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Scarelovers ho!

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951 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Sun Apr 28, 2013 5:09 am

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952 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Mon May 20, 2013 12:30 am

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953 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Mon May 20, 2013 5:01 am


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954 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Tue May 21, 2013 5:54 am

some alpha gameplay of faceless. unfortunately faceless development has been postponed indefinitely. so sad, it even got greenlit! the developer would be willing to continue working however.

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955 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Wed Jul 24, 2013 3:56 am


The 7th Wonder of the World
Does anyone know what that story is called where there's the absinthe and the elevator and the paintings? I know Dew linked it once

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956 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Wed Jul 24, 2013 6:22 am

Right here.

The Gallery of Henri Beauchamp:
If you go into this one tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, and the right bartender is behind the counter that night, you might be able to see a very exclusive gallery show of the lost works of one Henri Beauchamp. But, to get in, you have to prove you're a devotee of the artist to get in.

You'll be asked, in clear and perfect English, "What would like to partake of this glorious night?" Answer "absinthe", no matter what. Any other drink, from whiskey to water, will kill you as you sleep.

The next question will regard the type, and you MUST answer one of two things: "The stuff that Man himself could not bear to take," or, "The good stuff. The best stuff." If you ask for any other absinthe, in any other way, you will be plagued by nightmares for 13 days. Each night's dream will be more horrible than the last, until, upon the thirteenth dream, your nightmare will follow you, every moment of your waking and sleeping life.

Don't try and cheat the barkeep: the door locked behind you. You have to drink what he gives you, doom or not. That such a powerful man granted you audience should be enough. Besides, I've heard that the dying complimented his drinks in their death throes.

If you make it that far before sealing your fate, the bartender will say, "Be sure you handle this with care; this is the finest I have." From here, you may do one of two things: Say, word for word, "I overestimated my fortitude, and I bid you good eve." If the barkeep nods, you may leave the door you entered, unharmed and with nothing gained and nothing lost (except the time spent inside).
Or you can go on.

You will be given a glass with a seven-sided rim, with each side twisting ever so delicately around the basin until forming a sleek and simple handle. You will also receive a very, very, very special absinthe spoon, in the shape of a key; the holes at the key's top serve as the draining point for the alcohol to pour over the sugar cube. And, of course, an unmarked bottle, stripped long ago of its label, scraps of paper sticking to its sides, covered in the rot of the decades past.

The spoon is completely flat, but has two distinct sides: one with a groove along the shaft of the key, and one without. Turn the shaft down, so its groove will be face down. If you attempt this face up, your absinthe will taste foul, your nose will burn, and your eyes will shrivel in their sockets with unspeakable horrors not of this world.

Now, if your spoon is the right way up, begin preparing the absinthe as one would (put the sugar on the spoon, and pour the alcohol over so it gains its color and "special qualities").
Say "cheers" to your friend, the barkeep, and bottoms up. If you don't, the absinthe will burn every innard it touches with the power and pain of sulfuric acid.

If you've done it right, the already dim lights will go off, and darkness will consume the bar. Don't be afraid; the darkness is the cue that you've been approved for the exhibit. Wait out the darkness, and keep silent as the dead, lest the bartender decide to make you so.

Eventually (not too long, two to three minutes), a green floodlight will shine brightly on a door on the far wall of the bar. The bar will be bathed in green, and not just from the floodlight. Little luminescent spheres will gently drift through the room, and the barkeep will no longer be there...nor any other unassuming patron inside before.

There's no danger by this point...consider it a safe point. If you didn't finish the absinthe, you don't have to, but you might need the alcohol. Either way, take the spoon and put it in the keyhole of the green-lit portal's doorknob. It will fit perfectly, and reach the end of the keyhole with a resounding click.

Inside is a small elevator, with the most beautiful woman any mortal eyes can imagine, bathed in the green glow in just such an angle that the light refracts beyond her into the shape of wings.
The Green Fairy herself will ask you, "Going up?”, and considering all the trouble you went through, it would only make sense to say yes.

Now, you have one more hurdle to clear. She will ask you, as you cross the line from the bar to the compartment, "How would you compare Beauchamp's surrealism to that of, say, René Magritte?" For your reply, you must say, "I've come to see more than art tonight."

If you don't, the green floodlight will blow out, the doors will slam shut, and the elevator will plummet through a seemingly infinite blackness before a red light grows brighter as the elevator nears the very depths of Hell.

Now, if your elevator begins to go up, the green light will also fade, but in its place will be the cool glow of the moon. But, before you even recognize it, the elevator will reach the top of its...well, let's call it a shaft to not get too intricate.

