There is a small island in the Mediterranean Sea that does not appear on any map.

It cannot be seen from any other island, nor can any other land be seen from it. On this island is a lighthouse, rotting from age and sea water, that is never lit. There is nothing inside it, save for a spiraling staircase that leads to the top, and an ancient, dusty bookcase. The case is filled with unmarked books, bound in ancient leather, save for a single space. If you remove a book from the shelf, it will fling itself open in your hands, and the words inscribed in it shall start screaming to the air. You must wrestle the book closed and shove it back on the shelf, or the immortal evil contained within its pages shall break free, and you will be forced to take its place, with pages, ink and binding crafted from your own flesh and blood. However, if you bring the correct book to the island, and place it in the empty space, the lighthouse will light. As long as it is lit, the world shall enjoy an unending paradise, for all the evil in the world will be contained in the lighthouse. And while it is lit, nothing can go in or out. The only problem; you will be trapped for eternity with all the evil ever known or conceived, by man or god. And the only way to escape is to douse the light

Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. Harold, the Oakdale gravedigger, upon hearing a bell, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time it wasnt either. A voice from below begged, pleaded to be unburied. You Sarah OBannon? Yes! The voice assured. You were born on September 17, 1827? "Yes!" The gravestone here says you died on February 19? "No I'm alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!" Sorry about this, maam, Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. But this is August. Whatever you is down there, you aint alive no more, and you aint comin up.

"Daddy, I had a bad dream." You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darknessit's 3:23. "Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?" "No, Daddy." The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not sweetie?" "Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up." For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.

When you are admitted to a hospital, they place on your wrist a white wristband with your name on it. But there are other different colored wristbands which symbolize other things. The red wristbands are placed on dead people. There was one surgeon who worked on night shift in a school hospital. He had just finished an operation and was on his way down to the basement. He entered the elevator and there was just one other person there. He casually chatted with the woman while the elevator descended. When the elevator door opened, another woman was about to enter when the doctor slammed the close

button and punched the button to the highest floor. Surprised, the woman reprimanded the doctor for being rude and asked why he did not let the other woman in. The doctor said, That was the woman i just operated on. She died while I was doing the operation. Didnt you see the red wristband she was wearing? The woman smiled, raised her arm, and said, Something like this?

I am Thomas's reflection. Every morning, he rises from sleep and walks into the bathroom. ...and he makes faces. I am so tired of the faces. He makes them for at least half an hour. Mocking, ridiculous faces. I have no choice but to mimic his every action, although inside I am seething with anger. He does this every day... well, USED to. One morning he awoke as usual, and entered the bathroom. On this particular morning, against his will, he picked up a pair of scissors. On this particular morning, against his will, he gripped those scissors tightly in his fist. ...on this particular morning, entirely against his will, he plunged those scissors directly into his right eye. Thomas screamed, and screamed. I screamed and screamed too - with one difference. I can't mimic his pain. Just his face.

There was a couple from Texas who was planning a weekend trip across the Mexican border for a shopping spree. At the last minute, their baby-sitter canceled, so they had to bring along their two year old son with them. They had been across the border for an hour when the boy got free and ran around the corner. The mother tried to find him, but he was missing. The mother found a police officer who told her to go to the gate and wait. Not really understanding the instructions, she did as she was told. About 45 minutes later, a Mexican man approached the border, carrying the boy. The mother ran to him, grateful that he had been found. When the man realized it was the boy's mother, he dropped him and ran. The police were waiting for him. The boy was dead, and in the 45 minutes he was missing, he had been cut open, all of his organs removed, and stuffed with bags of cocaine. The man was going to carry him across the border as if he were asleep. You are home alone, and you hear on the news about the profile of a murderer who is on the loose. You look out the sliding glass doors to your backyard, and you notice a man standing out in the snow. He fits the profile of the murderer exactly, and he is smiling at you. You gulp, picking up the phone to your right and dialing 911. You look back out the glass as you press the phone to your ear, and notice he is much closer to you now. You then drop the phone in shock. There are no footprints in the snow. It's his reflection.

During the summer of 1983, in a quiet town near Minneapolis, Minnesota, the charred body of a woman was found inside the kitchen stove of a small farmhouse. A video camera was also found in the kitchen, standing on a tripod and pointing at the oven. No tape was found inside the camera at the time. Although the scene was originally labeled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm's well (which had apparently dried up earlier that year). Despite its worn condition, and the fact that it contained no audio, police were still able to view the contents of the tape. It depicted a woman recording herself in front of a video camera (seemingly using the same camera the police found in the kitchen). After positioning the camera to include

both her and her kitchen stove in the image, the tape then showed her turning on the oven, opening the door, crawling inside, and then closing the door behind her. Eight minutes into the video, the oven could be seen shaking violently, after which point thick black smoke could be seen emanating from it. For the remaining 45 minutes of video, until the batteries in the camera died, it remained in its stationary position. To avoid disturbing the local community, police never released any information about the tape, or even the fact that it was found. Police were also not able to determine who put the tape in the well, or why the height and stature of the woman in the video didn't come close to matching the body they'd found in the oven.

