Creepy Thread
- Thread starter Twisting Neather
- Start date
- Status
Twisting Neather
Active Member
I read about a creepy story that took place in some mountains in Russia. I'll post a link after i find it again. Until then heres another one to send shivers down your spine.
There it goes again. Something definitely moved this time. It was very brief, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw something. But wait. All the doors are locked, no pets, and your parents won’t get home until 10. So there’s no way something moved. It’s just your imagination getting the best of you. Sitting alone in your room, the only light emitting from the monitor of your computer, you stare into the darkness for several minutes. Just to be sure. Now you feel silly. What were you thinking? Of course there’s nothing there. What, are you 6? Go back to what you were doing.
15 minutes later, as you prepare to go to bed, you’re in the bathroom. The shower curtains shift. Wait… no. Stop spooking yourself. It’s just an overactive imagination, filling your head with what isn’t really there. You gaze into the mirror at yourself. You say it to yourself, slowly and clearly, “Imagination.” With a sigh, you turn the lights off and head towards your room.
Laying in bed, you stare at your ceiling, dark and foreboding, only the motion of a small fan disturbing the calmness of the night. A shadow from the light in the hall shifts. No. No, no, no. Stop it. It’s your imagination. Just that. Go to sleep, you fool.
But then, just when you’re about to drift off to sleep, at the phase no one remembers when they wake, you sense something in the darkness. It’s your imagination, leering down at you. With a jagged, macabre smile.
There it goes again. Something definitely moved this time. It was very brief, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw something. But wait. All the doors are locked, no pets, and your parents won’t get home until 10. So there’s no way something moved. It’s just your imagination getting the best of you. Sitting alone in your room, the only light emitting from the monitor of your computer, you stare into the darkness for several minutes. Just to be sure. Now you feel silly. What were you thinking? Of course there’s nothing there. What, are you 6? Go back to what you were doing.
15 minutes later, as you prepare to go to bed, you’re in the bathroom. The shower curtains shift. Wait… no. Stop spooking yourself. It’s just an overactive imagination, filling your head with what isn’t really there. You gaze into the mirror at yourself. You say it to yourself, slowly and clearly, “Imagination.” With a sigh, you turn the lights off and head towards your room.
Laying in bed, you stare at your ceiling, dark and foreboding, only the motion of a small fan disturbing the calmness of the night. A shadow from the light in the hall shifts. No. No, no, no. Stop it. It’s your imagination. Just that. Go to sleep, you fool.
But then, just when you’re about to drift off to sleep, at the phase no one remembers when they wake, you sense something in the darkness. It’s your imagination, leering down at you. With a jagged, macabre smile.
Twisting_Neather said:
OMG. I've seen things move in the hallway at night when nobodys home. OMG.
Heres one that I heard...
A little boy and a girl were playing hide and go seek in an old trailer park. The boy ran to go hide, while to girl started counting. 30! Ready or not here I come! She looked around for maybe an hour, but couldn't find him anywhere. Then she went into a trailer that she thought hadn't been there before. When she went in, she said, "Are you in here?" then a voice came from an open attic door. "Yea, I found something up here come look!" "No, I have to get home soon ..." "Come on, it won't bite?" "NO. I'm leaving." As she started to walk back, she saw the boy come out from under a trailer. "Were you up in the attic?" "No, I've been under there the whole time. Why?"
Last edited by a moderator:
In the small town of Stull, Kansas, there once stood an old one room chapel on top of a hill, surrounded by graves. Beside the church was a cellar that was very difficult to find, as its doors had grass grown upon them. In front of it church was great tree that was always bare. None of the towns members could recall ever having seen a leaf upon its branches.
In the towns earliest years, well before the civil war, there were several farming families that lived there. The minister’s daughter had fallen madly in love with a boy from nearby, but had her heart broken when that young man was discovered to have impregnated a certain flirtatious townsgirl. The two were married, and all the while the reverend’s daughter saw them, happy together, and her hatred brewed until after 9 months of painful endurance, that despise boiled over. Shortly after the young couples child was born the minister’s daughter went to their house.
They greeted her cheerfully but noticed, all too late, how she eyed the child blood-thirstily. She slit the throats of those two who’d made her life so miserable and then dragged their bodies, along with the newborn child, up the hill to the church. She put the bodies in the cellar and left the baby there, between their bodies, to starve to death. She locked the cellar shut and hung herself on the tree in front of the church. The bodies in the cellar were not found for three weeks.
From that day on leaves never grew on that tree. If you walk the graveyard late at night you can just hear the sound of a baby’s chilling cry. The towns people burnt down the tree many years ago, in the hopes of putting the ministers daughter’s spirit to rest. And more recently the church collapsed onto itself, burying the already difficult to find cellar.
Many have looked for its doors, but the few who have found them and ventured beneath its depths have seldom returned, with the exception of a few who came back to the sunlight after 3 weeks beneath- starved nearly to death and covered in blood that was not their own.
yay for creepypasta
In the towns earliest years, well before the civil war, there were several farming families that lived there. The minister’s daughter had fallen madly in love with a boy from nearby, but had her heart broken when that young man was discovered to have impregnated a certain flirtatious townsgirl. The two were married, and all the while the reverend’s daughter saw them, happy together, and her hatred brewed until after 9 months of painful endurance, that despise boiled over. Shortly after the young couples child was born the minister’s daughter went to their house.
