Post your scary story/pictures

In the Mirrors

Normally you sleep soundly, but the thunderstorm raging outside is stirring you from your sleep. You begin to doze, then another crash jolts you awake. The cycle lasts most of the night. So you lay there, eyes open and outward, looking at your room stretching out before you in oblong shadows. Your eyes move from nameless object, to object, until you reach your mirror, sitting adjacent to you across the room.

Suddenly a flash of lighting, and the mirror flickers in illumination. For a scant second the mirror revels to you dozens of faces, silhouettes within its frame, mouths open and eyes blackened. They stare out at you, their black pupils fixed upon your face.

Then it is done. Are you sure of what you have seen? Unsettled, you don't sleep for the rest of the evening. The next morning you remove the mirror from your wall and toss it in the trash. It didn't matter if the vision you had seen was of truth or falsehood, you wanted to be rid of that mirror. In fact, you scrap every mirror in your house.

Weeks pass and the event of that night falls into passive memory. You are spending the day at a friend's house and it's time to use the bathroom. While you are in there the faucet starts to run without you prompting it. Taken aback by this, you do not yet act, trying to reason with your paranoia in your mind. The water starts to steam and a skin of moisture covers the mirror up above. You're watching intently as words form: "Please return the mirrors. We miss watching you sleep at night."

The Statue

I step out of the car and look around. So this is the place. Its certainly scenic, beautiful even. Icy mountains rise up into the highest clouds, the peaks barely visible among the wisps of thinning water vapour. At the foot of them lies a lake, still and tranquil, riveting tendrils of mist rising up and curling gently around inches above the motionless water. Somewhere high in one of the massive cedar trees, a bird calls, and flees the branches, the beats of its wings echoing around the eerie silence of the valley. Below the trees, and at the edge of the lake, is the house. Large, and crafted from pale blue wood, it seems to welcome me in. So I heft my luggage onto my back and begin the walk. The dew-laced grass crunches beneath my feet with each step I take toward to the house. I reach the door, fumbling around in my pocket for the key. Suddenly, a cry echoes around the valley, bouncing off the mountains and ringing out across the surface of the lake. It's unlike the bird's cry, there is something sinister about it, something that makes me the tiniest bit uneasy, and makes me wonder, just for a second, if there might be a grain of truth in the stories the villagers told me. I locate the correct key and slide it into the keyhole without further ado. I let the door swing shut behind me as I ascend the wooden stairs to the bedroom.

The four-poster bed dominates the room, next to the window, which provides a panoramic view of the lake and surrounded scenery. I shut the door and turn to the left. I jump with fear as I notice the statue. I hadn't seen that before. Sheesh! They could have warned me... My heartbeat gradually slowing, I approach the statue. It is very, very realistic. A man, dressed in old clothes, with leather hunting trousers and thick leather boots. Clutching, in one hand, a skinning knife. My God, it looks real... The eyes are the oddest part. I could swear they were real eyeballs. A faint shiver runs down the skin of my back. I almost touch it, then stop. Something holds me back. I don't know why, but I just don't want to be in any kind of contact with the thing. Sighing, I dump my bags on the floor and begin to unpack, my eyes never straying far from that statue and it's oddly intense gaze.

A week later. Late in the evening, my last evening here. In the morning I'll be going home. The place is perfect, a great means of escape from the stress and pressure of everyday life. The only thing is the statue. Many times in the past week I awoke in the night, to see the thing staring at me. I thought, once or twice, about moving it, but it looks far too heavy, and I'm not just reluctant to touch it, I am downright repulsed by even the thought of it. Strange. The phone rings, it must be my Uncle Bill, the legal owner of this place. I pick up the phone and answer. Bill wants to know if I liked the place, if there is anything I was unhappy with. Nothing, I said, the place was amazing.

Then, on an impulse I add, half-jokingly, "That statue didn't half freak me out though!"

There is a pause. I can sense a hint of what could be confusion emnating from the end of the line. The pause lasts for a good five seconds.

"Bill" I ask, worried. "You OK?"

"T-There is no statue..." he replied, sounding confused. "Are you yanking my chain?"

"No" I laugh, ever so slightly uneasy now. "In the bedroom, quite tall, dressed in, well, hunting clothes, I think. Surely you know the one I mean."

"Brad." comes the reply, urgency in the tone, as well as an undercurrent of what could be fear. "Brad, listen to me, get out of the house now, do you understand me? Get out. Now."