In rural southern Illinois a toy company began selling "realistic" baby dolls to expectant mothers. But apparently after the mother had her child the toy baby would start crying. Eventually the "rocking motion" advertised to calm it down wouldn't work, and you couldn't get it to stop without shaking it. Eventually when it started crying the parent would have to beat it, and the beatings and thrashings would have to get harder and harder to get it to be quiet. The only thing that seemed to shut the baby doll up permanently was the bash its head against the wall to destroy whatever mechanism triggered the crying. On more than one occasion though, neighbors called the authorities to report child abuse, and when the police arrived they found the the bloody remains of infants smeared across the walls and the floor. In most cases the mother couldn't understand why the police were there, she just "got rid of the stupid doll" as she rocked a babyshaped bundle in her arms.

Leon Czolgosz, assassin of William McKinley, the the 25th President of the United States, was electrocuted for his crime on October 29, 1901, at Auburn Prison in Auburn, New York. Among the personal effects found in his cell was a U.S. quarter stamped with the date 2218. The face in profile on said quarter was not George Washington, but rather a face which has yet to be identified.

Many classic horror icons 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?

There are stories about a certain kind of hitchhiker - they only ever appear at night on quiet roads,

seeming to flicker into existence in the very edge of headlights, never carrying a sign, always with an expression of deep despondency on their faces, swathed in a heavy coat and long pants, usually with gloves. If you stop, they will seem cordial enough, polite, but hardly chatty. They will assure you that the next town or city along your route will be a fine spot to leave them. Normal enough. Unless you try killing them. They die easily enough. But look underneath their clothes, and you will see that their skin is marred with lines of scars, forming repeating patterns that are unsettling to look at, and even more unsettling in the context of their skin. They have no wallets, no identification. If you slice their belly open, however, they're different inside. There's no blood, no muscle, only a hollow cavity containing a single object. The object varies. Examples include a single coin, heavy and golden and engraved with runes nobody could ever decipher. A diamond gem with fractal edges that slice bare flesh to ribbons. A small vase, quite unbreakable, that smells of the ocean and is always damp... Once you possess a hitchhiker's object, you'll find yourself always driving the quiet roads at night. You'll never mean to, but somehow, you just will. The lure of possessing a second one will hum quietly in your head. You'll strain to catch sight of a figure appearing in your headlights, try to resist the impulse to stop, and sometimes you might. But sometimes you won't. You'll try telling yourself that this is just a normal person on an adventure, someone who ran out of petrol. The logical part of your brain will scream at what you're doing. You'll smile and nod and they'll get into the car and you'll slowly, casually, reach under the seat or across to the glove box...

If you are watching television, and the signal cuts out to static, turn the TV off immediately. If you watch the static on TV for long enough, the static will suddenly pause. All sound in the room will cease; even the white noise of the TV itself will disappear. If this happens you must not look away from the screen. You will probably not notice at the time, before you lose your gaze on the TV, your body will freeze as well. Time around and with you have paused completely. Specks of the black and white dots slowly come to life, creeping slowly in seemingly random directions. Not static as you know it, but organizing themselves into a moving picture again in front of you. As the static returns to normal, and the white noise of the TV comes back, you will regain control of your body. You must never watch that television again. It will only play static, even when unplugged. If you watch the static any longer, these same events will reoccur, but with disastrous results. What exactly happens is unknown, as it is obvious that anyone that has been unfortunate enough to experience this has disappeared. It is rumored that if one continues to watch the static again, or during their experience, looks away, the white and black specs will slowly start to move again, but you will not. Your eyes will then be permanently fixated on the screen as you watch the picture come back to life, and what seems to be your station's signal return. You learn soon this is not the case, as all sound is still absent, and the picture on the TV shows a familiar surrounding: the room in which you sit. The only thing you see next is movement on the TV, as you see yourself from behind, and subsequently, the cause of your disappearance.

You know that ringing sound that you will perceive when you are in a very quiet area? Some people say this is an auditory-illusion brought about the ear's inability to detect frequencies below the threshold of the human senses. This is completely wrong. That ringing covers up something else altogether. If you are quick, patient, and maybe a little lucky, you will be able to hear past the ringing. What you will hear are voices whispering to each other. They will silence themselves quickly but with practice, you will become more adept at catching and interpreting what they are

saying. You will hear things of the past, the present, and the future. However, you must be careful. Because there is no such thing as a voice without a body. And when you start noticing them, they will start noticing you.

Every child fears under their bed. If they don't, they fear the closet, or maybe that little crack in the almost closed door. Scientists know that children are more perceptive, they see things adults don't. They aren't yet tethered into only accepting what society wants them to accept. They see what is truly there. They see the monsters. If you were to borrow a child's eyes and see through them for a night, you would go insane. To be able to see what you only dimly remember, burrowing into your covers while wearing those train pajamas, hoping to a God you can barely comprehend that "it" doesn't see you back...would drive an adult crazy. Because Adults forget the rules. 1)Cover yourself. If you can't see it, it can't see you. Even if it makes it harder to breathe. 2) Don't make a noise. Every whimper can lead to destruction. 3) Don't move. It attracts their attention. 4) Only light can make them go away. Bright light. Flashlights make it worse. Teens are caught in the middle. They still feel what's there, but they cannot see... and they forget the rules.... Why do you think there are so many insomniacs typing at their computers, subconsciously praying the light from their monitor will be enough to keep -themaway? ..... It's not. Now look behind you with a child's eyes and try not to scream.

