scary stories

Yes, some primatologists have been raped by gorillas.

But no, the only scary stories I can tell you come from my broad collection of urban myths, which you all know already.

I'm too lazy (or busy) , somebody else tell the one about The little girl who had her dog lick her hand through the night. Go on. Otherwise I'll have to.

alas i do not know that story... but i do know the one that starts off.... once upon a time... no no thats not quite right... was it... in a galaxy far far away? no that doesnt seem to be right either.... hmmm maybe i dont know any good stories... i shall have to ponder upon this

It isn't really scary. IN fact., it's more lame and funny, but here we go, destroying an urban legend:


A couple were very worried because their young daughter was staying alone overnight at their house for the first time, but they hadn't been able to talk anybody relatives into staying over the night with her. Besides which, she had just turned thirteen and they trusted her not to make a mess of the house. That, and they had an enormous German shepherd named Rex to make sure nobody would attack her. Although he was aggressive with strangers, he was always very

" Don't worry about me, Mum and Dad, I'll be fine" , she told them. "and anyway, Rex is here to look after me."

The girl and the dog had a lot of fun and stayed up til much, much later than playing fetch and watching old movies ( their parent's collection of pornography, in fact, but that has nothing to do with the story). She felt fine but after it began to get dark and she went to bed she was a little bit scared. SHe had an idea. She called Rex over and had him sleep on the mat beside her bed. Whenever she woke up and got scared, she called rex over to her bed to lick her hand.

During the night she thought she heard the somebody walking through the house. But it was probably just settling noises, and if it had been anything bad , Rex would have gone up and seen what it was.

She called over Rex, again. "Rex, come over here, come lick my hand, boy" . He did, and she felt safe . And went back to sleep, only to awaken a few more times during the night . But she was fine , and felt safe with Rex protecting her.

Anyhow, the morning came and she was actually quite proud that she had stayed home alone the whole night . Only Rex wasn't anywhere to be seen. She called out for him , and he didn't come. Then she noticed a trail of blood leading towards the bathroom.

She was really frightened that Rex must have cut himself and and was injured and she followed the trail of blood up the stairs into bathroom door, which, strangely enough was closed.

She opened it, and then she screamed

She found Rex cut open and strangled, hanging from the shower hook by his collar . On the bathroom mirror, in dog's blood, was written:

PEOPLE CAN LICK TOO

Well, that's my exercise in creative writing for today. I know a lot of more gruesome and disturbing urban legends, but that story has such a sweet delicate charm , as well as rural american charm ( in some versions, the mirror wall read " THe Jersey Devil can lick too" , which is quite quaint" I tell a lot of stories to small children, have you noticed? HAHA My revenge to them for not eating my brocolli, lol.

If anybody is up to it, tell your version about the young woman, the blind man, the policemen, the envelope and the deserted house. I think that is the most disturbing urban myth, and the ending isn't quite as predictable as the others.

I swear this wasn't me:

A couple with children were trying out a new babysitter. About an hour after they left for a night on the town, they realized they had forgotten to give her their cell phone number, so one of them called her.

After she wrote down the number, the babysitter asked if she could watch satellite TV in their bedroom. She had just put the children to bed and wanted to watch a particular show. (The parents didn't want their children watching too much garbage, so the living room TV did not have satellite channels.)

Well of course she could watch TV in their room, they replied. The babysitter had one other request: could she put a sheet or blanket over the clown statue that was in the bedroom? It kind of made her nervous.

"We don't have a clown statue...." they said.

There was a maniacal laugh, and from out of the shadows came a psychotic midget in a clown suit, wielding a buthcer knife, and a meat grinder.

Here are a couple of stories from Joe R. Lansdale, not his most horrific, but written in the style of urban myths:

THE CLOSET

Seymore, looking in his closet for his shotgun, accidentally let the door slam closed behind him.

He wheeled. Panicked. Beat on the door and screamed. No one answered, because he lived alone.

Seymore hated tight places. He couldn't even stand tight clothes. A wristwatch drove him wild. And now here he was, in a small closet, in the dark. He beat on the door and yelled some more, but still nothing changed.

He sat in a corner of the closet, the clothes draping about him like a ghost.

Beneath the crack in the door he saw day change to night and back again. He grew hungry. He threw himself at the door. No good. Solid oak and thick.

He sat down and cried.

Four days went by.

He found the shotgun he had been looking for.

