Halloween Story (cat lovers, do not read)

At the risk of pissing off the Story Nazi, I've got to say - Chop! Chop! or we're not going to be done by Halloween! :lol: :lol: :lol: :D :lol: :lol: :lol:

Mikester, etc. -

There are THREE parts left!

And the Halloween night one, natch, is the long one.

Sweet dreams!...

Somehow, that worked out just right :)

Yeah, gee, just like it was all planned from the start, huh?

**Angie's Ghost Story Part 18 **

“Tell him to hang around on the 8th floor at midnight. That’s when they have parties.” Cindy was disgusted. “Jeeez, the guy probably doesn’t believe us. Should have known there was some guy in charge of the hostel who’s never actually been here.”

“He comes once a year,” Bree said, “to make sure it’s still here.”

So we waited, he was supposed to be showing up at three, so we swept up the floors, tidied the kitchen, and Mrs. Aldon spent the whole day in her office, dusting and moving things around. It was annoying. At 3:30 he finally came in.

Mr. Tilden was a big guy, a big head, big hands, he was over six feet tall and had a big voice too.

“Where’s the GHOSTS!” he boomed out.

“Um, up on the 8th floor.” Cindy said, startled.

“Lets GO!” he yelled out, smiling. “Come on all you GHOSTS come and GET ME I’m here to get SPOOKED!” he yelled to the hallway. Then he went over to the elevator and punched “8”.

‘Uh, it doesn’t work.” I told him in a little voice.

“WHAT?”

“The elevator doesn’t work. It stops between floors sometimes, we’re not supposed to use it.” I was having a hard time speaking up, this guy was really intimidating, but luckily Mrs. Aldon came out right then.

“Ken!” she said sweetly, “Thanks for coming to visit on a weekend! We don’t want to take up your time...”

“Mary, why isn’t the elevator WORKING when we spent two thousand four hundred dollars on it LAST YEAR?”

“Oh.” That stopped her, but just for a second. “Those funds were to renovate the gears and hardware, but it’s the electrical that seems to be malfunctioning. I don’t think it’s the elevator itself, it seems to be the power supply to the whole building.” Then she smiled again, but managed a quick glance over to me. Her eyes said it all - Shut Up.

“Fine. It’s an old building, as we all know.” Ken seemed. “So where are all these ghosts?” He said right to her, folding his arms and expecting an answer.

“Ah, well, the girls here have quite an imagination, you know, and they may have let a few things scare them late at night...”

Oh my God! She was selling us out! She wasn’t going to take our side! She was going to pretend nothing was wrong, and it was all our fault. What was next, giving us the sack?

“...so you see, we wanted you to come here and tell them a little about the history of the place and have a tour of the place to show them ... that...”

Ken was looking up at the walls now. He had noticed the crosses over all the doors.

“... there really isn’t any... um...”

“WHAT are all these CROSSES all nailed up for!” He yelled, walking over to one. He reached up, and yanked it down, showing it to us all like we hadn’t seen them before. “This is a government owned building, it’s not ALLOWED to have any religious icons ANYWHERE! Do you realize what kind of TROUBLE I can get in if there are...”


Cindy couldn’t take it anymore. She finally blew up. “Those crucifixes are to get rid of the VAMPIRE!” she bawled back at him, “They’re BLESSED and they WORK!”

I expected him to yell back at her, get mad, anything but what he did.

He laughed.

Ken laughed and laughed, then sputtered “A Vampire! What is this, Transylvania! Does it SUCK your BLOOD? Ha! Does it turn into a bat and flap around? Maybe we should put up some nets and catch the bat!” He was looking at us all, shaking his head, then he got an idea. “Where’s his coffin? They live in coffins during the day, where is it?”

“It doesn’t have one!” Cindy was really mad now, “It lives up on the 8th floor. It doesn’t need a coffin. It tried to KILL US!”

She looked like she was going to cry, Ken noticed it too and calmed down right away. But he kept shaking his head, like we were stupid little girls who were scared of the dark.

