couldn't move a single muscle. My body was paralysed. Then a weight settled down on my bed behind me, as if someone just sat down on my bed. I could feel the curve of the mattress sink in. I struggled to breathe as my lung stopped working. Panic set in. Began to hyperventilate or try to, trying to gulp in air as panic completely took over. Focused everything inch of my willpower to move my hand.

Just to touch the alarm clock. As if I needed the light to scare away the person sat behind me, sitting comfortably on my bed. My hand inched forward. So utterly impossibly heavy. Only a few inches to raise my hand to this clock. Yet I could have been moving my hand for miles with the effort it took and my breathing became even more ragged.

Such relief I felt when my fingers touched clock and the light grew brighter at the touc of a button. That I opened my eyes. Or they were already opened in the first place. The weight behind disappeared yet I refused to roll over and check. The panic and the dread was still there, my breathing was ragged to hell.

How the hell I went back to sleep I dont know. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310711#Comment_310711 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310711#Comment_310711 Thu, 29 Sep 2011 08:37:04 -0700 flecky
My mind was in a state of chemical inbalance.Everything around me was so bright it was overwhelming.

About 10 minutes into the meeting i saw some sort of insect creature scuttle across my torso.It looked like a purple veined eight legged chestburster desperately trying to find a orifice to burrow into.So vivid and horrific was this hallucination all i could do was flinch and squirm in my seat.The room was full of addicts from Chelsea..the posh kind.

I believe i exclaimed the good old "AAIIEEE!"The whole room,very crowded,looked at me.After the person who was sharing had finished i jumped in with "My name is flecky and i'm a detoxing addict.Sorry about that..i just saw a horrible little spider thing,like".

Most of them looked at me as if i was king of the sick ones..but a few of the good ones laughed along with me.

The other night i was sitting on my bed and suddenly Sadako from the original Ring film was bang right in my face! All long black hair and twisto eyes.I shat meself and flung my body onto the bed.She was only there for a micro second but fuck that was enough.

I no longer watch t.v..just DVDs. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310788#Comment_310788 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310788#Comment_310788 Thu, 29 Sep 2011 21:30:07 -0700 government spy http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310857#Comment_310857 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310857#Comment_310857 Fri, 30 Sep 2011 11:50:14 -0700 eDave
*checks doors and windows again* ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310858#Comment_310858 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310858#Comment_310858 Fri, 30 Sep 2011 12:16:38 -0700 oldhat
My best friend at the time was part of Air Cadets and went on a trip to an American Air Force base. Basically, he got sneaky, went to a restricted area and took pictures that he wasn't supposed to take. Nothing serious, just controls of certain machines. He prided himself and showed me the photos. So of course I had to put together a prank.

I explained the situation to my mom, who works with military sometimes, and asked if she knew anyone who could talk the military talk. She introduced me to a guy who was born and bred in a base, was a high-ranking officer out of Langley and could definitely talk the talk. Together we worked out something. And because we didn't want any chance of this screwing up, I informed my friend's parents of his plans. They agreed to go with it.

I was in my friend's house hanging out with him when he got a call from an officer telling him that security cameras caught him entering an unauthorized area of the base taking photos and after working with the Canadians and the officers of the squadron he was from, he obtained my friend's information. He informed my friend to stand by while, in full cooperation of the Canadian government, they figure out what to do, but he stressed that he was in a whole world of freakin' trouble.

My friend seemed shaken and preoccupied after the call. I had to leave later on but he then received a second call from the officer, saying that he was to go to Ottawa and surrender the photos and the negatives. There they will decide what the punishment would be for a minor who has committed treason. When my friend's mother got home he ran to her with tears welling up and told her of what happened. She sighed with disappointment, gave the best "you're in trouble" look that only a mother could and told him just how serious an offense treason was. Not sensing motherly support, my friend called his stepfather, who sympathized, but told him that his life was over, as he would be spending it behind bars.

After a few hours of letting him sweat, I went back to his house and told him the deal. He punched me in the arm. A few times. But we all laughed.

(EDIT TO ADD: HUGE apologies for going over the limit. Already knocked down 100 words, but have another 100 to go to get the 300 mark. Please don't delete!) ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310910#Comment_310910 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310910#Comment_310910 Sat, 01 Oct 2011 01:42:36 -0700 curb http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310922#Comment_310922 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310922#Comment_310922 Sat, 01 Oct 2011 06:09:13 -0700 government spy http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310924#Comment_310924 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310924#Comment_310924 Sat, 01 Oct 2011 07:05:01 -0700 Comicbookbunny
They had been living there for a few weeks and my aunt's friend had a little girl, she began telling everyone that a little boy lives there with them and likes to play with her toys, she says he is quite nice and likes him. The little girl is about five and has had quite a bit of trauma done to her in her own little short life, all of us are just glad she is happy and seems to be fine with her imaginary friend. One evening while she was playing on the floor, she looks up and says "ok" and walks over and sits on the couch. No more than a few seconds later the ceiling fan drops to the floor where she was just a moment ago. Panic ensued for a bit getting things cleaned up and making sure she was ok no glass or broken bits hitting her ect. She was fine and not bothered by the situation. We asked her later why she had said "ok" before she moved- and very matter-a-fact told us the little boy said she should go sit on the couch. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310993#Comment_310993 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=10201&Focus=310993#Comment_310993 Sat, 01 Oct 2011 22:31:52 -0700 flecky