field stone wall

Archaeology or geology?

Hoary with age, these patterns look like fields separated by dry stone walls submitting to a rising ocean. They are however an entirely geological phenomenon called tessellated pavement, caused by the interaction between erosion and the joints that form naturally in rocks as they are slowly uncovered and the pressure from the disappeared overlying rocks releases. The lower rocks then expand and split, sometimes in amazing geometrical forms like these orthogonal joint patterns.

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“And above the woods, more stone-walled fields, climbing to a farm or two. And above the farms the moors – the empty prairies of heather that roll away north into Scotland. And in the very bottom of the valley, the dark, deep cleft, thick with beech, oak, sycamore, plunging to an invisible stream.”

Ted Hughes, “The Deadfall”

“Aelita went from the useless damsel in distress to literally the most OP Lyoko Warrior. She could fly, she had her Energy Fields which could be combined to make even bigger Energy Fields and were strong enough to stop a Tank’s Laser Wall. Not to mention the fact that she can literally make platforms out of nothing, drop land forms on enemies to kill them instantly or remove the floor to plummet her enemies into the digital sea.”

The Well Went Bad on the Pierson Farm

by reddit user wdalphin

The other night, I was reading my oldest daughter a story at bedtime from one of her favorite books of ghost stories, and afterward she asked me, “That story wasn’t true, was it, Daddy?”

“No, of course not.” I told her.

“Because things like ghosts and monsters don’t exist, do they?” she hugged me goodnight.

“No, they’re not real.” I lied and petted her head.

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Imagine coming up in the box but none of the boys hear it so you have to get out yourself. 

“Hey!” You shout. “Someone let me out of here!” You pound your fists against the top of the metal cage. All you could see was the sky. After a few more minuets of screaming, you notice a small latch along the side. Stepping up onto a stack of boxes, you slowly open the door. As you pull yourself up over the edge, you begin to take in your surroundings. Its a huge field, surrounded by four stone walls. Where the hell am I? You think to yourself. On the far side of the field you see some sort of shack. You begin to walk towards it, gradually picking up your pace until you’ve hit a full on run. As you open the door you see a room full of arguing boys. 

“Hey!” You scream over their voices. They all turn to you and everything goes silent. 

“Where am I?”

Creepypasta #741: The Well Went Bad On The Pierson Farm

Length: Super long

The other night, I was reading my oldest daughter a story at bedtime from one of her favorite books of ghost stories, and afterward she asked me, “That story wasn’t true, was it, Daddy?”

“No, of course not.” I told her.

“Because things like ghosts and monsters don’t exist, do they?” she hugged me goodnight.

“No, they’re not real.” I lied and petted her head.

After making sure both girls were tucked in good and tight, I left their room while my wife kissed them each, and stood for a while looking out the living room window to the darkened street below. I could feel my body tensing up instinctively, like it knew something was coming, but nothing ever did. Still, I looked out the window for far too long, remembering the terrible October of my 15th year.

I worked as a cashier at Klein’s Pharmacy in the center of town, and had just finished up my shift. Home was miles away, but I enjoyed walking it and having some time to myself and my thoughts. The days were getting colder though, forcing me to bundle up tighter on my walk to keep the chill out.

Normally I just followed Main Street until it came to Loop Road which winded through woods and crop fields, but on a whim, I decided to take a shortcut through some of the farms that bordered the town.

After a few minutes of hiking, I reached a stone wall on the edge of the Pierson’s lot, and I hopped it to cut through their one of their fields that seemed to be unused. The dirt was hard and crunched beneath my weight. Leaves covered much of the area, blown off a thicket of nearby trees. Across the field, I could just make out the Pierson’s farmhouse in the distance, quiet and cozy looking. I stayed clear of it though, as Mr. Pierson was known to chase trespassers off his land with a shotgun.

On the other end of the field, just before another stone wall, I spotted a ring of set rocks surrounding a hole in the ground. If I hadn’t been watching my step to avoid stumbling over the uneven terrain, I might very well have not noticed it, and wouldn’t be telling you this story now.

It was an old well hole, probably dug many years ago. A lot of the farms in the area had them, often abandoned and boarded over when the well went dry or the owners built a new house on another section of the land. This one, however, was not covered. Propped up against the stone wall was what looked like a wood lid that had probably been laid over it at some point, but for some reason it was not that day.

As I got closer and my shoes crunched in the frozen soil, I heard a voice echo from the depths of the well.

“Hello?” called a small voice reverberating out of the darkness.

Jesus, I thought, somebody’s down there.

“Please! Help me!” the voice started sobbing. It sounded like a kid, and I immediately thought of Robbie Pierson, son of the people who owned the farm. He was 8 or 9 years old, had he fallen in the well?

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