[Event]Sinister Minds - Halloween Horror Stories

Thankyou so much :3 It is my personal story and me and my family lived in that house. I missed a lot of other stuff that happened, I just included the strongest ones xD

 

When have u written this? Just this year? Cuz https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6111419/1/Never-Again

 

I'm just gonna channel my boredom here ...
@MakerPeace : dude learn2read
http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2008/10/no_tresspassing.html

 

Character name: Maelove
Race: Elyos
Server: Siel
Title:
Experience The Horror



I am new to this site. I went through something horrifying, which I want to share today. I got married 18 months back and shifted to a rented apartment with my husband.

We both are working here in Gurgaon. Normally I come home first around 7.30pm and my husband reaches late around 8 or 8.30pm. Every thing was going fine with nothing abnormal in that house. It was more than one year we were staying there and touch wood, we have found ourselves prospering at work, happy in married life and every thing else was just a bit more than perfect.

It was first week of December 2013, I took a short leave from office at 4pm and reached my place around 4.45pm. I stay at ground floor, it has a separate entrance and the rest of the building has one main entrance. The other floors are accessible to us through a door in the hall which opens at the base of the stair cases. There is a small Mandir (where one keeps the Idols or pictures of Gods for worship) I have made at the end of the hall, just next to my bedroom.

Coming back to the horrifying incident, I entered the house and locked the doors from inside. There was a power cut but that was not a problem as we had power back-up. While trying to put the lights on, I accidentally turned the TV on and inverter went off with a beeping sound due to extra load. I immediately turned off the TV and rushed towards the inverter in my bedroom to turn it on.

Suddenly every thing became very dark, the little day light we get in the hall through the curtains didn't seem to enter. The inverter was hardly ten steps away but I couldn't reach it. I was getting lost in that little space as if the area had stretched.

I kept walking slowly in the darkness little scared of crashing into some thing or banging my self against the wall. My hands were stretched out trying to feel objects near me so that I could get a clue where I exactly was in my apartment. Surprisingly I couldn't get hold of any thing not even my Mandir next to my bedroom.

Finally I got hold of the door frames of my bedroom (which was a great relief), the moment I stepped in, I felt surrounded by some thing, what ever that was, they were quite a few in number. As I could feel them all around me. I remembered my cell phone, which I kept on the top of the showcase (at the other end of the hall) while entering the house, which seemed the only source of light. I wanted to rush for it but the presence of those things was so strong that I was scared to move in any direction, as I might crash into one of them and could not imagine the consequences of it.

I started moving back wards with one small step at a time praying desperately. After a few steps I could feel as if someone standing at my back, so close that I heard some whispering in my ear. I couldn't bear it any more, so I turned and ran in a desperate attempt to save my self. I stumbled into something and thankfully landed on something soft (the Sofa). Before I could stand up I felt those things stooping down on me. Surprisingly my eyes were not getting used to the darkness, which is not normal.

I tried crying out for help but only a low groaning sound came out. My body froze, I couldn't move at all, may be out of fear. I was horrified and prayed for help. Nothing came to my mind not even the name of the almighty. Tears were rolling down from the corner of my eyes as I was lying on my back. In my attempt to speak I kept on groaning. I don't know how I fell on some thing hard. The other I could smell old clothes and dust. I was not getting enough breath almost suffocating.

Suddenly I saw light, very bright almost blinding me. I could barely see anything but to my relief I heard my husband's voice calling me out, He dragged me out of something. I don't remember any thing after that. When I opened my eyes my landlord's entire family was there and my husband of course concerned about me.

When they left my husband asked me that how I got inside the Divan (box) bed? I was astonished because I never went inside the bed room, I stepped out immediately. One more shocking fact was both the doors were locked from outside when I clearly remember locking them from inside. Though it went in my favor, otherwise my husband couldn't have entered the house.

My husband came home early that day because I was not answering my phone, which made him worried. When he unlocked the the door with spare keys he thought I haven't reached home, but fortunately he heard noises coming from the divan, when he opened it after sliding the heavy mattress, he found me to his utter shock and terror. To add to it the mattress was kept nicely, with bed sheet and pillows neatly arranged, the way I do it every morning. It would have been difficult for both of us to believe what we experienced if we were not a part of this incident.

I still don't understand what happened that day and why. We are still staying in the same house (planning to shift) although nothing has gone wrong since that day. But I am not able to get over this incident. I worship every day just the way I did before this incident. Then why? Every thing has gone back to normal except me and the inverter. It still beeps off at times. When ever it happens I run out or open the door wide if I am alone, and wait for some one to come.

 

CHARZCTER NAME: Specialwarrior
SERVER: Siel
RACE: Asmo

TITLE: PIGEONS from HELL

Griswell awoke suddenly, every nerve tingling with a premonition of imminent peril. He stared about wildly, unable at first to remember where he was, or what he was doing there. Moonlight filtered in through the dusty windows, and the great empty room with its lofty ceiling and gaping black fireplace was spectral and unfamiliar. Then as he emerged from the clinging cobwebs of his recent sleep, he remembered where he was and how he came to be there. He twisted his head and stared at his companion, sleeping on the floor near him. John Branner was but a vaguely bulking shape in the darkness that the moon scarcely grayed.

