[WHO]ThemYou can call me DaveJoin Date: 2002-12-11Member: 10593Members, Constellation
yeah, there's no hole, the picture notes say they were taken on a later session, and during a later session, Joe went first and they both got through the tomb before main guy had to go back.
Well I've been proved wrong. I wish they could have finished it off with someone finding the site and updating it with a 'newsclipping' of a story about some bodies found by other cavers.
Okay, here's a story from a friend of mine (I removed a few parts that weren't related to the story):
I hate my life. Really, I hate it. Really, truely, deeply.
But that has nothing to do with my story, really... Not much, atleast. It's related in that the things in my storys only happen when I'm alone. They never happen to anyone else, even when they're alone in the house. Things only happen to me, which is part of the reason I hate my life.
But I digress, excuse me. Here's a little story that happened upon me a while back. I say happened upon me because I didn't go looking for them, they came looking for me. About a year ago on one particularly wet and miserable April night (Washington state FTW!!!), I'd decided to bake myself a batch of Pilsbury Crescent Rolls. A completely innocent course of action, or so I thought...
About three minutes into my amateurish bid for Iron Chef I heard the downstairs door into the basement close. Upon hearing the noise from the door, two thoughts crossed my mind. One, 'I hope they close the door, otherwise they'll flood the basement.' Two, 'How did they get inside?'
Allow me to clarify the second part. There are two ways in and out of my basement, through the door in the kitchen (which then descends a level via a step of old steps), and the door in the basement itself (which is <i><b><u>barred shut</i></b></u> most of the time, and today was no exception). Naturally the sound of the basement door opening and closing more than piqued my curiousity, so I decided to move closer to the kitchen door to see if I could hear anything or anyone making noise downstairs. About half-way between the door and my ill-timed cook off, I hear <i>someone</i> coming up the steps, making quite a racket as they go.
Now, when I say quite a racket, I mean they're stomping up the steps like they just found out someone has been screwing their wife, their daughter, and their cat all at the same time, while videotaping it. Translation: they're <i><b><span style='color:red'>****</i></b></span>, and they're coming upstairs. Luckly the kitchen door is locked... but so was the basement door, or so I thought. But before I get the chance to apply my master locksmithing skills, the angry stomping stops at the top of the steps.
This is where things go batshit.
No sooner had the angry stomping stopped, than the <i>enraged pounding</i> began. Whoever was pounding on the kitchen door <i>had</i> to be someone else, because the person pounding on the door was doing so with a righteous rage of unrivaled intensity. To make matters worse, every time they pounded on the door the lights in the kitchen flickered and dimmed drastically. Imagine it like this: <i><b>BANG!!!</b></i> (Lights dim), <i><b>BANG!!!</b></i> (Lights dim a little more), <i><b>BANG!!!</b></i> (Lights dim some more). Now imagine that little discourse cycling on for about 10 seconds before it stops (for about 3 seconds), at which point the intensity reaches its pinnacle and effectively knocks the lights completely out. This unsettling silence lasts for about 5 seconds before I'm suddenly pushed from behind into the kitchen door, at which point there's another loud bang which causes the lights to flicker back on.
Things go back to normal, and at that <i>exact</i> moment, my parents walk through the front door. Yeah, I <i>really</i> hate my life.
BadKarmaThe Advanced Literature monsters burned my house and gave me a 7Join Date: 2002-11-12Member: 8260Members
edited April 2005
Comon man, it's less being frightened and more enjoying a good yarn. If you do get spooked by it, so much the better. I feel that a scary story, unlike any other kind, has the best chance of drawing people into it. I figure it's because fear is one of out most base emotions. Love, hate, jealousy ect. ect. are all symptoms of a evolved organism withe an evolved brain. Fear however, is present in every living thing smarter than a jellyfish. A lizard dosnt hate something or love something or even like something. But if a bigger, meaner lizard comes along, it sure as **** is scared of it. And that's what scary stories appeal to, that crocodile brain that's way down deep in all of us.