"But...why?" I am scared now.

I look up, into the blackened window, And then I see it, the reflection staring back at me, only a few feet behind. I drop the phone and scream.

The Fourth Wish

You awaken with a high pitched ringing in your ears. Gradually, the sound becomes softer, like the humming from your refrigerator, and eventually, it stops completely. Even after a peaceful night's rest, your eyes are not ready to open. Your instincts urge you to KEEP THEM CLOSED, but you find no reason not to open them.

The florescent lights blind you as your eyes are adjusting to the brightness. You are in a perfectly square, white room with one door. One door. There is nothing strange about the door, yet you find it strange how the door seems so ordinary. You are now sitting up in your own bed, in an unfamiliar room. You are not surprised. You don't know why. But you are not surprised. Your gut is telling you to go back to sleep, telling you not to be so curious, telling you not to..... too late. You notice an elderly man, possibly in his late 70's, sitting in the corner of the room. He is wearing a cheap brown suit and a pair of sunglasses. There are several pieces of cardboard signs, resting on his lap. He opens his mouth and begins to speak... he makes no sound. After a few moments, his lips stop moving and he grins. He grins. It reminds you of the smile of a mischievous little boy, stealing toys from his siblings. The man lifts up the first sign, it is written by hand. "Hello, my name is Micheal, do not be afraid of me. I will not hurt you." He continues to smile, showing his decaying teeth. He switches to the second sign. "I will grant you three wishes, if you want them. Any information I reveal will count as a wish. I will not hurt you." He waits. You nod your head. He switches to the third sign. "If you use up all three wishes, I will give you another three, but once you start to use the next set of wishes, you will have to give me something... valuable. I will not hurt you." You immediately want to know, "Tell me why I'm in this room." Before your lips begin to produce any sound, his mouth begins to move. You notice his crooked yellow teeth. It keeps moving as though he is talking, yet he makes no sound. You feel somewhat frustrated and cheated by the mute man. You get up and walk towards the plain white door. The man gets up, slowly feeling for the corners of the bed, he crawls under it, it is obvious that he cannot see. You approach the door, turn the knob, and open it. After opening the door, you find that the door is still closed, and you are holding a piece of cardboard with your own writing on it. You read it. "You have one wish left, don't open the door" You check on the old man, he is still under the bed. He is grinning again, this time, the grin stretches across his face. His decaying mouth begins to laugh. A soundless laugh. You start to realize that the situation is hopeless. You want to go home. You want to wake up and realize that it was all just a dream. You say to the old man, "I wish this was all just a dream and I won't remember it when I wake up." How stupid, you notice it only now. You are deaf. You will never notice this, but you used four wishes.

You awaken with a stinging sensation in your eyes. Gradually, the pain becomes less intense, like a wound starting to scab, and eventually, it stops completely. Even after a peaceful night's rest, your eyes are not ready to open. Your instincts urge you to KEEP THEM CLOSED, but you find no reason not to open them.

Your gut is telling you to go back to sleep, telling you not to be so curious, telling you not to notice the old man with the rotting smile, staring intently at you.

another one from me and the last one was rly good kaz you told use so you must be next

The passengers were grumpy and heavy-eyed as they boarded the train in Salisbury during the early morning of August 27, 1891. The train was headed to Asheville, and the riders settled into their seats and tried to catch a few more minutes of sleep.

Around three a.m., the passengers were suddenly awakened by suddenly bucking and rocking of the train. The engineer fought for control as the passenger train raced across the stone-and-brick Bostian Bridge near Statesville, but the train suddenly derailed. The chug and whoosh of the rushing train was replaced by the scream of metal and the sounds of the huge train falling, falling down towards the creek bed sixty feet below the bridge. The horrible thunder of the train as it smashed into the stream was quickly replaced by the equally terrible sound of trapped passengers screaming and moaning in agony as the twisted wreckage of the train was encompassed by the waters of the creek. Twenty-two people were killed that night in the worst train wreck in the history of North Carolina.

Fifty years to the day after the wreck, a woman waiting by her stranded car near the Bostian Bridge in the early morning hours of August 27 saw a train come rushing down the track, its head light gleaming brightly in the darkness and the whistle blowing. As it raced across the bridge, it suddenly derailed, screaming its way down and down sixty feet to smash into the creek bed below. The woman was terrified. She ran toward the wrecked train and gazed down into the creek. She could hear the frantic cries and agonized moans of the survivors.

