It was a few weeks ago that the hay bales started creeping slowly away from the house. Every morning when I woke up, each had moved a few hundred feet from where it was before. I assumed it was pranksters with nothing better to do, and I so I ignored it. Within a few days, though, the bales began to approach the boundaries of the farm. I was tired of the whole game by then, and decided to move them back. It took a tedious hour to bring them all from where they were to over near the house again, and by the time I was done I was ready to snap the neck of whatever little pissant was deciding to screw with me.
The next morning, I found each and every one of my horses messily decapitated. The smell was what woke me up. Each one was slumped over against the side of its stall. There were no signs of the heads. I spent the rest of the day cleaning up the mess and burying the remains. It was only when I was done that I noticed the bales of hay had all returned to their positions from the day before, scattered far out into the fields. This time I left them where they were.
That night I sat on my porch with my shotgun in hand and a pot of coffee on the table beside me. I sat for hours, straining my eyes into the fields to catch a glimpse of who was moving my hay bales. Finally, I was beginning to nod off. I would have, but just as my eyes began to close I heard a clamor and a rustling of trees from the nearby woods. I leaned forward, my heart racing with excitement; I was going to catch the bastard. I fumbled with my gun and fidgeted in my seat, waiting anxiously for whoever it was to get close enough to ambush. It was only when the thing got close enough for me to make out its silhouette in the dark that I was frozen still. The thing that crept into my fields from the nearby woods didn’t seem to notice me sitting there. It stalked, hunched and deliberate, through the field with the posture of a tiptoeing thief. If not for the fact that it must have towered to over ten feet tall even in its crouched position, it might have seemed almost frail. The thinness of its arms and legs and the emaciated, caved-in quality of its chest reminded me of a starving animal. Still, this thing was undeniably strong, and I watched it hoist each bale up into its arms with ease, and set it down carefully a while away, taking only a few strides to cover the distance. I watched it work, moving each bale thoughtfully. Every once in a while it would straighten up to look around at the other bales’ positions in the field, before adjusting the one it was working on ever so slightly.
Before it left, it looked towards the house. I felt its eyes sweep over me in the dark, but whether it saw me or not I couldn’t tell. Then, it turned silently and crept back the way it came, disappearing into the dark of the woods. It took me an hour before I had the courage to move at all. I went inside after a while, but didn’t sleep that night. It was only when the sun rose that I dared step off my porch into the fields. The hay bales were where it left them. Strangely, it didn’t move them as far as it had in the previous days. They were approaching something invisible in the fields, and as I looked at them I realized that they seemed to be marking some line. Indeed, as I walked around the house, I saw the distinct circle that they formed with me at the center. At first I thought the bales were just being haphazardly moved away from the house, but now I could see that they were instead being moved towards some boundary. The thing was sending me a message. I slept uneasily that night, and only because I was exhausted.
The next morning the bales hadn’t moved at all. They didn’t move at all for the rest of that week, in fact. They were finally where the thing wanted them. I made myself sick trying to interpret them. Why would this thing expend so much energy moving my hay bales, and threaten me with such violence should I try to interfere? Killing my horses was just that – a threat. An intelligent threat, at that. It knew what would scare me, and it knew that I would understand the implications.
The sound of an automobile working its way along the road to my farm one morning gave me a little rush of excitement. I’d been planning to abandon the farm since I saw the thing, but I couldn’t hope to leave on foot without risking it treating me like it treated my horses. But, if I could get in the car with whoever was coming my way, I might be able to escape before it could stop me. I didn’t know or care who it was. I decided that the moment they stopped the car, I would jump in the passenger’s seat and tell them to get the hell out of here. I didn’t get the chance.
The car worked its way slowly along the road, trundling across the uneven ground. I urged it silently to hurry. It was when it passed between the two bales placed on either side of the road that I began to hear a booming clatter from the woods. The thing burst suddenly from between the trees, sprinting on all four of its terrible, gangly limbs towards the car. Within a few seconds it was there, pouncing on the automobile like a predatory cat. Within moments it was picking and peeling the vehicle’s steel frame apart, working to get at the driver. The man, whoever he was, screamed all the while and I could hear him even over the crunching of metal and the shattering of glass. It was only when the thing crushed him carelessly in its hand that the screaming stopped. It tossed him away, and straightened up to look at me once again. In the sunlight, I could see the inhumanity of it. It was composed entirely of something awful and alive which was lashed together in a messy semblance of a human form. Whatever it was made of looked so polished and hard, that if it weren’t for the minute writhing of the stuff, I’d think it was made of granite.
