It’s been 2 weeks since this whole thing started.
It all started with a tanker accident. It was all over the news. Everyone thought it was just another oil spill. There were plenty of volunteers. Plenty of people wanting to help the poor defenseless animals. Plenty of victims. Within hours of the tanker accident, it started happening. The animals had gone crazy, they were scratching and biting the clean up volunteers. They said that it was an adverse effect to whatever was in that tanker.
Rescue workers were still trying to get the crew out of the ship. They could hear screaming inside. Screams to open the doors. But that’s when it all went to hell. As soon as they cut the door out.
There was 6 minutes of broadcast before it went silent. 6 minutes of screaming and agony. The ship crew attacked the rescue workers like rabid baboons. Breaking bones and tearing flesh. The people on the shore weren’t fairing any better. Those that had been attacked by animals were attacking everyone else. It was worse than any war zone report, it was sheer brutality, and yet the broadcast still went on for 6 minutes. 6 minutes and then blank faces. Nobody could explain what was happening. They tried to continue with regular news, the economy, the weather, a cute human interest story, but they couldn’t make us unsee what we saw.[[MORE]]
I tried to continue with my regular existence but every time I switched on the news or walked by a news stand it was there. This big mystery. They had some explanations, some kind of infection, brain parasites, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t an infection we were afraid of, it was them.
4 days after the initial report, a state of emergency was raised. And yet we’d all seen this before. Every zombie movie ever. People didn’t know who to trust. People were stockpiling food and weapons. Some tried to flee but it seems every zombie movie was right. They didn’t make it. 3 days later they arrived in my town.
I expected moans, shuffling corpses, dismemberment, but that’s where the movies lied. They ran through the streets, screaming. I remember running to my front door as fast as I could, locking, barricading, doing anything to make sure it would stay shut, and then I headed for the window. I was on the second story and I could see the carnage. They were unstoppable. They were aware.
A group of them made there way through a building across the street. They jumped straight through plate glass windows. Even the shards slicing through them made no difference, they just kept coming. My barricade wasn’t going to hold. I rushed around my flat, grabbing supplies and jamming them into the most secure room of the flat. I went back for one last look across the street, and I wish I hadn’t. In a second story window, my face met one of theirs. They knew where I was. I quickly dashed into the room and locked the door.
I don’t have any kind of panic room, or a secure basement, so the safest place I could think of was my bathroom. No windows, one door with a lock. I had filled my sink and bathtub full of water, So I could stay for a while. So I sat there in the dark room, with the distant screams in my ears.
I began to feel like I may have over-reacted, it had been 2 hours and no sign of them. It actually got quieter and I thought they had moved on. Maybe I could leave the room, get to the kitchen. Grab more food to wait it out. A crash came from the front door. The sound of someone running full force into the door and knocking down the barrier behind it. There was a couple more crashes before I knew they were inside. Rapid footsteps moving around the flat, a couple screams and then a bang on the wall beside me. My eyes were open to their widest, even in the pitch black darkness of the room. Another bang, and another. They knew I was there and they knew I was scared.
This was the zombie nightmare I had been expecting from the start. I had nowhere to run. There was only so much time before they would break in. I sat with my back to the door, hoping my extra weight would make it harder for them to get in. And then it got worse. “why don’t you open the door?”
A voice on the opposite side of the door. No screams or moans, just a quiet, whispery voice. And then more of them.
“we’ve come for you.” “you’ll be happier if you open the door” “it’s not so bad…”
The whispery voices, became a cacophony of noise trying to persuade me, to break me, to fool me. I had heard that the moaning of zombies would drive people insane but this was worse, a siren call. I sat in the darkness and hoped and prayed that they’d get bored. But they don’t get bored and they don’t leave. I managed to use the mirror to peak under the door, only to be greeted by horrible unblinking eyes, blood smeared faces, screams and more horrible whispers. That was two days ago…
I don’t know what to do anymore… maybe it won’t be so bad…

– Credited to Chris Stewart.
Source

It’s been 2 weeks since this whole thing started.

It all started with a tanker accident. It was all over the news. Everyone thought it was just another oil spill. There were plenty of volunteers. Plenty of people wanting to help the poor defenseless animals. Plenty of victims. Within hours of the tanker accident, it started happening. The animals had gone crazy, they were scratching and biting the clean up volunteers. They said that it was an adverse effect to whatever was in that tanker.

Rescue workers were still trying to get the crew out of the ship. They could hear screaming inside. Screams to open the doors. But that’s when it all went to hell. As soon as they cut the door out.

