Dear forum visitor,
It looks as though you have not registered for a forum account, or are not signed in. In order to participate in current discussions or create new threads, you will need to register for a forum account by clicking on the link below.
DeletedUser4194
Guest
In our last contest we asked for spooky stories from our players and here are the winners. Congratulations and thanks for sharing!!! 
The Stories:
The gate to the pumpkin fields was ajar, and the undead could be heard howling from inside. An eerie tune of organ music could be heard in the air.
The fog was rolling in as little Freddie seemed drawn to an old oak tree in the middle of the fields with a swing that was slowly moving back and forth.
Freddie’s father called out to him: 'Don't go into the pumpkin fields after dark, Freddie!", as he had told his son so many times before, but Freddie was too curious.
While he slowly walked towards the entrance, the angels of solace that adorned the gate wailed in despair, as if trying to warn him not to go in. A wind came up, the ground of an ancient empty grave shuddered in anticipation.
Freddie entered the fields, oblivious to his father yelling his name. The trees seemed to laugh as the unearthly organ music grew louder and louder...
Freddie's father was unable to move and he wailed as he heard his son's screams. Death had found his pumpkin farm once again. In the distance he heard a familiar voice chant the horrific words he knew so well:
"Come, enter my hell, where the dead live and the living die! Come, the organ master plays, compelling you to come! Come, we are waiting!"
The noise was coming from high above her bed, in the attic above her. The steady thump of a heartbeat going faster and faster as if some poor soul was being chased by an evil terror. Each night as the macabre symphony continued, she lay there, shivering, curled up deep beneath the thick blankets of her bed, listening intently, fearfully wondering what might be causing such sinister sounds. Each morning climbed the stairs to the attic and looked but found nothing of note. The attic was empty but for old full length mirror affixed to the rafters. Yet each night the dreadful sounds grew louder, steadier, more frightening.
On the fifth night of her encounter she could stand it no longer. Determined to find the source of the sinister sounds, she carefully and quietly pushed the covers off, and arose. Slowly, so as to catch the source, whatever it was, in the act, she stealthily crossed to the ladder leading up to the dark unlit room above. Climbing carefully she brought her head into the room and looked around, expecting to see some ghostly image. But she saw nothing. Nothing appeared out of place. Nothing new existed in the dim space yet, she continued to hear the dreadful pace of the heartbeat begin to increase as if the danger was getting closer. She continued her climb and upon stepping onto the dusty wooden floor, the heartbeat increased to a terrifying pace, wildly beating as if death itself were at it's door. She looked, terrified, around and spotted something in the mirror hanging there. She looked again but it was her own reflection. Her own frightened, shivering reflection in the dim light. But there was something wrong with it. She took a step closer, then another. Her eyes went wide. Her heart raced in time to the sounds of that infernal drum he had been hearing for the last few nights. Something was grasping the throat of the image before her. Hands! Sinister hands were around that throat. She felt them. It was so real! She couldn't breath! Then, silence. She heard no more.
I answered an ad for "mustache stylist." The next day, I went to the creepy, old castle outside of town where the ad had said to report for work. An ancient, wizened butler answered the door chime and said to follow him to meet the Master, who I was to be a stylist for. We entered the door or a brightly lit room, which turned out to be a really freaky laboratory out of an old Frankenstein movie. The Master turned out to be a freaky-looking old scientist who introduced himself as Dr. Freakenspleen...figures..right?
Having no other job prospects I got to work and asked what style of mustache the old guy preferred. The bulter showed me a picture showing the Master with a white mustache sticking far out to the sides with dramatic curles at each end. I got to work and started by combing the mustache out, but it seemed as though it had plenty of mustache wax in it already, so I simply shaped and curled it into a close copy of what was in the picture. I said, "how's that?" Freakenspleen said it was wonderful, but asked if I was going to use some wax to help it keep it's shape. I mentioned it already had plenty of wax in it already. Looking confused, the Doc replied, "Oh, that's not wax. I have a really bad cold and my nose runs..." I didn't need to hear more. I got up and walked out, watching my back as I went...quickly.