They greeted her cheerfully but noticed, all too late, how she eyed the child blood-thirstily. She slit the throats of those two who’d made her life so miserable and then dragged their bodies, along with the newborn child, up the hill to the church. She put the bodies in the cellar and left the baby there, between their bodies, to starve to death. She locked the cellar shut and hung herself on the tree in front of the church. The bodies in the cellar were not found for three weeks.
From that day on leaves never grew on that tree. If you walk the graveyard late at night you can just hear the sound of a baby’s chilling cry. The towns people burnt down the tree many years ago, in the hopes of putting the ministers daughter’s spirit to rest. And more recently the church collapsed onto itself, burying the already difficult to find cellar.
Many have looked for its doors, but the few who have found them and ventured beneath its depths have seldom returned, with the exception of a few who came back to the sunlight after 3 weeks beneath- starved nearly to death and covered in blood that was not their own.
yay for creepypasta
heres another one
hopefully i can get more people coming to this thread
heres a nightmare for every man here
from, yet again, Creepypasta
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 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.
hopefully i can get more people coming to this thread
heres a nightmare for every man here
from, yet again, Creepypasta
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 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.
BlacRoseImmortal
Well-Known Member
I got my own quote from a long locked and dead Ghost thread. This is a true story of my first encounter that freaked me the hell out....
It seems silly to me now though but when I was younger... lol
BlacRoseImmortal said:
It seems silly to me now though but when I was younger... lol
Last edited by a moderator:
Twisting Neather
Active Member
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, Rene 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 Mr. Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920s, 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. 100 in the future, 200 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 cataclysmic 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.
DO
NOT
TOUCH
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.
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, Rene 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 Mr. Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920s, 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. 100 in the future, 200 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 cataclysmic 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.
DO
NOT
TOUCH
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.
Fenix Chief
Member
That, that was scary.Twisting_Neather said:
Last edited by a moderator:
mchammertime
Well-Known Member
Well, when I was little (8?) i was in my parents bathroom in the middle of the night. When I came out, there was a Ghost of a boy standing there. It was more like a white, 3D silhouette. I was scared out of my mind and was just kind of frozen in place. Eventually I walked past him to my parents bed, since he wasn't moving and woke up my mom. I told her that there was a ghost, but when I looked back it was gone. Like a year or so later, I was lying in bed and I looked down the hallway by my bed and THE SAME ghost was on the other side of the hallway. creepy.....
Btw...105% true
0.o
Btw...105% true
0.o
Caseyupchurch
New Member
i got one
well there was this guy walking home from a movie one night
so instead of going around the long block he went through a dark alley(of course...)
about half way through a large coffin starting hopping behind him
startled and scared out of his mind he ran frantically but the coffin amazingly kept up just hopping behind him
the man ran inside and up the stairs into his bathroom
but the coffin crushed down the door and rushed up the stairs
the man freaking out sees the coffin bust down the bathroom door
frantically he searches for something to throw at the coffin but all he could find was a bottle of cough syrup
so he threw it at the coffin
it stopped....
woot!!!!!
well there was this guy walking home from a movie one night
so instead of going around the long block he went through a dark alley(of course...)
about half way through a large coffin starting hopping behind him
startled and scared out of his mind he ran frantically but the coffin amazingly kept up just hopping behind him
the man ran inside and up the stairs into his bathroom
but the coffin crushed down the door and rushed up the stairs
the man freaking out sees the coffin bust down the bathroom door
frantically he searches for something to throw at the coffin but all he could find was a bottle of cough syrup
so he threw it at the coffin
it stopped....
woot!!!!!
ew this one is gross
Do you know what a Cordyceps is? I didn’t either until 20 minutes ago. It’s a family of thousands of different types of fungus, grows all around the word in various rainforests and jungles. The awful thing about them is they’re parasitic, they grow on other animals. An ant happens to run into some spores, and then it starts to colonize his insides, starting with his brain. At some point, the ant starts to act visibly ill; standing in place and shivering, or walking in circles. If a fellow colony member sees him in this condition, he will be dragged to the border of the colony and exiled.
Then, when it’s almost over, the ant weakly climbs as high as he can up the vines, and locks his body on tight. Finally, he dies, and the fungus emerges from the back of his head, bursting forth like a long and foul fruit. After a short time, the little stalk spews forth its own spores, leaving the mummified and broken ant clinging to the stalk, his eye cavities filled with drying fungus.
I mention this because last night, when I was up on the roof of my apartment complex, I found my brother’s body.
He’s been back from 18 months on duty in the Philippines for less than three days. This was the first I’d seen him. My parents called me up the day before yesterday to tell me that he was on his way up. They told me he’d stayed in his room since he got home, and then suddenly got up and announced he was on his way to see me. They thought he was drunk, I’d thought he’d never made it.
He must have come straight up to the roof and died, by the smell of it. I was just finishing a cigarette, all torn up with anxiety and head throbbing, and when the acrid smoke vanished I caught a whiff of rot on the hot wind. It took me just a few minutes before I’d found him; face down behind the vents and fans. A slimy gray column rose up obscenely from the base of his skull, and a frozen waterfall of roots and tendrils was dangling from his eye sockets and mouth. At the top of stalk was small arrangement of feathery wisps, a white powder drifting idly from it tips.
The spores must have drifting over the north side of the building all day. My side of the building. I came down to my apartment to try to call up the police, and my headache was rising to a feverish throb. I got through the door, and the moment I reached for the phone, pain flared in my head, so bad I almost passed out. I’ve since tried three times and I can never get my hand up on it.
The same thing happens when I try to get up and leave the room; I feel spines of ice tunneling up into my skull and my limbs lock up and shudder.