Griswell tried to remember what had awakened him. There was no sound in the house, no sound outside except the mournful hoot of an owl, far away in the piny woods. Now he had captured the illusive memory. It was a dream, a nightmare so filled with dim terror that it had frightened him awake. Recollection flooded back, vividly etching the abominable vision.

Or was it a dream? Certainly it must have been, but it had blended so curiously with recent actual events that it was difficult to know where reality left off and fantasy began.

Dreaming, he had seemed to relive his past few waking hours, in accurate detail. The dream had begun, abruptly, as he and John Branner came in sight of the house where they now lay. They had come rattling and bouncing over the stumpy, uneven old road that led through the pinelands, he and John Branner, wandering far afield from their New England home, in search of vacation pleasure. They had sighted the old house with its balustraded galleries rising amidst a wilderness of weeds and bushes, just as the sun was setting behind it. It dominated their fancy, rearing black and stark and gaunt against the low lurid rampart of sunset, barred by the black pines.

They were tired, sick of bumping and pounding all day over woodland roads. The old deserted house stimulated their imagination with its suggestion of antebellum splendor and ultimate decay. They left the automobile beside the rutty road, and as they went up the winding walk of crumbling bricks, almost lost in the tangle of rank growth, pigeons rose from the balustrades in a fluttering, feathery crowd and swept away with a low thunder of beating wings.

The oaken door sagged on broken hinges. Dust lay thick on the floor of the wide, dim hallway, on the broad steps of the stair that mounted up from the hall. They turned into a door opposite the landing, and entered a large room, empty, dusty, with cobwebs shining thickly in the corners. Dust lay thick over the ashes in the great fireplace.

They discussed gathering wood and building a fire, but decided against it. As the sun sank, darkness came quickly, the thick, black, absolute darkness of the pinelands. They knew that rattlesnakes and copperheads haunted Southern forests, and they did not care to go groping for firewood in the dark. They ate frugally from tins, then rolled in their blankets fully clad before the empty fireplace, and went instantly to sleep.

This, in part, was what Griswell had dreamed. He saw again the gaunt house looming stark against the crimson sunset; saw the flight of the pigeons as he and Branner came up the shattered walk. He saw the dim room in which they presently lay, and he saw the two forms that were himself and his companion, lying wrapped in their blankets on the dusty floor. Then from that point his dream altered subtly, passed out of the realm of the commonplace and became tinged with fear. He was looking into a vague, shadowy chamber, lit by the gray light of the moon which streamed in from some obscure source. For there was no window in that room. But in the gray light he saw three silent shapes that hung suspended in a row, and their stillness and their outlines woke chill horror in his soul. There was no sound, no word, but he sensed a Presence of fear and lunacy crouching in a dark corner. . . . Abruptly he was back in the dusty, high-ceilinged room, before the great fireplace.

He was lying in his blankets, staring tensely through the dim door and across the shadowy hall, to where a beam of moonlight fell across the balustraded stair, some seven steps up from the landing. And there was something on the stair, a bent, misshapen, shadowy thing that never moved fully into the beam of light. But a dim yellow blur that might have been a face was turned toward him, as if something crouched on the stair, regarding him and his companion. Fright crept chilly through his veins, and it was then that he awoke -- if indeed he had been asleep.

He blinked his eyes. The beam of moonlight fell across the stair just as he had dreamed it did; but no figure lurked there. Yet his flesh still crawled from the fear the dream or vision had roused in him; his legs felt as if they had been plunged in ice-water. He made an involuntary movement to awaken his companion, when a sudden sound paralyzed him.

It was the sound of whistling on the floor above. Eery and sweet it rose, not carrying any tune, but piping shrill and melodious. Such a sound in a supposedly deserted house was alarming enough; but it was more than the fear of a physical invader that held Griswell frozen. He could not himself have defined the horror that gripped him. But Branner's blankets rustled, and Griswell saw he was sitting upright. His figure bulked dimly in the soft darkness, the head turned toward the stair as if the man were listening intently. More sweetly and more subtly evil rose that weird whistling.

"John!" whispered Griswell from dry lips. He had meant to shout -- to tell Branner that there was somebody upstairs, somebody who could mean them no good; that they must leave the house at once. But his voice died dryly in his throat.

Branner had risen. His boots clumped on the floor as he moved toward the door. He stalked leisurely into the hall and made for the lower landing, merging with the shadows that clustered black about the stair.

Griswell lay incapable of movement, his mind a whirl of bewilderment. Who was that whistling upstairs? Why was Branner going up those stairs? Griswell saw him pass the spot where the moonlight rested, saw his head tilted back as if he were looking at something Griswell could not see, above and beyond the stair. But his face was like that of a sleepwalker. He moved across the bar of moonlight and vanished from Griswell's view, even as the latter tried to shout to him to come back. A ghastly whisper was the only result of his effort.

The whistling sank to a lower note, died out. Griswell heard the stairs creaking under Branner's measured tread. Now he had reached the hallway above, for Griswell heard the clump of his feet moving along it. Suddenly the footfalls halted, and the whole night seemed to hold its breath. Then an awful scream split the stillness, and Griswell started up, echoing the cry.

