The Hitchhiker.

My friend and I had been driving around the Blue Mountains and we were coming home, around 7pm, we’re both pretty tired. We’re driving along and we see this hitchhiker girl with a bright red jacket on, and we both see her but neither of us say anything about picking her up even though she’s going our way. After about 15 minutes my friend is like “Man that chick was pretty hot. We should go back and get her”. I’m reluctant for obvious reasons, but I drive back and pick her up.

She gets in and she seems pretty normal, her name’s Jess. I’m mainly concentrating on driving so I don’t really talk to her much, but my friend is chatting her up and they’re both giggling and talking in the back. Eventually we get to the place she wants to be and we drop her off and head back home.

The next morning my friends going nuts over this girl, and he wants to go back to see her. He can’t drive and she’s about half an hour away so I agree to drive him there. When we arrive, we knock on the door and an old lady answers the door. We assume she’s her mother and ask her where Jess is and she looks at us in disgust. “What do you want?” she asks, and we explain that we were the ones who drove her home last night. “Who are you? Why would you come and do this to an old lady like me?” she snaps. Puzzled, we ask her what she’s talking about and she says “My daughter has been dead for over 10 years. She’s buried at [name] cemetery”. My friend, even more confused shows her a photo he took of her. The old lady gives us a horrible look, on the verge of crying and slams the door. 

My friend and I visit the cemetery and at first we find nothing. As I am about to leave, my friend yells my name with urgency. I rush over to where he’s standing to find a gravestone with “Jessica” on it. Laying in front of it on the ground is the girls bright red jacket.

We ran to my car, and I drove home in silence while shaking heavily.

A classic. Happy Halloween.

The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe

TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture — a pale blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed , to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed suddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back — but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close fastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening , and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, “Who’s there?”

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening; just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief — oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself, “It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a mouse crossing the floor,” or, “It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp.” Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions ; but he had found all in vain. ALL IN VAIN, because Death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little — a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it — you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily — until at length a single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.

It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness — all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man’s face or person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.

And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder, every instant. The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! — do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me — the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man’s hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once — once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence.

I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so cunningly, that no human eye — not even his — could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.

When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o’clock — still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, — for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search — search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My MANNER had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct : I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness — until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.

No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased — and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND — MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED IN COTTON. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why WOULD they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what COULD I do? I foamed — I raved — I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder — louder — louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly , and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! — no, no? They heard! — they suspected! — they KNEW! — they were making a mockery of my horror! — this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! — and now — again — hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! —

“Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed! — tear up the planks! — here, here! — it is the beating of his hideous heart!”

The Legend: The protective ghosts of little children killed at a railway crossing push stalled cars off the tracks.

This one is actually true. It’s been talked about on many TV stations including an Los Angeles, California station by “The Earth Man” Garcia. It has to do with a school bus full of children that had stalled on some train tracks in San Antonio, Texas. A train was coming and was going too fast to stop in time to get the bus off the tracks. The bus was hit and all of the children died. It was a great tragedy.  The tracks are located on a curve in the road but the tracks are on a small up-hill grade to both sides.

If you stop your car just on the tracks and put it in neutral, it will slowly start to roll over the little hill and down the other side.

A local Los Angeles, California station sent a crew there to check it out and it was done on tape, with a San Antonio sheriff present. The cars back end was cleaned off of any finger prints before the test was done and after it was done it was dusted for prints. Several small hand prints and finger prints showed up on the bumper, showing that the small hands of the ghost children were pushing the car to get it off the tracks.

There are also claims that this is nothing more than a gravity anomaly allowing a non-moving vehicle to move over a small up-grade. But no one can explain away the hand and finger prints.

Urban Legends.

• Chupacabra, El Chupacabras, the Goatsucker
  
  A two legged upright “creature” that preys on goats and other farm animals. The Chupacabra is noted for draining an animal’s blood from two small circular or triangular shaped holes near the base of the neck. It is often described as having glowing red eyes and being about four feet tall. El Chupacabra was first sighted in early 1995 in Puerto Rico. There have now been sightings reported in Mexico, the Caribbean, Central America, South America, Florida, California, and Texas. Instances of chupacabra have been associated with UFO sightings.
  
  
• Mothman
  
  The Mothman story began with a strange being sighted in the area of Point Pleasant, West Virginia from November 15th 1966 to December 15th 1967. The Mothman was described as being about 7 feet tall with large wings with which he could fly. The creature had and enormous glowing red eyes. The only sound the mothman made was a piercing shrill cry. No one was ever harmed by the mothman, but the creature may have eaten a pet dog. The mothman generally made contact with people while they were in their cars or by looking into the windows of their homes.
  
  
• Ozark Howler
  
  The Ozark Howler is a large “cat-like” creature sighted in the general area of the Ozark Mountains. The Ozark Howler is also known as the Black Howler or Howler. The animal is said to be an extremely large, heavy set black cat. The howler produces an eerie “howl”, hence the name. Occasionally the animal is reported to have horns or glowing eyes.
  
  
• Sasquatch, Bigfoot, Yeti
  
  Sasquatch, Bigfoot and Yeti are manlike or apelike creatures reported to inhabit the Northwestern United States, Western Canada and Himalayan Mountains. They are usually said to be six feet tall or taller. They have large feet, about 20 inches long, hence the name “Bigfoot”. Sasquatch are covered with dark brown or reddish brown fur while Yeti are known to be covered in white or light tan fur. They are generally said to have an extremely musty or pungent aroma. Sasquatch are commonly said to travel in pairs.
  