“Lets have a little tour. Show me everything and I promise, I PROMISE that I’ll take care of any ghosts, or... vampires,” he was smiling again, it was really annoying, “... that pop up and try to get us.”

That seemed to settle everybody down, and Cindy and I spent the next few hours exploring every part of the hostel with him. He knew more about the place than we had expected, and told us all kinds of stories about who had lived there, and the jail days, and how hard it was to renovate a really old building. He knew way more about it than us. With Ken beside us, the 8th floor looked sunshiney and bright, he showed us how the cells worked and where the guards stayed. I didn’t ask about the attic, cause we weren’t going to go up there and didn’t want to give him any ideas.

He did show us, when I asked, about where the gaslamps had hung and where there had once been a wall of bars at one end of the 8th floor. The wall wasn’t there anymore, but we saw iron rods where it had joined the bricks. And the gaslamps weren’t gas, because the jail was actually built before gas was used; they were oil lamps originally.

The more we showed Ken around the bolder he got and the less we felt like what we had seen was real. Maybe we had imagined it. I don’t know.

Finally Cindy said she had to go to the bathroom, and we trooped down to the front hall. Mrs. Aldon seemed pleased, and she asked Ken if he wanted to go out for an early dinner, and she left to get ready. Even Bree showed up, smiling at me.

Then Ken asked if we could go to the cellar.

Congrats on the thousand views! I figured that me, Kiki and GROG weren't the only ones reading :)

GROG not reading. GROG only looking at the pictures.

Hey GROG, 4:45am?????

Poker night.

Cammo, I stole parts of your novelette to tell an impromptu ghost story to a couple of nursing students at work yesterday. Thanks :)

Mike - You thief!!!!!

Hey GROG you win some chips? Or just gobble them down with french onion dip?

GREAT moon out tonight!

Angie's Ghost Story Part 19

It was the last stop on the tour, but there was something that made me hesitate. Cindy wasn’t with us, the lights didn’t work down there, there was nobody but me and Mr. Tilden, and he was already making his way through the hall. I ran after him, then followed down the stairs trying to catch up.

“See?” he said, “This is just like any other cellar. They used to use this to store the coal in the 1800’s, and later it was a...” he stopped when he tried to flick on the light switch. It didn’t work.

“...a , ah, where was I? These lights were fixed last year, too...”

“They haven’t worked this whole summer. Can we go back up now Mr. Tilden?” I asked, backing up the stairs. He grabbed my hand and gently pulled me on, out onto the hard dirt floor. It was really dark, but you could see that the whole room was mostly empty. There were some old junky things around the edges, a broken pop machine stood beside us and I could see a big pile of plumbing equipment heaped up by a pole in the middle. The room looked like a really old, giant garage. Ken walked over to some broken window sills leaning against the wall to our left.

“We should do an inventory of the whole place, these could be used upstairs.”

I noticed that the floor wasn’t really flat. It was a bit hard walking around, there were big rocks in some places coming a couple inches out of the ground. You could trip if you didn’t watch it. The walls were also wet, like I had seen upstairs, but the wetness was real, I touched the wall beside me and it was watery-damp.

“Why doesn’t Mary just put some flashlights by the stairs?” he was talking to himself, leaning the windows out. A window pane fell out and broke on the floor.

“Oops!”

I noticed some movement behind him, he seemed to have jostled the windows and a white rag had fallen on the floor too. I don’t know how it had happened, it was back in the dark at least twenty feet in. But there it was, on the floor.

The rag moved again.

“Can we get out of here now, PLEASE?” I asked, edging back a bit.

He looked up at me, distracted for a second. “Oh, we aren’t scared, are we?” He smiled, “If there are any GHOSTS down here they sure are DIRTY ones! And why would a ghost hang around in the BASEMENT when there’s a nice big well furnished hostel up there?” he jerked his thumb up, trying to be funny.

The rag moved across the floor, to the right, behind him. I saw it move this time. It was moving all by itself.