The strange paralysis that had held him was broken. He took a step toward the door, then checked himself. The footfalls were resumed. Branner was coming back. He was not running. The tread was even more deliberate and measured than before. Now the stairs began to creak again. A groping hand, moving along the balustrade, came into the bar of moonlight; then another, and a ghastly thrill went through Griswell as he saw that the other hand gripped a hatchet -- a hatchet which dripped blackly. Was that Branner who was coming down that stair?

Yes! The figure had moved into the bar of moonlight now, and Griswell recognized it. Then he saw Branner's face, and a shriek burst from Griswell's lips. Branner's face was bloodless, corpse-like; gouts of blood dripped darkly down it; his eyes were glassy and set, and blood oozed from the great gash which cleft the crown of his head!

Griswell never remembered exactly how he got out of that accursed house. Afterward he retained a mad, confused impression of smashing his way through a dusty cobwebbed window, of stumbling blindly across the weed-choked lawn, gibbering his frantic horror. He saw the black wall of the pines, and the moon floating in a blood-red mist in which there was neither sanity nor reason.

Some shred of sanity returned to him as he saw the automobile beside the road. In a world gone suddenly mad, that was an object reflecting prosaic reality; but even as he reached for the door, a dry chilling whir sounded in his ears, and he recoiled from the swaying undulating shape that arched up from its scaly coils on the driver's seat and hissed sibilantly at him, darting a forked tongue in the moonlight.

With a sob of horror he turned and fled down the road, as a man runs in a nightmare. He ran without purpose or reason. His numbed brain was incapable of conscious thought. He merely obeyed the blind primitive urge to run -- run -- run until he fell exhausted.

The black walls of the pines flowed endlessly past him; so he was seized with the illusion that he was getting nowhere. But presently a sound penetrated the fog of his terror -- the steady, inexorable patter of feet behind him. Turning his head, he saw something loping after him -- wolf or dog, he could not tell which, but its eyes glowed like balls of green fire. With a gasp he increased his speed, reeled around a bend in the road, and heard a horse snort; saw it rear and heard its rider curse; saw the gleam of blue steel in the man's lifted hand.

He staggered and fell, catching at the rider's stirrup.

"For God's sake, help me!" he panted. "The thing! It killed Branner -- it's coming after me! Look!"

Twin balls of fire gleamed in the fringe of bushes at the turn of the road. The rider swore again, and on the heels of his profanity came the smashing report of his six-shooter -- again and yet again. The fire-sparks vanished, and the rider, jerking his stirrup free from Griswell's grasp, spurred his horse at the bend. Griswell staggered up, shaking in every limb. The rider was out of sight only a moment; then he came galloping back.

"Took to the brush. Timber wolf, I reckon, though I never heard of one chasin' a man before. Do you know what it was?"

Griswell could only shake his head weakly.

The rider, etched in the moonlight, looked down at him, smoking pistol still lifted in his right hand. He was a compactly-built man of medium height, and his broad-brimmed planter's hat and his boots marked him as a native of the country as definitely as Griswell's garb stamped him as a stranger.

"What's all this about, anyway?"

"I don't know," Griswell answered helplessly. "My name's Griswell. John Branner -- my friend who was traveling with me -- we stopped at a deserted house back down the road to spend the night. Something -- -- -- " at the memory he was choked by a rush of horror. "My God!" he screamed. "I must be mad!Something came and looked over the balustrade of the stair -- something with a yellow face! I thought I dreamed it, but it must have been real. Then somebody began whistling upstairs, and Branner rose and went up the stairs walking like a man in his sleep, or hypnotized. I heard him scream -- or someone screamed; then he came down the stair again with a bloody hatchet in his hand -- and my God, sir, he was dead! His head had been split open. I saw brains and clotted blood oozing down his face, and his face was that of a dead man. But he came down the stairs! As God is my witness, John Branner was murdered in that dark upper hallway, and then his dead body came stalking down the stairs with a hatchet in its hand -- to kill me!"

The rider made no reply; he sat his horse like a statue, outlined against the stars, and Griswell could not read his expression, his face shadowed by his hat-brim.

"You think I'm mad," he said hopelessly. "Perhaps I am."

"I don't know what to think," answered the rider. "If it was any house but the old Blassenville Manor -- well, we'll see. My name's Buckner. I'm sheriff of this county. Took a prisoner over to the county-seat in the next county and was ridin' back late."

He swung off his horse and stood beside Griswell, shorter than the lanky New Englander, but much harder knit. There was a natural manner of decision and certainty about him, and it was easy to believe that he would be a dangerous man in any sort of a fight.

"Are you afraid to go back to the house?" he asked, and Griswell shuddered, but shook his head, the dogged tenacity of Puritan ancestors asserting itself.

"The thought of facing that horror again turns me sick.

But poor Branner -- -- -- " he choked again. "We must find his body. My God!" he cried, unmanned by the abysmal horror of the thing; "what will we find? If a dead man walks, what -- "

"We'll see." The sheriff caught the reins in the crook of his left elbow and began filling the empty chambers of his big blue pistol as they walked along.

As they made the turn Griswell's blood was ice at the thought of what they might see lumbering up the road with a bloody, grinning death-mask, but they saw only the house looming spectrally among the pines, down the road. A strong shudder shook Griswell.

"God, how evil that house looks, against those black pines! It looked sinister from the very first -- when we went up the broken walk and saw those pigeons fly up from the porch -- -- -- "

"Pigeons?" Buckner cast him a quick glance. "You saw the pigeons?"