At that moment, a car pulled up beside her stranded vehicle and her husband jumped out, followed by the owner of a local store who had come to help them fix their flat tire. She ran towards them in a frenzy, desperate to get help down to the poor trapped passengers below. When they heard her story, the men ran to the edge and looked down into the creek bed. There was nothing there. The woman had seen the train wreck of Statesville re-enacted before her eyes.

Some people say the phantom train appears each year in the early morning hours of August 27th and is wrecked before the eyes of any who watch for it.

They say that there once was a prospector wandering through the Yukon with his two dogs, searching for gold. One evening as it neared dusk, he found himself mired down in the muskeg - boggy country with water just underneath the surface of the semi-frozen ground and just above the permafrost. It was a treacherous place, and would be very easy to sink beneath the surface and be engulfed. The more the prospector and his dogs tried to free themselves from its clutches, the more lost they became.

Finally, the prospector found a firm spot on a small hill. There were a few scraggly trees on the elevation, and he made a small fire and cooked up a bit of soup for himself and his canine companions. As the stars came out overhead, the man tried to find a comfortable place to sleep, knowing that in the morning, he and the dogs would once again face the quagmire.

At last, the prospector fell into an uneasy sleep. As he slept, he dreamt that a fierce native warrior was standing over him, threatening him with a spear.

"Why have you invaded this sacred ground?" the warrior demanded. "Leave at once or I will kill you!"

"I am lost in the muskeg," the prospector said in his dream. "Show me the way out, and I will gladly leave."

The warrior frowned down at him. "I am the protector of this place, and cannot forsake it. But I will summon a guide for you."

The warrior raised his arms toward the sky and called something in a tongue the prospector could not understand. Then he vanished.

The prospector was awakened by the sudden growling of his dogs. Sitting up, he beheld the glowing figure of a beautiful Native American woman standing at the bottom of the hill. He blinked in amazement, and felt chills run all over his body. The woman beckoned to him, and to his surprise, his dogs ceased their growling and ran up to her. They pranced around her like pups, and he felt his fear fade away.

Packing up his gear, the prospector made his way down the darkened hillock to the treacherous muskeg that surrounded it. The glowing woman smiled at him. She raised her arms in the same gesture used by the warrior in his dream, and transformed into a beautiful snow-white hare. The glowing hare hopped slowly ahead of the prospector, leading him eastward. The prospector followed it closely, deviating neither left nor right from its path. The dogs followed him eagerly and showed no interest in chasing the hare.

For several hours, the prospector and his dogs followed the glowing animal through the treacherous twists and turns of the quagmire. Just before dawn, they reached solid ground. The prospector looked around and knew where he was.

Ahead of him, the white hare became once more the beautiful, glowing figure of a woman. The dogs danced up to her, and she patted them on the head. Then she offered the prospector a sweet smile and vanished as the first rays of the sun pierced the horizon.

ooh cool...the second is more wierd than scary

Her

Stop. No, don't look. It just encourages them.

You know who I'm talking about.Them. More specifically,her. Keep those eyes focused here, don't look. Don't even glance. Use your peripherals, because I know you see her. Just at the very edge of your vision?

Glance to the left side of the monitor, but don't glance beyond it. There, your peripherals should have picked up a bit more. You saw her in the corner, didn't you? You saw her black hair billowing across her pale face, the loose nightgown she wears over her emaciated frame. She's been there for a while, just waiting. That's howtheyspend their time. The spirits of the damned. The ones unfit for heaven, yet avoiding hell. The ones who walk the Earth with their sins on their shoulders.Theylive in constant, insurmountable, indescribable pain. The story goes that when St. Peter takes pity on a soul who has committed a grave sin, like murder, rape, torture, cannibalism, or worse, he punishes that soul and sends them back to our plane, to exist among the living until they've successfully repented for their sins. But first, he rips out their eyes, so that they can covet nought. Then he tears their jawbone from their skull, so that they cannot speak evils.

No, don't look. Shehasmoved closer, but that is only her curiosity. She can't actually see you, not as you could see her. She sees in outlines, in blurs and motions. Her empty sockets let her see a person's soul, yet it is useless to her. She lives not on the person, but on the body. Her spirit hungers for communion of the flesh, but she is eternally denied. Only the Savior can be a proper conduit of communion, to satisfy her cravings. She has tried, though. She has tried often in the past.

