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Grandma's New House

agentsweet submitted: 

  Recently my Grandparents moved to a small town in Louisiana. They had been wanting to move “Back Home” for some time now and were so eager that when they found a house that suited their needs and was being sold for a low price they bought it without much research. The house is a three bedroom with a huge living room, dining room, sun room, several walk in pantries etc… But when they first moved in the garden was badly overgrown, there were bars on all the windows and the whole back of the house had been boarded up so the living room, back bathrooms and bedrooms were all blocked off. The previous owners had apparently been using the dining room as their bedroom.

And for good reason too, apparently. 

A trip to Town Hall told them what the Realtor had failed to mention: The house was the setting of a triple murder and suicide. Story goes that a man shot his two young children in the first bedroom, his girlfriend in the hallway, and then himself in the living room.

Now cut to visiting the grandparents for Christmas/New Years. I had just went to bed (guess which room I got to sleep in) and was texting my girlfriend good night when two things happen. First, my phone drops from 100% to 50% in the blink of an eye and then just a few seconds later the covers get yanked off of me violently. Needless to say, I had a very restless sleep that night.

Now my grandmother refuses the believe that any of it is true but other family members have mentioned feeling someone sit on the edge of their bed when no one’s there, loud bangs that seem to come from no where, toys moving when no ones in the room, and cellphone screens going on and off for no reason on the middle of the night. Harmless stuff so far.

Lets just hope the back of the house wasn’t boarded up for more sinister reasons.

Fuck Yeah Nightmares Mod Fey: 6/10 for scares and thank you for sharing!

Adam Raccoon

This lovely story by @lovecrimevariations (Repost as post getting too long)

“I just feel so bad for him,” Beth said.

The little raccoon looked so sad all by himself. He’d never quite grown to full size, and his eyes were just a bit too big in his fluffy round face.

“Why does he do that?” Harlan asked.

They both watched through the camera as Adam craned his neck into the sky. His nose twitched, and he hopped onto an upturned box, setting his paws to the window of his enclosure. At first they’d thought he was trying to escape, but they soon realized he just enjoyed looking at the stars.

“It makes him happy, I think,” Beth sighed, “I just wish he had – wait, what’s that?”

She peered closer at the screen. Something was poking its paw through the bars of Adam’s window. Adam’s tail fluffed out, startled, but he didn’t run away. He sniffed experimentally at the paw, which flexed once, and then the tip of a narrow snout pushed between the bars.

“Is that – is that a raccoon?” Harlan stared in amazement. “How in the hell did it get here?”

They watched as Adam poked lightly at the snout with one timid claw. Then suddenly he scampered from his box to another corner of his enclosure. Beth squinted, unable to make out what he was doing in the low light. But soon enough he bounded back to the window, his own paws clutched to his chest. Beth watched with her heart in her throat as Adam held out a handful of food to the raccoon. The raccoon grabbed it, and its snout snuffled in thanks. Then it held its hand out again.

Adam looked around and down at his little paws. He had no food left to give. He looked up at the snout, then back at the foreign paw, and back down at his own. Then he placed his paw in the larger raccoon’s. The raccoon pushed its snout further through a little, and Adam touched it with his own wet nose.

“Oh my God,” Beth whispered, her eyes tearing up.

The two raccoons held hands through the night, chittering every now and then through the bars. The next morning, Beth went to the Zoo Director and demanded they added a new raccoon to Adam’s enclosure.

They named him Nigel.

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Legendary strongman Alexander Zass, Father of Modern Isometrics, doing what he does best back in 1934.

During World War I he was a soldier in the Russian Army when he was captured and made prisoner by the enemy. He escaped by breaking his shackles and bending the bars of his cell window.

Hurricane Irene was body-slamming
the New Jersey shoreline
and I was practicing midnight cartwheels
in the psych ward.
The irony doesn’t fail me.
 
And though, perhaps,
I can’t claim I was in attendance
for the flooding, the power outages,
the battle over the last gallon of milk
at the grocery store,
I do still consider this—
the barred windows and soggy hospital oatmeal—
the worst storm
my body has ever been through.
—  Schuyler Peck, (27/30 the worst storm you’ve experienced)