"Why, yes! Scores of them perching on the porch railing."

They strode on for a moment in silence, before Buckner said abruptly: "I've lived in this country all my life. I've passed the old Blassenville place a thousand times, I reckon, at all hours of the day and night. But I never saw a pigeon anywhere around it, or anywhere else in these woods."

"There were scores of them," repeated Griswell, bewildered.

"I've seen men who swore they'd seen a flock of pigeons perched along the balusters just at sundown," said Buckner slowly. "Negroes, all of them except one man. A tramp. He was buildin' a fire in the yard, aimin' to camp there that night. I passed along there about dark, and he told me about the pigeons. I came back by there the next mornin'. The ashes of his fire were there, and his tin cup, and skillet where he'd fried pork, and his blankets looked like they'd been slept in. Nobody ever saw him again. That was twelve years ago. The blacks say they can see the pigeons, but no black would pass along this road between sundown and sunup. They say the pigeons are the souls of the Blassenvilles, let out of hell at sunset. The Negroes say the red glare in the west is the light from hell, because then the gates of hell are open, and the Blassenvilles fly out."

"Who were the Blassenvilles?" asked Griswell, shivering.

"They owned all this land here. French-English family. Came here from the West Indies before the Louisiana Purchase. The Civil War ruined them, like it did so many. Some were killed in the War; most of the others died out. Nobody's lived in the Manor since 1890 when Miss Elizabeth Blassenville, the last of the line, fled from the old house one night like it was a plague spot, and never came back to it -- this your auto?"

They halted beside the car, and Griswell stared morbidly at the grim house. Its dusty panes were empty and blank; but they did not seem blind to him. It seemed to him that ghastly eyes were fixed hungrily on him through those darkened panes. Buckner repeated his question.

"Yes. Be careful. There's a snake on the seat -- or there was."

"Not there now," grunted Buckner, tying his horse and pulling an electric torch out of the saddle-bag. "Well, let's have a look."

He strode up the broken brick walk as matter-of-factly as if he were paying a social call on friends. Griswell followed close at his heels, his heart pounding suffocatingly. A scent of decay and moldering vegetation blew on the faint wind, and Griswell grew faint with nausea, that rose from a frantic abhorrence of these black woods, these ancient plantation houses that hid forgotten secrets of slavery and bloody pride and mysterious intrigues. He had thought of the South as a sunny, lazy land washed by soft breezes laden with spice and warm blossoms, where life ran tranquilly to the rhythm of black folk singing in sunbathed cottonfields. But now he had discovered another, unsuspected side -- a dark, brooding, fear-haunted side, and the discovery repelled him.

The oaken door sagged as it had before. The blackness of the interior was intensified by the beam of Buckner's light playing on the sill. That beam sliced through the darkness of the hallway and roved up the stair, and Griswell held his breath, clenching his fists. But no shape of lunacy leered down at them. Buckner went in, walking light as a cat, torch in one hand, gun in the other.

As he swung his light into the room across from the stairway, Griswell cried out -- and cried out again, almost fainting with the intolerable sickness at what he saw. A trail of blood drops led across the floor, crossing the blankets Branner had occupied, which lay between the door and those in which Griswell had lain. And Griswell's blankets had a terrible occupant. John Branner lay there, face down, his cleft head revealed in merciless clarity in the steady light. His outstretched hand still gripped the haft of a hatchet, and the blade was imbedded deep in the blanket and the floor beneath, just where Griswell's head had lain when he slept there.

A momentary rush of blackness engulfed Griswell. He was not aware that he staggered, or that Buckner caught him. When he could see and hear again, he was violently sick and hung his head against the mantel, retching miserably.

Buckner turned the light full on him, making him blink. Buckner's voice came from behind the blinding radiance, the man himself unseen.

"Griswell, you've told me a yarn that's hard to believe. I saw something chasin' you, but it might have been a timber wolf, or a mad dog.

"If you're holdin' back anything, you better spill it. What you told me won't hold up in any court. You're bound to be accused of killin' your partner. I'll have to arrest you. If you'll give me the straight goods now, it'll make it easier. Now, didn't you kill this fellow, Branner?

"Wasn't it something like this: you quarreled, he grabbed a hatchet and swung at you, but you dodged and then let him have it?"

Griswell sank down and hid his face in his hands, his head swimming.

"Great God, man, I didn't murder John! Why, we've been friends ever since we were children in school together. I've told you the truth. I don't blame you for not believing me. But God help me, it is the truth!"

The light swung back to the gory head again, and Griswell closed his eyes.

He heard Buckner grunt.

"I believe this hatchet in his hand is the one he was killed with. Blood and brains plastered on the blade, and hairs stickin' to it -- hairs exactly the same color as his. This makes it tough for you, Griswell."

"How so?" the New Englander asked dully.

"Knocks any plea of self-defense in the head. Branner couldn't have swung at you with this hatchet after you split his skull with it. You must have pulled the ax out of his head, stuck it into the floor and clamped his fingers on it to make it look like he'd attacked you. And it would have been damned clever -- if you'd used another hatchet."

"But I didn't kill him," groaned Griswell. "I have no intention of pleading self-defense."