There was 6 minutes of broadcast before it went silent. 6 minutes of screaming and agony. The ship crew attacked the rescue workers like rabid baboons. Breaking bones and tearing flesh. The people on the shore weren’t fairing any better. Those that had been attacked by animals were attacking everyone else. It was worse than any war zone report, it was sheer brutality, and yet the broadcast still went on for 6 minutes. 6 minutes and then blank faces. Nobody could explain what was happening. They tried to continue with regular news, the economy, the weather, a cute human interest story, but they couldn’t make us unsee what we saw.

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(Source: fuckyeahspookyshit)

There’s a local legend where I come from. They’re simply referred to as the willow men. There’s hardly a need for the law enforcement in this town. The willow men take care of all that. Every single step taken, every word spoken, every drop of blood spilt.. The willow men know about it before anyone else. Believe me, anyone that has invoked the wrath of the willow men has gone missing without a trace. That’s why when I realized what I had done it was too late. The willow men were coming.
She just wouldn’t shut the hell up. No matter what I said and what I would do she was just hysterical. She kept pacing about the house screaming. She said she found this and that and knew I was cheating on her. She’d ask me who it was and I told her she was crazy. I guess I wore that excuse out. After a while, I couldn’t take her damn voice anymore. I’d walk room to room and she’d follow me. When we got to the kitchen I had my fill.
I reached for the first knife I could find and jammed it into her throat. The face of anger and sorrow melted into one of despair and disbelief. The crimson fluid ran freely all over her blouse and she dropped to her knees, scrambling around on the floor. She clawed at the tile and made gurgling noises which only served to infuriate me. I grabbed an iron skillet that had been pre-heating on the stove and took a swing at her head. A wet crack followed the impact and while I didn’t need to keep going I did.
I lost count of the number of times I hit her but I had a good deal of blood on me. What was left of her head was being held together by thin particles of bone and blood continued to rush out. I dropped the skillet to the floor with a loud clang. I wish remorse could have followed so I would’ve felt a least a bit human but it didn’t. I was just happy to be rid of her. With a grunt I picked her body up off the floor and hoisted it unto my shoulder. Her face hung next to me, dead eyes staring with conviction. I could only chuckle. As soon as I got outside, I dropped the ragged heap onto the ground and went to find a shovel. That’s when I knew they were watching.[[MORE]]

I could hear the whispers from the woods and in the corners of my eyes I could see them staring intently at my every move. Whenever I would look up to the woods I would find only gnarled trees staring back at me. I knew they were there. It was dusk by the time she was good and buried. I was drenched in sweat and it had made the blood stains on my clothes expand and turn orange. I looked back up to the woods and I saw them peering from behind the trees. Long, gnarled faces with hollow eyes and gaunt figures. I could only half see the faces as they chose to hide behind their precious trees but they were there. Watching, whispering…
“What are you staring for, bastards?! You heard her! I had to do it,” I yelled at them. Was I expecting a response? I don’t know. They just continued to watch me from behind the trees. I spit on the ground and threw the shovel down. They would come for me under cover of darkness and I wasn’t going without a fight. I stole away into the house and prepared. I pushed couches and dressers in front of doorways. I nailed wooden boards haphazardly to cover all the windows. As the sun crept underneath the horizon a great trepidation settled in the pit of my stomach. Was it honestly nerves? I hated to think it was such a powerful fear that I would start breaking into an ice cold sweat. I loaded up my shotgun and reached for a bottle of whiskey. I forced down a mouthful and then another and slammed the rest of the bottle against the wall in frustration.
One door I left open. It was the back door that stared out to the woods. I put a chair down in front of it and sat, shotgun in my lap. They were still staring at me. The willow men. We stayed staring at one another for three days. Eventually, exhaustion began to get the best of me and I started to nod off. I tried desperately to keep my eyes open. For a foolish second I propped my head up with the shotgun so that it wouldn’t fall. I snapped back to reason and lifted my head high. Last thing I wanted to do was shoot myself. Had I known what was coming I probably should have.
I pushed myself to stay up for a few more hours. The day came and went and it was the dead of night before I knew it. They persisted behind the trees. I began to rationalize that if I closed my eyes for a second, I could have enough time to open them while the willow men were coming at me so I could take a few down. Smiling I did just that. Of course, its’ difficult to tell how long you were asleep. Could be a second, could be for days. I opened my eyes again and found I was still sitting in my chair with my shotgun in my lap. I snapped up when I saw that the willow men were no longer behind the trees. I flipped out and held the shotgun up, darting around barrel first. I took a few steps outside and tried to control my heavy breaths. I shook damn near uncontrollably and found it impossible to keep the gun steady.
I began to calm down when I didn’t see anything outside and began to return to my post when I stopped dead in my tracks. I felt tears well in my eyes and something began to push up and out of my throat. The willow men were peering from around the doorway and the sides of the house. I froze staring at their gnarled up faces and branch-like hands. I had to do something. I pulled the gun up and fired off a round. It managed to take out part of the door frame but it missed any of them altogether. I popped open the shotgun and madly grasped for a fresh shell in my pocket. I successfully reloaded it and lifted the gun back up.
The willow men continued to look at me from where they had been. I took careful aim this time and fired once more. Another shot hit the doorframe this time although closer to the willow men. I fumbled for a third round and as I did, I saw a large shadow cover me. Looking up, the willow men were upon me. I screamed and closed the barrel down on my thumb effectively severing it. Immediately after that, I lost all consciousness and collapsed.
When I awoke, it was ice cold. My vision began to return to me slowly and I could feel that I was being dragged. My heart sank when I looked around. Darkness stretched as far as the eye could see and I knew I was in the deepest part of the woods. Where my thumb had once been was black and swollen and had managed to numb up to my forearm. My ankles were in severe pain too but I didn’t know why. When I looked, I saw that they had been clearly snapped and the willow men were dragging me by my feet. I began to scream as loudly as possible for someone, anyone.
All I did was cause more willow men to appear and watch me from behind the strangest willow trees I’d ever seen. Their trunks were small and looked just like leather. The earth around them was red and moist yet where I was being dragged was dry, rugged land. I looked up to the canopy and wish I hadn’t. Skinless corpses hung down, blood dripping freely to feed what I now knew were flesh-bound trees. My screams were swallowed by the dark and my throat gave out, hoarse from the strain. In the silence, I heard a faint moaning.