The ants, in their last moments crawl as high up the vines as he can climb. This is so the spore will spread over more of the colony below. In the end, the parasite controls the ant with an almost intelligent drive. God help me.
The pain is almost blinding now, and a new thought has been rising up rhythmically in my head, like a record skipping. Up. Up. Up. It’s joined by an image of my office tower. It’s taller than my apartment, the tallest place I can think off and although the bulge on the back of my neck is the size of a peach, the skin stretched shiny, and I’m dizzy and my eyes are cloudy, I think I can make it there. Up.
No. I’m sick. I need help.
The building pulses again in my mind. The cold wind. The roof and the sky. These images and concepts dull the pain momentarily as they pass through my mind. I think I can get there. Up. Up.
If you live in downtown Chicago, I would get the f*** out.
good thing i live in Kansas
Do you know what a Cordyceps is? I didn’t either until 20 minutes ago. It’s a family of thousands of different types of fungus, grows all around the word in various rainforests and jungles. The awful thing about them is they’re parasitic, they grow on other animals. An ant happens to run into some spores, and then it starts to colonize his insides, starting with his brain. At some point, the ant starts to act visibly ill; standing in place and shivering, or walking in circles. If a fellow colony member sees him in this condition, he will be dragged to the border of the colony and exiled.
Then, when it’s almost over, the ant weakly climbs as high as he can up the vines, and locks his body on tight. Finally, he dies, and the fungus emerges from the back of his head, bursting forth like a long and foul fruit. After a short time, the little stalk spews forth its own spores, leaving the mummified and broken ant clinging to the stalk, his eye cavities filled with drying fungus.
I mention this because last night, when I was up on the roof of my apartment complex, I found my brother’s body.
He’s been back from 18 months on duty in the Philippines for less than three days. This was the first I’d seen him. My parents called me up the day before yesterday to tell me that he was on his way up. They told me he’d stayed in his room since he got home, and then suddenly got up and announced he was on his way to see me. They thought he was drunk, I’d thought he’d never made it.
He must have come straight up to the roof and died, by the smell of it. I was just finishing a cigarette, all torn up with anxiety and head throbbing, and when the acrid smoke vanished I caught a whiff of rot on the hot wind. It took me just a few minutes before I’d found him; face down behind the vents and fans. A slimy gray column rose up obscenely from the base of his skull, and a frozen waterfall of roots and tendrils was dangling from his eye sockets and mouth. At the top of stalk was small arrangement of feathery wisps, a white powder drifting idly from it tips.
The spores must have drifting over the north side of the building all day. My side of the building. I came down to my apartment to try to call up the police, and my headache was rising to a feverish throb. I got through the door, and the moment I reached for the phone, pain flared in my head, so bad I almost passed out. I’ve since tried three times and I can never get my hand up on it.
The same thing happens when I try to get up and leave the room; I feel spines of ice tunneling up into my skull and my limbs lock up and shudder.
The ants, in their last moments crawl as high up the vines as he can climb. This is so the spore will spread over more of the colony below. In the end, the parasite controls the ant with an almost intelligent drive. God help me.
The pain is almost blinding now, and a new thought has been rising up rhythmically in my head, like a record skipping. Up. Up. Up. It’s joined by an image of my office tower. It’s taller than my apartment, the tallest place I can think off and although the bulge on the back of my neck is the size of a peach, the skin stretched shiny, and I’m dizzy and my eyes are cloudy, I think I can make it there. Up.
No. I’m sick. I need help.
The building pulses again in my mind. The cold wind. The roof and the sky. These images and concepts dull the pain momentarily as they pass through my mind. I think I can get there. Up. Up.
If you live in downtown Chicago, I would get the f*** out.
good thing i live in Kansas
Here's an excellent read from 'creepypasta':
The Steubenville Ghost
Our encounter with the Steubenville Ghost was very surprising because we didn’t believe in such phenomena. If I had imbibed, or been by myself, I would probably have turned to some professional for help after the experience. I say we, because I was not the only participant.
The late Clarence R. Coulter, who’s family still reside in Akron, Oh. and I owned Halbert and Coulter Construction Co., Inc. in Wheeling W.Va. Early morning of December 30, 1948 he drove his new Hudson as we went into a small factory at 1817 E. High Ave. in Youngstown, Oh. It was an unusual day for that time of year in northeast Ohio. It was an overcast day with temperatures in the forties. I give you this because records can verify the accuracy of my memory.
About 11:00 am. in the office of Storm Sash, Inc. a radio announced an extreme cold front was approaching carrying extremely hazardous icing conditions. It warned everyone to get off the roads and streets shortly.
We went to a little greasy spoon nearby and prepared to leave earlier than planned to try to beat the severe weather. We concluded our business and left about 2:00 pm. As we proceeded south on Market St. we came to the south edge of town and Schotts Restaurant on the east side of the street. It was a well-known establishment that was only closed and torn down a few years ago.
Neither of us was smart enough to be too afraid, and we were both great optimists. We couldn’t resist a feast. We ate with no drinks. We had parked about 20 feet from the front door. As we stepped out of the door, we almost fell on the predicted glare ice, so we held onto the car fenders and anything else for support to keep from falling. We were agile and very active young men.
We saw no traffic moving. We entered his car and sat there debating if we should try to find some place to stay. Since New Years Eve was the following day, we preferred to be home in Wheeling for it. We decided since we were experienced drivers in inclement weather, and no traffic was moving, if we proceeded at 20 or 25 miles per hour and slid into something, we might bend a fender, but unlikely to be injured, so we decided to go home.
