tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48226267439717575052024-02-21T09:33:49.630-08:00Scared SleeplessJason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-72105787732561106462012-09-21T09:55:00.000-07:002012-09-21T10:00:03.863-07:00The Angel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few years ago, a mother and father decided they needed a break, so they wanted to head out for a night on the town. They called their most trusted babysitter.<br />
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When the babysitter arrived, the two children were already fast asleep in their bed. So, the babysitter just got to sit around and make sure everything was okay with the children. Later that night, the babysitter got bored and went to watch TV. Remembering there was no cable in the living room, the babysitter called the parents to ask them.<br />
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Of course, they said yes, but the babysitter had one last request.<br />
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"Would you mind if I untied the curtains to close them?", she asked, "The angel statue is kinda freaking me out. The way the light is hitting it makes it almost look alive."<br />
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The phone line went silent for a moment.<br />
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"Take the children and get out the house," the father finally said, "I am calling the cops."<br />
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"We have no angel statue."<br />
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All three people were found dead when the cops arrived.<br />
<br />Jason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-32754011603001616172012-09-21T09:23:00.000-07:002012-09-21T09:23:33.265-07:00Falling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We've all felt it.<br />
<br />You're up late. Working, studying, watching a move, reading on the computer. Doesn't matter what you're doing, it's the feeling you get. You're tired, your eyes burn and have the gritty feeling you get after not sleeping for a while.<br />
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You finally decide its about that time to go to sleep.<br />
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You are almost asleep, then all of a sudden you are falling. Like stepping off a cliff, you're in free fall, though your body isn't even moving.<br />
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Then, like a bungee cord snapping back, you jerk awake, heart thumping a little faster, blinking quickly, wondering what just happened.<br />
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Doctors call it a hypnic jerk, a natural reaction, they say, to your brain thinking you're dying. When your breathing and heart rate slow down that much as you fall asleep, your brain gives you a little check up.<br />
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Just to make sure.<br />
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What the doctors don't know, however, is that your brain is right. Every time you let your self nod off and get that "falling" sensation, you are not falling. You're being pulled down.<br />
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And one day...<br />
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Your brain won't be able to pull you back up.<br />
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But, worst of all.<br />
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They will finally have you.Jason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-10774718929400928622012-09-21T09:08:00.002-07:002012-09-21T09:09:10.924-07:00The Message<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Don't skip over this one, you came here for a reason. I know this sounds crazy...<br />
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Look, we all wonder if time travel is possible, right? Well, let me tell you something... it is. I'm from the future. I know you probably don't believe me, but it won't hurt you to keep reading. It's amazing, this ability. The ability to see into the past, watch events unfold... We know more than we ever would.<br />
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Above all the fun, though, there is a more serious aspect. We aren't allowed to view our own lifetime, and we are never allowed to communicate with our past selves. I'm breaking that rule now. Yes, kid, you're reading from your future self. I'm going to be executed for this, but I can accept that. By sending you this message, I'm preventing something worse than death. Years and years of unimaginable torture... undistinguished pain... unfathomable emptiness and darkness. I can't tell you outright what to do, because there are filters that would catch it. This is the closest I can get. And you have to trust me. Its about time.<br />
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You should probably read the first word of every paragraph, now.Jason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-76192435518271392062012-09-21T08:56:00.004-07:002012-09-21T09:24:10.080-07:00The Mannequins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Today, I have one of the creepiest pictures ever to show you. It's hard to see, but look try looking behind the tree.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhL9O5mYRBW5SBm0pmo-mQzCcr6NdY4GMsxlKZC9Xz9SRWwmykrAU0HjJj6Q3BLnkc06iqCS6KV_nrY545MzDEvKbwkig4ICAyGRxDemnAXdsn2Pfx_i91-FNU3npIStVVV0mr26nIqrA/s1600/tumblr_m7n20462DE1r3io02o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhL9O5mYRBW5SBm0pmo-mQzCcr6NdY4GMsxlKZC9Xz9SRWwmykrAU0HjJj6Q3BLnkc06iqCS6KV_nrY545MzDEvKbwkig4ICAyGRxDemnAXdsn2Pfx_i91-FNU3npIStVVV0mr26nIqrA/s320/tumblr_m7n20462DE1r3io02o1_500.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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First, a bit of background. Have you ever seen one of those videos where you are asked to look for or concentrate on something, then at the end, the revealed that something large and intrusive moved around in plain sight and you never noticed? It's creepy when this happens, and the worst part is when you don't expect it to happen. You feel silly, you ask yourself, "How could that happen? Must be a trick." But, I can promise you it's not a trick.</div>
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That thing really moved around in plain sight.</div>
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Kind of like how I moved into your room and had plenty of time to hide while you were looking at the picture.</div>
Jason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-9440609365017269042012-09-14T10:17:00.003-07:002012-09-14T10:33:30.722-07:00White with Red<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there, nor even just look inside the room. He listened to the woman's instructions, went straight to his room, and went to sleep.</div>