Reply Internet Explorer 3 When using Internet Explorer 3 for Windows (google around for a version that works on Windows XP), enter this in the address bar (do not copypaste, you must input it with the keyboard): for-you://gratitude-and-remembrance

Wait ~ 40 seconds. You will feel strange. Dont fight the feeling, or you will be jerked out of it, and you have only one chance to do this. A weblog will appear. It will contain events that will happen for the seven next years of your life. Add /admin/ to the address bar. Try to guess the password your future self would have chosen. There is always a way - discovering it is never out of your reach even if its a meaningless string of letters. Once you have access to the admin, you can delete any post you want, and that event will never happen to you. However, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES you are to edit a post. JUST DONT. You have only one hour to do it: after that the connection will be lost. 14/7/2007 11:00 AM Its gone. God help us, its escaped.

Im hoping at least /x/ will enjoy this because its probablt fucked me up for life. Its seeming a lot more absurd as time passes (12 days since I moved my shit into my friends place), so I want to get this out there and have people call bullshit and pass judgement, because I think itll make me feel better. Ive moved out all my stuff, Ive already called the cops, and informed my absentee landlord. Ive done all the proper things, so theres nothing left to do but share my little fucked up city living story. About six months ago, my girlfriend and I moved into an apartment in the Benton Park neighborhood of St. Louis. About two weeks after we move in, her grandfather, who raised her, has a fucking stroke, and she ends up going home to Twin Oaks to take care of him. She was living with him full time until we can find out how to afford a nurse or hospice. Anyway, Id been living in our one bedroom all alone for the last half a year. Its beautiful, newly remodeled, double paned windows, great insulation. The best a couple of hicks turned yuppies could want. Its got a couple of weird things about it, as youll see. Theres only four units in

the building, on the second and third floors. Were on the top floor. The first weird thing about the place we noticed right when we moved in. The walls and floors are paper thin. I could hear every word of my downstairs neighbors conversation at all times. I know when they take a shower, I know when they fuck. And Im sure they know the same about us. Its weird, the more info we had on eachother, the less we wanted to actually know each other. They moved out six weeks ago. Then the other two units went vacant a week later. It was kinda weird, but also kind of awesome. I could fnally stomp around, watch porn and play rock band at full volume. About four weeks ago, it got weird. It was about 1 am, and I was going to bed, and I started to hear this noise from the empty apartment downstairs. Really quiet at first, but sustained. It sounded halfway between a hushed conversation, with only one person talking, and small motor running. Just a babbling, not quite regular drone. Freaked me out at first, but I rationalized that it was some plumbing or the refridgerator downstairs. Something Id never heard over my downstairs neighbors farting and snoring. I learned to live with it, as it rose and fell every evening. Pretty soon a steady tapping sound started in with mumbling. I know it sounds fucked up, but when you hear it every night for a while, you just make excuses for it. Then I kept hearing boards creeking. Its spring, my first in this building, so I assumed it was just the old boards under the new drywall settling. Then one night, as I was brushing my teeth, there was a mighty dry thump, right behind me. I just about stabbed myself with my toothbrush. I stayed really still till I was sure there wasnt anyone in the house and then turned on all the lights in the house. This is when I noticed the peculiarity in the remodeling. On the other side of the bathroom, where I heard the thump, is the hall closet. I open it up, and switch on the light, expecting a box to have fallen of the shelves, but its all gravy inside. I tap on the wall between the closet and the bathroom, and it sounds oddly hollow. And I start to realize that the closet isnt as wide as I think it should be based on the bathroom. I pace it out with my feet, and then a tape measure just to confirm. Sure enough, theres about 30 of space inbetween the two walls that I thought were adjacent. Again, rationaliztion time: Surely theres extra insulation there to keep the bathroom warm, or maybe walls are thicker than I imagined, becuase fuck, Ive never built a house. So in this one thick wall, some huge fucking rat must have taken a tumble and freaked me out. No big deal. I felt a lot better at the time; even better when it was the first night in a while without that wierd noise below me.

So, everything is fine until last friday night. Its about two in the morning and Im home late from the bar, not as drunk as I want and remembering that left all my clean laundry in the dryer before I went out. One thing sticks out as I climb the stairs: The door to the apartment below me is closed. Its been open since the neighbors vacated. I got kind of used to seeing an empty mirror image of my place every day when I walked past. Maybe the landlord was showing it to people today. Rationalize, rationalize, rationalize. I bag up a small load of laundry and climb down the back porch steps to the laundry room, which is really just part of the garage, but the staircase in on the outside of the building and it gives each floor a little shared porch. I get down there, and into the little room, and I start bagging up all my clothes into this big black duffel bag. Two things you should know about me at this point. I turn off every light when I leave a room. No matter what. My dad used to beat the shit out of me when the energy bill was a penny over the norm. And I also lock the door every time I go through it. Hell I even locked the back door when I went down to get my laundry. I start back up the stairs and on the first flight I look up, straight to my bedroom window. The light is on. And theres a silhouette against the closed blinds. I pissed myself a little and every hair on my neck snapped to fucking attention. And then the light goes out. It happened in less than a second. Ten seconds later Im still frozen in place, and trying to figure out if I just saw what I think I saw. Rationalization lost out, thank fucking god, and I snuck down the stairs and out through the garage. I called a cab and stood across the street from the building lookin at my living room window. About five minutes before the cab showed up, the venetian blinds parted slightly for a few seconds, like someone was looking down on me. Then nothing. I stayed at a hotel that weekend, then a couple of buddies of mine came back with me on sunday to see how much stuff had been stolen. It was all there. My laptop was still charging, my brand new plasma TV. The doors were locked. I moved it all out that afternoon. While my friends were with me, and I had the daylight on my side, I checked out the apartment below me. The downstairs closet had the same abnormally thick wall.