We proceeded south on Route 7 and already to the point where it turned east to East Liverpool, Ohio. There we encountered two emergency vehicles crawling along. There were no others moving until we next traveled through the small town of Steubenville and came to our place of encounter. The temperature had plummeted and was now biting cold.
About some twenty miles south of Steubenville on the old highway, we came to a place flat and even as a floor. At the north end of it the Ohio River turned east maybe a 1/4 to 1/2 mile, then south a ways, then turned back west to the highway. There had been a town there on that low plain but it was washed away in the Great Flood of 1936.
As we entered this plain from the north, we saw a string of maybe six cars entering it and approaching us from the south end. After passing only 2 moving vehicles in about 3 hours, this struck us as very strange. Suddenly, the lead car moved over and back again on this very straight road. Those behind did the same in a serpentine line. We remarked that maybe an animal was down or something had fallen onto the road that they were trying to avoid hitting. When they came to us, they passed us making a sloshing, drumming sound as if they were in heavy water on the pavement. This eerie sound seemed weird to us since the road was smooth glare ice.
We proceeded and came to that place where the strange maneuvering had occurred, and a woman in a white gossamer gown with a veil over her head put up her hand to stop us. We thought she was dressed in a wedding gown. There was a lot of crime activity in the Wheeling, Steubenville, Pittsburgh triangle we were in. We thought she might be there to stop us for robbery, as we looked prosperous. But no one would be out there with others lying in a ditch for that kind of activity in the bitter weather conditions we were in.
Clarence steered gently into the left lane. Man or beast could not have stood to move quickly on that uncleared, untreated glare ice. When she saw we were trying to pass her by, she floated smoothly and quickly over into the left lane. Fearing we might hit her, we steered back into our right lane as she quickly glided or floated back to it and stood in front of our approaching car. It was either hit her or stop. As we stopped before striking her, she moved back on the berm of the road and we came to a complete stop with her standing by the right hand door where I sat. We were confused and scared, but completely lucid and in control. I rolled the window down about 4 or 5 inches. She sounded like someone in a complete alcohol or drugged stupor as if her tongue was very thick. She leaned down and her face was may be 18 inches from mine. She asked if we were going to Steubenville. She kept repeating it and I said “any fool could see that we just came from there”. Clarence leaned forward to see her past me, and tried to get some sense out of her. I was sure I was going to see here in a police lineup for identification, so I stared intently at her face looking for any marks or features whereby I could positively identify her.
I suddenly realized she was featureless. There were dark spots where there should have been eyes, nostrils and mouth, but she was like smoke. In back of her to the west against the foot of the hill, a house had been recently built. As we were both staring into her face, someone turned on a light in the front of that house, and we saw it - through her.
We were suddenly very scared. He was a semi-pro fighter, and I was not a coward either. I was afraid she might enter the car. I’ll never forget my exact words as I cranked the window closed, “let’s get the hell out of here”. We went spinning our tires out of there to a night club/bar down the road at maybe Tiltonsville or Yorkville. We slid into the lot, stopped by the front door, as there was only one customer there. We clung to the car to the steps, entered where I called the Ohio State Patrol and told them someone should investigate. If that was a human being we left there, it would be a terrible thing to have done. Hearing no news, I called the patrol office two days later. The dispatcher laughed me off the phone saying they received no such report. I replied they had, since I gave it.
In 1961, I moved to Topeka, Kansas. During the course of business, I met an Air Force Staff Sergeant based here at Forbes Field. I don’t remember his name. In a conversation I began to tell him about the forgoing experience. Before I mentioned the name of the town as I related the event, he pulled on his pipe and said “that was the Steubenville Ghost”. Somewhat surprised, I asked how he knew about it. Since I hadn’t yet mentioned that she wanted to go to Steubenville. He said, “matter of fact, I was reading about her just last week“. She is one of the phenomena many people still discuss. I asked if he know anything about her. I don’t believe I ever referred to her as the Steubenville Ghost before that time. He said the most general or plausible explanation was this. In downtown Steubenville on the west side of the main street sits an old small frame church. I believe it was a Congregational or Episcopalian Church. He asked if I remembered that church. Of course I did. He said the prevailing wisdom was that she was a young lady near Rayland, Ohio, dressed up and in a buggy at that point on her way to that little mid-town church for her wedding. Maybe a riverboat whistle, something spooked her horse which bolted and threw her from the carriage where she struck her head on a rock and was killed.
I told him I often thought of returning to see if I could meet her again. Maybe we should have given her a ride. He said I had better be glad we hadn’t. He said he didn’t know if it was true in this case, but that there were reports of similar incidences where the apparitions were given a ride and those who gave the ride disappeared to never be seen again.
This is all I know of this phenomenon. After all these years and the former roadway having been made into a divided 4 lane, maybe she doesn’t appear now. But I would really like to know the whole story. Maybe what I’ve given here will fit into other known pieces.
–
The Steubenville Ghost
Our encounter with the Steubenville Ghost was very surprising because we didn’t believe in such phenomena. If I had imbibed, or been by myself, I would probably have turned to some professional for help after the experience. I say we, because I was not the only participant.
The late Clarence R. Coulter, who’s family still reside in Akron, Oh. and I owned Halbert and Coulter Construction Co., Inc. in Wheeling W.Va. Early morning of December 30, 1948 he drove his new Hudson as we went into a small factory at 1817 E. High Ave. in Youngstown, Oh. It was an unusual day for that time of year in northeast Ohio. It was an overcast day with temperatures in the forties. I give you this because records can verify the accuracy of my memory.