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The next night, his curiosity would not leave him alone. What is in that room?! He walked down the hall to the door and tried the handle. Expectedly, it was locked. He bent down and looked through the old, antique key hole. Cold air passed through, chilling his eye. What he saw was a hotel bedroom, one bed, two nightstands, a T.V., and a patron in a long white dress with even paler skin. She was leaning her head against the wall, facing away from the door, staring at the T.V. He stared for a while, almost knocked, but then walked away.</div>
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The next day, he was passing the door again, and he could not fight his curiosity any longer. He looked through the keyhole again, but this time all he saw was red. Just red. He assumed someone had saw him spying and placed a red piece of paper by the hole.</div>
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Curiosity peaking, he finally asked the woman at the front desk who was in the room. As soon as he asked, she had a look of death upon her face, and quickly asked, "You didn't look in the keyhole did you?".</div>
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Reluctantly, he answered yes, aditting he saw her watching T.V. She quickly explained, "Years ago, a man killed his wife in that room. Took out her eyes. Her ghost still sits in that room... When she's not staring at the T.V., she is looking out the keyhole, finding her next victim. At least your eyes haven't met hers, yet. Then you'd have a problem."</div>
Jason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-79231841849047542842012-09-14T10:16:00.000-07:002012-09-14T10:16:08.412-07:00My Sleeping Wife<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I pull into the driveway after spending all night at the bar. The lights were out as I got in the house, my wife already in bed. Mostly drunk, but a little tired, I stumble into the bedroom without even turning on the lights. I know the way around my house blind. I open the bedroom door as slowly as I can, but she stirs a little. Hurridly, I ran to bed, and took her in my arms to make sure she didn't wake up.<br />
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Something just felt wrong. I should have know it then. But, I focused on the sound of my wife breathing, and with a little trouble, finally fell asleep with the love of my life in my arms.<br />
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When I finally wake up in the morning, she is no longer in my arms, or even in the bed. In her place is a puddle of dried blood. There are bloodied footprints leading out of the room. Thinking the must have been my wife's, I sprint after them, eventually leading me to the living room, which I walked through last night on my way to the bedroom. My jaw dropped.<br />
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There was my wife. Cut open. Nailed to the wall. Dead. Just as I can't think of anything more upsetting, I notice to my right, someone wrote something in blood on the wall. I can barely make it out... <br /><br />"Thanks for holding me last night, but maybe you should think about turning on the lights when you walk in."Jason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-76962224306073806652012-09-14T10:03:00.004-07:002012-09-14T10:19:07.887-07:00Combo #8Go to any Arby's and look for combo #8. You won't find it. Know why? <br />
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<a name='more'></a>Arby's was first founded in Ohio in the 1960's by the <strong>R</strong>affel <strong>B</strong>rothers (R.B.'s, get it?). They were both rather wealthy members of society with a business in the black market- they cut and sold human meat and organs. When a knowledgeable customer came in, s/he ordered a Combo 8, even though the board only went up to 7. <br />
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As you can imagine, most Arby's today no longer sell human meat, if any. But to keep a possible patron from getting unhappy (and partially in shame of their dark history), they don't offer any Combo #8.<br />
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Oh, and I wouldn't reccomend getting too nosy about this. Where do you think they got their meat from?Jason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-48605176296163807242012-08-05T17:29:00.000-07:002012-08-05T18:04:16.420-07:00Diary<em>[This is the handwritten diary of 22 year old Melvin Breeson, missing suspect of murder of his girlfriend, Rachel Bolight, who was found dead on August 12th. She was believed to have been brutally murdered two days beforehand.]</em><br />
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<strong>August 5, 2011, 2:21 pm</strong><br />
What a massive fucking head ache. All I remember is taking a nap after work, but there is no way I've slept for almost 24 hours. Doctor said if I start passing out this long again, like when I was a kid, to keep a diary. This is stupid. Off to work.<br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<a name='more'></a><strong>August 6, 2011, 2:04 am</strong><br />
Work was awful. Yada yada. Time to go to sleep. Hopefully my alarm gets me up tomorrow. I need take Rachel out to lunch for her birthday.<br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<strong>August 6 2011, 5:08 pm</strong><br />
Well this is awful. Just got up. Tried calling Rachel to apologize, but all she did was curse at me and told me never to talk to her again. This is ridiculous. I'm not sure what's wrong with me, but she shouldn't be that mad with me just for missing lunch. Not sure what I'm going to do tonight since I don't have work.<br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<strong>August 7, 11:58 am</strong><br />
Creepy start to the day. All of the wrappers of the cookies and snacks I owned are laying in the kitchen. Reminds me of when I was little, right before my parents died. I had an imaginary friend, Lucy. Not sure why I called him Lucy. But I would always eat all of our snacks and blame it on him. I swear to this day I don't remember doing it, but who else could it have been?<br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<strong>August 8, 2:07 am</strong><br />
Just got off work again. Gonna grab a couple beers and maybe try to find some decent late night television.<br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<strong>August 9, 2:47 pm</strong><br />
My sleep problem is getting worse. I just slept for 36 hours, but feel like I've only had 4. Not only did I miss work, but now its 3 days since I've talked to Rachel. Time to call the boss and hope I'm not fired.<br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<strong>August 9, 2:53 pm</strong><br />