Now, I'm not as sure about this as the rest, but I've heard that, if the Green Fairy kisses you on the cheek as she leaves the elevator, you will always be blessed with a creative inspiration: a permanent, ever-changing muse. You can't ask her, you can't kiss her; she has to do it of her own volition. If not...well, nothing, but no reason to do it anyway and anger the woman who is responsible for keeping the Beauchamp paintings safe for so many years.

You will enter, from the elevator, a turn-of-the-century parlor, with a large poster of Henri Beauchamp on the left side of the opposite wall; on the right is a door.

Taking the time to read the poster is a fairly good idea, as it explains the very significance of Monsieur Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920's, always making art to try to be free of all premeditation, and managed to do so. You see, after one night in a tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, he began to paint...patterns.

First it was geometric patterns. Then complete fractals. Then images that would be in the newspaper the next day. Then next week. Then from fifty years ago. One hundred years in the future, two hundred years in the past...

Then, on his last night of life, he kidnapped three young girls from their homes at night, murdered them, and painted his finest masterpieces in reds and yellows with the blood and bile of virgins.
He committed suicide immediately after painting exactly 13 of these.
These are behind the door.

The first six, from the left, show, from left to right: the genesis of the universe, the only true visage of God as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Jesus Christ, the sprawling clouds of Heaven, every Pope from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of Jesus' appearance in his Second Coming.

The other six, on the right, show, from right to left: the cataclysm of the universe, the only true visage of Satan as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Judas, the sprawling flames of Hell, every human-embodied demon from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of the Antichrist in his Second Coming.

Now, six and six makes twelve. But what of the thirteenth?

This thirteenth painting is turned around on its wall pin, the image facing the wall. The space around it is roped up at a very wide diameter, and under the flipped image is a sign, in three languages. The top is in the scriptures of the Seraphim, the bottom in the runes of the highest demonic orders, and in the middle, in Roman letters.



Now, like the kiss, I can't say this part with as much certainty, but all the same...I heard that, somehow, as he died, Beauchamp flayed his skin, his organs, his very soul, into some sort of collage. How he took his dead body and created such a horrific masterpiece, I could never say, nor would I ever dare to.

So...if you make it, maybe you can flip the canvas over and tell me sometime? You can tell me about it over a drink.

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957 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Wed Jul 24, 2013 10:52 am

What's worse? One big giant spider,

or countless little spiders?:

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958 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Thu Aug 01, 2013 3:51 pm


Dove in the Moonlight
I begin tucking him into bed and he tells me, "Daddy, please check for monsters under my bed." I look underneath to humor him and see him, another him, under the bed staring back at me quivering and whispering "Daddy, there's a monster ontop of my bed"

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959 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Thu Aug 01, 2013 4:08 pm

Oh snap we're doing those?
I heard my mother call me to come downstairs and help her fix something.
I walked to the stairs but before I could head down, someone pulled me into another room. I was about to scream before I heard my mother's voice.

"Shhh, don't go downstairs. I heard it too."
It’s a simple enough thing. It’s all a part of the body’s sleep processes. Sleep Paralysis, right? No big deal, really. Your body produces a chemical that paralyzes your body during R.E.M sleep to prevent you from hurting yourself by thrashing about during your dreams. No big deal.

Okay, so, you opened your eyes and you can’t move your body. It’s the chemicals. Oh, you can keep trying to wriggle those toes, but it’s not happening. Forget it. Just relax. It’ll go away. It’s fine. It’s normal.

Oh, now there’s something pressing on your chest, real hard, it’s making it hard to breath. It’s heavy, so very heavy, whatever’s on your chest. Chemicals. It’s all chemicals. Stop trying to scream, it won’t work. Your throat muscles are paralyzed too. You still can’t breath.

You are staring at a blank ceiling, you can’t stare anywhere else. Shadows flit across your vision, forming shapes you try not to think about. A clawed hand, a flash of jagged, shadowy teeth. All images from your subconscious. A face forming above yours, leering through black void eyes. You think you
hear sibilant whispering. Angry hissing, like a snake that’s been disturbed.

Suddenly, a sharp white light briefly flares in the room as a car pulls down the street, dispelling the shadows. The weight is gone. You can breath, your hands clench sheets.

You feel an eternity has passed by but it was all the work of a moment. You wriggle, just to prove to yourself you can. You sit up, take a deep breath and then laugh a little at yourself. Sleep Paralysis. Stupid.

You turn to shake your spouse awake, eager to share your experience. You feel paralyzed again, but it has nothing to do with Sleep Paralysis. You stare at the blood, the jagged wound in her throat, her wide, staring eyes, mouth opened in soundless scream.

Congratulations, you survived your Old Hag Syndrome.

