[PARANORMAL] Scary/Creepy Stories + Pics Thread

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Originally posted by Jack

Are those gifs from movies?

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Originally posted by Jack

Ahh. Like private ghosthunter pictures found on the web you converted to gifs?

TELL ME YOUR SECRETS

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Originally posted by HowToKill/x/ !eHtHhTTM12

In the summer of 1999 my mom got the following letter in the mail:
"To Whom It Concerns,

Do you wish you had a child who would do his chores in a timely and eager fashion? Do you wish for a son who was well-exercised and energetic? Do you wish for a boy who would respect and honor your role as a parent?

Look no further for a solution! Camp Firefly specializes in combating obesity, laziness, and disrespectfulness! Situated in lovely Firefly, South Carolina, the Camp enjoys a rustic setting and is staffed with the most professional of counselors.

Very low weekly rates! Very kid-friendly! Wait no longer, and reply!"

In two weeks, I found myself standing in front of a freshly built wooden cabin with a plastic trunk at my feet.

At first it all seemed pretty normal. We were required to play a lot of sports. I was always thin but never fit, suddenly I was learning to throw a football or bounce-pass a basketball; the counselors were all generic looking college students who became aggressive and vocal while cheering us on during games. In the first two weeks I went from being unable to finish a meal or sleep well to eating two or three extra helpings at dinner and sleeping the moment my head touched the pillow.

At first I resented my mother terribly for what she had done, and I refused to send her a letter. But after a few days I realized how happy I was. I felt energetic, and I liked the thrill of competing. I made close friends, and during the two free hours I didn't bother to read; instead I was out free-scaling the rock wall in the center of the camp.

But I began to notice.. peculiarities. If two boys (or two girls) had an argument, the counselors, rather than stepping in, would stand mum, watching. It was almost as if they were biting their tongues. At first I thought this was some weird type of adult wisdom, but when the boys began to fight with their hands, pulling hair, biting, even then the counselors would do nothing. If I had been older I would've understood their mood as approving, not deferential.

Another event troubled me, even as a child. I snuck into the mess hall after lights out in a vain attempt to get a quick snack. I had been late in line and had been stiffed my seconds, and I could feel a terrible pain in my stomach and even felt strongly dizzy. Silently I crept past darkened tables and benches and was about to push open the door to the kitchen when I heard a door open from the back. Making myself invisible under a nearby table I took in the commotion.

Several counselors were handling transparent orange bottles of medicine, individually removing the tablets, opening them and tapping the powder out and into various metal vats. I held still, breathing as quietly as possible, for what seemed like hours, before they left. When I felt safe enough to get up, I read the stenciling on the sides of the vat.

It was the Bug Juice. The pitcher and pitchers of juice we drank every meal, the only liquid other than water offered to us. Even then I convinced myself that somehow I was being fed antibiotics or extra vitamins, but I was too scared to try and sneak a snack. I headed back to my cabin and slept blissfully.

That Saturday night was movie night. While we crowded into the auditorium to take in the movie I was pulled aside by my counselor, Vera, who led me into a closet of some kind.

"We've singled you out as a boy who really wants to win. Do you really want to win, Eric?"
I said I did.

"Good! Tomorrow morning, instead of going to baseball, you're gonna come with me and you're going to be in a special group. Does that sound good?"

I replied that it did. Truth be told, I had an adolescent itch for Vera and wanted nothing more than to please her. I was then led back into the movie, but from time to time Vera would dip into the crowd and lead out other boys. I noticed Scott, by far the best runner of the camp, and Phil, who was built like an ox even at 12 years old. Vera even waded into the crowd and asked to talk to my best friend Nick. Nick and I were fairly fierce competitors, and every chance we got we'd bet on who could beat the other in a task. I was determined to do my best the next day in the special group. The entire night before I didn't get a wink of sleep.

The next morning Vera shook me roughly from the half-doze I had fallen into. Everyone else in the bunk was asleep. We went from bunkhouse to bunkhouse collecting the kids I had seen pulled out the night before. She led us single file past the lake, and the rock-wall, and the archery range. We went past the soccer/football fields and into the woods where we sometimes went on wilderness hikes. She led us down a trail I had never seen before (the blaze marks were a strange silver-colored spray paint) and we went deeper into the woods. The heat of the day was beginning to affect me just as we came into a clearing- it was a huge amphitheater, and there were dozens of people crowded into the benches looking down at the stage.

Except it wasn't a stage. It was an arena. Fenced off with razor wire and barbed posts, blood and dirt mixed freely on its floor. I watched in cowed silence as below two boys began to fight.

The one boy I recognized as Phil, but I didn't know the one he was sparring with. Even then I began to think it was a test, or some sort of karate class. Phil charged into the boy, half carrying him, half pushing him along while he bellowed like a monster. He released just in time, and the boy fell back against the razor wire, screaming pathetically while his back was cleaned of its skin. Blood fell freely from the wound and when he could extricate himself from the wire, I could see bits of fibrous tissue and muscle exposed to the air.

I guess he lost too much blood to put up a strong resistance, and he was half-slumped over as he faced Phil. Phil was a nice kid, but he seemed to be full of rage; even furiously angry he wasn't willing to finish it. That's when I heard from the benches blood-curdling screams and shouts.