She certainly has taken an interest in you, hasn't she? You see, she feeds on the living. She, like many before her, found humans to alleviate her ailments. She starves for communion, but humans like yourself can work as a...placebo, of sorts. She'll try to get you to turn, to see into the voids which take residence over where her eyes used to be. She'll pull you in, hypnotizing you with the dark, hollow sockets. She'll close in even more, excitedly exhaling on your supple skin. She'll jab her rotted teeth into your slender neck and lap the blood with her flopping tongue. I'll scrape in with my fangs and scoop out your flesh like ice cream. I'll yelp with glee at the warmth of your innards as I slash into your fatty abdomen. I'll pull the bones from their sinew and suck the marrow out like a candied filling. I'll jab my bony fingers into your eyes and take them for my own. I'll rip your jawbone from your skull and use it as my own. I'll become whole again, with your help.

But it'll only work-
-if you look.

"Have you ever just stared into the woods in the dead of night? What is it about their almost infinite black that keeps us looking? We stare securely from an open space, a beaten path or road maybe, into an endless sea of trees. I have always been convinced that there was much more to this than a creepy feeling. If it's just because it's dark outside, then why aren't we afraid we afraid of just about anything else at night? Certainly there are more dangerous places than woods, but then why would you much rather go there than the woods? It also can't be chalked up to dangerous animals. Then we would be just as scared during the day. And honestly, you aren't think about bears when your looking into that abyss.

It just doesn't add up. This fear is most illogical thing that I believe we all share in our psyche. There's just something in us, deep down whispering danger. I say whispering because I believe you all share with me some desire, to just run out there in some kind of ironman suit and confront what's so patiently waiting for us. We owe it something for staying there. Some times I wonder if it stares back in the same way, flirting with the idea of breaking the rules."

Heres one for you arachnophobics...*checks around for spiders nervously*

I have not been on much last few days but here is another story and its a long one


Within an hour of my arrival at Fort Union, my new post, my best friend Johnny came to the barracks with a broad grin and a friendly clout on the shoulder. He'd hurried over as soon as he heard I had come, and we talked 'til sunset and beyond.

As soon as Johnny mentioned Celia's name, I knew he had it bad for her. To hear him talk, Celia was the most amazing woman who had ever graced God's green earth. She was the sister-in-law of the captain, and all the young men on the base were infatuated with her. Celia was the prettiest of the eligible ladies that graced Fort Union society. She liked the spice of adventure to be found so near the wilds.

Johnny alternated between elation when Celia talked with him and despair when she flirted with another man. I watched their courtship from afar and was troubled. There was something about Celia that I didn't like. I never mentioned it to Johnny, but I thought she was too much of a flirt. I wished Johnny had fallen for a nicer woman.

About a month after I arrived at Fort Union, a birthday dance was given for one of the officers. To Johnny's elation, Celia agreed to be his partner at the dance. Johnny was dancing on cloud nine all night, until a messenger came gasping into the room to report an Apache raid. With a small scream of terror, Celia clung shamelessly to Johnny and begged him not to go even though he was the lieutenant put in charge of the mission. Well sir, Johnny proposed to her right then and there and Celia accepted. Furthermore, Celia told Johnny that she would wait for him, and that if he didn't come back she would never marry. I doubted Celia's sincerity, but Johnny just ate it up.

I was assigned to Johnny's troop, so I had to leave too. We started out the next morning, and had a rough week tracking down and fighting the Apaches. Johnny split up the troop; taking command of the first group and giving me command of the second. My men reached the rendezvous point with no casualties, but only half of the other group arrived, and Johnny was not among them. They'd been ambushed by the Apaches. I had to take command of the troop. We searched for survivors, but never found Johnny's body. As soon as I could, I ordered the men to turn for home.

Celia made a terrible, heart-rending scene when she found out Johnny was missing. She flung herself into my arms when I gave her the news and sobbed becomingly. The display turned my stomach, it was so obviously insincere. I excused myself hastily and left her to the ministrations of the other soldiers. From that time on, I was careful to stay away from Celia, who mourned less than a week for my friend before resuming her flirtatious ways.

About a month later, a rich handsome lieutenant arrived at Fort Union. He was from the East, and Celia took a real shine to him. Johnny was completely forgotten and so was her promise to him. It wasn't long before Celia and the lieutenant were engaged and started planning a big wedding. Nothing but the very best would suit Celia, and her bridegroom had the money to indulge her.