Only someone had hammered through this wall, a big round jagged whole, exposing the tiny crawl space between. And in this space flat against the wall, was a cheap hardware store ladder; leading up throught the darkness, to the space behind the walls, in my apartment. I dont know how he got into my apartment from there, maybe throught the heating vents in my ceiling. I really dont give a shit. All I care about is never seeing that building again. I mailed my keys to the landlord, told the whole thing to a terminally disinterested cop. Done my part, moving on. Quit my shitty job, which might be the one good thing about this. Im typing this at a friends house on his wi-fi. I was going to take this convienent time to get the fuck out of dodge, and move in with my girlfriend and her grandpa, but he died two nights ago. Still think Id like to head back into the country, but I guess this is like a clean slate for us. I havent told her yet, and Im not sure if I will. Told her our landlord went apeshit and kicked me out. Shes already got issues with security and I dont want to add to them.. But I dont ever want to live in an apartment, or hear people moving beneath my feet, or on the other side of a wall. Never again.

One morning in 1986, Chernobyl's reactor #4 exploded, spreading radioactive fallout across Ukraine. At least, thats the official story. The true story is one of the greatest cover-ups history has ever known. In the late 1960s, a small group of people discovered a hole in the ground in the Chernobyl area, and, curious, descended into it. They returned and told their friends of an immense underground cavern. A few days later, these people, along with a few additional helpers, packed whatever hiking gear they could get their hands on, as well as some makeshift climbing gear that was comprised of little more than old ropes and small pulleys. The group was not heard from again. After their disappearance, a rescue team was sent to search for them. Only a few members returned to the surface. The rescue team had advanced in increments, with one portion of the team remaining farther behind while the other continued inwards. The few survivors had been in one of the groups hanging behind. They were badly shaken (one was later institutionalized), and were not entirely sure of what they had seen. As time progressed, they began to rationalize the experience, and details became even less clear. They all were able to agree on a few things, though: they had entered what initially appeared to be a small cave that quickly expanded into a massive cavern. Past that, it expanded into what appeared to be giant, bottomless expanse. The cavern continued in many directions, and the teams progress was very slow. At this point, their accounts

become uncertain. At first officials thought perhaps they had hallucinated, or were simply shaken by the immensity of the cavern and had become easily influenced by vague impressions and half-seen likenesses in rocks and stalagmites. But some of the details were too coincidental to have been mere hallucinations. Whatever the case, one thing was certain: The rest of the team was dead. If any had survived whatever horrors they suddenly encountered, they were far beyond help inside that chasm. Construction of the nuclear power plant began in 1970. The plant itself was operational, including reactor #4. Underneath it, however, the Russian military was establishing a bare-bones base of operations to explore the vast expanse that had been uncovered beneath the area. Over the years, this base became better equipped, and expeditions began to push farther inside the cavern. It was eventually revealed to be a massive network of deep chasms and caves. Some were so deep that the military had yet to find a bottom. Details were wisely hidden from the public. Despite the training given to exploration teams sent into the network, and despite the fact that the teams sent in were progressively more heavily armed, many people still disappeared inside the network. Details are fuzzy, but it is apparent that some were lost in the networks vast expanses. Some fell to their deaths. Others were trapped or lost on treks into unexplored areas. Others still died more questionable deaths. Very few corpses were recovered from disastrous expeditions, and some that were brought back were damaged in such a way that suggested mauling. Stories abounded of explorers being *taken* by vaguely described creatures. Morale was maintained on the base, but barely, or at the cost of mental stability. However regular proceedings were within the base, there were always whispers in dark corners of indescribable expanses, strange architectures, and things, movements, viewed out of the corners of eyes. Over the years that the base was in full operation, many things were taken from The Network. (It was officially named such in 1975, the name obviously stemming from a burst of subtle creativity on the part of the Soviet military.) Over the years, photographs and accounts of some of the data recovered from the Network have been leaked, particularly after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. A number of artifacts, some appearing to be ancient, were taken back to Chernobyl from deep within the Network. Rumors of these objects are not entirely common, but there are stories of ancient urns and containers with bizarre carvings on the side. Some are supposed to still contain substances, though some of these materials have not been identified, even by modern equipment. Other stories involve tomes and manuscripts written in unknown languages, some written on what appears to be (now petrified) human flesh. Others still are photographs of bizarre, and clearly artificial, architectural features sticking out of the rock. Some feature bas-reliefs of strange rituals and even stranger creatures. Oddly, the depictions on the relief match some of the unsettling tales of violent and deadly encounters that explorers brought out of the Network with them.

