Halloween 2014 - Scary Stories to tell in the DARK

Scary stories to tell in the DaRk.....

The Killer in the Backseat -

One night a woman went out for drinks with her girlfriends. She left the bar fairly late at night, got in her car and onto the deserted highway. After a few minutes she noticed a lone pair of headlights in her rear-view mirror, approaching at a pace just slightly quicker than hers. As the car pulled up behind her she glanced and saw the turn signal on — the car was going to pass — when suddenly it swerved back behind her, pulled up dangerously close to her tailgate and the brights flashed.

Now she was getting nervous. The lights dimmed for a moment and then the brights came back on and the car behind her surged forward. The frightened woman struggled to keep her eyes on the road and fought the urge to look at the car behind her. Finally, her exit approached but the car continued to follow, flashing the brights periodically.

Through every stoplight and turn, it followed her until she pulled into her driveway. She figured her only hope was to make a mad dash into the house and call the police. As she flew from the car, so did the driver of the car behind her — and he screamed, "Lock the door and call the police! Call 911!"

When the police arrived the horrible truth was finally revealed to the woman. The man in the car had been trying to save her. As he pulled up behind her and his headlights illuminated her car, he saw the silhouette of a man with a butcher knife rising up from the back seat to stab her, so he flashed his brights and the figure crouched back down.

The moral of the story: Always check the back seat!

Bloody Mary....

Some girls Kat didn't know invited her over for a sleepover. That night they played Truth or Dare. When it was Kat's turn she picked dare. One of the girls said, "I dare you to do Bloody Mary." Kat accepted. They gave Kat a lit candle and pushed her into the bathroom. Kat spun around three times and said, "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary."

When nothing happened, she walked to the door. Before she could reach it, her only light blew out. She banged on the door, begging the girls to open it, but they just laughed. She backed up against the door. The sink and the bath started to run. It poured out thick blood. It soon was overflowing onto the floor. Kat screamed a blood-curdling scream as Bloody Mary rose from the water then crawled out. When she reached Kat she slit her throat and dragged her back to the bath. The next morning, the girls cheeked on her. When they saw her, their screams could be heard for miles.

Hatchet Man-

There were warnings all over campus about a Hatchet Man who was supposedly abused and killed a woman in Bloomington. All the girls were warned to walk in pairs and to stay in brightly lit areas if they had to go out at night.
The sophomore and her roommate were staying in the empty dorm over Thanksgiving break, since both their families were out of the country. They grown very bored as day followed boring day and night followed boring night. Tired of staying inside every night for fear of the Hatchet Man, her roommate suggested they have dinner at the local bar, and the sophomore agreed.
The two women had lingered longer than anticipated, and it was almost midnight when the sophomore, more than a little drunk, decided to walk back to the dorm. Her roommate was busy flirting with the bartender, so she headed into the dark, silent streets alone. The sophomore had forgotten all about the Hatchet Man warnings. It wasn’t until she took a shortcut through a dark, creepy alley that she remembered there was a desperate murderer on the loose.
The sophomore shivered, feeling suddenly sober and very much alone. She felt as if hostile eyes were peering out at her from every menacing shadow and darkened doorway. She quickened her pace. Was that heavy breathing she heard behind her? Were those footsteps walking in time with her own?
The sophomore broke into a run; heart pounding fiercely, sure that someone was following her. She darted onto the college campus, zigzagged through the buildings and flung herself panting into the dorm. She pounded up three flights of stairs, down the hall and slammed into her room, locking the door behind her. It was only then, leaning against the door with her heart racing, that she started to feel foolish. There was no sound from the hallway. No footsteps, no heavy breathing. No hatchet breaking through the wood of the door. She'd been a fool.
The sophomore staggered to the bathroom to wash up for the night, leaving the door locked behind her. She kept glancing in the mirror to make sure that everything was secure. The scene in the mirror was normal. And there was no sound in the empty dormitory. Everything was just fine, she told herself.
Then she remembered that her roommate was still at the bar. She didn't want her roommate to walk home alone, so she called the bar and asked the manager if he would arrange for her roommate to be brought home in a taxi. The music in the background was loud, and she wasn't sure if the manager understood her request. But at least she'd tried.
The sophomore curled up in bed with the reading lamp on, determined to wait up for her roommate. But the combination of heavy drinking and her earlier fright sent her into a deep sleep almost at once, and she did not awaken until the sun came pouring in the window, early the next morning.
She woke with a hangover and rolled over, trying not to be sick in the bed. When she looked across the room, she realized that her roommate wasn't in the bed on the far wall. In fact, it looked as if her bed had not been slept in at all!
She rolled to her feet, heart pounding with dread. Maybe her roommate had spent the night in the lobby? Her roommate had done that once before when out partying until the wee hours of the morning, saying it was too much trouble to climb three flights of stairs.
With trembling hands, the sophomore unlocked the door and wrenched it open in search of her roommate. The unmistakable, faintly metallic scent of blood smashed into her nostrils as the door swung open. That was her only warning before her shocked eyes saw blood spattered all over the walls and floor of the third-floor hallway. She screamed in terror, leaping backward away from the partially decapitated body of her roommate, which lay dead at her feet. Her throat was slit from end to end and blood pooled under her dead body. The nails on her outstretched hand were torn and splintered where they had scratched desperately at the wooden door.
A black shadow lay across her roommate’s body. She looked up in a daze, her gaze following the black shadow to its source. Embedded in the window frame near the entrance to the staircase was a bloodstained hatchet, outlined in the light of the rising sun.

