Creepy thread
Citat från Danielcowman
Jag känner mig korkad, men förklara vad Bel-air texter är, så är du snäll.
Antar att det är en meme eller något?
Jodå. Känner du till programmet som Will Smith gjorde som ung, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air? En del av sången till introt går:
"In west Philadelphia born and raised
On the playground was where I spent most of my days
Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool
And all shootin some b-ball outside of the school
When a couple of guys
Who were up to no good
Started making trouble in my neighborhood
I got in one little fight and my mom got scared
She said 'You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air"
Och många väljer att börja skriva en lång text, till exempel en Creepypasta (alltså en kuslig berättelse som de som jag postade massor av för ett par sidor sedan) som är superseriös och intressant, men haken är att texten plötsligt övergår till "I got in one little fight and my mom got scared, she said 'You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air" och ibland lite längre av Fresh-prince texten, och slutar efter det.
Edit: Läs DinGuds exempel på förra sidan.
åh den var ju jätteläskig sen kom bel-air grejen...fan va irriterande haha :(
Fucking underbart.
ver helt inne i texten och önskade att jag skulle vara rädd typ hela kvällen men NOPE
http://nonmusicalsilence.tumblr.com=ganska scary
bild från den hemsidan du länkade
Bra låttitel :>
som fan hihi :]]]
http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Mr._Widemouth
Preview så att ni vet om ni vill läsa hela.
"I dont exactly recall how I met Mr. Widemouth. I think it was about a week after I was diagnosed with mono. My first memory of the small creature was asking him if he had a name. He told me to call him Mr. Widemouth, because his mouth was large. In fact, everything about him was large in comparison to his body his head, his eyes, his crooked ears but his mouth was by far the largest."
vad går den filmen ut på egentligen?!
Vilken?
The digital clock humming quietly on my nightstand was the only sound my ears could pick up from my surroundings. The night was dead quiet. I know he was there. Right on schedule, he would be standing outside my window. He would knock. I, for reasons I wish I could explain, would open the blinds. He would stare at me, and I would stare at him. He would leave soon after, and I would stay awake until the sun began to rise. This was our routine. My mind was wandering a thousand miles away when he first knocked, though my eyes stayed lingering on the window. I told myself I wouldn't open the blinds. I told myself that tonight he wouldn't scare me and that I would get the rest I desperately needed. He knocked twice more. I held a pillow over my head and began humming an old song I used to sing in elementary school. He knocked again, and this time, he had done it a lot less courteously than he had in the past. It had become a loud thumping noise.
I threw the pillow off my head and opened the blinds. His pale, wrinkly face leered in at me. His lifeless, black eyes that shone despite their darkness peered into my own. His stringy hair fluttered a little in the wind. He seemed to be breathing somewhat harshly, and though it was hard to determine his mood as anything other than emotionless, I could sense an amount of animousity I had never felt before.
After what seemed like hours, he turned around and was on his way. I faced the ceiling and wept. This had been going on for more than a month. I had tried to talk to others about it, but I could never finish my sentences. They'd degrade into quiet mumblings and whispers. I was so tired, and I had even begun to wonder if I was losing my mind. I had tried sleeping pills but even they couldn't help me to sleep though the night. The weirdest part is that I always woke up abou five minutes before he knocked. I knew, instictively, that he would be there. I was so tired. The next night, I told myself that under no circumstances would I look out the window, I didn't care if he was on the verge of breaking the glass, I would not give him what he wanted. I would not feed him. He'd have to find someone else to terrify. He'd have to leave me alone.
I woke up, and I instantly knew what was going to happen. It's funny, I was anticipating his knocks, and yet I still jumped a little when I finally heard him. I lay in my bed quietly, as if I hadn't heard anything. He knocked again, and I hid under the pillow once more. He knocked again, even louder than he had the night before. I whimpered, but remained under the pillow. He knocked twice more. After that, things got quiet. I no longer had the feeling I was being watched. I pulled my head out from under my pillow and slowly looked out the window.
Nothing. Just my backyard.
I laughed. I laughed so hard that little tears began to slip out of my eyes. He was somebody else's problem now. I looked at the clock, noticed that I had only been awake for about fifteen minutes, and turned over to go back to sleep. I had just gotten to that area where dreams mingle with reality when I heard the distant click of a door. My backdoor. Someone had just entered into my house from the outside. Something from my backyard. I knew it was him. I listened quietly as his footsteps made their way from my kitchen, to my dining room, to the short hallway outside of my bedroom. He was walking slowly, patiently, and was not attempting to hide his presence at all.
He knocked on my door and I almost vomited. I wanted to do something, anything. I was paralyzed with fear. He knocked again. Trembling, I pulled the pillow back over my head. All that could be heard was the sound of weeping, knocking, and a digital clock humming quietly to itself.
I was so tired.
The Poughkeepsie Tapes har jag för mig att gifen var ifrån?
en text jag fann på nån random sida. Den är inte direkt nån skräckberättelse men tyckte ändå den var lite creepy :P
Ibland så kan jag inte sova. Det är något med mörkret och den påträngande tystnaden som håller mig vaken. Men ibland när jag ligger där i min säng och mörkret trycker på så brukar jag sluta ögonen och lyfta mina händer mot taket, som när man leker klappa händer med någon, och försiktigt föra ihop handflatorna mot varandra och sedan ut ifrån mig. Ibland kan jag ligga där i evigheter och leka klappa händer med luften, på något sätt får det mig att bli lugn och inte tänka på tystnaden och mörkret. Och om man håller på tillräckligt länge och låter ögonen förbli slutna så kan man ibland, mycket svagt, känna hur ett andra par händer försiktigt klappar mina händer tillbaka.
Citat från lama
den gillade jag!
Orkar du läsa långa gillar du nog denna också.
http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/The_Masked_Man
Älskar tråden<3
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