  Sasquatch activity is concentrated in North America. Sasquatch have been reported in all fifty of the United States and all Canadian Provinces. Sightings are mostly concentrated in British Columbia (Canada), Washington State, Oregon, and California. Florida and Pennsylvania are also Sasquatch hotspots. In Florida the Sasquatch are commonly referred to as the “Skunk Ape” - referring to the creature’s aroma.
  
  Film footage, photographs, and casts of footprints do exist. Skeptics insist these are hoaxes. In 1967 Roger Patterson took film footage of a large hairy creature reported to be a Sasquatch. If legitimate this is clearly the most extraordinary crypto zoological evidence yet. However, it may only be Roger’s tall associate Jerry Romney in a fur suit.

The Cry.

A long plaintive wail emanated from the cardboard box. Whether Jacob had seen the box or heard the cry first, he could not be sure, but he was certain that the pitiful sound came from the box. At once he was regretting taking the short cut from the Burger bar to the car park, he had always felt uncomfortable using it after dark. The passage between the Record shop and the Butchers was only just wide enough for one person and it was badly lit with a single bulb. Where it opened out behind the shops, anyone could be hiding in the dark out of sight of the High Street, hardly visible in the shadows from the vast empty car park.

Still he had something else to worry about this time because there was that cry again, audible above the sound of the fans on the refrigeration unit at the back of the Butchers shop. It was a heart rending sound of loneliness, pain and hunger, that brought back memories of childhood punishments, when Jacob’s mother locked him in his bedroom without any dinner or supper. He could hear her voice even now, all these years later, “You disgusting little monster”. What was that awful sound? What should he do about it? Leave it probably, let some one else sort it out. Nobody had helped him then locked in his bedroom or in the dark under stairs cupboard, shivering in his wet pajamas, his cries drowned out by his mothers ranting and the loud rumble of the washing machine.

The cry went on long and pathetic, rising and falling in pitch. It was probably some kittens, the abandoned and unwanted offspring of a family pet, discarded by a callous owner. If it was and if he opened the box, what then? He would then feel responsible for them, would have to take them home. No, better to leave them for someone else, not his problem. But the cry was echoing round the alley, echoing inside his head, there was something about it that sounded almost human. Perhaps it was a baby shut in the box, he thought, in the dark.

He couldn’t leave a baby shut inside a box, alone in the dark. Jacob knew how that felt, to be shut in, how you could not breathe, how you began to sweat, how you could feel the blood rushing and roaring through your temples and the contents of your stomach rising in your throat. The waves of panic that wash hot and cold through the body.

And Jacob knew if there was any chance that it could be a baby, he had no choice but to look inside the box. He was within a foot of the cardboard box when suddenly there was a slight movement from the box and the crying ceased, all was quiet except the thrum of the fans in the butchers shop wall. The top of the box was sealed with wide brown parcel tape, Jacob managed to get his fingernail under the end and peeled off the tape in one go. Pulling open the flaps he stared into the shadowy darkness, trying to make some sense of the shape within. It didn’t look like a baby, in fact there seemed to be more than one set of eyes blinking back at him. “Kittens, I was right the first time” he thought, reaching in with both hands to pick one up. Taloned hands grabbed both his wrists, sudden and vice like, searing pain shot up his arms.

He yelled out and tried to pull away. The claws pulled back, hard and sharp, digging into his flesh and forcing him off balance. Jacob realized that there was no way he could stop himself falling head first into the cardboard box. As his head entered the box more small clawing hands grabbed at it, pulling at his hair and ears, he felt the sharp talons enter his nostrils, dig into his neck and shoulders. Even as his chest passed into the box Jacob was aware of the wet and warm, strangely comforting feeling spreading through the front of his trousers.

Then as the claws pulled the rest of his body down into the darkness, he felt the hot and cold waves of panic running through his body. As he struggled for breath, the blood roaring in his ears, his shouts of terror began to subside, turning first into a whimper, then into a long plaintive wail.

A few favourites.

The Pale Face

The Sumi

Television

Crawl

The Growths

The Invisible

Soul

Polaroid

The Rake

Worms

The Desert

The Warning.

A young woman on her way to town broke her journey by staying with friends at an old manor house. Her bedroom looked out to the carriage sweep at the front door. It was a moonlit night, and she found it difficult to sleep. As the clock outside her bedroom door struck 12, she heard the noise of horses’ hooves on the gravel outside, and the sound of wheels. She got up and went over to the window to see who could be arriving at that time of night. The moonlight was very bright, and she saw a hearse drive up to the door. It hadn’t a coffin in it; instead it was crowded with people. The coachman sat high up on the box: as he came opposite the window he drew up and turned his head. His face terrified her, and he said in a distinct voice, “There’s room for one more.” She drew the curtain, ran back to bed, and covered her head with the bedclothes. In the morning she was not quite sure whether it had been a dream, or whether she had really got out of bed and seen the hearse, but she was glad to go up to town and leave the old house behind her. She was shopping in a big store which had an elevator in it — an up-to-date thing at that time. She was on the top floor, and went to the elevator to go down. It was rather crowded, but as she came up to it, the elevator operator turned his head and said, “There’s room for one more.” It was the face of the coachman of the hearse. “No, thank you,” said the girl. “I’ll walk down.” She turned away, the elevator doors clanged, there was a terrible rush and screaming and shouting, and then a great clatter and thud. The elevator had fallen and every soul in it was killed.