[PARANORMAL] Scary/Creepy Stories + Pics Thread

Quote:

Originally posted by AF

Windigo
Ojibwa First Nation
retold by
S. E. Schlosser

The storm lasted so long that they thought they would starve. Finally, when the wind and swirling snow had died away to just a memory, the father, who was a brave warrior, ventured outside. The next storm was already on the horizon, but if food was not found soon, the family would starve.

Keeping his knife and spear close, he ventured out upon the most-frequently used game trail, watching intently for some sign, in the newly-fallen snow, of animal footprints or movement of any kind. The forest lay deep and oddly silent under its gleaming coating of ice and snow. Every creature of sense lay deep within its burrow and slept. Still, the warrior hunted, knowing how desperate his family had become.

As he moved through the eerie stillness, broken only by the soft caress of the wind, he heard a strange hissing noise. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once. The warrior stopped, his heart pounding. That was when he saw the blood-soaked footprints appearing on the path in front of him. He gripped his knife tightly, knowing that somewhere, watching him, was a Windigo.

He had learned about the Windigo at his father's knee. It was a large creature, as tall as a tree, with a lipless mouth and jagged teeth. Its breath was a strange hiss, its footprints full of blood, and it ate any man, woman or child who ventured into its territory. And those were the lucky ones. Sometimes, the Windigo chose to possess a person instead, and then the luckless individual became a Windigo himself, hunting down those he had once loved and feasting upon their flesh.

The warrior knew he would have just one chance to prevail over the Windigo. After that, he would die. Or… the thought was too terrible to complete.

Slowly, he backed away from the bloody footprints, listening to the hissing sound. Was it stronger in one direction? He gripped spear in one hand, knife in the other. Then the snowbank to his left erupted as a creature as tall as a tree leapt out at him. He dove to one side, rolling into the snow so that his clothing was covered and he became hard to see in the gray twilight of the approaching storm.

The Windigo whirled its massive frame and the warrior threw the spear. It struck the creature's chest, but the Windigo just shook it off as if it were a toy. The warrior crouched behind a small tree as the creature searched the torn-up snow for a trace of him. Perhaps one more chance.

The Windigo loomed over his hiding place, its sharp eyes seeing the outline of him against the tree. It bend down, long arms reaching. The warrior leapt forward as if to embrace the creature and thrust his knife into its fathomless black eye. The Windigo howled in pain as the blade of the knife sliced into its brain cavity. It tried to pull him off of its chest, but the warrior clung to the creature, stabbing it again and again in the eyes, the head.

The Windigo collapsed to the ground, bleeding profusely, almost crushing the warrior beneath its bulk. He pulled himself loose and stared at the creature, which blended in with its white surroundings so well that he would not have seen it save for the blood pouring from its eyes and ears and scalp. Then the outline of the creature grew misty and it vanished, leaving only a pool of blood to indicate where it had fallen.

Shaken, the warrior, heart pounding with fear and fatigue, turned for home. He was weakened by lack of food, but knew that the storm would break soon and he would die if he did not seek shelter.

At the edge of the wood, he found himself face to face with a red fox. It was a fat old creature, its muzzle lined with gray. The creature stood still, as if it had been brought to him as a reward for killing the Windigo. With a prayer of thanksgiving, the warrior killed the fox and took it home to his starving family. The meat lasted for many days, until the final storm had blown itself out and the warrior could safely hunt once more.

mirrors reflect more than we normally are able to see,
if you have a slightly more than normal developed perception, its not uncommon to see things in there from ur perifiral sight, if that whats there wants you to see or notice it, it is easier for it to manifest itsself through a reflection in a mirror, in a way mirrors are amplifiers and can amplify athmosphere and past grief in the room,
i myself cover the mirror in our bedroom every night, because wanderers or lost souls whatever you want to call em might use it by night to stirr you from ur sleep....

Quote:

Originally posted by Kanzen

All that is nothing. Get this.

All of The Mars Volta's stuff is actually played in reverse of what they actually performed. No one's sure why exactly they can't play forwards, but they've got at least 10 different, rougher versions of each song to play at their concerts so they don't raise suspicion.