“Tell you what,” Mr. Tilden said loudly, “If there are any GHOSTS IN HERE they can COME OUT ANYTIME THEY WANT! Hear that, you spooky old ghosts? I’m RIGHT HERE! COME ON OUT! GAME’ OVER! OLLIE -OLLIE OX’IN-FREE!”

We both listened. Nothing moved.

“See?” he looked at me, “Nothing is down here because there are no such thing as ghosts. If you can’t see something it doesn’t exist.”

I was getting more scared all the time, and his little ghost lesson wasn’t making me feel any better.

“I can’t see air,” I said, slowly, “but it’s still there.”

“Well, yes, except for air.” he said, quickly. His smile went away for a second.

“And I can’t see electricity going through a wire. Or radio waves. Or my house, actually, when it’s really dark.”

“You’re missing the point, Angie. There’s never been any evi.. what? Ow.”

He had tripped over something, and his foot was stuck beside one of the boulders in the floor.

“Can you help me? It’s this dirt floor, it’s got holes and ...”

I jumped over to him, glad to be able to do something. I was really creeped out by now. His foot was hooked under something, it was in a funny position. He tried twisting it, but the front of his shoe was under a sharp edge of the rock, and he didn’t want to wreck his nice black shoes. He tried carefully pulling it, but it just slid down a bit more. Finally, he had to go down on his knee and feel around with his hands to try to push and squeeze it out. I helped all I could, and tried to not look over to where the rag had been moving, because

it had been making noises for a while too.

I saw it moving up and down now, out of the corner of my eye, so I turned away and tried not to listen, because it seemed to be making groaning and breathing sounds.

We couldn’t get his foot loose. The more we tried the more it sunk down, and it was lodged up to his ankle now.

Don’t look at it. If I don’t look at it it won’t be there, get this guy’s foot loose and get out right now. I turned around with my back to the rag and tried to concentrate on the rock, I tried lifting it and pushing it but it was heavy.

And there was a smell, a bad smell like bad meat, like garbage.

“I don’t GET it, here, let me just pull it back while I’m pushing down on the front...” he was saying.

Bang. Something fell behind me.

I had to look at it. The rag was shaking. It was on the floor, all squashed down, but then it was rising up in the air. I could see feet underneath it, and then it turned and bent up, and it didn’t look like a rag it looked like a balloon shaking up and down, blowing up into a shape, unfolding, and then I could see two arms.

I wasn’t going to look at it anymore. Whatever happened, I wasn’t going to look back there.

I turned back at Mr. Tilden, but he was pulling at his foot hard, he wasn’t concerned about his shoe anymore, he couldn’t get his foot loose and he was worried now. He didn’t say anything, and I forgot and glanced over his shoulder just for a second and the balloon thing was shaking now, it was big, and it stopped shaking and I could see two eyes at the top of it, but they were tilted sideways and they were in a dark circle that bobbed back and forth as the body of the thing jerked up and down, then stopped, then jerked again, but it was still up in the air and it didn’t come back down and I could see now that it was a lady, but all twisted up and dead looking. It was way back in the room, but it was looking at us, not moving, just twitching a bit, two feet off the ground, just hanging in the air.

I tried getting my fingers down beside Tilden’s shoe but it was tight and sharp, and then my arms pulled back because there were these little worms all over his foot, he couldn’t see them yet, they were those squirmy little maggots and I didn’t want to touch them.

I looked at the back of the room, but I shouldn’t have,

and the twisted lady started to dance. It moved around slowly, its arms moving in jerky spasms, its legs kicking in and out, dancing in little circles. It looked like it was walking on the floor, but it wasn’t, it was up in the air a bit, and it danced slowly towards us, stopped, then came closer again, staring right at me, and my stomach felt like it was going to be sick.

Mr. Tilden looked up at me, and somehow he knew I saw something over his shoulder. I nodded my head, then pointed my hand up, pointing at the thing.

“Angie,” he said slowly, his voice quiet this time, “what do you see?”