The thing retreated back into the woods, and I was left to my shock. My eyes wandered to where the car sat, the engine still sputtering, between two of the hay bales. Suddenly, I understood. The message was clear. I am this thing’s captive, and I am not allowed visitors. Nothing may cross the borders it has set. I’m trapped here, by the thing that stalks the fields, and it demands nothing except that I never leave. Still, I don’t know if I can handle being that thing’s canary. I’ve been thinking hard for the last few days since I saw it crush that man’s chest, and silence him before he could finish his scream. If I crossed the hay bale border, it’d probably do the same. It’d smash my skull before I could put my hands up to protect myself. It’d go and find a new pet, and probably keep looking until it found someone who could stand knowing that it was waiting just outside, watching it at all hours with its shiny, insect eyes.
I’ve been thinking hard for the last few days, and I might just make a run for it.
Credited to David Feuling at http://www.ss-comic.com/fiction.html
I FINALLY found and actual text copy of this story, so now instead of fighting /x/ pictures that keep getting deleted I have a solid copy.
Story initially found on /x/ this copy was found here
Here’s my story:
>be black and have family down in Alabama
>they farm and own a huge amount of land down in Huntsville
>uncle owns a big house and a bunch of trailers they put out in the woods for hunting or camping
>down south cousins suggest that we go out there to camp
>know I’m a city kid from Chicago so they tease the fuck out of me
>collect food, kill a pig and some chickens, and bring necessities to camp out for a few days
>we get to the camp and it’s obvious something is weird
>air has this weird electric smell like right before a storm, like ozone
>we think nothing of it and unpack and go down to a little creek to swim for a few hours
>All of a sudden some older white guy and a white teenager come out of the bushes
>he has a shotgun in the crook of his arm and says hello and ask us what we’re doing this far back in the woods
>tell him about my uncle, who he knows, and say we’re camping out
>he tells us we need to be real careful out here and stick together there was a big animal in the woods
>His son, who is my age asks if he can stay and hang out with us
>he says OK
I’m going to stop greentexting because the story is fairly long and the format is harder to write in.
So we end up playing football. Dicking around with me, there’s the white kid “Tanner”, five of my cousins, and then four of their friends. In total, there were five girls and six boys. We all were around 15-17.
We ended up just dicking the day away. So, we head back to the camp and pulling out some stuff for a campfire, even though the trailers both had kitchenettes. Tanner says that his family’s property sits up against my uncle’s. He wants to run home and ask his dad if he can come out camping with us. My cousin Rooster says he’s going to go with him since it’s going to get dark soon. One of the girls also wants to tag along.
It’s about 7 o’clock, and it’s starting to get pretty dark. They take flashlights and take the trail toward Tan’s property. The rest of us chill. We make smores, drink and kiss on the girls.
About thirty or forty minutes later, there’s the smell of ozone again. You could smell it over the smell of the fire we has started and this really nasty coppery smell like right after you’ve had a nosebleed and it’s stopped. I wasn’t exactly like dried blood, but it was that nasty metallic, back of your throat smell.
Many classic horror icons, such as Giger’s Xenomorphs, Silent Hill’s Pyramid Head, and other disturbing creatures, share common characteristics. Pale skin, dark, sunken eyes, elongated faces, sharp teeth, and the like. These images inspire horror and revulsion in many, and with good reason. The characteristics shared by these faces are imprinted in the human mind.
Many things frighten humans instinctively. The fear is natural, and does not need to be reinforced in order to terrify. The fears are species-wide, stemming from dark times in the past when lightning could mean the burning of your tree home, thunder could be the approaching gallops of a stampede, predators could hide in darkness, and heights could make poor footing lethal.
The question you have to ask yourself is this:
What happened, deep in the hidden eras before history began, that could effect the entire human race so evenly as to give the entire species a deep, instinctual, and lasting fear of pale beings with dark, sunken eyes, razor sharp teeth, and elongated faces?
… Just be careful out there.
(Cut for length)
I’ve never told this story to anyone, and I don’t really intend to tell it again. I have a pounding migraine today, and this thread has kept me good company as I’ve drifted in and out. I don’t really like talking about this time in my life, but I want to contribute. When I was 10-12 I lived with my mother. We were below poverty level poor and lived up in the mountains around Santa Cruz California. My mother had a friend that owned a large bit of property up there, and he let us stay in a trailer. Our trailer was small and right beside a garden with a chain link fence running around it, to keep the dog the owner had out, along with other animals. Deer and things are very common in the area. Inside of this fenced area was a single room built like a tiny house. This room had electricity, and since our actual trailer didn’t, I spent a LOT of my time in there. I was super into video games.