She didn’t.
You're slowly stirred awake by the distant ringing as the phone beside your bed pulls you out of your dreams. Your thoughts gather themselves and you groan, reaching over to answer.
As soon as you place the phone to your ear, you're greeted by the background noise consisting of twisted screams. There were people in agonizing pain begging for help or death, not that the interference allows you to hear any individual voice clearly enough.

"Get out of the house now!"

The call ends abruptly after what you could have sworn was a voice from closer to you than on the other end. You shift yourself to the side of the bed, sighing while rubbing your eyes. A call this startling and this early in the morning would keep you awake.

Your wife shuffles to the side, apparently also woken by the call. She wraps her arms around you and gives a light kiss on the neck.

"Don't worry about it." Her half-asleep mumble calms you down somewhat.

Just as you're about to place the phone down, it rings again. You fumble slightly and drop it. Instead, you feel your wife's arms tighten around you, preventing you from leaning forward.

It's then you notice a subtle difference between the arms around you and the familiarity of your wife's.

"It's too late to save you anyway."
"Daddy, I had a bad dream."

You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness; it’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.

The alternate ending:
"Baby, just you shut your mouth…"

David Bowie erupts from the covers, tossing your dead wife’s skin aside like one of his famous stage costumes. “DAVID MOTHERFUCKING BOWIE!" you and your daughter scream in unison.

"This ain’t rock n’ roll… This is GENOCIDE!" he screams, materializing a flaming guitar out of the ether and into his hands. He proceeds into a jam session that results in a horrific block fire killing thirty seven people and was hailed by Rolling Stone as the greatest concert of the decade.

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960 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:06 pm


Dove in the Moonlight
D-Munny wrote:
I heard my mother call me to come downstairs and help her fix something.
I walked to the stairs but before I could head down, someone pulled me into another room. I was about to scream before I heard my mother's voice.

"Shhh, don't go downstairs. I heard it too."

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961 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:34 pm

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962 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Thu Aug 01, 2013 9:04 pm


Dove in the Moonlight

Read the story here and check out her website. I kinda wish she had more build up and didn't reveal so much in her comics but they are good nevertheless. She also draws her dreams out in what she calls dream journals and they can be fairly unsettling.

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963 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Fri Aug 02, 2013 5:43 am

Yes I like that lady! She is good.

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964 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Fri Aug 16, 2013 3:42 pm

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965 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Sat Aug 17, 2013 1:01 am


The 7th Wonder of the World

i went through my account to the last page of favourites
but it looks like all my old creepy video favs were deleted or privated or lost or

probably posted 100000 times but here's Marble Hornets introduction if anyone hasn't seen it:

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966 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Sat Aug 17, 2013 4:08 am

Those videos taught me a valuable life lesson that I'll cherish and follow until the day I die

If I go to parks or to the woods alone with a camera, I'll make sure to bring 20 dollars

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967 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Mon Aug 19, 2013 12:27 am


Dove in the Moonlight

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

Once upon a time there was a young fellow who enlisted as a soldier, conducted himself bravely, and was always at the very front when it was raining bullets. As long as the war lasted all went well, but when peace was made he was dismissed, and the captain said he could go wherever he wanted to.

His parents were dead, and he had no longer a home, so he went to his brothers and asked them to support him until there was another war.

The brothers, however, were hardhearted and said, "What can we do with you? We have no work for you. See that you go and make a living for yourself."

The soldier had nothing left but his gun, so, putting it on his shoulder, he went forth into the world. He came to a large heath, on which nothing was to be seen but a circle of trees. Filled with sorrow, he sat down beneath them and thought about his fate.

"I have no money," he thought, "and the only trade I have learned is that of making war, and now that they have made peace they can no longer use me, so I see that I shall starve."

Suddenly he heard a rustling sound, and when he looked around, a strange man was standing before him. He wore a green jacket and looked quite stately, but he had a hideous horse's foot.

"I know what you are in need of," said the man. "You shall have money and property, as much as you, with all your might, can squander away, but first I must know if you are fearless, so that I won't be giving away my money for nothing."

"A soldier and fear -- how can those go together?" he answered, "You can put me to the test."

"Very well," answered the man, "look behind you."

The soldier turned around and saw a large growling bear running towards him.

"Aha," shouted the soldier, "I'll tickle your nose until you lose your desire for growling." Then taking aim at the bear, he shot it in the snout, and it fell down motionless.

"I see quite well," said the stranger, "that you do not lack for courage, but there is one more condition that you will have to fulfill."

"If it does not endanger my salvation," answered the soldier, who knew quite well who was standing before him. "Otherwise I'll have nothing to do with it."

"You'll see about that for yourself," answered Greenjacket. "For the next seven years you are neither to wash yourself, nor comb your beard and hair, nor cut your nails, nor say the Lord's prayer. I will give you a jacket and a cloak, which you must wear during this time. If you die during these seven years, you are mine. If you stay alive, you are free, and rich as well, for all the rest of your life."