A Texas Ghost Story-

Oh, you hear the stories about how dangerous Ouija boards are, but hey—it’s just a game. Mary waited until midnight to begin our little game, and the four of us—Sarah, Jessie, me, and, Mary, started by asking all kinds of silly questions.

It was a strange-looking board, covered with letters and symbols. There was a plastic pointer that was supposed to move across the board at the behest of the spirits. The instructions called it a planchette.

Around one thirty in the morning, the planchette suddenly froze in Mary’s hand. It wouldn’t move, no matter how much we pushed and pulled.

Mary turned her frightened blue eyes toward me. “I’m not doing it,” she said, lifting her hands. I grabbed the planchette myself and tried to push it around, but it was fixed to the board.

Suddenly, a kind of electric shock buzzed through my fingers. I gasped and tried to pull my fingers from the planchette, but they were stuck. Mary and Jessie both tried to pull my fingers away, nothing helped. The other girls stared with wide, round eyes, as the planchette came alive under my fingers—which were still fixed to its surface—and began to move.

“Help.” The words spelled out under my hand. “Help me. Help me.”

The planchette kept moving back and forth between the h – e – l – p continuously, until Sarah cried out: “Who are you?”

“Amber.” The board spelled. “My name is Amber. I am eight years old.”

“What’s wrong?” Mary asked. Her face was so white all the freckles stood out like darkened age spots.

“Water. Danger. Help. Scared.” The words spelled out as fast as my hand could move.

“Call 9-1-1,” Mary cried suddenly. “Quick. Amber is in danger.”

By this time, Sarah was gasping into the phone. Then she hung up the phone. “They wouldn’t listen to me,” she told us, almost in tears.

At that instant, my hand was suddenly free from the planchette.

“She’s gone,” I gasped,

“See if you can contact her again,” Mary said urgently. “We need to know if she’s okay!”

I picked up the plastic planchette again. “Amber, are you there?” I asked softly, afraid of what might happen.

After a long pause, it moved slowly across the board and spelled out the words: “Too late.” And after another long pause. “Water. Flood. Drowned. Mobile. Alabama.” The planchette stopped.
I knew that Amber was gone.

None of us got much sleep that night. In the morning, we rushed through breakfast and then looked up the Alabama news on the Internet. None of us were surprised to read that there had been flash floods the night before. I read the names of those who had died in the flood. One of the victims was an eight-year-old girl named Amber.