No fucken way thats fucken trippy right there.... Ive seen them live... probably why they put on a good show....

i sen em twice and they have hellish good shows

Quote:

Originally posted by creepus

mirrors reflect more than we normally are able to see,
if you have a slightly more than normal developed perception, its not uncommon to see things in there from ur perifiral sight, if that whats there wants you to see or notice it, it is easier for it to manifest itsself through a reflection in a mirror, in a way mirrors are amplifiers and can amplify athmosphere and past grief in the room,
i myself cover the mirror in our bedroom every night, because wanderers or lost souls whatever you want to call em might use it by night to stirr you from ur sleep....

thanks creepus!!! we got 3 mirrors in our bedroom...

really good thread... but now it is 2:50 in the night, and i definetly cant sleep now... oh no!

just cover em with bed linnen,

you might know this one but its still one of my fav's it always leaves me scared shitless.......

I didn't catch that until they replayed the last part of it. Freaky. Wish I understood the dialogue.

Kuchisake-onna

The legend is said to originate with a young woman who lived hundreds of years ago (some versions of the legend state the Heian period) and was either the wife or concubine of a samurai. She is said to have been very beautiful but also very vain, and possibly cheating on her husband. The samurai, extremely jealous and feeling cuckolded, attacked her and slit her mouth from ear to ear, screaming "Who will think you're beautiful now?"

The urban legend picks up from this point, stating that a woman roams around at night (especially during foggy evenings), with her face covered by a surgical mask, which would not be especially unusual, as people with colds often wear masks for the sake of others in Japan. When she encounters someone (primarily children or college students), she will coyly ask, "Do you think I'm beautiful?" ("Watashi kirei?". If the person answers yes, she will take off her mask and say, "Even like this?" At this point, if the victim answers "No," she will slay them (in many versions, her weapon is a pair of scissors). If the victim tells her she is pretty a second time, she follows the victim home and slays them in their own doorway, due to the fact that "kirei" (きれ&#12356, Japanese for 'pretty,' is a near homophone of "kire" (切&#12428, the imperative form of "to cut".

During the seventies, the urban legend went that if the victim answers "you're average," they are saved. When the urban legend was revived around 2000, the answer that would save you was changed to "so-so," with the change that this answer causes the kuchisake-onna to think about what to do, and her victim can escape while she is in thought.

One way to escape is to present the Kuchisake-onna with amber, hard candy. Another is to say "pomade" three (in some versions six) times. This will make her either falter and turn or run away. If the victim has pomade, they can write with it behind her back to keep her from following. The reason is rumored to be that this reminds her of either the dentist's or (plastic) surgery smells, or that her [lover] used it.

During the spring and summer of 1979, rumors abounded throughout Japan about sightings of the Kuchisake-onna having hunted down children.

In October of 2007, a coroner found some old records from the late 1970's about a woman who was chasing little children, but was hit by a car, and died shortly after. Her mouth was ripped from ear to ear. It is believed that she caused the panics around that time.

In 2004, a similar legend spread throughout cities in South Korea of a red-masked woman, though this may have been fueled by tales of the 1979 cases in Japan, as well as a 1996 Japanese film.

thats one for the bedroom tonite ...

Quote:

Originally posted by creepus

thats one for the bedroom tonite ...

Actually this part...

Quote:

Originally posted by Wikipedia

During the spring and summer of 1979, rumors abounded throughout Japan about sightings of the Kuchisake-onna having hunted down children.

In October of 2007, a coroner found some old records from the late 1970's about a woman who was chasing little children, but was hit by a car, and died shortly after. Her mouth was ripped from ear to ear. It is believed that she caused the panics around that time.

In 2004, a similar legend spread throughout cities in South Korea of a red-masked woman, though this may have been fueled by tales of the 1979 cases in Japan, as well as a 1996 Japanese film.

...is true.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBrhlPMGOl4&feature=related

The Kiss of the Kuchisake-onna

One night, not so long ago, salaryman Taro was flushed with sake and success, having closed a deal that ensured money for his company and promotion for himself. In celebration, he had been drinking with his co-workers, and had more than his usual share.

In the bar, there was also a woman sitting alone. She was elegant and beautiful, with captivating eyes and glimmering black hair. Not unusually for the season, she wore a surgical mask that covered her lower face, as a protection from the various pollens and pollutions that tainted the air.

Salaryman Taro, feeling braver than usual, sat next to the woman and talked away at her, buying her a drink which she never touched and boasting of his success and promising future. She answered demurely but interested, and he suggested that they move to a more private bar that he knew, not so far away. She nodded, and with a wink to his co-workers the two moved out into the street.