True story - names have been changed.
I have always had an interest in the occult, my family is very superstitious. I learned to read palms for a Halloween party. Turned out I have a talent for it. For years I would occasionally read people, palms and Tarot. My friend Tammy would bug me, always asking "Will you read me, I want to know when will I die. My mom is 87 and a chain smoker and she is still here, I bet I will live to be 100!" She always asked when we were out at a bar and drinking. I think she needed the courage boost to ask. I never wanted to read her - the death thing is creepy and I tried to focus on the positive, and I don't like to read people when I am drinking. She would tell people about me, saying "ask -her-, she believes in that stuff."
Then came the day I caved. It was April, and she bugged me again. I grabbed her and read her hands. I told her I must be wrong, I am drinking, there is a 6 year window. She looked at me puzzled. I said "50". She said, "but I am 47!!!". I again replied I must be wrong. Fast forward, she was killed in a tragic accident in September - 5 months later. In November, her widowed husband was running around with a local lady. Tammy's best friend Stacy was furious. She would have dreams, where Tammy would say, "I don't care what Stan does - I am happy! Don't be mad at him." Then, in December, I started dreaming. At first it was once or twice a week. It was Tammy and I, always in a different place, always surrounded by different people. She would look at me and always say the same thing, "You should ask Stacy about those keys - I always wondered what happened to those keys!" A month went by and I was having this dream every night by then. I was losing sleep, I knew this was not normal. Finally, I went to Stacy and told her I felt I was losing my mind and had to ask... What was the deal with the keys??? I told her about my dream and what Tammy was telling me. Stacy started to cry saying no one knew about those keys but her and Tammy. I asked again - what keys??? Stacy then told me Tammy had managed a country club. Those keys were for the gate and the entrances. They had gotten drunk one night - they weren't sure if they lost the keys or gave them to another employee but they were gone and they had no idea what happened to them. They had always wondered what happened to the keys - their own private joke. I then said to her, if Tammy can tell me about the keys, maybe she really don't want you to be upset about what her widowed husband Stan is doing - maybe she really is happy and you need to let it go. Stacy told me later she had one more dream where her and Tammy talked and Stacy said she would not be mad. They hugged and said goodbye.
Neither one of us has dreamed of Tammy again.
The Stories:
The gate to the pumpkin fields was ajar, and the undead could be heard howling from inside. An eerie tune of organ music could be heard in the air.
The fog was rolling in as little Freddie seemed drawn to an old oak tree in the middle of the fields with a swing that was slowly moving back and forth.
Freddie’s father called out to him: 'Don't go into the pumpkin fields after dark, Freddie!", as he had told his son so many times before, but Freddie was too curious.
While he slowly walked towards the entrance, the angels of solace that adorned the gate wailed in despair, as if trying to warn him not to go in. A wind came up, the ground of an ancient empty grave shuddered in anticipation.
Freddie entered the fields, oblivious to his father yelling his name. The trees seemed to laugh as the unearthly organ music grew louder and louder...
Freddie's father was unable to move and he wailed as he heard his son's screams. Death had found his pumpkin farm once again. In the distance he heard a familiar voice chant the horrific words he knew so well:
"Come, enter my hell, where the dead live and the living die! Come, the organ master plays, compelling you to come! Come, we are waiting!"
The noise was coming from high above her bed, in the attic above her. The steady thump of a heartbeat going faster and faster as if some poor soul was being chased by an evil terror. Each night as the macabre symphony continued, she lay there, shivering, curled up deep beneath the thick blankets of her bed, listening intently, fearfully wondering what might be causing such sinister sounds. Each morning climbed the stairs to the attic and looked but found nothing of note. The attic was empty but for old full length mirror affixed to the rafters. Yet each night the dreadful sounds grew louder, steadier, more frightening.