"That's what puzzles me," Buckner admitted frankly, straightening. "What murderer would rig up such a crazy story as you've told me, to prove his innocence? Average killer would have told a logical yarn, at least. Hmmm! Blood drops leadin' from the door. The body was dragged -- no, couldn't have been dragged. The floor isn't smeared. You must have carried it here, after killin' him in some other place. But in that case, why isn't there any blood on your clothes? Of course you could have changed clothes and washed your hands. But the fellow hasn't been dead long."

"He walked downstairs and across the room," said Griswell hopelessly. "He came to kill me. I knew he was coming to kill me when I saw him lurching down the stair. He struck where I would have been, if I hadn't awakened. That window -- I burst out at it. You see it's broken."

"I see. But if he walked then, why isn't he walkin' now?"

"I don't know! I'm too sick to think straight. I've been fearing that he'd rise up from the floor where he lies and come at me again. When I heard that wolf running up the road after me, I thought it was John chasing me -- John, running through the night with his bloody ax and his bloody head, and his death-grin!"

His teeth chattered as he lived that horror over again.

Buckner let his light play across the floor.

"The blood drops lead into the hall. Come on. We'll follow them."

Griswell cringed. "They lead upstairs."

Buckner's eyes were fixed hard on him.

"Are you afraid to go upstairs, with me?"

Griswell's face was gray.

"Yes. But I'm going, with you or without you. The thing that killed poor John may still be hiding up there."

"Stay behind me," ordered Buckner. "If anything jumps us, I'll take care of it. But for your own sake, I warn you that I shoot quicker than a cat jumps, and I don't often miss. If you've got any ideas of layin' me out from behind, forget them."

"Don't be a fool!" Resentment got the better of his apprehension, and this outburst seemed to reassure Buckner more than any of his protestations of innocence.

"I want to be fair," he said quietly. "I haven't indicted and condemned you in my mind already. If only half of what you're tellin' me is the truth, you've been through a hell of an experience, and I don't want to be too hard on you. But you can see how hard it is for me to believe all you've told me."

Griswell wearily motioned for him to lead the way, unspeaking. They went out into the hall, paused at the landing. A thin string of crimson drops, distinct in the thick dust, led up the steps.

"Man's tracks in the dust," grunted Buckner. "Go slow.

I've got to be sure of what I see, because we're obliteratin' them as we go up. Hmmm! One set goin' up, one comin' down. Same man. Not your tracks. Branner was a bigger man than you are. Blood drops all the way -- blood on the bannisters like a man had laid his bloody hand there -- a smear of stuff that looks --brains. Now what -- -- -- "

"He walked down the stair, a dead man," shuddered Griswell. "Groping with one hand -- the other gripping the hatchet that killed him."

"Or was carried," muttered the sheriff. "But if somebody carried him -- where are the tracks?"

They came out into the upper hallway, a vast, empty space of dust and shadows where time-crusted windows repelled the moonlight and the ring of Buckner's torch seemed inadequate. Griswell trembled like a leaf. Here, in darkness and horror, John Branner had died.

"Somebody whistled up here," he muttered. "John came, as if he were being called."

Buckner's eyes were blazing strangely in the light.

"The footprints lead down the hall," he muttered. "Same as on the stair -- one set going, one coming. Same prints -- Judas!"

Behind him Griswell stifled a cry, for he had seen what prompted Buckner's exclamation. A few feet from the head of the stair Branner's footprints stopped abruptly, then returned, treading almost in the other tracks. And where the trail halted there was a great splash of blood on the dusty floor -- and other tracks met it -- tracks of bare feet, narrow but with splayed toes. They too receded in a second line from the spot.

Buckner bent over them, swearing.

"The tracks meet! And where they meet there's blood and brains on the floor! Branner must have been killed on that spot -- with a blow from a hatchet. Bare feet coming out of the darkness to meet shod feet -- then both turned away again; the shod feet went downstairs, the bare feet went back down the hall." He directed his light down the hall. The footprints faded into darkness, beyond the reach of the beam. On either hand the closed doors of chambers were cryptic portals of mystery.

"Suppose your crazy tale was true," Buckner muttered, half to himself. "These aren't your tracks. They look like a woman's. Suppose somebody did whistle, and Branner went upstairs to investigate. Suppose somebody met him here in the dark and split his head. The signs and tracks would have been, in that case, just as they really are. But if that's so, why isn't Branner lyin' here where he was killed? Could he have lived long enough to take the hatchet away from whoever killed him, and stagger downstairs with it?"

"No, no!" Recollection gagged Griswell. "I saw him on the stair. He was dead. No man could live a minute after receiving such a wound."

"I believe it," muttered Buckner. "But -- it's madness! Or else it's too clever -- yet, what sane man would think up and work out such an elaborate and utterly insane plan to escape punishment for murder, when a simple plea of self-defense would have been so much more effective? No court would recognize that story. Well, let's follow these other tracks. They lead down the hall -- here, what's this?"

With an icy clutch at his soul, Griswell saw the light was beginning to grow dim.

"This battery is new," muttered Buckner, and for the first time Griswell caught an edge of fear in his voice. "Come on -- out of here quick!"