One strange, and highly classified, report was leaked in the early 90s. It involved what almost looked like a small temple, surrounded by paltry stone dwellings. Photographs show the temple walls covered with depictions of sacrifice and of terrific acts of violence. Some have been damaged by time, while others are inconceivable in nature, depicting bizarre worship and vague acts of what can only be described as transformation. No organic remains were found nearby. In the center, however, is a strange mechanism that appears to be a door of some sort. There are photographs of explorers working various parts of the stone contraption, and even of a cracked door, nothing but inky blackness beyond the gap in the stone. What follows are a few blurry pictures showing movement and splashes of unsettling colors, and pictures of explorers bearing bizarre wounds. Others still have been dismembered or disemboweled. Large portions of typed reports are missing, but what does exist chronicles the discovery. After the date stamped on the more disturbing pictures, the report indicates that exploration of that particular area ceased, and a stern warning that the temple was never to be opened again. In late 1985/early 1986, a series of incidents took place at the base. Disappearances of personnel inside the cavern spiked suddenly, and there were even a small number of security breaches within the base itself. Details of these incidents are highly classified and guarded by the Russian government to this day. However, it is believed that organic matter was recovered from these breaches. Mental stability plummeted among explorers returning from deeper and longer pushes into the Network. In April 1986, reports indicate that there was a sudden, and urgent, recommendation by some of the officers at the base that the Network be sealed off from the outside. On April 26th, the Soviet government demolished reactor #4, seeding the blast with radioactive material. The entire region was seeded, and later evacuated. Reactor 4 was sealed in a concrete sarcophagus on the surface. Underneath, many of the military bases functions were shut down. Barriers between the surface and the greater Network were erected. There is still believed to still be a small presence at the base below Chernobyl, and it is speculated that periodic expeditions are made into the Network itself, though these are thought to only be of areas already documented and near to the surface. No deep treks have been made in years, and some areas deep inside the network underwent hasty demolition to seal them from known passages to the surface.

I am currently sitting in front of my computer, scared witless. Any moment now I am going to be killed.

Today a friend of mine told me a story. His aunt had taken care of him since he was a small boy, and she told him last night about how his parents died. He did a very fair imitation of her (I knew them both pretty well): They were doing mission work in some nasty little south american country when a man burst into the mission hospital one night, terrified out of his mind. He told them that his sister had been killed by a Muerto blanco, and that he was certain that it was coming for him next. What is a Muerto blanco? Apparently it was some sort of bogey-man, something like that dumb chupacabra or whatever. They called it the White Death or the White Girl, because it was the soul of someone who hated life so much that they came back in their shrouds to kill those who told of them. The man had been told about the vengeful spirit by his sister hours before her death. It was a girl with dead, black eyes that wept bile. The thing moved without ever actually moving its legs, and it stalked its victims back to their homes. Now, if you werent already aware that this thing was following you, once it got back to your house, it would start knocking on your door * Once for you skin, which shell use to patch her own decaying flesh. * Twice for your muscle, which shell gnash her teeth on between victims. * Thrice for your bones, which shell make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victims. * Four times for your heart, which shell wear around her neck. * Five times for your teeth, which shell polish and keep in a box. * Six times for your eyes, which shell see the faces of your loved ones through. * Seven times for your soul, which shell eat whole - you can never pass while youre in her stomach. She has to repeat this on any mirror or door between you and her. You can try to outrun her, but shes faster than the fastest man. And if you leave your home while shes knocking on your door, she wont be so courteous when she catches up to you.

Now the man was certain that this thing had killed his sister, that he had tried to tell the police, but they would not listen. Next he had tried to tell his priest, but the priest turned him away when he saw that the thing was following him now - oh, thats right, I forgot about that - it can only get you if you tell someone else about it, or you saw it kill someone else. The man, after finishing his tale, stole a car from the mission, and was never seen again. Apparently his mother and father had immediately called his aunt about this when it happened. They were found in the morning, skinned and dismembered. Their bodies were

covered in tiny, child-like handprints. His aunt was really drunk the night before, and had told him about that. He told me this story early in the morning today at school, before the cops arrived. His aunt had been murdered that night. I called him later that night, and he told me that he was being chased by someone, and now they were knocking on his door. I told him to stop shitting me. He held the phone away from his face for a minute, and I could hear slow, deliberate knocking. A moment later, I heard the door rip from its hinges and the dying screams of my friend. Then a little girls voice spoke over the line: WITNESS. I hung up. Three minutes ago someone started knocking on my door. She has to knock 28 times on my front door, 28 times on the mirror in the hall, and another 28 times on the door to my bedroom. Shes doing it slowly I think she wants to scare me some more, let me know that my death is just moments away. I will not run - I couldnt get to my car in time anyway. She started knocking on my bedroom door a minute ago, she should be done any moment. Nice knowing you guys, its been funjklm,.WITNESS