I looked around to see if there was someone else here. Maybe some poor bastard who suffered my same fate. To my horror, I discovered the source of the moans. The bodies hanging on the branches of the trees were all still alive. Soon, I too would have my flesh torn asunder and be damned to hang up there and feed the hungry willow trees. There was nothing I could but accept my fate. The willow men had me.
Credited to Vel.
Source

There’s a local legend where I come from. They’re simply referred to as the willow men.
There’s hardly a need for the law enforcement in this town. The willow men take care of all that. Every single step taken, every word spoken, every drop of blood spilt.. The willow men know about it before anyone else. Believe me, anyone that has invoked the wrath of the willow men has gone missing without a trace.
That’s why when I realized what I had done it was too late. The willow men were coming.

She just wouldn’t shut the hell up. No matter what I said and what I would do she was just hysterical. She kept pacing about the house screaming. She said she found this and that and knew I was cheating on her. She’d ask me who it was and I told her she was crazy. I guess I wore that excuse out. After a while, I couldn’t take her damn voice anymore. I’d walk room to room and she’d follow me. When we got to the kitchen I had my fill.

I reached for the first knife I could find and jammed it into her throat. The face of anger and sorrow melted into one of despair and disbelief. The crimson fluid ran freely all over her blouse and she dropped to her knees, scrambling around on the floor. She clawed at the tile and made gurgling noises which only served to infuriate me. I grabbed an iron skillet that had been pre-heating on the stove and took a swing at her head. A wet crack followed the impact and while I didn’t need to keep going I did.

I lost count of the number of times I hit her but I had a good deal of blood on me. What was left of her head was being held together by thin particles of bone and blood continued to rush out. I dropped the skillet to the floor with a loud clang. I wish remorse could have followed so I would’ve felt a least a bit human but it didn’t. I was just happy to be rid of her. With a grunt I picked her body up off the floor and hoisted it unto my shoulder. Her face hung next to me, dead eyes staring with conviction. I could only chuckle. As soon as I got outside, I dropped the ragged heap onto the ground and went to find a shovel. That’s when I knew they were watching.