The soldier thought about his desperate situation, and having faced death so often before, he decided to risk it now as well, and he entered into the agreement.

The devil took off his green jacket and gave it to the soldier, saying, "Whenever you wear this jacket and reach into its pocket, you will find a handful of money."

Then he pulled the skin off the bear and said, "This shall be your cloak, and your bed as well, for you are to sleep on it, and you are not allowed to lie in any other bed. Because of your clothing you shall you be called Bearskin." With that the devil disappeared.

The soldier put on the jacket, immediately reached into the pocket, and found that the promise was really true. Then he put on the bearskin and went forth into the world. He did whatever he pleased, refraining from nothing that did him good and his money harm.

During the first year his appearance was still acceptable, but during the second he looked like a monster. His hair covered nearly his entire face. His beard looked like a piece of coarse felt cloth. His fingers had claws, and his face was so covered with dirt that if someone had planted cress on it, it would have grown. Everyone who saw him ran away. However, because everywhere he went he gave money to the poor to pray that he might not die during the seven years, and because he paid well for everything, he always found shelter.

In the fourth year he arrived an inn. The innkeeper would not let him enter, refusing even to let him have a place in the stable because he was afraid he would frighten the horses. However, when Bearskin reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of ducats, the innkeeper softened and gave him a room in an outbuilding. Bearskin, however, had to promise not to let himself be seen, lest the inn should get a bad name.

One evening Bearskin was sitting alone, wishing with all his heart that the seven years were over, he heard a loud moaning in a neighboring room. He had a compassionate heart, so he opened the door and saw an old man weeping bitterly and striking his hands together above his head. Bearskin went nearer, but the man jumped to his feet and tried to run away. At last, hearing a human voice, the man let Bearskin talk to him, and with friendly words Bearskin succeeded in getting the old man to reveal the cause of his grief. Slowly but surely the old man had lost his wealth, and now he and his daughters would have to starve. He was so poor that he could not pay the innkeeper and was to be sent to prison.

"If that is your only problem," said Bearskin, "I have money enough." He called for the innkeeper and paid him, and then put a bag full of gold into the poor man's pocket.

When the old man saw that he was freed from all his troubles he did not know how to show his gratitude.

"Come with me," he said to Bearskin. "My daughters are all miracles of beauty. Choose one of them for your wife. When she hears what you have done for me she will not refuse you. You do look a little strange, to be sure, but she will put you in order again."

This pleased Bearskin well, and he went with the old man.

When the oldest daughter saw him she was so terrified at his face that she screamed and ran away.

The second one stood still and looked at him from head to foot, but then she said, "How can I accept a husband who no longer has a human form? The shaved bear that once was here and passed itself off for a man pleased me far better. At least it was wearing a hussar's fur and white gloves. If ugliness were his only flaw, I could get used to him."

The youngest one, however, said, "Father, dear, he must be a good man to have helped you out of your trouble. If you promised him a bride for doing so, your word must be kept."

It was a pity that Bearskin's face was covered with dirt and hair, for otherwise they would have seen how his heart laughed within his body when he heard these words. He took a ring from his finger, broke it in two, and gave her one half. He kept the other half himself. He then wrote his name inside her half, and her name inside his. He asked her to take good care of her piece.

Then he took leave saying, "I must wander about for three more years. If I do not return at that time you are free, for I shall be dead. But ask God to preserve my life."

The poor bride-to-be dressed herself entirely in black, and when she thought about her future bridegroom, tears came into her eyes. From her sisters she received nothing but contempt and scorn.

"Be careful," said the oldest. "If you give him your hand, he will hit you with his claws."

"Beware," said the second. "Bears like sweet things, and if he takes a liking to you, he will eat you up."

"You must always do what he wants you to," continued the oldest, "or he will begin to growl."

And the second added, "But the wedding will be merry, for bears dance well."

The bride-to-be said nothing and did not let them irritate her. Bearskin, however, traveled about the world from one place to another, did good wherever he could, and gave generously to the poor that they might pray for him.

Finally, at dawn on the last day of the seven years, he went once more out to the heath, and seated himself beneath the circle of trees. Before long the wind began to howl, and the devil stood before him, looking at him angrily. He threw Bearskin's old jacket to him and demanded the return of his own green one.

"We haven't gotten that far yet," answered Bearskin. "First of all you have to clean me up."

Whether the devil wanted to or not, he had to fetch water and wash off Bearskin, comb his hair, and cut his nails. After this he looked like a brave soldier and was much better looking than he had ever been before.