All this shit started when I found that little note. On a square piece of paper I found at the bottom of a box I was moving out of my basement, it read, "HELLO? PLEASE RESPOND". I had no idea how long the paper had been there, those boxes had sat in my basement since I moved in. I ignored it until the next morning, when I opened my coffee maker to throw out the grounds, and inside was a sopping wet piece of paper that read "PLEASE RESPOND! PLEASE HELP". I figured it must have been put inside my coffee maker by whoever was pulling this pointless prank, because it wasn't there when I put my coffee grounds in. I found more notes, under my mousepad, inside my computer tower while I was putting in some new RAM, between the layers of tissue of my toilet paper roll, under my DVD player's disc tray. Places that no one would ever look, places you'd never think of putting a note, places you knew no one would ever look and it would be foolish to put a note, because who knew when they would see it? But it kept happening, and they all said the same thing every time, begging me to respond and help them. Being the retard I am, one day I just got fed up when I found one inside a cup in my dishwasher(right after I had run it- the paper was dry) I wrote on the back of it "HELLO. I'M RESPONDING. PLEASE EXPLAIN YOUR SITUATION!" and slid it under a crack in my bath-fitted tub. No sooner had I left my bathroom did I find another piece of paper, floating on the surface tension on the surface of my class of sprite I had in the living room.

I carefully picked it out of my drink, it read "THANK YOU." and in larger letters, "I'M TRAPPED". I waved it around to dry it off a bit, and wrote on the back of it again, "where are you trapped? how are you sending me notes?" and, not creative enough to think of where to put it, I just threw it behind my couch. I waited and looked, but I didn't see any other notes for the rest of that day. The next day I checked my mail, inside of some spam letter was the next note, "IN THE SECOND DIMENSION. BELOW YOU". I wasted no time in responding "whoever you are, this prank is retarded. give it a rest" and threw it outside, the wind blew it away. The next note I got was still in obnoxious capital letters, though it was much longer than before and the last sentence seemed to have been squeezed into the remaining space. I think it was a passage from some encyclopedia or textbook. "The first dimension is a defined point in space. The second dimension (this was underlined) is anything that exists with height and width, while the third adds on length. The fourth includes time, the and the fifth is the past: time that has already occurred and is solidified in timespace." Everything beyond that was too squished in to read. I rolled my eyes and responded again, "How can you read this if you're in the second dimension? How can you even exist??" I slipped this note into the space in my toaster between the element and the metal casing. my reply came when I brushed it out of my hair the next morning before I took a shower. "WRITING IS 2D. VISION IS 2D- TWO 2D IMAGES SUPERIMPOSED." That didn't really get to the point of how I was supposed to "rescue" this person, which I defined in my next note that I flushed down my toilet. "MAKE ME 3D" was all that was on the new slip of paper I found inside of a chocolate bar I unwrapped, later on. How the idiot was putting these inside sealed products was beyond me but at this point I decided to play along, maybe it was some kind of TV show thing. "how?" was all I wrote for my reply. I remember exactly where I put it, because it was the last thing I wrote for a long time. I put it in a crack between my length mirror, and it's wooden backing. As soon as I let go it slid out of sight and I didn't see any papers again for a year and a half. Getting dressed one morning for work, I went into my room and adjusted my tie and shirt in my mirror, the same one, only it was now on the opposite side of my room. Looking into it, I noticed a square behind me on the wall. Turning around, there was none. In the instant before I turned around again I thought it must have fallen off, but in the mirror it was still there, still suck to the wall. I touched my mirror thinking maybe it was some sort of warping or optical illusion, but it wasn't. I lifted my heavy mirror up from the ground and slowly walked backwards with it, nearing myself to the opposite wall on which the paper was stuck. The closer I got, the clearer the message on it became, until I stopped, sandwiched between the heavy mirror and the wall, looking at the paper immediately over my shoulder: "MAKE YOU 2D".

I moved the fuck out of that house as soon as I could. After bunking at my girlfriend's for a while, I got the fuck rid of the mirror, the toaster, everything. My heart still skips a beat when I see any perfectly square piece of paper, sitting on the floor, all alone. I still live in fear of some day I'll open up a book or look in the inner lining of a jacket, and a piece of paper will flop out. I check all my things, now. Constantly. I also don't drink coffee anymore. Every family in every town in every country on every continent has one. Its a cabinet, not particularly odd, not out of place. The paint was peeling a bit on the corners and the knob was a bit loose. The inside smelled like dust and the paint wasnt the same as the kitchen walls. You hid in there once during a game of hide n seek. No one told you it doesnt open back into your reality. Dont worry, you cant tell the difference. But everyone misses you Its the summer, and youre out of your college classes for at least a week or two, before the next semester starts. Youve spent this time lounging around, and sleeping a lot. But lately, correspondence between your local friends has dropped off. They dont drop by. Your phones been quiet for awhile, and your IM lists are all empty. After five days of this, youve gotten bored enough to try chatrooms. Theyre all empty; even the big ones. Any e-mails you send get no replies. When you leave your apartment, the whole of the building is unearthly silent. The only noise that comes about at all is the whurr from the automated Rail outside. Nobody answers when you knock. All the buildings are dark and locked up when you look out the window; the only cars are of the parked variety. A search of the entire building, and even further beyond that, yeilds nothing. No life; the only movement is from the wind, or the automated peices of machinary. Defeated, you slink back into the empty apartment complex. On your door is pinned a note: Turns out the guy in room 302 really could sleep through the end of the world. The note is dated five days ago.