I shook my head, I couldn’t speak. The lady thing’s head was black and flopping around on her right shoulder limply, her neck was crooked and all black, and her eyes were wide open, all white, staring at us, never taking her eyes off me. She was smiling now as she danced, then she’d stop and quiver, then she’d dance closer again, making hissing, whining noises.

“L..l...look!” I said, gesturing at her.

“GET MY FOOT OUT!” Tilden yelled at me.

“LOOK AT HER!”

“I CAN HEAR HER! GET ME OUT!

But I looked back at the rock and noticed that all the rocks were the same color, the same shape around us. He had more of those maggots on his leg and they were crawling up under his pants, he must have noticed because he wasn’t touching his leg, and I saw that all the rocks had holes in the side you could get your shoe trapped on, and the color of them reminded me of bone, and an idea came into my head that I didn’t want to think about. All the rocks were sticking out of the floor, just a bit, they weren’t moving but they all had little bumps that were facing us, I looked down and realized his foot was stuck in the rock, in a hole in the rock itself, it was holding his shoe, it was all dirty and old but there was a mess of worms boiling in the hole now, the smell was really bad, and there was a noise right beside me, it was really loud, of someone laughing in a hissing high voice -

I looked up and she was right behind us now in the light, swirling around above the floor, her arms twisting and jerking, and she was groaning and hissing, and I saw that her head had eyes that were pure white, no pupils, and it was flopping around like a doll’s because her neck was all black and broken, that’s what was making the noise, the hissing and bubbling of her broken neck trying to breath, black blood dripping down her dress.

I screamed, then tried to back up but Tilden was hanging onto my arm so I screamed again -

“CINDY! HELP! EEEEEEEEEEEEEK!” -

but she was already coming down the stairs, she tried reaching for the crosses in her pockets but they got stuck she was shaking so much so she grabbed me and then grabbed Tilden too, and we both heaved with freaky panic-energy as the ghost was dropping back slowly, I couldn’t see her anymore it was like a heat wave drifting up in the air not a person anymore, and then Tilden’s foot came out and we all ran up the stairs, down the hall and out the front door. We ran down the front steps, Cindy first, then Tilden suddenly in front of me just before we got to the street, slowed down and yelled -

“HEY! You didn’t tell me the place was HAUNTED!”

It was so absurd Cindy and I stopped. She turned around and pointed back at the hostel,

“OF COUSE it’s HAUNTED! What the hell you think’s been going ON?” She yelled back, stopping on the sidewalk.

“WHAT are you talking about! Don’t you GET IT?” I was trembling with fright, yelling and really mad at him now, pointing back at the hostel, choking out the words - “People HAVE SOULS and all those are STUCK in there! They died filled with HATE and PAIN and they want REVENGE! We solved the mystery, we know what happened, those souls aren’t going to stop until... until they... scare us to death.. and even the score, but the score will never be even, cause...”

Cindy helped me - “Cause they were tortured to death. And they were innocent and... murdered before their time.” Glaring right at Mr. Tilden, like it was his fault.

We all stood there, breathing in gasps, then he gulped and looked like he was going to yell at me but thought twice and slapped his forehead and gestured to both of us,

“Good God! It’s HAUNTED! The whole hostel, right?”

We nodded.

“Not just the basement, everything! Upstairs, the 8th floor, everywhere!”

“Yeah!”

“Even the elevators.” Cindy said.

He looked like he had never considered the idea before. He just stood there shaking his head.

He looked down at his foot. I didn’t see any worms on it anymore, but it was dirty and he brushed at it. Finally he grinned at us.

“Come on. I know what we’re going to do.”

THE END

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHFK1yKfiGo

Angie's Ghost Story Part 20

There was NO WAY we were going back in there this time.

He looked at both of us and smiled his Big Ottawa Government Man Smile and told us all about how he knew exactly what to do and how the whole thing was going to be real good and we should come to work every day and he’d take care of everything, don’t worry. He calmed us down and we all walked slowly back up the steps into the front hall.