The light had faded to a faint red glow. The darkness seemed straining into them, creeping with black cat-feet. Buckner retreated, pushing Griswell stumbling behind him as he walked backward, pistol cocked and lifted, down the dark hall. In the growing darkness Griswell heard what sounded like the stealthy opening of a door. And suddenly the blackness about them was vibrant with menace. Griswell knew Buckner sensed it as well as he, for the sheriff's hard body was tense and taut as a stalking panther's.

But without haste he worked his way to the stair and backed down it, Griswell preceding him, and fighting the panic that urged him to scream and burst into mad flight. A ghastly thought brought icy sweat out on his flesh. Suppose the dead man were creeping up the stair behind them in the dark, face frozen in the death-grin, blood-caked hatchet lifted to strike?

This possibility so overpowered him that he was scarcely aware when his feet struck the level of the lower hallway, and he was only then aware that the light had grown brighter as they descended, until it now gleamed with its full power -- but when Buckner turned it back up the stairway, it failed to illuminate the darkness that hung like a tangible fog at the head of the stair.

"The damn thing was conjured," muttered Buckner. "Nothin' else. It couldn't act like that naturally."

"Turn the light into the room," begged Griswell. "See if John -- if John is -- -- -- "

He could not put the ghastly thought into words, but Buckner understood.

He swung the beam around, and Griswell had never dreamed that the sight of the gory body of a murdered man could bring such relief.

"He's still there," grunted Buckner. "If he walked after he was killed, he hasn't walked since. But that thing -- -- -- "

Again he turned the light up the stair, and stood chewing his lip and scowling. Three times he half lifted his gun. Griswell read his mind. The sheriff was tempted to plunge back up that stair, take his chance with the unknown. But common sense held him back.

 

@MakerPeace what part of "don't copy from websites" and "make ur own story" u don't understand?
http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0600721h.html

 

Dan, stop trolling. Just let them get a participation prize, they badly need it lol

 

Nope they won't.

Plagiarized - http://www.yourghoststories.com/real-ghost-story.php?story=17584

 

Character Name: Gravitys
Race: Elyos
Server: Siel
Story:

JINGLES


Anna was a cheery girl from about 8 years old, living at the Buckner Mansion, 1410 Jackson Ave. in the Garden District. At one point in her life her old grandma, who lived in with her & had wrinkles all around her face came to pass away. On her last moments, she asked Anna to take care of her doll. Her pretty precious porcelain doll, called Jingles.

As the good girl Anna was, she promised her grandmother to take care of the doll and cherish it always. Once Anna had spoken these words, her granny looked happy, like she was freed from something. I can assure you, none has ever looked so peacefully all of a sudden as her on a moment like this.

With her last powers grandma stuttered that Anna had to take care of it always, else horrible things are going to happen. When Anna asked her what those those things could be, grandma smiled. “Horrible things, hun, horrible things.”

Once Anna came home later that day, she put the delicate doll on the closet in her bedroom, between the many teddybears she had for years. And that’s the place where the doll stayed, for one year and a half without Anna ever giving a glance at it again. Until that one night.

It was a cold winter night when she suddenly woke up by a strange, sharp, creepy voice from somewhere in her room.

“Anna.. I’m on your closet and I’ve got a knife!”

Shortly after she felt her bed shaking. Anna sat straight in bed immediately, but couldn’t see anything by the sinister darkness there was in her room. She crawled away back, wrapped with thick blankets around her and her eyes fixed on the door. Besides blinking her eyes, Anna made no movement. And there it was anew.

“Anna.. I’m on your closet and I’ve got a knife!”

Anna screamed the whole house together, until her mommy & daddy finally came in the room to see what made their daughter scream so much. As they were expecting, there was nothing to see in the room that could appeal suspected and they were convinced it must be just a nightmare or one of her other fantasies and they told her to just close her eyes and go back to sleep again.

But after sleeping in for a few minutes, she heard the voice again.

“Anna.. I’m on your closet and I’ve got a knife!”

Once over, she screamed out loud. Her parents came to take a look, and as they saw their daughter being so afraid, they let her sleep with them for one night.

After a few days, which the voice wasn’t hear able in just once, Anna lay down in her own bed again.

“Anna.. I’m on your closet and I’ve got a knife!”

When hearing this Anna almost startled out of bed. The blanket slowly fell from her body and revealed her skinny body and the thin layer of clothes that hang loosely around it. She screamed so hard, until her parents came in. When she found the power to tell her parents what she heard, the dad was shocked. He couldn’t believe this, not after all those years. Not again. He immediately knew what was going on, so he took all of the dolls & teddybears from Anna and decided to bury them 5 meters deep with his shovel on the hillside not far from their house.

Ther night after Anna lay down in bed again, sleeping more tight than she ever did. Her parents were gone for a night, since they thought they dealt with it, thus she had already forgotten about the voice. But then.. She heard something. First she couldn’t hear it clear at all, like it was just a voice you hear on the radio some blocks away. But slowly she could understand more & more.

“Anna.. I’m 5 meter under the ground and I’ve got a knife!
Anna.. I’m 4 meter under the ground and I’ve got a knife!
Anna.. I’m 3 meter under the ground and I’ve got a knife!
Anna.. I’m 2 meter under the ground and I’ve got a knife!
Anna.. I’m 1 meter under the ground and I’ve got a knife!
Anna.. I’m on the edge of your village and I’ve got a knife!
Anna.. I’m standing next to your house and I’ve got a knife!”