When the devil was safely gone Bearskin was quite lighthearted. He went into the town, purchased a splendid velvet jacket, seated himself in a carriage drawn by four white horses, and drove to his bride's house. No one recognized him. The father took him for a distinguished colonel and led him into the room where his daughters were sitting. He was given a seat between the two oldest ones. They poured wine for him, served him the finest things to eat, and thought that they had never seen a more handsome man in all the world.

The bride-to-be, however, sat across from him in her black dress without raising her eyes or speaking a word. Finally he asked the father if he would give him one of his daughters for a wife, whereupon the two oldest ones jumped up and ran into their bedrooms to put on splendid dresses, for each of them thought that she was the chosen one.

As soon as he was alone with his bride-to-be, the stranger brought out his half of the ring and dropped it into a glass of wine, which he handed across the table to her. She took the wine, but when she had drunk it and found the half ring lying at the bottom, her heart began to beat. She took the other half, which she wore on a ribbon around her neck, put them together, and saw that the two pieces matched perfectly.

Then he said, "I am your betrothed bridegroom, whom you saw as Bearskin. Through God's grace I have regained my human form and have become clean again."

He went to her, embraced her, and gave her a kiss. In the meantime the two sisters came back in full dress. When they saw that the youngest sister had received the handsome man, and heard that he was Bearskin, they ran out filled with anger and rage. One of them drowned herself in the well. The other hanged herself on a tree.

That evening, someone knocked at the door, and when the bridegroom opened it, it was the devil in his green jacket, who said, "You see, I now have two souls for the one of yours."

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968 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Mon Aug 19, 2013 12:29 am


Dove in the Moonlight
Hour of the Wolf

"The Hour of the Wolf is the hour between night and dawn. It is the hour when most people die, when sleep is deepest, when nightmares are most real. It is the hour when the sleepless are haunted by their deepest fear, when ghosts and demons are most powerful. The Hour of the Wolf is also the hour when most children are born."

The hour of the wolf is the hour between night and dawn during which the wolf is said to lurk outside people's doors, usually cited as between 3 and 5 AM.

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969 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Mon Aug 19, 2013 12:37 am


The 7th Wonder of the World
I thought that Bearskin one would end with Bearskin being the bear to be killed by the next guy in line to be Bearskin.

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970 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Mon Aug 19, 2013 12:43 am


Dove in the Moonlight
Oh damn yeah
Now the original story seems so prosaic

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971 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Mon Aug 19, 2013 3:51 pm

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972 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Sat Sep 07, 2013 10:40 am

If you are one of those people who are inherently drawn to horror, you're in real danger. I don't know what it is exactly – I don't pretend to know everything that's going on, and in fact, myself, I used to be drawn to the more realistic, non-supernatural creepypastas. But... well, let me explain.

About a year ago, I was up at three in the morning – you know, that part of the night where you're so deep into it it feels like it will never end.

Anyway I was up, clicking around, looking for a good creepypasta I hadn't read before, really getting myself freaked out. You know the feeling, I'm sure. You LIKE the feeling. That's the problem. Anyway, I'm reading, and I hear a pattering sound coming from the kitchen.

I had a cat, so I just assumed it was her. But then I glance on my bed, and my cat is there. Now I've been freaking myself out for a while here, so I was nearly trembling with fear as I opened my bedroom door. I live alone, in a single bedroom apartment, with just a bedroom, a kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom. My bedroom door opens up onto the kitchen. It was pitch black, the moonlight gleaming off the linoleum.

I strained my ears and listened. Heard nothing.I admonished myself for being such a fucking pussy. It was just random house noises, right? Or maybe a fucking mouse in the walls. I was about to turn around and head back into my room when I heard it again.And I saw something scatter across the linoleum in the kitchen, heading for the bathroom.It was small, but it was definitely not a rat.

The limbs were way, way too long. The torso was far too high off the ground. And the way it moved... It moved quickly, but so awkwardly. In any other circumstance, I might have laughed at it. As it was I was scared shitless. So, you know, I basically freeze for I like ten minutes. It was the size of the thing that convinced me to move. No matter how weird, or fucked up it was, it was so much smaller than me. It couldn't have been that dangerous, right?

So I grab the broom I have leaning against the wall of the kitchen, flip on the lights, and head back toward the bathroom.

I find that with the lights on, I'm barely scared at all, you know? More intrigued. I mean, what the fuck could that thing have been? So I pop open the bathroom door. Before I turn on the light, I do a quick scan.

Nothing. I flick the switch. I look around. Still nothing. I look on the ceiling, even. I throw the shower curtain open. Nothing still.What could it have been? My mind started inventing explanations. It definitely had four limbs... Maybe it was a big ass spider who had lost four of its legs somehow?