Mrs. Aldon was standing there with her purse and her coat, looking terrified. She stared at us, then at Mr. Tilden’s foot.

He wasn’t wearing his shoe.

“Come on, Mary, we’ve something to talk about.” He said, and they both walked into her office. The door slammed shut.

“Well, that’s it,” Cindy smiled, “he knows what’s going on and tomorrow we can do the Big Scrub. I think it’s gonna be OK.”

We heard some loud voices coming from the office, then it was quiet for a while. Finally Mr. Tilden came out, he walked right past us, nodding and smiling to himself. Then he just walked out the front door.

“Ahem. Girls.” Mrs. Aldon was trying to get our attention, “ah, I have some news for you.”

Oh, great. She looked really flustered. Here’s where we get fired. She walked towards us, straightening her hair and pulling down on her jacket.

“Mr. Tilden wants to turn the hostel into a tourist attraction.”

Huh?

“He wants you to take all the crosses down. We won’t have the place blessed. He wants people to come here from all over the world to...”

“WHAT?”

“To see the ghosts and spend the night in a real haunted hotel, and we’re going to raise the ra...”

“Is he crazy?” Cindy and I couldn’t believe what she was saying.

“No, Mr. Tilden is definitely not crazy. If we can raise the per-night rates by twenty percent over the next year, we...”

“What?”

“We can actually make a profit, assuming fifty percent occupancy by this time...”

“But...”

“...next year, and that will pay for the next five years of...”

“But...”

“LOOK girls, I know what’s going on and I don’t like it any more than you, I don’t agree with everything he wants to do, but its out of our hands and we’d like to take care of you two for this summer...”

“But... but nobody will stay here...”

“So we’re prepared to double your salaries and still keep you on a two-person shift. That way..”

“DOUBLE?”

“Yeah, huh? Both of us?”

“Both of you, that’s right, we’ll double your salaries and you can keep your normal hours...”

“That’s,” Cindy was calculating, “twenty four an hour? For eight hours that’s like, ... about... two hundred dollars a DAY?”

“Yes, it’s a hundred ninety two a day, and I think it’s a great offer, Mr. Tilden is convinced the ghosts actually like you two because...”

So the long and short of it was that they’d pay us more money per day than we had ever seen in our lives. Cindy and I ended up both buying cars that summer, they were used cars but I bought a Honda hatchback mini-station wagon. Harvest Gold. Remember those? Cindy got a giant Green Ford Granada. She called it the Jolly Green Giant. We had enough money left over to buy a set of skis for next winter, new clothes, and a LOT of records. And they still kept paying us, it was amazing.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, because here’s how we dealt with the ghosts.

We never went inside.

As soon as Mrs. Aldon left each day, we’d take the chairs outside to the right of the front door, there was a grassy patch there and we’d just sit outside talking about stuff for the rest of the night. It was great, the summer nights were nice and warm and we’d just have to get up when somebody came in, which was easy cause we could see them coming up the steps from way back.

A few days of sitting outside gave Cindy some ideas; she brought a hibachi and we grilled hotdogs one night. Then we brought hamburgs, and soon it became a tradition every night, later we’d invite our friends and they’d all hang out. My friend Mike Jilka would bring his guitar some nights and we’d sing rock songs. It was pretty fun. We got rid of the hibachi and bought a real barbeque. More and more students staying at the hostel would join us, and over the summer it got to be a pretty big party outside every single night. There were no neighbors to complain about us downtown - it was all closed businesses and government buildings around us.

The only problem was answering the phone, we’d have to go inside when it rang. Sometimes people would have problems with noises, or seeing things walking through their room and vanishing, or things not working, sometimes the phone would ring and nobody would be on the other end. We didn’t like going inside. It was distracting.

Then one night, when Mrs. Aldon had just left, Cindy got this gleam in her eye. Something was up, I knew her pretty well now and something was UP.

“Angie, we’ve been through a lot together,” she said. “And when I find something important I want to share it with you.”

“Yeah, OK.”