About 11:00 am. in the office of Storm Sash, Inc. a radio announced an extreme cold front was approaching carrying extremely hazardous icing conditions. It warned everyone to get off the roads and streets shortly.
We went to a little greasy spoon nearby and prepared to leave earlier than planned to try to beat the severe weather. We concluded our business and left about 2:00 pm. As we proceeded south on Market St. we came to the south edge of town and Schotts Restaurant on the east side of the street. It was a well-known establishment that was only closed and torn down a few years ago.
Neither of us was smart enough to be too afraid, and we were both great optimists. We couldn’t resist a feast. We ate with no drinks. We had parked about 20 feet from the front door. As we stepped out of the door, we almost fell on the predicted glare ice, so we held onto the car fenders and anything else for support to keep from falling. We were agile and very active young men.
We saw no traffic moving. We entered his car and sat there debating if we should try to find some place to stay. Since New Years Eve was the following day, we preferred to be home in Wheeling for it. We decided since we were experienced drivers in inclement weather, and no traffic was moving, if we proceeded at 20 or 25 miles per hour and slid into something, we might bend a fender, but unlikely to be injured, so we decided to go home.
We proceeded south on Route 7 and already to the point where it turned east to East Liverpool, Ohio. There we encountered two emergency vehicles crawling along. There were no others moving until we next traveled through the small town of Steubenville and came to our place of encounter. The temperature had plummeted and was now biting cold.
About some twenty miles south of Steubenville on the old highway, we came to a place flat and even as a floor. At the north end of it the Ohio River turned east maybe a 1/4 to 1/2 mile, then south a ways, then turned back west to the highway. There had been a town there on that low plain but it was washed away in the Great Flood of 1936.
As we entered this plain from the north, we saw a string of maybe six cars entering it and approaching us from the south end. After passing only 2 moving vehicles in about 3 hours, this struck us as very strange. Suddenly, the lead car moved over and back again on this very straight road. Those behind did the same in a serpentine line. We remarked that maybe an animal was down or something had fallen onto the road that they were trying to avoid hitting. When they came to us, they passed us making a sloshing, drumming sound as if they were in heavy water on the pavement. This eerie sound seemed weird to us since the road was smooth glare ice.
We proceeded and came to that place where the strange maneuvering had occurred, and a woman in a white gossamer gown with a veil over her head put up her hand to stop us. We thought she was dressed in a wedding gown. There was a lot of crime activity in the Wheeling, Steubenville, Pittsburgh triangle we were in. We thought she might be there to stop us for robbery, as we looked prosperous. But no one would be out there with others lying in a ditch for that kind of activity in the bitter weather conditions we were in.
Clarence steered gently into the left lane. Man or beast could not have stood to move quickly on that uncleared, untreated glare ice. When she saw we were trying to pass her by, she floated smoothly and quickly over into the left lane. Fearing we might hit her, we steered back into our right lane as she quickly glided or floated back to it and stood in front of our approaching car. It was either hit her or stop. As we stopped before striking her, she moved back on the berm of the road and we came to a complete stop with her standing by the right hand door where I sat. We were confused and scared, but completely lucid and in control. I rolled the window down about 4 or 5 inches. She sounded like someone in a complete alcohol or drugged stupor as if her tongue was very thick. She leaned down and her face was may be 18 inches from mine. She asked if we were going to Steubenville. She kept repeating it and I said “any fool could see that we just came from there”. Clarence leaned forward to see her past me, and tried to get some sense out of her. I was sure I was going to see here in a police lineup for identification, so I stared intently at her face looking for any marks or features whereby I could positively identify her.
I suddenly realized she was featureless. There were dark spots where there should have been eyes, nostrils and mouth, but she was like smoke. In back of her to the west against the foot of the hill, a house had been recently built. As we were both staring into her face, someone turned on a light in the front of that house, and we saw it - through her.
We were suddenly very scared. He was a semi-pro fighter, and I was not a coward either. I was afraid she might enter the car. I’ll never forget my exact words as I cranked the window closed, “let’s get the hell out of here”. We went spinning our tires out of there to a night club/bar down the road at maybe Tiltonsville or Yorkville. We slid into the lot, stopped by the front door, as there was only one customer there. We clung to the car to the steps, entered where I called the Ohio State Patrol and told them someone should investigate. If that was a human being we left there, it would be a terrible thing to have done. Hearing no news, I called the patrol office two days later. The dispatcher laughed me off the phone saying they received no such report. I replied they had, since I gave it.
In 1961, I moved to Topeka, Kansas. During the course of business, I met an Air Force Staff Sergeant based here at Forbes Field. I don’t remember his name. In a conversation I began to tell him about the forgoing experience. Before I mentioned the name of the town as I related the event, he pulled on his pipe and said “that was the Steubenville Ghost”. Somewhat surprised, I asked how he knew about it. Since I hadn’t yet mentioned that she wanted to go to Steubenville. He said, “matter of fact, I was reading about her just last week“. She is one of the phenomena many people still discuss. I asked if he know anything about her. I don’t believe I ever referred to her as the Steubenville Ghost before that time. He said the most general or plausible explanation was this. In downtown Steubenville on the west side of the main street sits an old small frame church. I believe it was a Congregational or Episcopalian Church. He asked if I remembered that church. Of course I did. He said the prevailing wisdom was that she was a young lady near Rayland, Ohio, dressed up and in a buggy at that point on her way to that little mid-town church for her wedding. Maybe a riverboat whistle, something spooked her horse which bolted and threw her from the carriage where she struck her head on a rock and was killed.
