A teen girl lived with her father, mother and faithful pooch in a pleasant suburban neighborhood. Feeling that their daughter was finally of age (15) to look after herself while they went out for a few hours of entertainment, the parents left the daughter home alone. They instructed her to lock all the doors after their departure, and left all appropriate emergency phone numbers written down for their daughter to use if necessary.
After the parents left, the teen did some homework then watched some television and had a rather ordinary evening. Later into the evening, however, even though her parents hadn’t returned home yet, she faced a small dilemma: appear confident and capable to her parents and just go to bed or else watch and wait up for her parents to arrive back home. Although the teen was a bit nervous about being alone, she didn’t want her parents to find this out and, perhaps, not trust her to be on her own again. She decided to go to bed and not wait up for them. After all, she really wasn’t TOTALLY alone. Her dog was with her and this was comforting to her.
Off she went to bed, her pooch settling beside the bed, laying on the floor as he usually did each night. Nervous or not, it wasn’t long until the teen fell asleep.
The teen stirred from slumber briefly, hearing a noise sort of like a dripping faucet from down the hall. It was slightly annoying but of little concern to the sleepy teen. It probably meant that her parents had returned home and had used the bathroom faucet recently, that’s all. She reached a hand down beside her bed and the dog comforted her by licking her hand, so she put any worries about the noise aside and allowed herself to fall back asleep.
Pretty soon, the teen stirred again, hearing the dripping sound some more. Affected by a strain of apprehension, she wondered why her parents hadn’t stopped up the faucet yet. She reached down her hand and felt the dog lick her hand again, but really was getting too warm and comfortable under her blankets to think more on the matter. Besides, her pooch was beside her for protection. She went back to sleep.
The teen awakened a third time, still noting a dripping noise nearby. Annoyed this time, she looked across to her alarm clock on the bedside table. The time glowed from the table: 3:30am. She decided to go tighten the faucet herself in order to finally get some uninterrupted sleep. She noted that her dog wasn’t beside the bed when she swung her legs down from the bed.
As she walked to the bathroom, the dripping noise sounded more clear, so she was glad she decided to just get up and fix this problem until she turned on the bathroom light!
There, hung by the shower head was her beloved dog! The dripping noise was the sound of blood droplets dripping from the mutilated animal. She was so overwhelmed that she gagged instead of screaming. She turned to run away but was stopped in her tracks when she glanced at the mirror…
Written in big letters, from the dog’s blood:
Humans Can Lick Too
This girl was babysitting for some family friends one night, a little boy and a little girl. The parents had a fetish for clowns and had collected clowns from around the world for years, setting aside a room in the house just to put them on display. That night, the children were playing in this very room. Many of the clowns were just statues, and some were life-size, one in particular, was seated in a small child-like rocking chair.
The babysitter started to feel more and more uneasy about this statue throughout the night. She felt as though the eyes were following her, whenever she moved around the room with the children. She decided to call the parents. “I’m so sorry to bother you”, she said, “but I was wondering if I could move this clown that you have in the rocking chair, it’s starting to scare the kids and I.”
"What clown are you referring to? I don’t recall us having a clown fitting that description. Are you sure its sitting in the rocking chair?" the mother asked hurriedly.
"Yes, I’m sure.” said the girl. "It’s sitting right here, I’m looking at it right now…Why? I know it’s probably very old and I shouldn’t attempt to move it out of the way, but."
"Take the kids and get out of the house, now. The neighbor across the street will let you in. Call me immediately when you get there." and with that, the mother hung up.
Frightened and confused, the babysitter grabbed the kids and ran out. When she and the kids arrived safely at the neighbors, she called and the mother answered. “What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you all okay?” the girl asked.
"Yes, we are fine, but it’s not us we are worried about, it’s you and the kids. I’m so glad you called–we were afraid this would happen again. We will be there shortly along with the police, I’ll explain everything when we get there", and the mother hung up.
The parents later explained to the girl that for some time, the next-door neighbor had been giving them problems. He was mentally ill, heard voices, the whole bit. On numerous occasions he had snuck into their house and tried to kidnap the children. This time, he dressed up in a clown suit, painted his face, and waited quietly until he had the opportunity to do what he came to do.
The parents had informed the police many times but never had any proof until now about what was happening. They thanked the girl, paid her, and drove her home.