“So let me tell you that there is a place on Earth that’s just like Heaven. It is. God in all of his wonder created this place, and made it good. He made it so good he made a lot of them, sometimes three of four, sometimes more in every city.”

“Uh, yeah. What?”

“I’ll let you in on this place, but don’t go telling everybody else. The place is called Radio Shack.”

And she brought out a little Radio Shack plastic bag she had in her pocket. Then she reached into the bag, smiling, and brought out a little package of wire. She held it out to me so I could read what the package said.

“Fifty Foot Telephone Extension. $11.95. Radio Shack.”

Well, that solved the phone problem. We just ran that line into the hostel through the window, plugged it in, taped it down to the floor, clicked the phone into it outside, and plopped it right down on the grass beside us.

Our final trick was to make our outside area look more official by bringing a small table with us. We sat the phone on it. When people would complain about some strange thing happening inside, we’d look businesslike and pretend to call somebody on the phone. It didn’t work so well, so we finally got a big black book from an art store that we could write down the complaints in.

Every complaint for the rest of that summer went in that book. We never actually did anything with the entries, but it really made people feel better that we were writing down the time and their problem. We’d tell them we’d take care of it in the morning. It didn’t matter what the problem was, we’d take care of it in the morning. That was The Policy. When we’d ask their names and home address, they’d get shy and usually say that it wasn’t that big a deal and they’d go away. That book worked like magic. Little did we know it, but we had become Perfect Government Employees.

“What should we call it?” Cindy asked me one night.

“What? The book?”

“Yeah,” she picked it up. “We could write it in the front. How about ‘Morbid Memories’?”

“Hmmm... or ‘Specters I have Known?”

“Department of Unearthly Complaints? That’s us.”

“Or just ‘The Official Handbook of the Haunted Hostel. It’s simple.”

“Nah. The Clue of the Vampire Nuns, Yet Another Nancy Drew Mystery.”

“The Book of the Dead, and How To Avoid Them, By Angie and Cindy”

The whole time I we were talking, I had been doodling this little picture of Cindy and I inside the front cover. We were sitting in lawn chairs, grinning, toasting marshmallows in a big bonfire. The hostel beside us had a huge sad-looking ghost sticking out one of the windows, looking at us. Cindy looked over my shoulder, laughed at it, and then took my pen and drew a little hat on the ghost. The hat said “Ministry of Terrorism” on it.

That’s what we called the book. I still have the drawing, it’s framed and hanging in my living room.

THE END

Great story Cammo, thanks so much for sharing it! I do wonder, however, about whatever became of the building. Maybe next year! :)

On 2009-11-02 11:58, Kiki von Tiki wrote:
... whatever became of the building. Maybe next year! :)

The Carleton County Gaol is still there and is open for overnight stays.

http://www.carletoncountygaol.com/

[edited to remove unnecessary reference to Sandy Duncan.]

[ Edited by: Hakalugi 2009-11-02 22:55 ]

For people who think I made this all up, here are highlights from the wonderful tour they currently give you of this creepy place:

A definition of “gaol” and how to pronounce it.
The “Table of Drops” to calculate noose rope lengths.
Actual handcuffs and restraints used in the gaol.
The official gaol registry dating from 1889-1898.
A letter written by a former inmate on toilet paper.

When 'Angie' (all names have been changed) told us her story, nobody had ever heard of the place; it was a real Ottawa insider thing. We didn't believe most of what she said, to be honest. It was years later when it became a bizarre tourist attraction that I remembered her take on it. I'm pretty sure that it was because of her and Cindy's experiences that they decided to actually advertise the ghosts in the building. They may have tried to fumigate the ghosts since then, I don't know...

Thanks for the great story Cam. I've yet to watch the video, so I have no idea what it is (YouTube blocked at work, WTF?) I'll have to watch it tonight on my own dime :(

Looks like it's all true, here's an except from the website- from the journal of a jailer Thomas Dagg:
*March 25, 1863: One of my worst nightmares was realized three days ago. Couldn’t write about it ‘til now, I was in such a state of shock and disgust.