I told him I often thought of returning to see if I could meet her again. Maybe we should have given her a ride. He said I had better be glad we hadn’t. He said he didn’t know if it was true in this case, but that there were reports of similar incidences where the apparitions were given a ride and those who gave the ride disappeared to never be seen again.
This is all I know of this phenomenon. After all these years and the former roadway having been made into a divided 4 lane, maybe she doesn’t appear now. But I would really like to know the whole story. Maybe what I’ve given here will fit into other known pieces.
–
Spartas Phalanx
Jr Member
I found this at another site and it seems very real because the guy gave his email and name. But it really creeped me out the first time i read it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to be a truck driver. I don't know how many people are experiencing this but as I remember other drivers warned me not to continue driving through this type of fog. This happened in the Fall 2000. It was my shift to drive and my partner watched cautiously as we had been warned not to drive through a grayish green low fog (it sat about 1 foot off the ground about a foot and a half to two feet thick). I could see no real danger I could see through the fog and it made no real difference to road conditions.
My shift of driving was to start at Thunderbay Ontario and finish in Herst Ontario. I was alloud five hours to fuel, take one break, and arrive in Herst. My maximuim speed was controlled by computer and set at 90 km (55 mph).
After fueling my partner watched as I drove through little towns scattered through Ontario. A town or two after Nipegon he went to the sleeper to get some rest. I drove to Longlac and stop for coffee. I came back to find my partner quite confused. He felt certain we had arrived in Herst. After some talking he realized his mistake and tried to get more sleep. I look at my watch and realized it wasn't working. I took it off and through it on the dash. I pushed the button on the radio but its clock as well was not working. To figure out the time I though I would just listen to the radio. Unfortunately I recieved no stations. This fog stayed the whole trip.
Finally I arrived in Herst. I stopped in at the truck stop and look around. After getting my bearings I looked at the clock on the wall. I asked what the actual time was but the clock was correct. I went back to the truck to my partner who was furious. He had no sleep hadn't slept at all. Our trip was supposed to take 5 hours but was done in 3 hours. Probably 2 hours of actual driving. There is absolutely no explanation. A plane might make this kind of time but the truck I was driving had only 355 hp with a heavy load.
The fact people were warning us tells me others know about this but are unwilling to talk about their experiences. My partner is. Recently I herd about a burmuda triangle type experiences around the great lakes could this be part of what happened?
I Karras <zeph a mts com>
Winnipeg, MB Canada - Friday, September 27, 2002 at 00:18:25 (PDT)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I used to be a truck driver. I don't know how many people are experiencing this but as I remember other drivers warned me not to continue driving through this type of fog. This happened in the Fall 2000. It was my shift to drive and my partner watched cautiously as we had been warned not to drive through a grayish green low fog (it sat about 1 foot off the ground about a foot and a half to two feet thick). I could see no real danger I could see through the fog and it made no real difference to road conditions.
My shift of driving was to start at Thunderbay Ontario and finish in Herst Ontario. I was alloud five hours to fuel, take one break, and arrive in Herst. My maximuim speed was controlled by computer and set at 90 km (55 mph).
After fueling my partner watched as I drove through little towns scattered through Ontario. A town or two after Nipegon he went to the sleeper to get some rest. I drove to Longlac and stop for coffee. I came back to find my partner quite confused. He felt certain we had arrived in Herst. After some talking he realized his mistake and tried to get more sleep. I look at my watch and realized it wasn't working. I took it off and through it on the dash. I pushed the button on the radio but its clock as well was not working. To figure out the time I though I would just listen to the radio. Unfortunately I recieved no stations. This fog stayed the whole trip.
Finally I arrived in Herst. I stopped in at the truck stop and look around. After getting my bearings I looked at the clock on the wall. I asked what the actual time was but the clock was correct. I went back to the truck to my partner who was furious. He had no sleep hadn't slept at all. Our trip was supposed to take 5 hours but was done in 3 hours. Probably 2 hours of actual driving. There is absolutely no explanation. A plane might make this kind of time but the truck I was driving had only 355 hp with a heavy load.
The fact people were warning us tells me others know about this but are unwilling to talk about their experiences. My partner is. Recently I herd about a burmuda triangle type experiences around the great lakes could this be part of what happened?
I Karras <zeph a mts com>
Winnipeg, MB Canada - Friday, September 27, 2002 at 00:18:25 (PDT)
Twisting Neather
Active Member
Hey I found that Russian story guys. This one is really strange, even more so because it is true.
Dyatlov Pass
On January 23, 1959 a group of 9 Russian hikers from the Ural Polytechic University led by Igor Dyatlov went on a hike to the Ural Mountains (7 guys and two gals - Igor Dyatlov, Alexander Kolevatov, Rustem Slobodin, Yuri Krivonischenko, Nikolay Tibo-Briniol, Yuri Doroshenko, Alexander Zolotarev, Ludmila Dubinina, Zina Kolmogorova). They were supposed to return to the base camp on February 12 and then let the University know they were alright by a telegram. On January 31 they reached the upper Auspia river where they planned to leave a part of their stuff and food in a temporary camp, and then next day to take a trip with light baggage 6 miles north to the Otorten mountain (which is more like a big smooth hill). It's only around 14:00 next day after finally setting up their camp in the woods surrounding the mountain they moved out and began their ascent on the gentle mountain slope to the summit. For whatever reason they decided to spend the following night right on the bare windy slope instead of going to the woods - probably because they had realized that by the time they would have gotten there it would have been too dark to set up a camp. Anyway, it was no big deal to spend a night on a windy slope for such experienced hikers as they all were, so they set up a tent, ate some food and then hit the sack.