There was one thing you should know right now. This small fenced in area was only a small piece of the property, but most of it was heavily forested. Also, I refused to leave the fenced area, because the owners dog had been mistreated by children in the past and was very… sketchy towards me. If I was alone it would bite at me, even through the fence. The fence was tall, at least 7 feet high, and was not movable. So as long as the gate was closed I was safe. That being said, there is no one else around for miles and miles.
Now, I tell you all this, because I think it is important you understand what kind of scene this was before I really get into this story. We have a fenced in location that seems fairly safe. It contains a trailer and a single room with power that is not connected to the trailer. Nothing else around for miles. My mom’s van is parked out in front of the gate to the fenced in area, and a single unpaved road runs from this garden for about a mile to the main house.
Now then, I brought friends up there to sleep over now and again. We all thought it was pretty cool, you know? Like camping out, sort of. Besides, we would get our own room to stay in to play video games all night long. It was like a dream come true. The downside was simple. When it got dark out, it got REALLY dark out. No city around, and the trailer would not be lit up. There was no bathroom to use in the room, and you would have to walk through the dark garden in order to get to the trailer to use it.
Odd things happened out here from time to time. It was always something that could be somewhat easily explained away though. Noises like people working at night sometimes. Or once me and a friend were sitting out in the garden, and we saw a shadow as big as a small bear bound up a tree, but the tree didn’t shake like there was weight on it. The dog also creeped me out, but you know. Angry dog, I was a kid. It happens.
Now, I am a scardy cat. I always have been. To be honest, I don’t know why I even come to /x/. I have trouble walking through a lit house if I am all alone. My friends however, tend to be more outgoing. Just the kinds of people I get along with. This one time I had a friend over. His name was Jacob. We were staying up all night and playing Sonic the Hedgehog 3 (& Knuckles) on my Sega Genesis on a ratty old television. We started playing as the sun went down, and by the time we were finishing up the game it was about 2am.
That’s when we heard it. We turned off the game, getting ready to find something else to play, when there was a rumbling in the woods behind the room we were in. Like somebody was rolling something really heavy around. We hadn’t heard it before because the noise from what we were playing was loud. Immediately I had goosebumps. Jacob was not really worried about it, but it’s not like there was someone else’s house or yard right over there. It was forest for miles, and it sounded like someone was constructing something or some shit. Dragging or rolling something really big.
A very long story but definitely worth the read. Very well written, great build up, no pop up scares, and an ending that your imagination will run with. An all around awesome read.
It started with the usual. Waking up in different places on smaller scales. Fall asleep on the couch, wake up in my bed.
“Oh Randy, I was the same way at your age,” My mother used to say, with smiles and turn-aways that marked the end of discussion.
Sometimes I thought it was my parents, but to what motivation would they do this? When I’m soundly in my bed, pick me up and lay me gently on the kitchen floor? No. This was me. It was around when I was sixteen that they started to see it.
My older sister Anne, eighteen at the time, would be dozing by the TV when I’d saunter in and so very purposely sit beside her. Sometimes she thought I was awake, only to have me not recall it the next day.
Then the talking started. I’d walk into her room one late summer night, while she’s up on her computer and stare blankly at her. She’d question me, and I’d answer yes to every question. Open-ended and all.
“Ran’, you okay?”
“What’s going on?”
Sometimes she’d find me in places, usually asleep. On several occasions her walk-in closet. She’d yell at me and throw me out saying,
“Even with your fucking narcolepsy or whatever, that’s private!” She was a very reserved person, and I always respected that in my waking life, even after she moved out. But it was all different asleep. Nothing was relevant, and none of it mattered.
I’d tried everything. For a while I’d slept in a sleeping bag, zipped to the neck, with mittens. It never really worked. And I was beginning to wake up in stranger and stranger places. Granted, I never went too far from home, but it was becoming a regular thing that I’d wake up outside. Forests, streets. I was sleepless for days at a time and it made me delusional, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be normal.
My best friend, Daryn was very supportive, always calming me down when I was so sleep deprived I felt like my mind would implode. He’d coax me to sleep and promise to watch me, and for the most part, he did. Sometimes I’d wake up to little notes from him. Little affirmations, like,
“Everything will be okay- Daryn.”
I’d find these notes in the cracks and rifts of my home, folded neatly and creased tight. Telling me it’s okay.