Had a lunatic in here, went by the name of Ken Ruzic – and I mean a verifiable insane person awaiting transfer to an asylum – that just went berserk in his cell after lockdown. He started ripping his bedding (that alone would normally get you the strap and a few nights in the dark cell), shouting, cussing, screaming incoherently, and banging his water dipper against the bars.

We’d already been told to just let him get this sort of thing out of his system – since he was in here for just being crazy, and not for committing any crime, we’ve been trying to cut him a little slack (he’s also, apparently, the son of someone the governor knows).
But I guess due to our lack of response, he decided to up the ante: by smearing the contents of his night bucket all over the walls of his cell (did I mention he was in one of my cellblocks?). So of course at that point, I had to get him out of there – my plan was to bring him straight to the hospital and get him drugged into oblivion, or into a straightjacket, or something.

I opened up the cell feeling a little nervous (lunatics are not my specialty), and this now faeces covered maniac just threw himself on me!

Worst thing is…I think he was meaning to hug me for letting him out of there, but…oh God it was disgusting. I can still smell it, just thinking about it.
*

What's a Ken Rucksack? Is it that 1981-reissue heavyweight bag REI makes?

Appropriate video, and kinda creepy :o

BUMP! Happy October! I'm re-reading this this AGAIN. I love this Halloween thread!

I spent a couple hours with Cammo on Saturday, he assured me that he has a story for Halloween - he also assured me that his ghost stories are all true.

PS - Cam can cook up a mean lunch of Spam Musubi and Kalua Pork :D

He should've started posting it about 3 weeks ago.

[ Edited by: GROG 2010-10-27 11:52 ]

Yay! More stories!

BUMP! Halloween is in 4 days Cammo!

So recognizing that the stories are a gift to TC, I am wondering 'Is there going to be a story this year?' No pressure, but just wondering. Cause they're kinda a special treat!

On 2010-10-05 14:02, MadDogMike wrote:
I spent a couple hours with Cammo on Saturday, he assured me that he has a story for Halloween - he also assured me that his ghost stories are all true.

PS - Cam can cook up a mean lunch of Spam Musubi and Kalua Pork :D

Cammo,
Is your schedule still too intensely busy to allow you to favor us with a spooky story - or two (I'm greedy and you owe us one from last year) - before Halloween?
Suspensefully yours,
LL

I second that motion

Oh, well, maybe next year.
Meanwhile, there's this creepy story about late 19th century killer, Dr. H.H. Holmes, who I'd never heard of, till very recently.
Here's a documentary - H.H. Holmes: Americas First Serial Killer - complete with ominous music and narration, to watch in a dark room. (Alas, it's free Hulu, so the ads interrupt the mood.)

Happy Halloween!

---

"The rum's the thing..."

[ Edited by: Limbo Lizard 2015-10-19 20:48 ]

[ Edited by Limbo Lizard on 2023-01-23 21:51:17 ]

Another spooky story, Cammo? Or, anyone else, for that matter?

A Halloween bump, for anyone who likes creepy stories, and has missed this thread.
(It's been long enough that I could probably go back and re-read this thread, without remembering too much.)

---

"The rum's the thing..."

[ Edited by: Limbo Lizard 2012-10-16 09:28 ]

And, another Halloween bump...

Hear! Hear!

Here's my annual Halloween bump, for this thread of great, creepy stories...

It's the season for another bump.

I agree Limbo, Cammo is quite the scary story teller

And now, another Halloween season bump of this thread, for those who enjoy spooky stories...

I miss Cammo :(

Bumping the spooky story thread, especially for any newcomers.

Thanks Limbo. Cammo had quite a knack for story telling

Halloween is coming. Time to bump the creepy stories thread...

It's been four years since this thread has been bumped up. Great spooky, creepy stories, as we move towards Halloween - especially those by Cammo.

Every Halloween season, I still love to fix a nice drink, turn out the lights and read some of the goose-bumpy stories on this thread.