Fast forward in time, the University didn't recieve their telegram on February 12. At that point no one worried yet - some delay may have happened due to weather etc. It's only on Februray 20 the University sent out a first rescue group, with several more following, and a few days later it became a big rescue operation with military and police aircrafts and choppers searching the places the Dyatlov's group might have been.
On February 26 they finally found their tent on the mountain. It had all their stuff inside - equipment, food, clothes. One tent's side had several long cuts - as later determined made from the inside - as if they left the tent in panic with no time to go through the entrance so they cut their way through with a knife. There were no any signs of a struggle in and around the tent. The only footprints in the snow went from their self-made tent exit down the slope to the woods below. Most of the footprints were barefoot and were said to belong to 8-9 different people. The footprints ended approx 500 meters from the tent, covered with snow from that point.
Later this day, an airplan discovered first bodies. 1500 meters away from the tent right where the woods began they found remains of a campfire under a big cedar tree. Bodies of two men - Doroshenko and Krivonischenko - were found lying around this campfire, naked. As later an autopsy concluded the cause of their deaths was hypothermia. No any injuries were found aside from a few minor scratches. 300 meters away from these bodies up the mountain and towards the tent, the body of Igor Dyatlov was found. He was lying on his back embrasing a small birch with one hand. 180 meters from his body farther towards the tent the body of Rustem Slobodin was found, and 150 meters from his body, again farther towards the tent, the body of a female member Zina Kolmogorova was discovered. Both Rustem and Zina were lying face down in dynamic poses as if they were trying to crawl up to the tent right until the moment they died. There was blood around the Zina's head which came out of her mouth. The cause of death for all three - Dyatlov, Slobodin, and Kolmogorova - was found to be hypothermia as well, with Dyatlov and Kolmogorova having no any injuries. Slobodin, however, had a crack in the skull with no skin and tissue damage, which was not the cause of his death though.
The search for the rest of the members continued for nearly two months. Only on May 4, 75 meters away from the camfire deeper in the woods and under 4 meters of snow they finally found bodies of the other 4 members. The Alexander Kolevatov's body had a few head injuries and the cause of his death was hypothermia. The other three died from severe internal injuries - Ludmila Dubinina had her ribs crushed on both sides of chest and died because of internal bleeding. She also had her whole tounge missing. Alexander Zolotarev had his ribs all broken too and died of the same reason. Tibo-Briniol had his skull badly crushed which was the cause of his death. All of them had no skin and tissue damage.
There are a lot more little strange details here and there that complicate the issue even more - like an unusual orange tint to their skin the forensics team reported, a higher than normal radiation level of some of their clothes, and much more.
A lot of different theories and explanations have been offered, none of them either fit the evidence, or make sense. Why and from what they panically ran away naked in the middle of the night at -30C temperature and what happended next, is still a puzzle.
Dyatlov Pass
On January 23, 1959 a group of 9 Russian hikers from the Ural Polytechic University led by Igor Dyatlov went on a hike to the Ural Mountains (7 guys and two gals - Igor Dyatlov, Alexander Kolevatov, Rustem Slobodin, Yuri Krivonischenko, Nikolay Tibo-Briniol, Yuri Doroshenko, Alexander Zolotarev, Ludmila Dubinina, Zina Kolmogorova). They were supposed to return to the base camp on February 12 and then let the University know they were alright by a telegram. On January 31 they reached the upper Auspia river where they planned to leave a part of their stuff and food in a temporary camp, and then next day to take a trip with light baggage 6 miles north to the Otorten mountain (which is more like a big smooth hill). It's only around 14:00 next day after finally setting up their camp in the woods surrounding the mountain they moved out and began their ascent on the gentle mountain slope to the summit. For whatever reason they decided to spend the following night right on the bare windy slope instead of going to the woods - probably because they had realized that by the time they would have gotten there it would have been too dark to set up a camp. Anyway, it was no big deal to spend a night on a windy slope for such experienced hikers as they all were, so they set up a tent, ate some food and then hit the sack.
Fast forward in time, the University didn't recieve their telegram on February 12. At that point no one worried yet - some delay may have happened due to weather etc. It's only on Februray 20 the University sent out a first rescue group, with several more following, and a few days later it became a big rescue operation with military and police aircrafts and choppers searching the places the Dyatlov's group might have been.
On February 26 they finally found their tent on the mountain. It had all their stuff inside - equipment, food, clothes. One tent's side had several long cuts - as later determined made from the inside - as if they left the tent in panic with no time to go through the entrance so they cut their way through with a knife. There were no any signs of a struggle in and around the tent. The only footprints in the snow went from their self-made tent exit down the slope to the woods below. Most of the footprints were barefoot and were said to belong to 8-9 different people. The footprints ended approx 500 meters from the tent, covered with snow from that point.
Later this day, an airplan discovered first bodies. 1500 meters away from the tent right where the woods began they found remains of a campfire under a big cedar tree. Bodies of two men - Doroshenko and Krivonischenko - were found lying around this campfire, naked. As later an autopsy concluded the cause of their deaths was hypothermia. No any injuries were found aside from a few minor scratches. 300 meters away from these bodies up the mountain and towards the tent, the body of Igor Dyatlov was found. He was lying on his back embrasing a small birch with one hand. 180 meters from his body farther towards the tent the body of Rustem Slobodin was found, and 150 meters from his body, again farther towards the tent, the body of a female member Zina Kolmogorova was discovered. Both Rustem and Zina were lying face down in dynamic poses as if they were trying to crawl up to the tent right until the moment they died. There was blood around the Zina's head which came out of her mouth. The cause of death for all three - Dyatlov, Slobodin, and Kolmogorova - was found to be hypothermia as well, with Dyatlov and Kolmogorova having no any injuries. Slobodin, however, had a crack in the skull with no skin and tissue damage, which was not the cause of his death though.
