Horror Discussion Thread - Page 6

A girl was babysitting at a friend's house and it was for her friend's two younger brothers. The family she sat for had this odd looking clown statue standing in the corner of the living room almost life sized. It was just sooo creepy, she couldn't keep from looking at it every so often. Eventually, it got darker and she sent the two boys to bed. She went back downstairs to watch T.V. while she waited for her friend to call.

The clown just stood there with an eerie smile on it's face and a weird look in its unmoving eyes. She couldn't take any more of the weirdness, so she covered up the clown statue with a bed sheet. She quickly fell asleep after shutting the lamp light off. Suddenly she woke up and the sheet had slid off the clown statue. It stood there looking at her the same way. Almost immediately, the phone rang and she answered it. It was her friend.

"Yeah every thing's fine," said the babysitter, "I just have a problem with that weird clown statue in your guys' living room. It creeps the heck out of me."

There was silence on the other line........

"We don't have a clown statue in our living room. We never did."

The babysitter was struck silent by what her friend had just said. Then her friend said very slowly.

"Get out of the house now."........

After the babysitter quickly grabbed the kids and ran out of the house, the police arrived just minutes later with the news of a possibly dangerous intruder. The baby sitter learned that the criminal clown was an escapee, recently convicted of three murders from a neighboring city.

She also learned that the police searched the rest of the house and there was one thing missing that they found later on the clowns person after he'd been arrested..............a carving knife from the kitchen.

Every family in every town in every country on every continent has one. It’s 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 wasn’t the same as the kitchen walls.

You hid in there once during a game of hide ‘n’ seek.

No one told you it doesn’t open back into your reality. Don’t worry, you can’t tell the difference.

But everyone misses you.

After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. The lady cashier makes an odd remark to you, "You know, we're in no danger of a milk shortage." Upon arriving at her house you knock several times. No answer. You decide to try the door. It opens. You place the grocery bag on the counter. Strange. There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In a couple, the chicken and the milk has gone bad. "Mom," you call out, but no answer. You make your way through the kitchen and into the living room. Sitting on the couch, with her head cut off and neatly resting on her lap, is your mother.

Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime scene investigator. "It's not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into a series of repetitive behaviors," he says.

You think to yourself, "They can't be talking about me. Schizophrenia? Nah. Repetitive behavior? Do they think I did this?" Suddenly your cell phone goes off. "Hello?"

"Hi hun, it's me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk. Ohh, and I need some bread and cereal too."

"No problem Mom. I'll be right over..."

“Those used to be green!” the man said aloud, staring at the plants on the sill.
“I swear! They were green just yesterday!” he shouted to his wife, who was reading a book across the room.

He looked around. His eyes were unable to focus clearly for a moment, so he rubbed them. Looking around, he shouted again, “The walls! They used to be blue! We painted them blue just last month! Why aren’t they blue?” He was unable to control himself anymore. His wife looked over at him, surprised to see him in such a fervent uproar.

“Honey! Relax! You’ve just had a long day!” she affirmed. He wouldn’t have any of it though. “Don’t tell me what I’ve had or haven’t had!” he commanded as he stormed out of the room.
Figuring her husband had possibly been drinking, the woman tried to continue reading her book. But her concentration was continually broken by the yells of her husband.
“This used to be orange!” she could hear him yell in the other room. “These used to be brown!” he yelled again. Several minutes passed, but finally he was silent. Content that her husband had calmed down, the woman continued reading.

However, moments later a loud crash could be heard in the kitchen. The woman sprang from her chair in surprise, and darted over to the kitchen to see what was the matter. As she entered the room, she let out an incredible scream. There lay her husband on the floor, drenched in blood, with his abdomen slit wide open. Holding his own bowels in his hands, he uttered one last breath, “…these used to be red!…”

There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached, and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning.

As he looked around the inside of the cabin, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by several portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred and malice. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning, the hunter awoke -- he turned, blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.

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. Didn’t you see the red wristband she was wearing?"

The woman smiled, raised her arm, and said, "Something like this?"

It has been reported that some victims of torture, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not wake up. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren’t being tortured. The only way that they realized they needed to wake up was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to wake up. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world and please wake up.