In some television markets, people get two different versions of the same channel. This is usually caused by affiliates being nearbyfor example, while living in New Jersey receiving the ABC affiliate from both New York City and Philadelphia, or living in Southern California and getting both the Los Angeles and San Diego stations. For the most part, these appear to be the same channel in all except local news and some daytime programming, with the exception that one is actually closer and more clear than the other. These channels, in reality, should not occur. Television markets are set up to focus around ONE city, and offering two different versions of the same channel in one market can split viewer-ship in the ever-competitive ratings race. If you are to watch the channel with worse reception, from the city that is further away, youll start to notice that the news reports major events that never occurred, on people that arent real, on technology that shouldnt exist, the ads are for products that youve never heard of. The conspiracy theorists think that these television stations belong to an alternate world. They point to the fact that the news tends to be getting worse over there, more separate from our own. There are reports of looking into an alternate world, and invading it for their own. Just pray they arent talking about us. The next time you make a purchase, hand the clerk a $1 bill and ask her to make change. She will hand you back a number of coins, several of which bear the likenesses of long dead historical figures.

amera stopped working this was the only

You dont know it, but someone has been removed from your life. They havent died, they havent moved, they have simply ceased to be from present future and history. However you still know they were there, you faintly recall broken memories of someone else there, someone who should have been there but you think youre crazy. You go to do something, but you cant remember what It was them, they wanted to talk to you.

Once there was this guy and he was pushed down the stairs by a robot and died. The end.

Somewhere in the middle of the Desert in Nevada, theres a place where, if you look to the west at sunset youll be able to make out a tiny, house-shaped structure in the far distance, Wait for the sun to set completely and then you must WALK straight towards that structure without deviating. As the night wears on, you will hear groans and cries of pain in the distance. Ignore them. You must continue to move towards where you saw the building. The night will seem much longer than any normal night, but if you continue walking until the sun comes up again behind you, youll find yourself suddenly in front of a battered, dusty shack. Inside, you will find no windows or doors (including the one you just came though) and in the center of the room will be a body. Reports of the decay vary from recently dead to a skeleton with clothes. You might recognize the clothes or possibly the face. This body is yours. You can inspect it for as long as you dare. Check it for wounds or clues to your death check its pockets for clues about your future if you wish. But you must figure out how to leave the room and do it before your corpse awakens. If you make it out of the room, youll find yourself back at the edge of the desert where you started. But if your corpse stirs before you can find the way out, youll be trapped in that room for eternity while your corpse is allowed to roam free. What does a corpse do with a second chance at life, you ask? Well, remember those groans and cries you heard crossing the desert? A reanimated corpse has to eat, too

There is a video on YouTube named Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv. If you search this, you will find nothing. The few times you find something, all you will see is a 20 second video of a man staring intently at you, expressionless, then grinning for the last 2 seconds. The background is undefined. This is only part of the actual video. The full video lasts 2 minutes, and was removed by YouTube after 153 people who viewed the video gouged out their eyes and mailed them to YouTubes main office in San Bruno. Said people had also committed suicide in various ways. It is not yet known how they managed to mail their eyes after gouging them out. And the cryptic inscription they carve on their forearms has not yet been deciphered. YouTube will periodically put up the first 20 seconds of the video to quell suspicions, so that people will not go look for the real thing and upload it. The video itself was only viewed by one YouTube staff member, who started screaming after 45 seconds. This man is under constant sedatives and is apparently unable to recall what he saw. The other people who were in the same room as him while he viewed it and turned off the video for

him say that all they could hear was a high pitched drilling sound. None of them dared look at the screen. The person who uploaded the video was never found, the IP address being non-existant. And the man on the video has never been identified.

I am a heron. I have a long neck and I pick fish out of the water w/ my beak. If you don't repost this comment on 10 other pages I will fly into your kitchen tonight and make a mess of your pots and pans.

Go to any high traffic bathroom. It must be a high traffic bathroom; otherwise the room wont have enough latent residual energy to carry out the task. A hotel bathroom is perfect. Make sure it's after 12pm, and make sure you have 2 clove cigarettes. The stronger the cigarette, the higher your success rate is. Sit in the dark and begin smoking one of the cigarettes. Make sure there is a mirror present, and that you look at your reflection at all times. The burning cherry should provide just enough light for this. When youve smoked the cigarette within a 1/4 in of the filter, the room should be full of smoke. Your eyes will no doubt be watering, but dont blink. Dont take your eyes off of the mirror or your reflection whatever you do. To blink will make all youve done at this point for naught. Youll begin to notice that your reflection will begin to fade into black. The reflection of the cherry from your cigarette will begin to separate into two red eyes. The smoke in the room will begin to condense, and before you even realize its happened, a shade will be sitting on the ledge of the sink. Hell ask you for a cigarette, which is why youre instructed to bring two. Give the shade a cigarette, which will light itself once he brings it to his withered lips. At this point, you can ask the shade any question you want, and he'll answer true. You can ask who shot JFK, who was Jack the Ripper. Anything you could possibly think of. Be sure to keep an eye on how much of the cigarette hes smoked. When it gets to the point where it will only take a few more hits to kill it, the smoke from the other cigarette will begin to define more of his features, making him more material than ethereal. At this point, stand up and snatch out his eyes in one sweeping motion. He should still be mostly smoke, so your hands should pass easily through his head. If you let him finish the cigarette he WILL attack you, almost surely taking your life in the process. The shade will begin screaming and cursing you and the hand holding his eyes will be burning intensely. DO NOT OPEN YOUR HAND! Even though the eyes are disembodied, they can see if they are out in the open. Run to the light switch and flip it on. This will banish