It was loaded. He put it under his chin and fired.

Neighbors, hearing the shot, came looking for him.

They found him in the closet.

Too bad he hadn't tried the knob.

It wasn't locked.


PRIVATE EYE

Millard laughed as he walked and said he was being followed by a private eye.

Turned out the eye was quite public and easy to see as he pulled it down the street on a string, and from time to time called it by his wife's name.


SNAKE

Passed out drunk at a frat campout, Jason awoke naked to find that he was lying by a snake in the grass.

He lay still for a while, but the snake remained. Careful not to move too fast, Jason got hold of a stone near his hand and came down hard on the little snake.

It wasn't a snake.

His frat brothers call him stumpy, so Jason prefers to pee alone.

Taily-Po
Veronica Byrd

The trials and tribulations of living in today's modern society can tend to wear on your nerves. One can grow very weary of dealing with bills, taxes, insurance, traffic, and pollution; not to mention anything about keeping food in the refrigerator. Often times the whole thing can make you wanna holler, throw up both your hands!

And that's exactly what old Bill Smith did. He gave up all the luxuries (and, if you ask me, some of the necessities) of modern life. He loaded up just the barest of essentials and his three hunting dogs into his truck and moved way up into the north Georgia mountains. Smitty (that's what all of us folks in town called him) figured it wouldn't be that much of an adjustment - after all, he did love hunting, fishing and the "Great Outdoors." And he did have the companionship of his three best friends, his dogs Iknow, Youknow, and Comptiko Callico. What more could a man ask for?

Smitty built himself a nice little cabin way back in the woods. It wasn't very big, but it was just enough for him. The cabin only had two rooms, one he used for a bedroom, and the other for every other room (living room, dining room, den and kitchen). He had built himself a nice big fireplace where he could cook his food and warm his body on chilly nights. He planted himself a nice little vegetable garden on the side of the house and would hunt and fish for most of his food. But at least once a month, he would drive the twenty-five miles down the mountain to the little store to buy those things that he couldn't provide for himself. During the warm months, Smitty had no problem catching as much small game as he needed. But the colder months proved to be a little more difficult to keep his stomach full.

Well, it was on one of those cold wintry nights that Smitty went out to his storage shed to see what he could find for dinner. All he found was a small piece of fatback meat and a handful of rice. There was too much snow on the ground to travel the twenty-five miles to the store, so he had to make do with what he had. He ate the fatback and a little of the rice, but he gave most of the rice and the water where he had boiled the meat to his dogs. After all, they had to eat too! He called out, "Iknow, Youknow, Comtiko Callico, come on doggies and get you some of this heyeah dinner!" And those dogs came running in as fast as they could and lapped up all of that rice mixture. Smitty was still a little hungry, but there wasn't much he could do about that. So despite the protests of his grumbling stomach, Smitty stoked the fire in the fireplace to keep the cabin warm and he went to bed.

The sound of the wind blowing around (and in some places through) the tiny cabin had almost lulled Smitty to sleep, when he heard something. He opened his eyes and saw a shadow on the wall. He eased out of bed and tiptoed into the other room. There, he saw the oddest looking creature he had ever seen. It was short and stubby, with pointed ears and short fat feet with long claws, and it had a long bushy tail. There were no open doors or windows, so Smitty was confused as to how the funny looking thing had gotten in. Smitty quietly picked up his ax, crept over to the odd critter, who was devouring an insect of some sort, raised his ax, and came down squarely on the creatures tail!

Smitty turned to catch the varmint, but he was too quick. It hurriedly escaped -- through the wall! So Smitty was left standing there with this long bushy tail and a blood-laden ax in his hand, and no sign of the funny looking creature.

Smitty was about to throw the old tail out the door, when his growling stomach reminded him of how hungry he still was. So he took that tail, cleaned it, cooked it with some of the herbs from his garden he had stored away, and ate it. It didn't taste that bad --why, it kinda tasted like chicken! With his stomach finally full, Smitty got back into his warm cozy bed.

Smitty had just drifted off into a deep sleep when a strange sound awakened him. It sounded like something trying to scratch its way into the cabin -- perhaps a raccoon. Smitty knew that if he stayed real quiet it would probably go away. So he stayed as quiet as he could, but then he heard a strange, otherworldy voice, which hissed, "Taily- Po, I want my Taily-Po!!" Smitty thought the wind was playing tricks on his ears, but he heard it again, "Taily-Po, Taily-Po, I want my Taily-Po."