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(Source: fuckyeahspookyshit)

If you ever are in an area of absolute quiet, still your breathing and move not a muscle. After a few seconds, you will notice that the silence has a sort of “sound” of its own, a kind of empty ringing tone. This is nothing unique; everyone will hear this, given the proper setting. An informed person will tell you that your brain is trying to interpret the lack of stimuli to your hearing and so creates a bit of a filler sound. This ringing sound actually serves a more arcane purpose, covering up a noise we are not meant to hear. This noise is not impossible to hear, and if you are persistent you can effectively “break” the cover-up sound.
The next time you are silent and hear the ringing, shout at the top of your lungs for about half a minute, then be abruptly silent. It will be different for everyone. Some will hear nothing different for dozens of tries. Others might pick up soft murmuring. A special few auditory heroes might clearly make it out on the first attempt. What you will hear is a voice that relays an account of events about to happen in the immediate future. It’s like a sportscaster relaying the events occurring ten seconds into the future.
As time goes on, you will be able to make out this voice under increasingly noisy circumstances, to the point that it can be heard at any time by just concentrating. Such ability would doubtlessly be invaluable, no? You will be able react to any immediate danger, relate to people around you with greater ease. No one would ever surprise you. Now, of course you are wondering what sort of horrible catch this ability entails. Perhaps the tone of the voice is so horrible that it will drive you mad, or maybe the voice will only predict your death over and over again.
Of course this isn’t the case, though, it’s a normal voice, your ears receive it no matter what, and it’s simply a matter of noticing. But there is a danger. For you see, where there is a voice, there is a body. And just like you will notice new sounds, so shall you notice new sights. More importantly, you will be noticed.
Created by: Jesse M
Source

If you ever are in an area of absolute quiet, still your breathing and move not a muscle. After a few seconds, you will notice that the silence has a sort of “sound” of its own, a kind of empty ringing tone. This is nothing unique; everyone will hear this, given the proper setting. An informed person will tell you that your brain is trying to interpret the lack of stimuli to your hearing and so creates a bit of a filler sound. This ringing sound actually serves a more arcane purpose, covering up a noise we are not meant to hear. This noise is not impossible to hear, and if you are persistent you can effectively “break” the cover-up sound.

The next time you are silent and hear the ringing, shout at the top of your lungs for about half a minute, then be abruptly silent. It will be different for everyone. Some will hear nothing different for dozens of tries. Others might pick up soft murmuring. A special few auditory heroes might clearly make it out on the first attempt. What you will hear is a voice that relays an account of events about to happen in the immediate future. It’s like a sportscaster relaying the events occurring ten seconds into the future.

As time goes on, you will be able to make out this voice under increasingly noisy circumstances, to the point that it can be heard at any time by just concentrating. Such ability would doubtlessly be invaluable, no? You will be able react to any immediate danger, relate to people around you with greater ease. No one would ever surprise you. Now, of course you are wondering what sort of horrible catch this ability entails. Perhaps the tone of the voice is so horrible that it will drive you mad, or maybe the voice will only predict your death over and over again.

Of course this isn’t the case, though, it’s a normal voice, your ears receive it no matter what, and it’s simply a matter of noticing. But there is a danger. For you see, where there is a voice, there is a body. And just like you will notice new sounds, so shall you notice new sights. More importantly, you will be noticed.

Created by: Jesse M

Source

(Source: fuckyeahspookyshit)

Come little children, come with me
Safe and happy you will be
Away from your homes, now let us run
With Hypno, you’ll have so much fun

Oh, little children, please don’t cry
Hypno wouldn’t hurt a fly
Be free, be free be free to play
Come down in my cave with me to stay

Oh, little children, please don’t squirm
Those ropes, I know, will hold you firm
Hypno tells you this is true
But sadly, Hypno lied to you

Oh, little children, you mustn’t leave
Your families for you will grieve
Their minds will unravel at the seams
Allowing me to haunt their dreams

But surely, all of you must know
That it is time for you to go
Oh, little children, you weren’t clever
Now you shall stay with me forever 

Source: TrainerDerek

(Source: fuckyeahspookyshit)