"Kill him, you fucking faggot!"

"Rip him up, you pussy!"

"Do it already!"

I was shocked to hear Vera cry out the last one. I couldn't believe what was happening. This was real, I convinced myself.

Phil could hear the yells- was trying to ressit them- when from the sidelines a counselor, very calmly and without ceremony, lifted a huge black cattle prod and tagged Phil in the back with it. He yelped, the scream sounded unbearable. The yells were growing to a chant. Dutifully, sadly, Phil picked up the boy again (who was now crying and shaking, lowing from the pain) and hurled him into the fence.

His body was cleaved neatly into two parts, his torso tumbling out of the arena, his legs and waist falling just inside of it. The amount of blood seemed impossible. Entrails hung at odd angles from the wire.

Even at 12, I felt the survival instinct kick in. Instinctively, and unapologetically, I went into my stretches.

It was Nick who noticed me first, and he reluctantly began to mirror me. The other few boys followed along but we were interrupted.

The fight was over. Phil was panting, and crying, and vomiting all at once. The counselor who had prodded him opened up a gate in the arena and led him out, hugging him, holding him by the shoulders and leveling with him. It appeared completely sincere and loving; the counselor spoke with him for a few minutes before Phil was led to the benches. He sat with his hands covering his eyes. I could hear his sobs even from the top of the amphitheater.

Vera thumbed towards Scott and Nick. Nick and I made eye contact, I could see the terror in him. "You'll do fine!" I shouted after him, and the crowd burst into laughter.

They were taken down to the lower part of the arena and handed straws. Somebody cut lines of something on a card table and directed them to snort it, if they didn't get the entire line up they were forced to go again. This was repeated a few times until both of the boys were almost running in place with energy. Then, two counselors stepped behind them with prods, and again, without a hint of malice, prodded them into the arena.

They were separated to either end, and then the counselors walked out and closed the gate behind them. A bell clanged, and Scott took off.

Scott's plan, I guessed, was to use his speed to his advantage, shoving at Nick until Nick could stumble and then try and leverage that into a fence push. Nick would try to seize Scott's arms or legs but Scott WAS fast, very fast, and after a bit of this Nick tumbled onto his hands and knees, looking up, like a crab, and Scott kicked him in the groin.

There were cheers from the crowd. Nick let out a noise like a tire being deflated and went slack. Scott was in the process of dragging Nick towards the fence when he regained his strength, and, with a grim determination, grasped Scott's knee and pulled.

Even from that far away I could see his eyes go wide as he tipped towards the fence. His neck fell squarely on the razor wire and his head was nearly detached from his body. Scott began to make gurgling noises as bright, bright red blood poured forth from what used to be his throat, soaking up the ground in the arena, churning it into a rust colored puddle. Nick was still on his hands and knees, but he was now soaked in blood. He was staring in horror at what he had done.
There was wild, adulatory applause. Words of praise were shouted out in tongues I couldn't understand. It was only then that I realized that I was the only boy who remained of the group who had been led out. I realized, too, that any fight was going to involve me and-
"Eric, get your ass in there."

I was led down to the table, and handed the straw. They cut out the lines with a credit card, it appeared to be an orange dust of some kind. I snorted the first line and felt my heart jump, I began to cough and wheeze but even then I could feel a certain strength, superiority, and joy. After the second line, I wasn't so broken up over the idea of killing my best friend. After the third, I thought it would be a good time. After the fourth I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do more.

They made to prod me but I dodged the first two thrusts of the counselors and they simply followed me into the arena. They got one in as I was moving through the gate, I barely felt the pain but instead became deeply angry. I wanted to focus that anger, I wanted to hurt someone. I didn't care who.

I wanted to kill.

Nick was panting, standing doubled over with his hands on his thighs. I don't think he even noticed me come into the arena. But the moment the bell clanged his head flew up.

I don't think he even recognized me. He took a few tentative steps forward, feeling me out. We traded space for a while, circling after each other. Then the catcalls began to get to me. I could identify individual voices, and Vera's gave me a deep, longing feeling. I wanted to make her happy. But it was Phil's voice, from the back of the bleachers, that made me run towards Nick. I could feel my sneakers slipping against the blood-soaked dirt. I hit him like a truck and he took me like we were dancing, leading me towards the fence. I managed to stop myself just in time to fall into it with the lightest amount of force, even then it tore my shirt to shreds and I felt the skin along my right cheekbone come up and fall away just like that.
My hand went up to my face. I could feel the bone in my skull.

I turned to catch Nick charging towards me. He was moving so fast, I had one chance- he leapt. I ducked.

He went into the fence head on and it ate him up. It wasn't a body that came out of the other side because bodies have recognizable limbs. The lower part of his jaw had stuck to a metal post. The crowd began to cheer.

My hand lifted up towards my cheekbone again. I could hear their adulation, their joy. Phil was applauding for me, Vera was laughing and embracing a friend. I felt the worship- the fervor- the giddiness.

And then I tipped forward towards the fence.

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Originally posted by jackass280

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Originally posted by NaughtyGypsy

That "camp" one is creepy. More so because it probably isn't all that fictional...

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Anybody know the best way to get shit stains out of underwear?

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Originally posted by NaughtyGypsy

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Yeah. Throw them away and get a new pair.