The Bells -

A Mexican Ghost Story

There once was an evil priest who did not fear God or man. His duties for the church included counting the offerings and ringing the bells to summon people to Mass. But his heart was filled with greed, and he began to take advantage of the good people of his parish. The priest stole money out of the offerings to keep for himself, and when he had filled a chest full of gold, he killed a man and buried him with the chest so the murdered man's ghost would guard it. Anyone who tried to dig for the treasure would be devoured by the skeleton of the murdered man.

The evil priest planned to return to Spain with his ill-gotten treasure, but he fell ill with a fever a week before his ship was scheduled to leave. On his deathbed, the priest repented of his crime. He swore to his confessor that his soul would not rest until he returned the gold to God. The priest died before he could reveal the place where the treasure was buried. As he gasped out his last breath, he said: "Follow the bells. They will lead you to the treasure."

The Padre who attended the dying priest did not heed his words. But the sweeper who was working in the hallway at the time of the evil priest's death was struck by the notion of buried treasure. He was very poor and wanted a better life for himself and his family, so the sweeper determined to take the treasure for himself. Each night for a week, he took a shovel and dug in the monastery gardens, searching for the priests treasure. He found nothing.

One night the sweeper was awakened from his dreams by the sound of the parish bells ringing out loudly in the darkness. He leapt to his feet, fearing some emergency, and then realized that his wife and children had not stirred in their beds. Remembering the evil priest's last words, the sweeper felt sure that the mysterious ringing of the bells was for his ears alone, to lead him to the treasure.

Taking his shovel, the sweeper followed the sound of the church bells up and up into the hills. He was gasping for breath when he reached the source of the sound. He was on a wide ledge overlooking the valley. Two trees guarded the spot, and it was beside these trees that the glowing, ghostly church bells hovered. Taking his shovel, the poor sweeper dug a deep hole among the roots of the trees. After several moments, his shovel hit something hard! Eagerly, he swept the dirt away from the object and found a small chest. He hauled it out of the ditch with trembling hands, placed it on a rock, and broke the lock with the edge of his shovel. when he opened it, piles of yellow gold met his dazzled eyes. He gathered up a handful of coins, reveling in the weight of so much money. The coins were cool to his touch, and he felt the smoothness of the metal as he rubbed the coins between his fingers. And that was when he heard the moaning...

Looking up, the sweeper saw the skeleton of the murdered man whom the evil priest had buried with the treasure. It was rising out of the pit under the trees, eye sockets glowing with blue flames. "Mine," the skeleton intoned, stretching its bony arms toward the sweeper. "Mine!"

The sweeper screamed in terror and leapt away from the box of treasure, dropping the coins that he held in his hands. He ran down the hill as fast as he could go, the skeleton in hot pursuit. Behind him, the bells began to ring again as he fled for his life from the ledge.

The sweeper kept running long after the sounds of pursuit ceased, and did not stop until he reached his home. It was only then that he realized he had left his shovel back with the buried treasure on top of the hill. it was an expensive shovel and he could not afford to lose it.

Waiting until daylight, the sweeper went reluctantly back up into the hills to retrieve it. When he reached the ledge, there was no sign of the skeleton, the chest of money, or the hole he had dug the night before. He found his shovel at the top of a tall tree whose first branches began nearly twenty feet above his head. The skeleton must have placed it there after it chased him down the hill, he decided grimly, knowing that there was no way he could retrieve it.

Turning sadly away, the sweeper's eye was caught by a gleam in the bushes near the rock where he had placed the treasure chest the night before. Carefully, keeping his eye on the place where the skeleton lay buried, the sweeper felt around the rock until his hand closed on two gold coins that the ghost had missed. Casually he put the coins in his pocket and hurried from the ledge. When he got home, the sweeper put the coins into a sock and hid it under the floorboard for safekeeping.

The sweeper never went back to the ledge to retrieve the evil priest's buried treasure, though sometimes he was still awakened by the mysterious sound of the bells. He knew it would take someone more pious than himself to banish the ghost of the murdered man and reclaim the money for God. But he did use the gold coins to send his eldest son to school, and with the left-over change, he bought himself a new shovel.