The search for the rest of the members continued for nearly two months. Only on May 4, 75 meters away from the camfire deeper in the woods and under 4 meters of snow they finally found bodies of the other 4 members. The Alexander Kolevatov's body had a few head injuries and the cause of his death was hypothermia. The other three died from severe internal injuries - Ludmila Dubinina had her ribs crushed on both sides of chest and died because of internal bleeding. She also had her whole tounge missing. Alexander Zolotarev had his ribs all broken too and died of the same reason. Tibo-Briniol had his skull badly crushed which was the cause of his death. All of them had no skin and tissue damage.
There are a lot more little strange details here and there that complicate the issue even more - like an unusual orange tint to their skin the forensics team reported, a higher than normal radiation level of some of their clothes, and much more.
A lot of different theories and explanations have been offered, none of them either fit the evidence, or make sense. Why and from what they panically ran away naked in the middle of the night at -30C temperature and what happended next, is still a puzzle.
master chief403
Jr Member
some of u hate hotel storys but yah heres one
One stormy raining night a man checks into a hotel. The hotel inploie said,"Ok we have one room open." The man said he would take the room, but then the inploie said,"hey can you not look in the room next to you thow...thats were my doughter died." The man said,"Sure thing." Then the man goes to his room and unpacks his things. The next day the man was curiuse so he looked into the key hole of the inploie's dead doughter's room. All the man can see is darknes...but he does see an old landy in the corner of the room but he can see her face. That night the man looks in the key hole again but it's all red. THe man said,"Maybe they painted the roo red when i went to dinner. A few days went by and the man was checking out of the hotel and said to the inploie,"I love ho you painted your daughter room red." The inploie said,"We didn't paint the room red...but my daughter had a red eye when she died."
for pepole who dont understand this story the dead girl was staring at him threw the key hole as he was...boo!!!
One stormy raining night a man checks into a hotel. The hotel inploie said,"Ok we have one room open." The man said he would take the room, but then the inploie said,"hey can you not look in the room next to you thow...thats were my doughter died." The man said,"Sure thing." Then the man goes to his room and unpacks his things. The next day the man was curiuse so he looked into the key hole of the inploie's dead doughter's room. All the man can see is darknes...but he does see an old landy in the corner of the room but he can see her face. That night the man looks in the key hole again but it's all red. THe man said,"Maybe they painted the roo red when i went to dinner. A few days went by and the man was checking out of the hotel and said to the inploie,"I love ho you painted your daughter room red." The inploie said,"We didn't paint the room red...but my daughter had a red eye when she died."
for pepole who dont understand this story the dead girl was staring at him threw the key hole as he was...boo!!!
roguespartan
Jr Member
I live in Louisville Ky. Where it is home to one of the scariest places on earth (literally, it was brodcast on top ten scariest places on earth, on some show on t.v.) and ill vouch for it as well i have been inside on a ghost hunters tour.
it is indeed the T.B. Hospital. Past home to more than several thousand deaths within months. T.B. stands for Tuburculosis. A disease that threatened the world. It was indeed a plague. SO many people died in a day that they built whats known as "the death tunnel" to be able to carry out each body without alerting the remaining residents of how many where dieing daily from exactly what they have. it is the scariest place i have ever seen. and they actually have certain nights where you can stay there by yourself. Some radio show here gets rights to that, just to see if anyone is that daring. I recommend you check out the photos of it and videos of it on youtube. Trust me you would love to experince this place in person if you were into paranormal.
it is indeed the T.B. Hospital. Past home to more than several thousand deaths within months. T.B. stands for Tuburculosis. A disease that threatened the world. It was indeed a plague. SO many people died in a day that they built whats known as "the death tunnel" to be able to carry out each body without alerting the remaining residents of how many where dieing daily from exactly what they have. it is the scariest place i have ever seen. and they actually have certain nights where you can stay there by yourself. Some radio show here gets rights to that, just to see if anyone is that daring. I recommend you check out the photos of it and videos of it on youtube. Trust me you would love to experince this place in person if you were into paranormal.
marioknight92
Member
master chief403 said:
holy $#!T dude when you said the line "what we did not paint the room red but my daughter had a red eye when whe died" it sended shivers down my back. I have no clue why but it did.
good one
Last edited by a moderator:
master chief403
Jr Member
thanxmarioknight92 said:
heres another one
one night a man in his hotel room was watching tv. then from the next room over he herd a voice saying,"Im gonna get yah im gonna eat yah!" The man was scared and thought he was just hering things. Again he herd,"Im gonna get yah im gonna eat yah!" the man thought he was going insane so he goes to the bathroom to wash his face so he wont fall asleep and here things again. Then he herd,"Im gonna get yah im gonna eat yah!" The man shuts the door in fright. he heirs it again,"Im gonna get yah im gonna eat yah!" he think i should face my fear so he opens the door and there lies and 8 year old picking his nose saying,"Im gonna get yah im gonna eat yah!"
for those who do not understand the 8 year old was trying to get a buger and eat it...thankyou
Last edited by a moderator:
- Status