That could explain the awkward moment. It was good enough for me. I was about to go back to bed when I thought, on a whim, to use my broom to poke behind the toilet, between the wall and the base of the seat. When I did, I hit something solid, and it scurried out. It looked like a tiny human.

It was pale white, pale as a maggot, with dirty gray streaks running along its skin. It moved on all fours, with long, thin fingers that grasped the ground. Its skull was completely bald, and it had no eyes, and the skin looked like it had been torn away from the lower half of its face, leaving the exposed teeth and gums.

It looked up at me... Well, pointed its face in my general direction, anyway, and then scurried, quick as fuck, up the side of the bath and down into the drain. It moved in quick bursts, like a spider, and climbed straight up smooth surfaces like one too. After it disappeared down the drain, I just stood there, frozen, broom handle still in my hand, for a good five minutes.

I was scared shitless. I slowly backed out of the bathroom, and closed the door, and then stuffed a blanket in the crack between the floor and the door, fearing that it might come out.

Then I sat in my bed and wondered what I could do. I mean, it wasn't like I could call the police. Or even tell any of my friends.

It's not I like they'd believe me. So what did I do? I made a thread on /x/. This was quite a while ago, almost a year. You might even remember it. It wasn't anything special, and it didn't even get that many responses before falling off the boards. I guess people thought I was just joking, which really I would have thought the same thing – my thread, in retrospect, sounds exactly I like the type of threads I hate. But besides from all the 'OP is a fag' and 'SAGE' responses, there was one other one.

"I've seen them too man email me." along with an email address that I'm not going to give out here.

So I email this kid, right? Right away he responds and we start up a conversation in IRC. He introduces himself as Jon, and basically tells me a very similar story – one night a few months ago, reading creepypasta, heard a noise, got up, saw the small pale man. His was a bit bigger – he said it was the size of a cat – but he also told me one other thing. That I'd be seeing more of them. He said that ever since he saw the first one, he's been seeing more and more of them – out everywhere, even in the street, during the day.

They were everywhere, he said, and once you noticed the first one, it got a lot easier to see all the other ones. He had no idea what they were, and he hadn't figured out their behavior yet. He said that usually when he saw them or heard them in his own home, he was reading creepypasta, so they usually freaked him out something awful – but, he said again, he had never actually seen them do anything terrible, just scurry out of sight.

But, he said, some got pretty big, and not all of them looked exactly the same. I still didn't sleep that night. But over the next week, and those that followed, I found that I did get used to them. I did see more of them. I'd glimpse them out of the corner of my eye, or see the retreating rear end of one crawling into a gutter pipe, or see their tiny faces staring out at the street from the sewers.

Some, it seemed weren't even trying to hide. I live in Providence, Rhode Island, which is a small city. On my way to work one day (I take the bus) I was looking out the window and saw a pretty large one, as large as a medium-sized dog, trotting along the sidewalk. People were just walking by it. Actually, I think that a lot of people saw it as a dog. One man stopped to scratch its head.

I'd always email Jon and tell him about all the appearances I saw. I even tried to catch some on camera, but they always heard the mechanical whirring and darted away before my camera could take a picture.

I told myself I'd have to take a picture of one of the bigger, slower ones. But either way, as the weeks wore on, I became more and more used to them. Sure, they were as creepy as shit, and I could never sit down on the toilet and enjoy a long crap anymore because I was paranoid as fuck they'd climb up into the bowl and bite me on the asshole. But they weren't really doing anything harmful. They unnerved the fuck out of me, but so did big spiders. I could live with them. Jon called them the Gristers, because he said they reminded him of the Grister meme on/x/for some reason.

I'm pretty sure he meant the Grifter meme, but the name 'Grister' stuck. I continued my exchanges with Jon, but I noticed that he was becoming more and more terse. It was hard to tell over text, but really that was the only way to put it. I just figured that once the novelty of a shared experience had worn off, we didn't really have much to talk about.

Jon wasn't really my type – he was a steroid – pumping body builder in southern florida who lived with his mother. But we started discussing Grister behavior, and he said his were starting to act a bit more differently than the ones I saw.

He'd wake up at night and they'd be perched at the end of his bed, staring at him with their eyeless faces. They wouldn't scurry away anymore. He said he woke up one time because of them had actually started touching his face.

That seemed unnerving. This whole time I had been putting out inquiries on the internet to see if anyone else had experienced this phenomenon – I couldn't be the only one. But no one came forward. On /x/, most of my threads about the subject got saged, so eventually I stopped asking. But I have an inquisitive mind. I wanted to know what these things did, what exactly they were.