Daryn and I didn’t always get along, though. Sometimes we’d fight, and he’d leave. The guy had a lot of problems, maybe some form of manic depression. That’s when I’d find the malicious notes. The notes that told me to “fuck off” and “get over myself,” Which eventually progressed into darker territory. I’d find them around and it was as if they’d interact with me.
“Nobody loves you, all you do is destroy- Daryn.”
“But I try so hard to be good!” I’d think to myself.
“And every time you try, you fail.- Daryn”
“I’m so sorry…” I’d whisper faintly.
“Kill yourself. -Daryn.”
I should’ve just stopped hanging out with him, but he was all I had, then he’d leave me cold. I’d wake up in the dirt under cold sweat, with blood on my hands that I stole from myself in my slumber.
“This is why you’re worthless – Daryn.”
Annie was leaving soon. Going off to college. Over the course of a week her room faded to emptiness as she took all her things to her dorm, and then only she was left. She said she’d be out in a week. It’d been months since I’d gotten a note from Daryn. He hadn’t been over to supply them.
I was happy. Alone, but happy. He couldn’t bother me anymore.
And the night before Annie left, I went to sleep happy. I dreamt of beautiful things. Waterfalls and meadows, places where everything was in its right place.
That time I woke up midday. No cars in the driveway, nothing too unusual, but my room was distraught. Dents in my wardrobe and a door off its hinges. Must’ve been a crazy night, but at least I was still in my bed.
I went down the hall to check if Annie was still there, she never said when she was leaving. Her room was empty as usual, but something was off this time. Her closet was open a crack. She never left her closet open, not even the slightest bit. It was her private zone, her sanctuary.
That’s when I saw the little drops on the floor. Smeared like crimson pastels, like someone had gone over to spread them. I followed them to the closet. looking down the whole way. I reached the door and wrapped my fingers around the edge. Slowly pushing forward.
And there she was.
Mangled and beaten. The veins in her neck torn out. The carpet was no longer off-white and dry, but moist and crimson. It was as if she were mauled by an animal.
And I saw it.
A little note on her chest, folded with the care and precision Daryn had always prided himself on.
But the signature was different.
And then it hit me, clear as day. Like waves of clarity but still somehow topped with disbelief.
It wasn’t Daryn. It was never Daryn. I squeezed my eyes shut as I declared it to myself.
I opened my lids as I read the note one last time, glazed eyes and trembling fingers.
“Everything will be okay.” – Randy
Credit To: Anna Elise Groves
The following is a true story, including the account of, first, my friend we’ll refer to as Kaskie, and my own.
We were in Basic Training for the Navy, nearing the end of our stay there and moving on to the fleet soon enough. As you can imagine, people get really close in Basic, so close, that one night my friend, Kaskie, decided to share his encounter with something he never gave a name to.
Me, Kaskie, and 2 others sat around our bunks after lights out, each of us sharing spooky stories we’d heard, joking along the way. Kaskie remained silent the entire time, seemingly conflicted. He eventually worked up to telling us of his home in Indiana, and a few minor scares he swore were true. We quickly moved back to our stories when he had stopped speaking, but he still seemed distant. We badgered him for awhile until he finally caved, and spoke of it.
He said he never gave the entity a name, believing by attaching a name to it would give it power over him, and it would return if he would speak a name for it. As crazy as it sounded to me at the time, it seems he had some grounds on what he said, but we’ll get to that later.
Kaskie was only 8 at the time of the incident, living in a very old, 2 story house. He’d had a few minor paranormal encounters in the house already, but none had ever left a lasting impression on him, not like it did. Even as he spoke of it, he grew pale, his eyes darting from side to side, wary lest it come back to finish what it had started over 15 years ago.
As I said, he was 8 at the time, and he recalled that it was 2:37 in the morning, a time he will never forget. He woke up, feeling the need to utilize the bathroom just down the hall. He rose from his bed, tip-toeing on the wooden floors enroute to the bathroom, when he heard something from the stairs, which lied just past the bathroom. It moved slowly, and it sounded as if it were on all fours, but Kaskie didn’t have a dog. He froze in fear, unable to make a break for the bathroom or return to his room, so he stood silently as the sound of paws echoed up the stairs. It eventually reached the top, and what Kaskie faced brought sweat to his brow and sent shivers doiwn his spine to this day.