Smitty jumped out of bed, flung open the door and called out to his dogs, "Iknow, Youknow, Comtiko Callico, come on over heayah and see what's making that noise!" The dogs came running, barking and sniffing around, but they didn't find anything at all. So Smitty put the dogs back outside and went back to bed.

Sleep had just eased itself into Smitty's body when he heard the voice again. This time, the scratching sounded like it was at the window. Whatever it was, it really, really wanted to get in! But the scratching seemed to be on two walls at one time. Smitty called out, "Hey, hey, hey, who's that at my door? Get on away from heyeah!" Then he heard the strange voice again, only this time a little louder: "Taily-Po, Taily-Po, I want my Taily-Po. Taily-Po,Taily-Po, I'm comin' to get my Taily-Po!"

Old Smitty, who wasn't one to frighten easily, was getting a little shaky -- this was getting really weird. So he eased to the window and called, "Iknow, Youknow, Comtiko Callico, come on over heyeah and see what this is scratching at my house!" The three dogs bounded up to the porch and they sniffed around and barked, barked and sniffed, but they never found anything at all.

Smitty decided to stay up for the rest of the night to protect himself, his dogs and his little cabin. So he pulled a chair next to the fireplace, grabbed a blanket from his bed and settled in for the rest of the wind-chilled, wintry night. Sleep soon overtook him, and once again he dozed off.

It was almost dawn when Smitty woke with a start. The sound of scratching seemed to reverberate from every area of the cabin. Smitty searched frantically for his ax, his rifle, or something to defend himself with, but he was so frightened he couldn't find anything. The scratching grew louder and louder and louder, and then the voice -- "Taily-Po, where is my Taily-Po? Give me back my Taily-Po!!"

Smitty yelled back, "Leave me alone, I ain't got your Taily-Po!" Then he called, "Iknow, Youknow, Comtiko Callico, come on in heyeah and protect your old master!" This time, the dogs didn't come. So he called again, "Iknow, Youknow, Comtiko Callico, don't you hear me calling you? Come here doggies!" He waited and waited, but still not one dog came running. Smitty had never been so scared in his life. He ran to his bed and jumped in. The scratching and the voice grew louder and louder and louder. Smitty yelled back as loud as he could, "I ain't got no Taily-Po, so why don't you leave me alone and go on about your business? I ain't never hurt nobody or nothing, just leave me alone!"

The scratching seemed to be inside the house now and the voice was so loud it was deafening: "Taily-Po, you took my Taily-Po, and now I'm back to get it, give it to me NOW!!" Smitty pulled the cover up over his head and stayed as quiet as he could, but the scratching was now in his room! "Taily-Po, you better give me back my Taily-Po!" Smitty then felt the thing scratching up the bottom of the bed and onto the cover. Smitty eased the cover down to see what was steadily approaching. Then he saw it -- a short, stubby creature with pointed ears, fat feet with long claws and bloodshot red eyes that glowed in the dark -- eyes that seemed to burn straight through Smitty! Before he could pull the cover over his head again, the thing pounced on his chest, looked straight down at him and said, "You got my Taily-Po, and you better give it back to me NOW!"

Smitty yelled, "I ate it! I ate your Taily-Po, it's gone!" And that thing started to scratch and claw and tear away at poor old Smitty, trying to get that Taily-Po back. Smitty tried to fight back, but that thing was too strong and those claws were too sharp. Smitty's screams echoed throughout the dark mountains, then stopped, leaving a chilling silence.

After a month or two without hearing from Smitty, the folks who owned the store at the base of the mountain went up to his cabin to make sure everything was alright. When they got there, they found his cabin torn to shreds, but no sign of Smitty or the dogs. They searched the woods and called for them, "Smitty, Iknow, Youknow, Comptiko Callico!" But they never found a thing.

As the search party was heading down the mountain, the wintry wind began to blow and a strange voice could be heard saying, "Taily-Po, Taily-Po. Now I've got my Taily-Po!"