Footsteps aren’t an uncommon thing to hear when you’re sitting in a basement, so I think nothing of it when I hear quiet thuds coming from my upstairs hallway. I just assume it’s my brother, and continue doing whatever pointless little thing I was doing at the time. They go on for another couple minutes, and I’m starting to get pissed off. They keep getting louder and louder and I sigh, wondering what the hell my brother’s doing this late at night. I sit there, because it’s impossible to focus with the racket. I mean, it sounds like someone’s power walking all over my main floor.
I sit there and listen as the thumps get faster and wilder. They just keep moving, almost starting to form a rhythm. They move even faster and get even wilder and they’re thumping all over my main floor. I realize that whatever this is, it can’t be human. No human can move like that.
“What the fuck?!” I finally yell. After that, all the noises stop. Everything is quiet for a moment, and then I hear calm, slow footsteps moving to my basement door. The door is pushed open, and the footsteps stop again. I listen to my breathing for the next three minutes, then sigh, thinking it’s over. Turns out something else was listening, too. Suddenly I hear it thudding down the stairs, and I knock my chair over in my haste to stand up. I start to run towards the nearest closet, just in time to see a grotesque, hairless, four-legged creature, dancing towards me, tapping it’s swollen feet in an intoxicating rhythm. I dive into the closet and slam the door shut. There’s a half-second pause and then I hear that same rhythm on the door.
It just keeps going and going with no pause, no rests, no relief. He’s been at it for hours now, and I find myself tapping my fingers along with his song. But then, just as suddenly as it began, it ends. I wait for a few moments, then look out. He’s gone. I flip on a light and fall into a chair. It’s safe. I relax and think for a few moments. But then I notice my foot tapping. Maybe this song isn’t so bad, I almost like it enough to dance to it. So I drop down on my hands and feet, and I start.
About five years ago I lived downtown in a major city in the US. I’ve always been a night person, so I would often find myself bored after my roommate, who was decidedly not a night person, went to sleep. To pass the time, I used to go for long walks and spend the time thinking.
I spent four years like that, walking alone at night, and never once had a reason to feel afraid. I always used to joke with my roommate that even the drug dealers in the city were polite. But all of that changed in just a few minutes of one evening.
It was a Wednesday, somewhere between one and two in the morning, and I was walking near a police patrolled park quite a ways from my apartment. It was a quiet night, even for a week night, with very little traffic and almost no one on foot. The park, as it was most nights, was completely empty.
I turned down a short side street in order to loop back to my apartment when I first noticed him. At the far end of the street, on my side, was the silhouette of a man, dancing. It was a strange dance, similar to a waltz, but he finished each “box” with an odd forward stride. I guess you could say he was dance-walking, headed straight for me.
I’m sure that all of you are used to the cry for help type stories by now. Help me, help me, blah-blah-blah. I won’t bore you with another. Even if I wanted your help, you couldn’t give it to me, because your help is useless.
Because you’re not a member.
I just wish that I wasn’t either.
It all started innocently enough. With a phone call.
I’d been up for a few hours, unpacking and cleaning, waiting for the plumber to call. I just moved into a cabin and the contractors fucked everything up. Because of that, I now have the wonderful task of making calls to competent people that can fix what the original contractors did wrong.
The phone rang at 12:06.
Not bad, I thought. Usually plumbers don’t bother to call or show up until 5.
When I picked up the phone I didn’t even get a chance to say hello before a woman on the line told me to “Please hold for the next available operator.”
In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.
She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She was, naturally, suspicious, so she went to the police.
When the police paid a visit to the address on the envelope, they made a gruesome discovery, three butchers had been harvesting human flesh and selling it to the starving people.
And what was in the envelope the man gave to the woman? A note, saying simply “This is the last one I am sending you today.”
The Man Who Wasn’t There
Yesterday Upon the stair,
I saw a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today…
Oh, how I wish he’d go away.
Last night when I came home at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall,
I didn’t see him there at all
Go away, go away!
Don’t come back anymore
Go away, go away!
And please don’t slam the door.
Last night I saw upon the stair,
A little man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’s go away.
Written by Hughes Mearns.
Submitted by elusive-of-the-mourning.
- This is a dinosaur type of thing:
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hah, I need to remember these
siamese cats getting really fucking distressed at their owner being in the shower
“Wolfsong” by Toniko Pantoja
“A mother wolf breaks into a hunter’s den and takes back her cub, only to find it a motionless trophy. She sings a lullaby hoping that the cub would finally sleep. Little does she know that a young hunter stalks them back from the den.
Music by Denny Schneidemesser
Oboe by Kristin Naigus
Sound by Glenn Hafagre
voices by Lucien Dodge and Karen Kahler”