Taro was quick to hurry her to a nearby, darkened alley, where he pulled her close and stared into her enchanting eyes. "Am I beautiful?" the woman asked, in a quivering voice, muffled behind the surgical mask. "Very beautiful," he replied, moving his face closer. "Am I beautiful?" she repeated, reaching behind her head to undo the barrier between their mouths. "Most beautiful." he said again, anticipating the kiss that was his.

The mask slipped from her face and Taro froze, unable even to scream. The woman's mouth spread from one ear to the other, consuming her lower face. From the nose down, it was split, with two flaps of skin spreading to show her rows of sharp pointed teeth. Her hinged jaw opened impossibly wide, and her misshapen mouth somehow managed to form the words again: "Am I beautiful?"

Salaryman Taro, aged 30, was never heard of again.

So they say.

Another candle goes out, and the shadows around your home begin to resemble a long, gaping smile...

Under the Peony Lantern – A Cautionary Tale of Sex with the Dead

Long ago, on the first night of Obon, a widowed samurai named Ogiwara Shinnojo sat on his porch, watching the day fade into night. To his surprise, a beautiful young woman and her maid, who was carrying a lantern emblazoned with a peony, walked near. The pair paused to speak with Ogiwara, and he found the young woman's name to be Otsuyu. An instant attachment was formed, and Otsuyu promised to return the following night, at the same time.

From that night onward, always at dusk, she would arrive with her maid, carrying the same Peony Lantern. Ogiwara and Otsuyu rapidly progressed in their affair, and she took to sleeping with him, always leaving before dawn. This relationship continued for some time, and both were happy.

However, a suspicious neighbor, wondering at Ogiwara's new habit of staying awake all night and sleeping the day away, hid outside his house, peeking through a small hole in the wooden wall in order to observe the old man's nighttime shenanigans. Much to his surprise, he uncovered the widowed samurai passionately entwined with a skeleton, packing only scarce, clinging bits of rotting flesh and cobweb-infested long black hair. Half-mad, the neighbor fled screaming from the scene.

The next day he confronted Ogiwara, bringing with him a Buddhist priest who warned of the danger facing his soul. One cannot dally with the dead. Ogiwara took this to heart, and vowed to free himself from the spell of Otsuyu. With the priest's help, he surrounded his house with ofuda, strips of paper upon which are written Buddhist sutras, offering protection from the supernatural. That night, Otsuyu and her maid came as always, but they cried at the steps of his porch, unable to enter the house.

Night after night she returned, begging Ogiwara to remove the ofuda so that they may be lovers again. Slowly, the lonely old man's resistance slipped away, and one night he left his house to join his beloved.

The next morning, he was nowhere to be found. His friends looked far and wide, until the neighbor suggested they search the cemetery. At long last, they found the graves of Otsuyu and her maid, emblazoned with the same peony pattern. Opening the crypts, no one was surprised to see the corpse of Ogiwara, still passionately entwined with his skeletal lover.

So they say.

With this tale told, wet your fingers and pinch out the fire of the first candle.

The Evil Split of Princess Sakura – A Tale of Passionate Karma

Long, long ago, there was a Buddhist monk who was in love with a princess. The object of his affections, Sakura, was young and beautiful, but she had been sent to the monastery as a nun due to a crippling deformity that kept her right hand closed in a permanent fist. Being so deformed, it was thought that she could never be married. The monk, Seigen, pursued her, and to everyone's amazement was able to open her fused fist, revealing a small incense box that had been hidden in her hand since birth.

Seigen alone was not surprised, instantly recognizing the elegant and detailed box. It had belonged to his lover, a young man who, agonized at the cruel laws of gender that prevented them from marrying, committed suicide years earlier. His dying vow was to be born again as a woman so that he could be a proper wife to Seigen. The Princess Sakura was Seigen's lover reborn.

Repulsed at this tale, she fled from the monastery, from her karma, from Seigen, and into the waiting arms of her lover, a thief and rogue named Gonosuke. Seigen pursued her, but was no match for Gonosuke who quickly skewered him on his sword. Free to do as he will, the dastardly cad made a fast profit selling the unfortunate princess into prostitution.

But it didn't end there. The wraith of Seigen rose as an onryo, a deadly spirit consumed by vengeance. Sakura knew not another peaceful night, as the setting of the sun was swiftly followed by the rising of Seigen. "Cursed you are!" he screamed at her. "You have betrayed your karma, betrayed a promise made by your past self, betrayed a love that was ordained by fate." Sakura knew it was true and, after enduring much torment, decided to make amends.