I even wanted to capture one. I left out food and mouse traps, but none of these things ever went for it. My cat would notice them, though. She'd hiss at them, and even chased them a couple of times. All those times when I had seen her do that and assume she was being a dumbass cat, chasing at nothing. One night, I was walking home from work alone – I work at a call center for a police charity, and my house is about six miles away. I'd had to stay late, so there was no bus to come pick me up, and I didn't really have all that many friends, so I had to walk. Anyway, I was walking past some old, abandoned brick houses – creepy shit, let me tell you – when I heard some weird, low groan. That's when I happened to notice that there were a lot more gristers than usual here.

They were mostly ignoring me, but they were scurrying in and around one particular brick house. The groaning sound seemed to be coming from the alley beside it.

Now, a lot of gristers was creepy enough, even without that low groaning noise. What made me decide to investigate? I don't know. Morbid curiosity. I'm always looking for some creepy/gory stuff to post on the boards. I thought maybe that the groaning was some kind of wounded animal. So I approached the side of the house, noting that the windows were boarded up. The groaning... I should have known then it was no animal. It was a low, creaking, gurgling sound. It didn't sound like any fucking animal I knew.

So I snuck down the alley, and when I saw what was making the noise, I nearly pissed myself.

It was a fat, humongous grister – at least eight feet wide, completely unable to move, with the rolls of fat hanging down over its legs. It had no neck, just fourteen chins leading up to its macabre exposed jaw.

Dirty drool ran down its chin to cover its obscenely huge belly. Smaller gristers crawled in and out of the rolls of its fat. It rubbed itself with a pudgy claw, making that groaning, gurgling sound, which seemed almost sexual. It was terrible. I know it doesn't sound like it, and objectively, I can think that a fat, cooking grister rubbing itself might sound pretty funny, actually.

But in the presence of the thing, all I felt was a sick revulsion and disgust. But – BUT – I kept in mind one thing: that I had been looking for a picture of these things. So I busted out my camera phone and snapped a picture. I wish I hadn't. If I hadn't, I think maybe I could have lasted a little longer. The minute I snapped the picture, the thing stopped groaning and swiveled its head toward me.

All the gristers did, in fact. They all started hissing and screaming at me – a horrible fucking sound, like rusty nails on a chalkboard. I was thoroughly freaked out. To put things mildly, I lost my shit. I ran out of there as fast as I could. Ran all the way home. Gristers didn't seem so harmless to me, now. That noise they had made was straight out of hell.

I didn't feel safe with the lights off anymore. I flipped all the lights on, scaring the shit out of my napping cat. I slammed the bathroom door shut and stuffed a blanket around the cracks again. Then I sat down on my bed and looked at the picture I had taken. There it was. Clear as day. That huge Grister. Just looking at it made me feel sick. Of course I was going to post it on /x/. I loaded it onto my computer and sent an email to Jon, with the excited subject, "WILL YOU LOOK AT THIS FAT FUCK."

Then I immediately came to/x/and began typing up my thread. Explaining myself, explaining the gristers. Explaining the photograph. I was just getting ready to post when Jon sent me a message. "Yo don't show this shit to ANYONE" I stopped. I replied to John, asking him what he was talking about. He told me. He said that he thought he had figured out what was making the gristers around him more hostile. He said that he thought that when they figured out that you could see them, they started getting more aggressive. He showed me scratches he had all down his arm from them clawing him at night. He said that he'd seen a lot more of the bigger ones hanging around his house at night. They watched him through his windows. They knew. They knew he could see them. And they didn't like it. And now, I was pretty sure they knew I could see them too.

So what did I do? In the end, I didn't post the picture. I wasn't TOO intimidated, but it probably saved a lot of you. I didn't want to trigger anyone else into being able to see these guys if it had dangerous consequences down the road.

I didn't notice any behavior change right away. For a while, in fact. For about two weeks, the gristers acted just the same as they had before. I was beginning to think that Jon's problem was his own thing, and that the gristers didn't know or didn't care that I could see them. And then things started happening so fast.

I woke up one night and there were four of them, just perched around my bed, staring at me. I freaked the fuck out and swept them away, and they just hissed that terrible noise at me and ran away. I emailed this to Jon, who I hadn't talked to otherwise. He didn't respond. We hadn't talked since I told him about the picture, and even rarely before then. After two days – during which the gristers began touching me in my sleep – I got an answer.

Jon was dead. His brother had the password to his email and was letting all his internet acquaintances know. He had committed suicide. Sliced open his wrists in the bathtub.

Jon didn't seem I like the type to commit suicide to me.

Had things with the gristers really gotten that bad that they drove him to that? We didn't really know each other very well, but he hadn't mentioned anything to me. His brother said he hadn't left a note. I gave him my condolences.

Now I had no one to talk to about this. I started looking online for more references or anything. All the while, the gristers were getting more and more aggressive. I'd look over my shoulder and there would be one or two on the windowsill, just staring at me.