Her heart started beating so fast, it almost skipped a beat.

“Anna.. I’m at the stairs and I’ve got a knife!”

Gentle taps started to disrupt the icy silence in her room. The sound of the taps seemed to be getting louder and closer. When the sound was only a few meters away from the girl, it was suddenly gone. Silence filled the room again.

“Anna.. I’m at your room and I’ve got a knife!”

And then there was the sound of jingling keys, a key that was inserted into the keyhole and the handle of the door that was slowly going down, followed by an icy shriek that you can feel deep into your bones. A dark shadow ran into the room and jumped on the girl off.

“Anna.. I’m at the side of your bed and I’ve got a knife!”

Subsequent events followed one another in quick succession. The screams of the girl stopped and turned into ferocious growl, while the incoming figure painful screamed to escape. You could hear the sound of growling and screaming mixes with the sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh apart. Soon, the silence returned again and panting was the only sound that filled the room.

Slowly the girl managed to tear the head from the doll off the ground. Her fingers glided over the face, the lips, the nose, the ears. When she arrived at the eyes, she kept her finger silent. A frown on her face appeared and it looked like she was in conflict with herself. Slowly her fingers moved again and she pushed back the eyelid. She let her finger slide back over the eyeball, and she then pushed the eye. This operation caused a soggy sound which made the girl grin. The same treatment happened to the second eye soon after. The girl chuckled softly, after she got up. With the head still in her hands, she walked to a corner in the room. Once there, she looked up. A smirk graced her lips, and she lifted up the torn head. Then she let the head fall. With a thud it came to the ground.

The girl walked back to her bed in the room where she had all the time been. She picked up the blanket and she wrapped it around herself. Then she sat back with her eyes fixed on the door. Her facial expression was neutral, just as if nothing happened.

 

Finaldestinyz
Asmodian
Siel

"Hell"

Yes, hell. A place we were told to exist for as long as we can remember. Does this place really exist? A young korean artist was taken to hell. After an all night prayer meeting, a young korean girl was visited by Jesus and shown the pit of hell. She was then told to draw on canvass what she saw so that the world would know the finaldestination of the wicked. She witnessed how countless people on earth kept ignorantly falling into the pit of hell and it was breaking God's heart. When Jesus and her arrived in hell, she was terrified and never stopped crying. She saw souls in prisoned, screaming in terror trying to get out and reaching out Jesus but could not touch him now. For them, it was too late. There is no love in hell, no mercy, no joy, no hope, nothing good. The demons in hell are uterly sadistic and brutal. Getting their only pleasure from tormeting lost souls. Enjoying the screams of the damned. She was shown the punishment for murderers, rapists and kidnappers. Being burnt, pierced and bitten. always trying to escape but never able to. Those who stole money, they were penetrated by many needles and shot with arrows but they were never able to find relief. The punishment of liars was also misserable. She witnessed those who worship idols those with evil thoughts, stubborn in their ways being cut by demons over and over again. Tounge being pulled out and eyes being pierced. In hell, men who became sexually cropped were tied up and had their privates continually pierced. There were also torments for those who had families, but cheated on their spouses or became gay or bisexual. She witnessed those who did not want to share the gospell. They also wound up here, they didn't think it was important to warn people of this place.This torment is for all those who ignored gods word and continues to commit sin. They're the ones who performed evil in the eyes of the lord. She saw those who drink and ate prohibited things. All kinds disgusting liquids were poured down into their troath. Those who hurt others with their words. Speaking w/o care of love were also in agony. She witnessed those who committed sins by their thoughts. They were covered with magots and devoured by insects. Continually crawling in and out of their body. She looked upon those who were filled with their own thoughts and knowledge. They never discuss the things in their lives with Jesus but just follow their own will and made their own decisions. They did not want to eat the bread of life which is the bread of life. Their torment was endless.

 

Thank you for showing me this, I honestly never thought someone would try and take my work. The first time I posted this was on a Myspace App called Nations, and then by request posted again on the Facebook version of that same app. But the application has been closed for a long time now, I wasn't under the impression someone would think to take it. No, I didn't just write this story this year. It's more then four year old, and has transversed my last two computers. I've reported the story to that hosting website as stolen intellectual property. Thank you again for making me aware of this.

 

To end his debate, you will have until 31st to make another story. That would be an additional proof that you can make an interesting story just as the one you made years ago, that is if you are the Real person who made that story. Surely it wasn't that hard when you have until the deadline to make another entry, right? For now, the first entry you posted would be marked invalid as I too have tons of suspicions over it.

Surely you can make a short story based on your own and not from the Internet.

 

Character name: Dexte
Servidor: Siel
Race:Elyos
Titels: FEEL STRANGE THINGS KIND SPIRITS ... SOMEBODY ELSE ??? WHAT DO ??
Good people from 5 years believe spirits exist, but is now worse and I see shadows. Whether I'm alone or with someone and I see a person sees nothing. Someone explain to me what is happening? I never anything bad happened, but I do not want to see. Already sent me the spiritual center go but I do not like voodoo or sacrifice or exorcism ... I feel I am seen every now and feel that this is on my side ... but I look and I see nothing sometimes. The night I wake up and I hear noises in my house but is not nobody. Sometimes I see shadows of someone going to the kitchen, but then I get to see and not see anyone. I've had a strange dream that I woke up in the middle of the night and saw a person with a black cape and red eyes in front of my refrigerator and kept looking at me and laughing ... but then I woke up.