First, she smothered the small child sleeping next to her – her own, an illegitimate byproduct of Gonosuke's lust. Next, she escaped the brothel and traveled the long road to Gonosuke's home. There, finding him asleep, she plunged a sword into his body repeatedly, while Seigen's ghost looked on approvingly. As a last act of contrition, she closed her hand again around the incense box, so delicately and intimately carved, and sheathed the sword in her own neck.

So they say.

One more candle, leaving only a single light source. The dark room is thick with tension, as you steel yourself for the final tale.

True Tales of Tokyo Terror Taxis

The cabdriver knew that the ghosts of Japan were not confined to ancient graveyards and shadow-haunted shrines. Any modern resident of the nation's capital could tell you that the taxis of Tokyo are more haunted than hearses, and his own route took him regularly through open gates to the spirit world. There was Sendagaya tunnel, which winds beneath the cemetery of Senjuiin Temple, or Shirogane tunnel, where legend has it that screaming faces are silhouetted against the tunnel's pillars and through which the Shinigami – the spirit of Death itself – is said to pass. All of his fellow cabbies could wax a yarn of passengers who got on then disappeared, or of catching a glimpse of a woman or child's face in the rear view mirror. He too had a story to tell.

It was a stormy autumn night, near Aoyama Cemetery, where he picked up a poor young girl drenched by the rain. It was dark, so he didn't get a good look at her face, but she seemed sad and he figured she had been visiting a recently deceased relative or friend. The address she gave was some distance away, and they drove in silence. A good cabbie doesn't make small talk when picking someone up from a cemetery.

When they arrived at the address, the girl didn't get out, but whispered for him to wait a bit, while she stared out the window at a 2nd floor apartment. Ten minutes or so passed as she watched, never speaking, never crying; simply observing a solitary figure move about the apartment. Suddenly, the girl asked to be taken to a new address, this one back near the cemetery where he had first picked her up. The rain was heavy, and the driver focused on the road, leaving the girl to her thoughts.

When he arrived at the new address, a modern house in a good neighborhood, the cabbie opened the door and turned around to collect his fare. To his surprise, he found himself staring at an empty back seat, with a deep puddle where the girl had been sitting moments before. Mouth open, he just sat there staring at the vacant seat, until a knocking on the window shook him from his reverie.

The father of the house, seeing the taxi outside, had calmly walked out bringing with him the exact change for the fare. He explained that the young girl had been his daughter, who died in a traffic accident some years ago and was buried in Aoyama Cemetery. From time to time, he said, she hailed a cab and, after visiting her old boyfriend's apartment, asked to be driven home. The father thanked the driver for his troubles, and sent him on his way.

So they say.

Now, before we put out the final candle, a word of warning...

Random Creepiness

soldier ghost?: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7029051.stm?lsm

area 51 caller?: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ee3bld4lTG0
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> http://www.metatech.org/Art_Bell_Area_51_aliens_audio_tape.html

conet project: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Conet_Project
numbers station: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Numbers_station
recordings: http://home.freeuk.com/spook007/
recordings: http://www.izumix.org.uk/c/spynumbers/
vid-doc: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5610526529029222805

creepypasta life?: http://ghostsdawn.livejournal.com/

Late one afternoon during the summer of 1939, a military transport plane took off from the San Diego Naval Air Station headed for Honolulu. Several hours later over the Pacific, the plane transmitted a desperate SOS, and then fell silent. The stricken aircraft made it back to San Diego and managed an emergency landing. After touchdown, ground personnel were horrified to discover that 12 of the 13 men on board were dead. The sole survivor, the copilot died several minutes later. Reportedly, all the bodies exhibited massive, gaping

wounds, and the exterior of the craft was badly damaged and torn open in places. The fuselage was also found riddled with bullet holes, later determined that the shots that made them came from the inside of the aircraft. The pilot and co-pilot's sidearms had later been found emptied.

No explanation for this incident has ever been found.

Sup /x/?

I love in an area of Southern California right on the borders of Los Angeles and Orange Counties. The city I live in is called La Mirada and a nearby city is Whittier. It's a fairly well-known city, serving as a shooting site for many Hollywood movies, as well as the birthplace of Richard Nixon and many other famous Americans.