He described it as having the body of a dog, a very large, hairless dog, standing about 3 and a half feet tall on all fours. It’s head was not the head of a dog, rather, it had a somewhat human appearance, but it was flipped upside down, and it had the teeth of an Angler Fish. It’s eyes were two black pits, which seemed to choke out surrounding light, but there was a faint shimmer in the middle of each, as if looking into a long tunnel. It’s nose were mere slits, and it’s nails seemed more like talons, scratching the hardwood as it walked. He and it stared at each other for only a moment before Kaskie turned and ran into his room. Slamming the door shut and hiding under the blanket. But it didn’t give up so easily.
The sound of the door creaking open was the only sign Kaskie received that the beast had followed him. He slowly peeked out from under his covers, only to find it sitting at the end of his bed, peering at him with it’s pitch black eyes. Suddenly, it jumped up, grabbing the boy by his foot and dragging him into the middle of the room, slinging him about before Kaskie blacked out. He awoke the next morning, deep bite marks marking his legs, covered in scratches and bruises. He told his mother, but she thought he’d been attacked by some dog the previous day, or another child had beat him up. Regardless, he never spoke of it again, except to us, of course.
We sat in silence for a moment, before deciding we were all tired and went to sleep. And that should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t. I decided to send my friend Kaskie a message over a social networking site, mentioning it not by it’s nameless identity, but by a name I conjured for it. He told me never to speak of it again, then immediately blocked me so I couldn’t question him further, or he didn’t have to have the name stuck in his head. For after this happened, it came for ME.
It started slowly at first, shadows in the dark, roaming the house, as it may have done with Kaskie without him realizing it, but I did. I left the next week after hearing it scratch at my door, which I had locked to prevent its entering. I drove roughly 300 miles to see my girlfriend for awhile, staying in a nearby hotel. I thought I was safe here, thought the distance would have made some sort of difference, but one night, by chance, I looked out the hotel window, greeted by it. Now, it wasn’t right in the window, but I was up three stories and had a clear view of my car, and the 3 and a half foot tall dog shadow circling it, scratching at the car door. I watched it for awhile, frozen with fear, then moved away from the window lest it saw me and knew my location. I would’ve written it off as a normal dog, except it kept coming back, circling my car night after night.
After I returned home, I immediately moved out of my house and into an apartment, thinking that it may be thrown off by the smell of other people, and that’s why it goes for my scent on the car, rather than me. So far it’s worked, I haven’t had the beast in my living area since, but every night, when almost nobody is awake, it returns to my vehicle. Scratching, searching for me, and I fear one day it will follow my scent up to the fourth floor, into my apartment, and visit the man who gave it power over himself, with something as simple as a name.
Credit To – Tim Janski
Cut for length
Alone, he stood in the middle of the room. Surrounded by dark walls with nothing but a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling right above him. Blankly staring at the light, he was trying to put together the events that had led up to his captivity. He was just a scientist who was trying to find a cure for the outbreak, but the government thought otherwise. They thought that it was he and his team who had spread the disease even further. The government was looking for someone to blame to ease the minds and voices of the population, and who better than the only remaining scientist left who had anything to do with their project?
“..on! …mson! Samson!” The scientist took his fixed gaze away from the light bulb and looked towards the reinforced door. It was too dark to see on the other side of the room, but he had heard the heavy clank of metal, indicating one of the guards had opened the slot on the door. “Are you ready to talk?” Samson kept quiet for a moment. They’ve kept him here in this dark room for four days, deprived of food and water. Being a scientist, he knew what deprivation of food and water does to the human body. He was dizzy and fatigued; simple everyday tasks became hard to do.
“What’s the point?” he said calmly with a dry mouth. “I will tell you nothing new. Everything I’ve already told you is everything there is to-” the door slot slammed with that same heavy clank of metal. He took a deep breath and walked towards the wall behind him, slowly, with his hand outreached trying to feel for the wall. He sat down in the darkness and stared back at the dim light. He then closed his eyes and thought about his wife, for it was the only thing keeping him sane and alive. Her beautiful face and the memories they shared; he must survive.
He had sent his wife, Emily, to France before joining the team of scientists who were trying to find a cure. He sent her there in fear that his wife would join those who have been infected by the disease. That was 3 months ago. He missed her so; she was the only person he had left in his life. Everyone he knew was gone. His neighbors, his parents, the old couple who ran the flower shop. The flower shop he thought.
He remembered buying his wife flowers for their anniversary a few days before the outbreak. He and his wife were very good friends with the old, lovely couple that ran the flower shop. The old couple would tell Samson that he and his wife reminded them so much of themselves when they were younger, and that Samson was taking the right path to a happy life.
Samson held back tears as he started reminiscing about that day he had gone in the flower shop for his anniversary.