Now I'm not sure what to think. I'm begining to think something is very fucked up. I just called my boss to apologize for missing work- but he claims I was there the whole time, just acting weird. This kind of thing hasn't happened since Lucy, which now looking back, I can remember many more times when I don't remember full days or events or misbehaving- and getting punished. I know I didn't go into work yesterday, but who else could it have been?<br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<strong>August 11, 4:10 pm</strong><br />
Ugh. This problem better stop soon. Once again I've slept for over 36 hours. I'm not sure what I'm doing during this time. This afternoon I woke up covered in... in... the only thing I can think that it would be is blood. I could taste it, I could smell it. Did I have a nosebleed? <br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<strong>August 11, 7:38 pm</strong><br />
I just found an video recording of mine, from when I was younger. From after my parents died. I really was a creepy kid. I blamed the death of my parents on Lucy, not with a sad tone, but a scared tone. I sounded so scared of Lucy...<br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<strong>August 12, 1:16 pm</strong><br />
Rachel's phone went to voicemail all morning. Her mom hasn't seen her or heard of her since yesterday, and they were supposed to go out. She told me that she thinks Rachel is missing. As soon as she said that, a deep, primal feeling of guilt hit me. What did I do yesterday?!<br />
<em>Melvin</em><br />
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<strong>August 13, 3:00 am</strong><br />
I'm so happy I finally took care of sweet Rachel, just like my parents. I can't let anyone that close to me. They might find out about me- the real me. Melvin is getting too weak to handle this anymore. I guess I must take over full control now.<br />
<em>Lucifer</em><br />
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<br />Jason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-37170298221811303702012-08-04T11:20:00.000-07:002012-08-04T11:20:17.515-07:00The Best DefenseYou need to help me.
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I'm locked in the bathroom.
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He's coming to get me, I know it.
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<a name='more'></a>It started off a about two hours ago. I was laying in bed, thinking about my day. You know that time of night when everything in your thoughts are going good, and then all of a sudden you get scared for no reason?<br />
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I wish I didn't.<br />
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It starts when your foot hanging off the side of your bed feels awkward. You, in all honesty, know that there is nothing under your bed. But you move your foot anyway. <br />
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Then the shadows start playing tricks on you. No big deal though. I can handle that. But soon, you get scared enough to cover your head with the blanket. I know, I think it is silly too. Like a cloth is going to be able to stop anything? Like someone wouldn't be able to see you under there? <br />
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Didn't matter though. Being underneath the blanket is the only thing that was letting me feel safe. After about an hour and a half, I finally calmed down. I counted to 40, reassured myself everything was okay.<br />
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I took the blanket off my head, and looked into the room. A shadow slowly moved across my room. It was at the foot of my bed before I realized what it was- an eyeless terror with pasty white skin and a smile so creepy it made me want to throw up. It looked me deep in the eyes, and brushed his hand across my cheek.<br />
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"There you are, I almost didn't see you."<br />
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I ran to the bathroom, but took this picture to get you to believe me.<br />
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Help me. And remember... Hiding underneath the blankets really does help.</div>Jason Arrowoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734669181381452108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4822626743971757505.post-9210845116170634202012-07-26T15:10:00.001-07:002012-07-26T15:12:07.222-07:00The Little Boy<br />
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A little boy, about 8 or 9 years old, was on his way home from school. He was almost home when he spotted a picture of a little girl, about his age, lying on the ground. She had long, blonde, curly hair, bright blue eyes, and a pink sundress. The thing he noticed the most about her, however, was her dimples in her smile, the way the freckles spotted across her face, and the fact she was holding up a peace sign. The picture immediately entranced the little boy, and he became determined to find her.</div>
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He brought the picture home, still astonished by her beauty, and asked his parents if they knew who she was. Of course, they had no idea.</div>
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He was lying in bed that night when he heard a little girl's giggling outside of his window. He walked over to it, opened the window, and the giggling stopped. Sad and confused, he went back to sleep, and dreamt of her that night.</div>
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The next day at school, she was all he could think about. The boy's life suddenly had no meaning but to find the girl in the picture. He took his time going home, asking everyone he passed if they knew who she was. To his despair, no one had a clue.</div>
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He was lying in bed again, trying to drift off to sleep, when he heard the giggling again. He grabbed the picture from his night stand, and raced to window, in an effort to catch her this time. The window was thrown open, and the giggling could now be located to the house across the street. He climbed out of the window, still in his footie pajamas, and ran across the street.</div>
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All of a sudden, a car hit and killed the little boy as he was crossing. The driver, shaken, ran out of the car, and saw the dead boy on the ground. For some reason, a picture in the boy's hand caught his attention. It was a picture of a little girl, about the same age as his victim. She had long, blonde, curly hair, bright blue eyes, and a pink sundress. The thing he noticed the most about her, however, was her dimples in her smile, the way the freckles spotted across her face, and the fact she was holding up just a single finger.</div>
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