Everyone in Fort Union was invited to the ceremony, and the weather was perfect on the day of the wedding. Everyone turned out in their best clothes and the wedding was a social success. After the ceremony, all the guests were invited to a celebratory ball.

We were waltzing around the ballroom when the door flew open with a loud bang. A gust of cold air blew in, dimming the candles. A heart-wrenching wail echoed through the room. The music stopped abruptly and everyone turned to look at the door. Standing there was the swollen, dead body of a soldier. It was dressed in an officer's uniform. The eyes were burning with a terrible fire. The temple had a huge gash from a hatchet-blow. There was no scalp. It was Johnny.

The whole crowd stood silent, as if in a trance. No one moved, no one murmured. I wanted to cry out when I recognized Johnny, but I was struck dumb like the rest of the wedding guests.

Johnny walked across the room and took Celia out of her bridegroom's arms. She was frozen in horror and could not resist. Johnny looked at the musicians. Still in a trance, they began to play a horrible, demonic sounding waltz. Johnny and Celia began to dance. They swept around and around the room, doing an intricate waltz. Johnny held the white-clad bride tight against his dead body while a deathly pallor crept over her face. Her steps slowed but still Johnny held her tight and moved them around in a grisly parody of a waltz. Celia's eyes bulged. She turned as white as her gown and her mouth sagged open. She gave one small gasp, and died in his arms.

Johnny dropped Celia's body on the floor and stood over her, wringing his blood-stained hands. He threw back his head and gave another unearthly wail that echoed around the room. Then he vanished through the door.

Released from the trance, the crowd gasped and exclaimed. The bridegroom ran to Celia and knelt beside her, wringing his hands in the same manner as Johnny. His cries were all too human.

Unable to bear the sight of the stricken bridegroom, I took my captain aside and asked permission to take a small detail back to the place where our troop had been attacked by the Apaches to search once more for my dead friend. He sent a dozen men with me. We combed the area, and finally found Johnny's body hidden in a crevice. It looked exactly the same as it had appeared on the night of Celia's wedding.

We brought Johnny back to the fort with us and the captain buried him beside Celia. Celia's bridegroom went back East shortly after we buried Johnny, and I resigned my commission a few days later and went home, never wanting to see that cursed place again.

I heard later that Celia's ghost was often seen at dusk, weeping over Johnny's grave, but I never went back to Fort Union to see it for myself.

http://members.home.nl/saen/Special/Zoeken.swf

I can't get the difference here...

Look closely.Try and figure out whats wrong in this picture...http://www.tekzoned.com/room/

This was cute...http://www.castleofspirits.com/loveumessage.html

I was going to my grandmother's house like I always do and it was getting late. I was lost so I pulled over to grab my computer, (Since my phone was out of battery.) and it had a lot of power left. All of a sudden, the screen turned black. I didn't think much of it so I tried to turn it on again. Nothing happened. I decided I would ask for directions.

I didn't see anyone around so I got out of the car. I was parked next to a forest so I decided to get back in. That's when my car rang. It meant I was almost out of gas. I quickly got in it and started heading for a gas station. I knew there was one I jut went to about two minutes away. It is too dark for me to see so I decide not to go. When I run out of gas, I see a reflection of a women and I look behind me. "Excuse me... Can- w- will you help me please?" I was kind of scared but I said okay. She was in her pajamas. She has pitch black eyes almost like a zombie...

Well its been 4 years since me and Kaz were posting on this thread so here is another story! (I did not write this)

I walked into my son's bedroom around 8:30 p.m. and found him standing in the middle of the room, staring at his bed. I asked him to brush his teeth and he turned, seeming kind of dazed. I asked him again to brush his teeth for bedtime and he sort of nodded, sleepy-like. I left his room and went back to my room and threw some dirty clothes in the hamper, tidied up a bit. I could hear my son in the bathroom, the water turning off and on. He was seven and fully capable of brushing his teeth alone but he was acting odd. I shrugged it off as him being silly, or sleepy, or some combination of the two. After a few minutes, I heard him wander back to his room where I again found him staring at his bed. I picked him up and hugged him as I carried him over and tucked him in. He had an odd look in his eye when I backed away and I asked him if something was wrong. "I think there's something under my bed," he answered, solemn. So I calmed him and told him I'd look and I got down on my hands and knees and lifted the comforter up to see. Under the bed, I found a child staring back, one soaked in sweat and terrified, one that looked exactly like my son, one that sounded exactly like my son as he whimpered, "Daddy, I think there's something in here with us..."