But that's now what I'm hear to tell you about. No, what I want to tell you about is a place in Whittier. You see, on the outskirts of Whittier, leading into the next town over, is an area known as Turnbull Canyon. One main driveable road twists through the canyon with many dirt roads branching off, the main road is simply known as Turnbull Canyon Road.

The legends of what takes place here and wide and varied. There are many different areas known for their paranormal activity. The most well known place is The Gates of Hell, an old rusted gate that leads up to an abandoned house.

Next is Palm Tree Pass, a turn in the road where there are palm trees on either side. It's mostly known for the sharpness of the turn, which often causes crashes, and even, occasionally, people flying off the side of the canyon into the steep ravine below.

Another area is The Hanging Tree. A tree where, at night, many say it's often very possible to see the silhouette of a hanging body.

There are many other stories that abound about the area, some true, others... well, no one is sure. The true stories are your typically "oh shit" stuff that goes down in mysterious areas like this. Local satanic cults come here and do their shit, but no one cares because these are mostly dumb teenagers from the local high schools just coming up to drink and listen to shitty music like Marylin Manson, while spray painting pentagrams all over the goddamn signs. But other, more insidious things have been perpetrated in years paste by more sinister groups. Murder is a common one, from ritual murders to just plain ol' fucking killings which result in the canyon being used to dumb the bodies. One such notable case is that of Gloria Gaxiola, who was dragged behind a car through the canyon. Another is that of Amber Lee Hill who's badly decomposed body was discovered in a ravine there.

But outside these horrible acts committed by men, are stranger, more inexplainable acts. A well known local urban legend that is often tested, with varying results, by many of the locals, is that at a certain point in the canyon, on a particularly steep section of road, you can put your car in neutral and it will move forward as if it were in drive on a level road. This phenomenon is attributed to the ghosts of dead children who were killed when a buss lost control on the canyon and went off the road, killing every passenger. Another common report is people often seeing a baby, usually floating in mid air, or hear a baby crying off in the distance. Rumors abound that the empty area leading to a drainage pipe was once found clogged with the dead bodies of cats, dogs, local fowl and rodents, horses, and at the very top of the pile, a single infant.

The most chilling, however, is the one I experienced myself. About a month ago me and some friends were bored and decided we wanted Arby's because Arby's kicks fucking ass. So we went and got some goddamn Arby's. My friend Adam, who was driving, decided it would be fun to drive through the canyon, which is often secluded that late at night, save for a few teenagers there either fucking or smoking pot. So, with Arby's in hand, we went to the canyon. The initial drive through was painless. It was creepy just because it's so dark and spooky out there, and has an almost Hills Have Eyes vibe going on, like you're being watched by the unwelcoming locals, but that's it. Once we came out the other side of the hills in Hacienda Heights though, we got lost. Instead of trying to find the main road that led back into our side of town (which is shorter and bypasses much of the difficulties of the canyon), we just decided to retrace our path and go back through the way of the canyon. We get past the secluded neighborhood area towards the peak and begin our decent.

You see, going through from our side, the Whittier side, you're mostly going uphill, but coming back, it's all downhill, and as a result, you can see much, much more. I looked ahead and me and my friend Justin saw what looked like the silhouette of two people standing off to the side of the road, over the railing. But it was off in the distance, and Adam didn't see it, so we both just passed it off. Then we came around another sharp turn which gave us another straight view of the road below us, and again, we both saw it. Now we were scared. Adam still didn't see it, but he was driving so he had to pay attention to the winding road, lest we careen off into oblivion. Intently now, as we got closer, me and Justin stared wide eyed, and as we passed the very area where we saw the silhouettes, sure enough, there they were. We couldn't see any details, just the silhouettes, and this time, Adam saw them too. He's a pussy, so, naturally, we booked it the fuck out of there with his bitch ass behind the wheel. We made it out of the canyon and into Whittier without seeing anything else.

But that wasn't the end of it. Just this weekend, the three of us were all together again, and decided we would go back to the canyon, but this time in the light of day. We started climbing the canyon, and when we got to the area of road where we had seen the silhouettes, we pulled off onto the dirt shoulder and went to inspect. There is about an inch of space on which someone could stand beyond the metal railing, and over that, a massive plummet to the canyon floor below. All of our minds were thoroughly fucked.

We're going back next weekend on Saturday morning to do some exploring.

More info: http://www.drifting.com/forums/archive/index.php/t-2910.html