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. 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.

“He’s too late to save you anyway.”

One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.

His desk was next to the window, and he turned and looked to the grass outside. It looked like a picture. When school was over, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.

He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.

She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said "no." He was devastated.

When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said "no." It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.

In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.

The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, "Sorry, no." When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said "no." He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.

Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when suddenly he got hit by a car. He was dead with the picture in his hand.

The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. Suddenly he saw the picture and picked it up.

He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers.

There’s a lingerie store in Kensington. You know the type: overpriced and under-stocked. The staff is no help at all, almost like they don’t want any customers at all. They don’t. At least, not in the front of the store. If you can convince them you’re a discerning patron though, they might let you into the red room.

Getting into the red room is easy. At least it seems so on the surface. There’s a door at the back of the shop with a bead curtain in front of it. The door is always locked though and the red room won’t be there if you break in. The key is to walk into the store every day for a week and ask for an array of outlandish products. Vinyl nighties, cardboard stocking and high heeled shoes full of salt have all been amongst the list of code words. Eventually you’ll hit upon the correct code word and the clerk will admit you to the red room.

There is no space in the building for the red room. The place where it is should be taken up by the kitchen of the Italian restaurant next door. The red room is a small strip club, with only a half dozen seats inside and the brightest, shiniest red paint. For the most part, the shows are very said and conventional, but be sure not to attend on any night which belongs to a martyred saint. If you do, you’ll find out the red room: The walls aren’t red. It’s what they’re covered in.

Every morning someone has left a little present on the shelf in your hallway. It's always small things that you need: a new toothbrush, a box of paperclips, the tie you thought you'd lost. The gifts get progressively more expensive, moving on to vintage tapes, MP3 players, jewelry, a small block of platinum...

Then one day, you find nothing on the shelf but a note:

"Your turn."

Somewhere, in the world, there's an artist. Her only painting is a painting of a simple white room, devoid of furniture or features. The room is lit by a simple white dome with a bulb inside it. Art scholars, on examining the painting, found that there's a faint suggestion of two shadows on the floor of the room.

She disappeared a while ago, but there's still a gallery in a large American city that has her contact information - they used to handle her PR work. If you go to her apartment, you'll find a door that seems to lead into what can only be a wall.

If you open it, you'll see a pristine white room - white carpet, white walls, and a white dome light overhead with a bulb inside it illuminating the room. You'll be drawn in, and if you've seen the painting, you'll look down at the floor for the shadows. They aren't there, of course - just your shadow. When you turn back to the door, it'll be gone, only a smooth wall where you were sure there was a door.

Somewhere, in the world, there's an artist. Her only painting is a painting of a simple white room, devoid of furniture or features. The room is lit by a simple white dome with a bulb inside it. Art scholars, on examining the painting, found that there's a faint suggestion of three shadows on the floor of the room.

Do you know when you are alone in a dark room and you have the feeling that someone stands behind you?

You know that it is just you being paranoid again, but you don't dare to turn around?

Then you gather up some courage and rapidly twist your head to notice that there's nothing there?

Be glad you did not look the other way.

You just moved into your new apartment, in a very big city. After a year of this life, you have almost given up hope of making any friends; be it at work or any other means. You feel very lonely. After looking for a peaceful place to spend your time, you find a quiet diner on the outskirts of town. The waitress is very attractive. Also, she seems to be the only employee there, ever. You never see anyone else eat there either, ever. The place is perfect for you.
Making love to her becomes a routine. You go there every night for dinner, and then to see her.
You eventually make other friends, and eat at the diner less and less. After some time you stop going completely.

At a bar with your best friend, you tell him about the fun you had with the waitress at the diner. He says he absolutely must see her. You take him there one night, but the building is in a state of ruin. The front door barely opens. The grimy insides of the diner are disgusting, and, behind the counter, is a moldy corpse, reeking of pus and rot.
When the police come to the scene, they interview both you and your friend. You are shocked to hear that the body is of a runaway girl from another province. The police tell you this is a homicide, and that she was also raped dozens of times, after she was killed. The police say they can get a match for DNA and eliminate you as a suspect. You are suddenly very worried.

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 wasn’t 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.