Yea, I enjoy a good scary story, but these aren't scary <!--emo&:(--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/sad-fix.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='sad-fix.gif' /><!--endemo-->.
Wow that is indeed amazing, that a thread on SA involving 4 teenage girls did not end in a close encounter of the lesbian kind. :P
I fail to see why people would ever live in a situation like this. If I moved into a house, and a voice told me "get out", I would be like "okay, can I at least get my stuff? No? That's fine too. Well then, see you around. Or not, cause I'm never coming back here again..."
And then I would pay someone else to set the house on fire. I wouldn't do it myself you see, in case the ghost decides to haunt whoever burned the house down...
But that is of course if these things existed. I really don't think they do.
Comments
"Oh he probably died. Oh well."
I hate my life. Really, I hate it. Really, truely, deeply.
But that has nothing to do with my story, really... Not much, atleast. It's related in that the things in my storys only happen when I'm alone. They never happen to anyone else, even when they're alone in the house. Things only happen to me, which is part of the reason I hate my life.
But I digress, excuse me. Here's a little story that happened upon me a while back. I say happened upon me because I didn't go looking for them, they came looking for me. About a year ago on one particularly wet and miserable April night (Washington state FTW!!!), I'd decided to bake myself a batch of Pilsbury Crescent Rolls. A completely innocent course of action, or so I thought...
About three minutes into my amateurish bid for Iron Chef I heard the downstairs door into the basement close. Upon hearing the noise from the door, two thoughts crossed my mind. One, 'I hope they close the door, otherwise they'll flood the basement.' Two, 'How did they get inside?'
Allow me to clarify the second part. There are two ways in and out of my basement, through the door in the kitchen (which then descends a level via a step of old steps), and the door in the basement itself (which is <i><b><u>barred shut</i></b></u> most of the time, and today was no exception). Naturally the sound of the basement door opening and closing more than piqued my curiousity, so I decided to move closer to the kitchen door to see if I could hear anything or anyone making noise downstairs. About half-way between the door and my ill-timed cook off, I hear <i>someone</i> coming up the steps, making quite a racket as they go.
Now, when I say quite a racket, I mean they're stomping up the steps like they just found out someone has been screwing their wife, their daughter, and their cat all at the same time, while videotaping it. Translation: they're <i><b><span style='color:red'>****</i></b></span>, and they're coming upstairs. Luckly the kitchen door is locked... but so was the basement door, or so I thought. But before I get the chance to apply my master locksmithing skills, the angry stomping stops at the top of the steps.
This is where things go batshit.
No sooner had the angry stomping stopped, than the <i>enraged pounding</i> began. Whoever was pounding on the kitchen door <i>had</i> to be someone else, because the person pounding on the door was doing so with a righteous rage of unrivaled intensity. To make matters worse, every time they pounded on the door the lights in the kitchen flickered and dimmed drastically. Imagine it like this: <i><b>BANG!!!</b></i> (Lights dim), <i><b>BANG!!!</b></i> (Lights dim a little more), <i><b>BANG!!!</b></i> (Lights dim some more). Now imagine that little discourse cycling on for about 10 seconds before it stops (for about 3 seconds), at which point the intensity reaches its pinnacle and effectively knocks the lights completely out. This unsettling silence lasts for about 5 seconds before I'm suddenly pushed from behind into the kitchen door, at which point there's another loud bang which causes the lights to flicker back on.
Things go back to normal, and at that <i>exact</i> moment, my parents walk through the front door. Yeah, I <i>really</i> hate my life.
Your mom is scary.
Your mom is scary.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
<img src='http://mywebpage.netscape.com/Deploro%20Amor/Untitled-1.gif' border='0' alt='user posted image' />
I fail to see why people would ever live in a situation like this. If I moved into a house, and a voice told me "get out", I would be like "okay, can I at least get my stuff? No? That's fine too. Well then, see you around. Or not, cause I'm never coming back here again..."
And then I would pay someone else to set the house on fire. I wouldn't do it myself you see, in case the ghost decides to haunt whoever burned the house down...
But that is of course if these things existed. I really don't think they do.