One Time I opened the door to my apartment – I live on the third floor – and there was one about the size of a large dog staggering around at the bottom of the stairwell, pale face flashing in and out of the darkness, baring its teeth in a growl at me, pale limbs flashing as it bounded up the stairs. I slammed the door shut. I didn't go to work that day. Then I saw it on the news. The house that I had seen the fatass grister at. I would have skipped right past the news story had I not seen the picture of the house. T

he article was titled, "EIGHT FOUND DEAD, THREE ALIVE IN 'RAPE DUNGEON' RAID." Apparently some sick fuck had been using the basement of one of those abandoned houses as a place to keep women prisoner and kill them when they felt like it.

It was a terrible fucking story, but one of the things one of the survivors said really struck me.

"We were just so terrified all the time. We never knew when he was going to come in and decide to kill one of us. When he was going to really hurt us while raping us. We were just so terrified all the time." Terrified all the time. And gristers had been all over that place. And when I first saw one, I had been reading creepypasta, and pretty freaked out. Same for Jon.

Were these things drawn to fear?

Then I read that two of the three survivors were being sent to a mental hospital for 'hallucinations.' Did they see the gristers?

I stopped sleeping. I didn't want to wake up to those things staring at me. I stopped eating, too. Whenever I wasn't at work, which was more and more often, as I called out many times when I saw gristers bigger than a cat sniffing around my building for me, I was locked in my room, trying to hunt for information on the internet about these things.

I just couldn't find anyone who had actually seen them. The gristers were getting more violent. They were starting to scratch me and bite me in those few scant hours that I actually did nod off to sleep. I'd always freak out and sweep them away, and they'd just hiss at me. After about a week of this, I came home from work and found my cat dead.

They had peeled all the skin away from her skull, giving her a look of shock. I quit my job. I cried for days. /x/, I don't have many friends, and I really loved that cat.

They're not stupid, /x/. They don't talk, and they act differently from us, but they do have intelligence. I went out for food last week. It was the last time I will ever go out. I was sitting at the downtown bus station, shivering, looking all around me for gristers, when the bus approached. I got up to get on. And out of nowhere a grister, the size of a normal human, just bent over and walking their weird, loping gait, slammed into the back of the woman next to me and threw her in front of the bus.

She had no chance. I saw her slide under the wheels of the bust, saw her blood and ruined organs squeezed out of her mouth like toothpaste. Everyone freaked out and panicked. As people rushed to her aid, the grister turned toward me and grinned. I dropped my groceries and screamed, running back to my house, sobbing all the way. They're toying with me. And that's when I finally realized why there wasn't anyone I could really talk to about the gristers.

How many times, when people commit suicide, do you hear it reported that they were "suffering from hallucinations"? Read the reports of people who have been in terrible, frightening situations. Like that rape dungeon, or a war. How many of them "suffer from hallucinations"? Sure, a lot of them are actual hallucinations. Some of them are the gristers. And eventually, they figure out that you can see them. And they start fucking with you. And I don't think everyone who they 'kill' is driven to suicide. I don't think Jon committed suicide. I think they're smart. I think they know how to make something look like a suicide. You'll hear about it sometimes. You'll read in a report about how someone committed suicide, but something just isn't quite right about it. Like a man who went out and bought a new couch, and then cut his wrists on it. And /x/, I'm convinced there was nothing special about Jon and me.

I don't think there's anything special about anyone who sees these things. I think you're just more likely to see them when you're really scared, since that's when they're drawn to you.

I can hear them right now. It's about three in the morning. It sounds like a really big one is outside of my apartment door. It sounds like it's trying to gnaw its way through the wood. And so I'm taking the easy way out. I'd rather have a nice sharp knife slice my arms open than have my skin torn by those teeth. So please.

This is my warning to you. Stop reading creepypasta. I know you love it. I know you love frightening yourself. But you've got to stop. Every time you read it – every time you get that feeling of dread in your stomach – you're drawing the gristers to you.

And if you don't stop reading, at least, please. Never check out those sounds in the house when you do.

Artist's depiction of a grister:

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973 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Thu Sep 12, 2013 7:30 am

Forget where I heard this one, but it's really getting to me.

I lived in a dorm for a while, typical stuff. People would always make noise in the hallways, sometimes even in the middle of the night. I woke up at 4:27 AM one time by a bang on the door. It was probably some drunk kid on the way back to his room, that wasn't what kept me awake. What kept me awake was the thin grey hand curling under the door.

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974 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Sun Sep 15, 2013 12:16 pm


Dove in the Moonlight
This clown in Northampton has been spotted roaming the streets randomly - article about it here

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975 Re: Scarelovers ho! on Sun Sep 15, 2013 4:38 pm


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