- THE END -

THE OVAL PORTRAIT
by Edgar Allan Poe

THE CHATEAU into which my valet had ventured to make forcible entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among the Appennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs. Radcliffe. To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately abandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique. Its walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with manifold and multiform armorial trophies, together with an unusually great number of very spirited modern paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque. In these paintings, which depended from the walls not only in their main surfaces, but in very many nooks which the bizarre architecture of the chateau rendered necessary-in these paintings my incipient delirium, perhaps, had caused me to take deep interest; so that I bade Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the room-since it was already night-to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which stood by the head of my bed-and to throw open far and wide the fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I wished all this done that I might resign myself, if not to sleep, at least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures, and the perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow, and which purported to criticise and describe them.

Long-long I read-and devoutly, devotedly I gazed. Rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by and the deep midnight came. The position of the candelabrum displeased me, and outreaching my hand with difficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering valet, I placed it so as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.

But the action produced an effect altogether unanticipated. The rays of the numerous candles (for there were many) now fell within a niche of the room which had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of the bed-posts. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all unnoticed before. It was the portrait of a young girl just ripening into womanhood. I glanced at the painting hurriedly, and then closed my eyes. Why I did this was not at first apparent even to my own perception. But while my lids remained thus shut, I ran over in my mind my reason for so shutting them. It was an impulsive movement to gain time for thought-to make sure that my vision had not deceived me-to calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more certain gaze. In a very few moments I again looked fixedly at the painting.

That I now saw aright I could not and would not doubt; for the first flashing of the candles upon that canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor which was stealing over my senses, and to startle me at once into waking life.

The portrait, I have already said, was that of a young girl. It was a mere head and shoulders, done in what is technically termed a vignette manner; much in the style of the favorite heads of Sully. The arms, the bosom, and even the ends of the radiant hair melted imperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which formed the back-ground of the whole. The frame was oval, richly gilded and filigreed in Moresque. As a thing of art nothing could be more admirable than the painting itself. But it could have been neither the execution of the work, nor the immortal beauty of the countenance, which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me. Least of all, could it have been that my fancy, shaken from its half slumber, had mistaken the head for that of a living person. I saw at once that the peculiarities of the design, of the vignetting, and of the frame, must have instantly dispelled such idea-must have prevented even its momentary entertainment. Thinking earnestly upon these points, I remained, for an hour perhaps, half sitting, half reclining, with my vision riveted upon the portrait. At length, satisfied with the true secret of its effect, I fell back within the bed. I had found the spell of the picture in an absolute life-likeliness of expression, which, at first startling, finally confounded, subdued, and appalled me. With deep and reverent awe I replaced the candelabrum in its former position. The cause of my deep agitation being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume which discussed the paintings and their histories. Turning to the number which designated the oval portrait, I there read the vague and quaint words which follow:

"She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee. And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter. He, passionate, studious, austere, and having already a bride in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee; all light and smiles, and frolicsome as the young fawn; loving and cherishing all things; hating only the Art which was her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire to portray even his young bride. But she was humble and obedient, and sat meekly for many weeks in the dark, high turret-chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas only from overhead. But he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on from hour to hour, and from day to day. And he was a passionate, and wild, and moody man, who became lost in reveries; so that he would not see that the light which fell so ghastly in that lone turret withered the health and the spirits of his bride, who pined visibly to all but him. Yet she smiled on and still on, uncomplainingly, because she saw that the painter (who had high renown) took a fervid and burning pleasure in his task, and wrought day and night to depict her who so loved him, yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak. And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance in low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of the power of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well. But at length, as the labor drew nearer to its conclusion, there were admitted none into the turret; for the painter had grown wild with the ardor of his work, and turned his eyes from canvas merely, even to regard the countenance of his wife. And he would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were drawn from the cheeks of her who sate beside him. And when many weeks bad passed, and but little remained to do, save one brush upon the mouth and one tint upon the eye, the spirit of the lady again flickered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp. And then the brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and, for one moment, the painter stood entranced before the work which he had wrought; but in the next, while he yet gazed, he grew tremulous and very pallid, and aghast, and crying with a loud voice, 'This is indeed Life itself!' turned suddenly to regard his beloved:-She was dead!

I HATE CLOWNS!!

Too bad for you, heh heh....I'll see you on All Hallow's Eve!! Muahahahahahaha...ha! ...ha.

you do that and im sure to soil myself infront of you... do you really want to make a grown man soil himself?

Depends on how I decide to use the soil after the grisly murder. Let me think about it...

<Those were a few good stories though>

they were... remember the killer clowns movie? man i cant watch that crap... i really dont like those fudruckers.... blah...-shivers-