the shades physical form and send him back into the ether. Leave the room and wait until 3:00 am to open your hand. The burning will be unbearable until then, but to do so will blow all the lights out in your house, allowing the shade to return and seek vengeance. You will have 4 burn marks on your palm when you open it. All cauterized of course, and mostly healed. From then on you can never be in a dark room with a mirror, because the shade will be able to track you through the burns in your hand. He'll have black hell dogs now, given his loss of sight, and they are far more terrible than the shade could ever be. The number of hell dogs depends on the strength of the shade you made contact with. After this, youll always be cold, no matter how warm it is, and youll be given the ability to perform minor miracles. Your dreams will always be nightmares, but in them, you will be granted a kind of third sight. Youll never be able to see anything good, only the most horrific future events. And these events will only be known to you at a point where you cant do anything to stop them. A small price to pay for absolute knowledge.

I live in the UK. A colleague at work heard this from her boyfriend. He works with someone who said that his sister's friend got the last tube (subway train) home a couple of weeks ago. When she got on there were 5 rows of seats empty but the last row had three people sitting in them. As she was a little afraid, she went and sat opposite these people. She settled down and looked up to see the woman sitting opposite her really staring at her. So she got out her book and started to read but every time she looked up the woman was still staring. The train pulled into the next station and a man got on. He looked up and down the carriage, took a look at her and the people opposite her and came and sat next to her. As the train left the station the man leaned back and said quietly in her ear "If you know what's good for you, you'll get off at the next station with me". She was scared but thought the best idea would be to get off at the next station as he asked as there might be people around. The next stop comes up and she leaves the train with this man. The man says "Thank God, I didn't mean to scare you but I had to get you off that train. I'm a doctor and the woman sitting opposite you was dead and the two men either side were propping her up". According to the guy who told this story, the girl and the doctor called the police who stopped the train at the next station.

You wake up one morning and find all *chan websites never existed. /b/ was just a dream.

A few months ago a friend of mine, who is an up-and-coming nature photographer, decided to spend a day and night alone in the woods outside of our town. She wanted to get photos of the woods and wildlife as naturally as she could for her portfolio. She wasnt afraid of being alone, as she had camped by herself many times before. She set up a tent in the middle of a small clearing and spent the day taking pictures. She filled up four rolls of film on that trip, but something was strange about them. What she saw in those pictures has stayed with her ever since, and she is still trying to recover from the trauma the have caused her. Almost every picture was accounted for, save for one picture in each roll of film. These pictures were of her, asleep in her tent in the middle of the night.

I had to leave the hotel early, before they showed up. I noticed last night that there was a car parked in the Smitty's next to my room. Smitty's closes at nine, it was three in the morning. I tired to use my binoculars to see if it was one of them, or just a young couple necking, but it was too dark. Better safe the sorry. Currently I am a few hundred kilometers away from the American border, it's amazing that my wifi held up this long, I fucking love you Rodgers. I left the hotel at six, I didn't check out. I didn't want them to know that I left. I took nothing from the room but put a do not disturb sign on the door. The clean, happy feeling I had last night is gone. I'm worried again, there was a car following me scene Moncton. It passed by when I stopped for gas at this Esso, but I saw one of them looking at me from the passenger's side. I'm not sure, but I think their grins are getting bigger, but it just might have been the movement of the car. (see pic PJ, in file)

You may notice you are nervous being inside of one, even when not the one being admitted into it. The sterile smell and the impersonal nature of the building is almost just as frightening of the thoughts of what goes on inside of its walls. People are suffering. People are dying. People are being taken apart by the inside in hopes of fixing a problem. Some never make it.

There's children in there who may not make it to live to see their adulthood. They will never see what it was like to grow up, and to have a family. There's a temporary morgue in almost every hospital. When you are in a ward you are just another among the dead. Those whom are not dying-- or already deceased-- are more likely than not being given solutions which could potentially harm them if used incorrectly. People are getting pricked with needles and giving themselves up to numbing drugs. People are being sliced and opened with sharp instruments with their raw flesh revealed. You give your full trust to a man or woman you probably do not know and whom can do as they please with you given the chances. You are given neutral, nearly tasteless food and drink for the sake of your nutrition. Technology is all around you, which could monitor people's every internal action. You're exposed. But, with all of this aside, a hospital can be a comforting place. People give up their lives and years of education to be able to possibly save lives of others. Others like you. They will probably try with the best of their ability to get you back up on your feet into the world outside. It's a place of caring for others, for empathy. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of such things. I'm sure you'll like it there in due time. Don't worry, an ambulance is already on its way. You can look behind you now.