The cabin was in the middle of nowhere, at the end of a bumpy dirt road and surrounded by thick woods. It needed a decent amount of work done to make it inhabitable,  which is why we got it so cheap. My husband loved it. He loved the location, the privacy, the chance to make it his own. He spent every weekend that the weather allowed up at the cabin doing the renovations himself. He left me at home, partly because I’m useless with tools and partly because he wanted the finished product to be a surprise. I was okay with it. I was enjoying the “me” time.  
He was close to finishing the last of the repairs, and was so excited that he used some vacation time from work so he could complete the project and we could spend the next available weekend in our new getaway spot. He left our home Friday night after dinner. His plan was to return the following Saturday so that he would have all day Sunday to spend with me and rest up before returning to work on Monday. The first few days, he called me every night after putting away his tools. When he didn’t call on Tuesday, I assumed it was because he was too tired or that he lost track of time and didn’t want to call too late. When he didn’t call on Wednesday, I called him and left a half-playful, half-annoyed voicemail. When I still hadn’t heard from him after I got off of work on Thursday, I decided to make the 2 hour trip to our cabin to check on him.
The last time I had seen our cabin, it was obvious that it had been deserted for some time. My husband had been working on it every weekend for over a year, so I expected it to look much better. It didn’t. The front yard was still overgrown, the steps leading to the front porch still broken, the windows still covered in grime. The only evidence of my husband being there were the tire tracks worn into the grass where the dirt driveway ended. You could tell by the divets that he would pull up to the porch, then turn around in the yard to return to the driveway to leave. I made my way to the front porch, careful not to trip on the broken step, and peered through the cleanest spot on one of the windows. The scene inside made me run to my car and make the 45 minute drive to the nearest town.    
The police found the den of a mad man in what was meant to be my cozy little cabin. The only renovations that my husband had actually done were those that allowed him to hold the women he had abducted for who knows how long while he raped, tortured, and eventually butchered them. The 5 bodies left in shallow graves in the woods were eventually identified as homeless women who were likely only missed by their drug dealers. The 6th woman found in my husband’s truck, which was at the bottom of a hill wrapped around a tree about 5 miles from the cabin, was the same. She was naked, malnourished, and covered in deep cuts and bruises. The knife she had somehow gotten and used to stab her captor, my husband, in the chest and throat repeatedly sat on the floor in front of the passenger seat. They said the high speed impact killed her instantly. The other women weren’t so lucky. I wouldn’t have been so lucky.    
The room at the front of the cabin where the women were restrained and violated on a stained mattress that lay on the floor, where I found my husband naked in a bloody heap, was decorated with photos of me. Seven blood spattered pictures were nailed to the wall, and 5 of them had scratches over my throat so deep that they cut through the paper.
Source: cmd102

The cabin was in the middle of nowhere, at the end of a bumpy dirt road and surrounded by thick woods. It needed a decent amount of work done to make it inhabitable,  which is why we got it so cheap. My husband loved it. He loved the location, the privacy, the chance to make it his own. He spent every weekend that the weather allowed up at the cabin doing the renovations himself. He left me at home, partly because I’m useless with tools and partly because he wanted the finished product to be a surprise. I was okay with it. I was enjoying the “me” time.  

He was close to finishing the last of the repairs, and was so excited that he used some vacation time from work so he could complete the project and we could spend the next available weekend in our new getaway spot. He left our home Friday night after dinner. His plan was to return the following Saturday so that he would have all day Sunday to spend with me and rest up before returning to work on Monday. The first few days, he called me every night after putting away his tools. When he didn’t call on Tuesday, I assumed it was because he was too tired or that he lost track of time and didn’t want to call too late. When he didn’t call on Wednesday, I called him and left a half-playful, half-annoyed voicemail. When I still hadn’t heard from him after I got off of work on Thursday, I decided to make the 2 hour trip to our cabin to check on him.

The last time I had seen our cabin, it was obvious that it had been deserted for some time. My husband had been working on it every weekend for over a year, so I expected it to look much better. It didn’t. The front yard was still overgrown, the steps leading to the front porch still broken, the windows still covered in grime. The only evidence of my husband being there were the tire tracks worn into the grass where the dirt driveway ended. You could tell by the divets that he would pull up to the porch, then turn around in the yard to return to the driveway to leave. I made my way to the front porch, careful not to trip on the broken step, and peered through the cleanest spot on one of the windows. The scene inside made me run to my car and make the 45 minute drive to the nearest town.    

The police found the den of a mad man in what was meant to be my cozy little cabin. The only renovations that my husband had actually done were those that allowed him to hold the women he had abducted for who knows how long while he raped, tortured, and eventually butchered them. The 5 bodies left in shallow graves in the woods were eventually identified as homeless women who were likely only missed by their drug dealers. The 6th woman found in my husband’s truck, which was at the bottom of a hill wrapped around a tree about 5 miles from the cabin, was the same. She was naked, malnourished, and covered in deep cuts and bruises. The knife she had somehow gotten and used to stab her captor, my husband, in the chest and throat repeatedly sat on the floor in front of the passenger seat. They said the high speed impact killed her instantly. The other women weren’t so lucky. I wouldn’t have been so lucky.    

The room at the front of the cabin where the women were restrained and violated on a stained mattress that lay on the floor, where I found my husband naked in a bloody heap, was decorated with photos of me. Seven blood spattered pictures were nailed to the wall, and 5 of them had scratches over my throat so deep that they cut through the paper.

Source: cmd102

(Source: fuckyeahspookyshit)