Gimme Yo Scary Stories

Once, there was a boy who loved to read. He read everything he could get his hands on, and loved going to his favorite book store. One day, the boy realized he had read everything the store had to offer. He confronted the owner, and asked him if he had anything the boy had never checked out. The owner said why, yes, I do, and pulled out a book called “Death”. He gladly sold it to the boy at a discounted price of $50. However, he warned the boy, never to read the front page.

Well, the boy returned to his house and read the book, and he was content. However, he always wondered, what could be on that front page, it was always in the back of his mind. One day, the temptation was too much for the boy, and he flipped to the very front of the book, and dropped the book in HORROR.

There, in bold print, was MSRP $6.99.

During the war a soldier faithfully wrote his mother every week so she would know he was all right, until one week she didn’t get a letter and immediately began to worry. Within a couple of weeks she got a letter from the Army saying that her son had been captured and was being held in a Prisoner-of-War camp, and they assured her that they had no reason to believe the American prisoners were being mistreated in any way. A few weeks later the woman finally received another letter from her son, it read: “Dear Mom, Try not to worry about me, they are treating us well and I’ll be released as soon as the war is over. Make sure that little Teddy gets the stamp for his collection. Love you, Joe” The woman was overjoyed to hear the news, but was confused because she had no idea who “little Teddy” was. She decided to steam the stamp from the envelope and have a look. When she did she saw that written on the back of the stamp were the words:

“They’ve cut off my legs”.

A friend of mine told me this story, which he swears is 100% true. He was on his way home from work. He was really tired, because he'd recently had to take on a big new work load.

When he reached his apartment and was about to enter the elevator, he noticed a strange man covering his face and hunched over. He decided to get in the elevator anyway, because all he wanted at this point was to get home.

When the strange man rushed out of the elevator, he noticed blood on his hands. My friend says, he didn't know what to think. It's possible the man was just a weirdo, and had cut himself as he'd heard that some people do it for pleasure. That's what he told himself, anyway. He didn't want to get involved in anything. He just wanted to get home.

A few weeks later, a police officer knocked on his door. He began asking him questions. Where were you on this date? Did you see anything strange? My friend, with his big work load, decided not to tell the officer anything that would involve him in the investigation. He just wanted to be left alone. He told him that he'd seen nothing strange. The police officer seemed okay with that, and before he left he gave him his personal number should he ever remember any information.

Later that evening, after work, my friend returned home and turned on his TV to relax and watch the news. A new murder case had been solved, in which the victim had been partially skinned, his eyeballs removed and placed inside his chest, his arms cut off and left near the body. His legs were not yet found, and nor was his genitals which had also been removed, seemingly with an intense struggle.

The scary thing wasn't the descriptions, it was the picture. Not of the corpse, but of the man discovered to have been the murderer.

It was the police officer.

An elderly man was sitting alone on a dark path. He wasn't sure of which direction to go, and he'd forgotten both where he was traveling to...and who he was.

He'd sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him.

She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: "Now your third wish. What will it be?"

"Third wish?" The man was baffled. "How can it be a third wish if I haven’t had a first and second wish?"

"You’ve had two wishes already," the hag said, "but your second wish was for me to return everything to the way it was before you had made your first wish. That’s why you remember nothing; because everything is the way it was before you made any wishes." She cackled at the poor man. "So it is that you have one wish left."

"All right," he said hesitantly, "I don't believe this, but there's no harm in trying. I wish to know who I am."

"Funny," said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. "That was your first wish..."

In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.

She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She went to the police, who raided the address on the envelope, where they found heaps of human flesh for sale.

And what was in the envelope? "This is the last one I am sending you today."

I am always with you.

I was there from the time you were born. I stood in the delivery room, staring down at you before you could even open your eyes to see me. Your parents, relatives and doctors couldn’t see me there, in the corner, watching you with cloudy eyes, but I was there from the time you were born.

And I followed you home.

I was with you always, your constant companion. You played with your toys alone while I stared from all angles in nearby mirrors; my matted, clotted hair with oily sweat that hung off my dented forehead like glue. I was always your constant companion, drifting behind your mother’s car on your ride to preschool. You alone in the bathroom, but I was on the other side of the door, wind whistling through the bruised hole in my throat. My arms twisted and hanging in their sockets as I stood hunched on the other side of the shower curtain. I wait and follow you. I follow and drift behind you.

I’m not seen. I’m almost not-there in light. You never saw me that morning as I sat across from you at the breakfast table, a shiny red clot hanging from an empty tooth socket as I gaped grotesquely at you. I wonder sometimes if you know I’m there. I think you are aware, but you’ll never understand just how close I am.

I spend hours of your day doing nothing more than breathing in your ear.

Breathing – gagging, really.

I crave to be close to you, to always wrap my crippled arms around your neck. I lie near you ever single night, cloudy eyes staring at your ceiling, underneath your bed, at your sleeping face in the dark.

Yes. You caught me staring occasionally. Your parents came running down to your room one night when you screamed. You were just beginning to talk, so you were only able to cry out “Man! Man in my room!” You thought you’d never forget the sight of me, with my collapsed jaw hanging to my chest, swinging back and forth. I sank back into your closet and your mother was unable to see me though you pointed and pointed and pointed. You thought you’d never forget when they left that same night. You saw the closet door crack so softly and me crawling across the floor to your bed on all fours, shambling in jerking movements as I pushed myself under your bed on disjointed limbs.

You learned a new word for me: boogeyman. Not quite the monster you thought I was. I’m just waiting and following you always, touching your face with my knotted fingers as you sleep.

You’ll see me again soon. Any day now, I’m coming, blunt and brutal. One day you’ll walk across the road and – I believe I’ll plow into you with loud roar and a screech.

You rolling on the pavement, rolling under wheels, bluntforce metal fenders and my fingers touching your face again and again.

As you stare up from the cold pavement with cloudy eyes; your matted, clotted hair hanging in your face and your jaw unhinged and swinging to your chest.

You’ll see me approaching.

No one else will see me. You will stare past them into my eyes and I’ll leer down at you. For the first time in our life, something like a smile will come over my face. You’ll swear you’re looking into a mirror as clotted red bubbles from our mouths.

I’ll lean down, past the doctors and the oogling people and pick you up in my crooked arms.

Our faces will touch. My wings will unfurl. And then you’ll have to follow me.

And I am always with you.

Your guardian angel.