When he was ten something very strange happened. I had heard that before building my school was a place where Roma were black magic or anything like that there. I curious and decided to investigate. I was in the classroom and looked through the window where I saw a white woman with full skirt and capped with an eye with long black hair dancing and touring the beautiful stone that sits behind my school. For a moment my friend called me and I looked at her and when I looked back at the stone did not see anyone else. At the hour of departure had forgotten my bag in the room. I went back to look and so I called my friend to go with me. So when we left the room we heard a noise. When we got back in the door we saw a beautiful dancing girl but her beautiful face turned into a demonic face and I could not move because I was paralyzed with fear. I woke up from the trance when I saw my friend pulling my arm. She and I went out running. We spent about three days without going to school because of fear. and after I returned to school, my colleague Amanda and I were in the bathroom and she said for us to play bloody mary. I did not want to but because she insisted. Nothing happened and when we went out of the bathroom she went ahead and closed the door. Alone, I started crying in fear and screaming for my friend and she started screaming tbm. The bathroom light went out and I felt a nail scratched me. When the teacher of Portuguese kicked the door light came back, my arm was bleeding badly with three brands of huge nails and I was no longer crying in fear but of pain. The coordinator wrapped a cloth on my arm, then I went to the doctor. I took some point s.

After some time I took the points and got huge scars. On the day I took the points went to sleep and had the dream of that moment was in the bathroom and the light had gone out, but even in the dark I saw a horrible thing like Lucifer, scratched me and the guy with anger like I was kind an angel who is destroying your plan. I woke up sweating and scared. Cried twice my mother. It was the worst dream I've ever had. She gave me water and let me sleep in her room and when I woke up the next morning, the scars were gone. There was nothing on my arm, no marks what happened ...

Today I still see things. I have 13 years ...

Someone also sees?

How can I make it stop? I'm afraid that something happens to me again.

Someone help me

 

Character name: Segref
Server: Lumiel
Race: Asmodian
Title: Bad dream

My story happened 4 years ago in Halloween. I live in a small town in Hungary and most of the people dont celebrate Halloween there. 4 years ago my brother, Steve and me decided to scary people in the dark. We thought it will be fun. So we picked up our costumes and go to the streets. I was zombie and Steve had a scream costume. The thing worked at the first time. People scared and run away from us, but there were a few who didnt. There was an accident when we tried to scare an older man... We failed and he chased us from streets to streets until we arrived park with lots of trees. My brother said " We need to change tactic. We will scare girls, cuz most of them fear from monsters." I agreed and we stayed at the park and wait for a victim. We waited for long minutes until a girl arrived to the park. She clould be about 14-15 years old. We thought she will be the perfect victim. I started to walk as a zombie and chased her. She walked away faster from me to Steve's position then i thought VICTORY. Yeah my brother hid behind a brush and when the girl arrived to him he came over and screamed like in horror moives. The girl scared, screamed and run away. We watched her for a short time and we were satisfied, but unfortunately she slipped in a puddle and she cried. We tried to help her but she stood up and and run sobbingly.
So we decided to finish it today, go home and drink a hot tea. At home i drank my tea and i went to sleep. In the bed i was thinking on that girl... I hope shes alright and didnt get any hurt. I went to my room to get some sleep, but not for long I woke up for a noise from downstairs. I looked at my phone it was midnight. I called my brother and my parents. No answer... i became scared and i grabbed my baseball bat and a flashlight, cuz the light not worked that night I dont know why (it was scary) and went down. I didnt find anybody in the house... I said "What the hell!" and i heard the girl's cry who was in the park. I shouted many times "Mom, Dad, Steve!!! Where are u?" then i heard noise that somebody smashed glasses on the floor. So i ran to the kitchen and i found broken glasses and some blood. I thought this cant be true... Still no lights. I looked around the kithcen with my small flashlight i saw my zombie costume and Steve's scream costumes on the floor. I looked scary and shouted "Where are u? Show urself!" I didnt hear any noise for a few seconds then i heard noise behind like when u pull ut a knife. I turned back fast and i saw the girl in front of me with a bloody knife and i was shocked i didnt know what to do, but the girl screamed and cut my throat quickly(it happened so fast)... Then i woke up in my bed. It was just a nightmare "THANK GOD". I looked at the time it was midnight as in my dream. "Oh come on!" I grabbed my bat and a flashlight, but luckily the lights are worked so i checked my brother and my parents, i found them. I realized it was just a really bad dream. So i went back to my room i tried to get some sleep but i couldn't. I was thingking about my dream... "What if it comes true?" I couldn't sleep that night. Next day i searched for the girl and try to apologize. I told her my story and my conscience. She was a bit angry then she accepted my apoligy. I went home happily and my conscience is gone. I've never dreamed again with that girl.
And since then i never threatened anyone.​

 

why dont you go to the first page of this thread and read my rules. I don't have to repeat my self over and over again that short stories and plagiarism will make your event invalid and you will not even receive any of the participant's reward. Like I said, your entry is invalid when of the rules I've set gets ignored. This event will end in Friday CST. If you don't receive any one of the rewards, don't get surprised because you clearly didn't follow my rules.