On the fifth night of her encounter she could stand it no longer. Determined to find the source of the sinister sounds, she carefully and quietly pushed the covers off, and arose. Slowly, so as to catch the source, whatever it was, in the act, she stealthily crossed to the ladder leading up to the dark unlit room above. Climbing carefully she brought her head into the room and looked around, expecting to see some ghostly image. But she saw nothing. Nothing appeared out of place. Nothing new existed in the dim space yet, she continued to hear the dreadful pace of the heartbeat begin to increase as if the danger was getting closer. She continued her climb and upon stepping onto the dusty wooden floor, the heartbeat increased to a terrifying pace, wildly beating as if death itself were at it's door. She looked, terrified, around and spotted something in the mirror hanging there. She looked again but it was her own reflection. Her own frightened, shivering reflection in the dim light. But there was something wrong with it. She took a step closer, then another. Her eyes went wide. Her heart raced in time to the sounds of that infernal drum he had been hearing for the last few nights. Something was grasping the throat of the image before her. Hands! Sinister hands were around that throat. She felt them. It was so real! She couldn't breath! Then, silence. She heard no more.
I answered an ad for "mustache stylist." The next day, I went to the creepy, old castle outside of town where the ad had said to report for work. An ancient, wizened butler answered the door chime and said to follow him to meet the Master, who I was to be a stylist for. We entered the door or a brightly lit room, which turned out to be a really freaky laboratory out of an old Frankenstein movie. The Master turned out to be a freaky-looking old scientist who introduced himself as Dr. Freakenspleen...figures..right?
Having no other job prospects I got to work and asked what style of mustache the old guy preferred. The bulter showed me a picture showing the Master with a white mustache sticking far out to the sides with dramatic curles at each end. I got to work and started by combing the mustache out, but it seemed as though it had plenty of mustache wax in it already, so I simply shaped and curled it into a close copy of what was in the picture. I said, "how's that?" Freakenspleen said it was wonderful, but asked if I was going to use some wax to help it keep it's shape. I mentioned it already had plenty of wax in it already. Looking confused, the Doc replied, "Oh, that's not wax. I have a really bad cold and my nose runs..." I didn't need to hear more. I got up and walked out, watching my back as I went...quickly.
True story - names have been changed.
I have always had an interest in the occult, my family is very superstitious. I learned to read palms for a Halloween party. Turned out I have a talent for it. For years I would occasionally read people, palms and Tarot. My friend Tammy would bug me, always asking "Will you read me, I want to know when will I die. My mom is 87 and a chain smoker and she is still here, I bet I will live to be 100!" She always asked when we were out at a bar and drinking. I think she needed the courage boost to ask. I never wanted to read her - the death thing is creepy and I tried to focus on the positive, and I don't like to read people when I am drinking. She would tell people about me, saying "ask -her-, she believes in that stuff."
Then came the day I caved. It was April, and she bugged me again. I grabbed her and read her hands. I told her I must be wrong, I am drinking, there is a 6 year window. She looked at me puzzled. I said "50". She said, "but I am 47!!!". I again replied I must be wrong. Fast forward, she was killed in a tragic accident in September - 5 months later. In November, her widowed husband was running around with a local lady. Tammy's best friend Stacy was furious. She would have dreams, where Tammy would say, "I don't care what Stan does - I am happy! Don't be mad at him." Then, in December, I started dreaming. At first it was once or twice a week. It was Tammy and I, always in a different place, always surrounded by different people. She would look at me and always say the same thing, "You should ask Stacy about those keys - I always wondered what happened to those keys!" A month went by and I was having this dream every night by then. I was losing sleep, I knew this was not normal. Finally, I went to Stacy and told her I felt I was losing my mind and had to ask... What was the deal with the keys??? I told her about my dream and what Tammy was telling me. Stacy started to cry saying no one knew about those keys but her and Tammy. I asked again - what keys??? Stacy then told me Tammy had managed a country club. Those keys were for the gate and the entrances. They had gotten drunk one night - they weren't sure if they lost the keys or gave them to another employee but they were gone and they had no idea what happened to them. They had always wondered what happened to the keys - their own private joke. I then said to her, if Tammy can tell me about the keys, maybe she really don't want you to be upset about what her widowed husband Stan is doing - maybe she really is happy and you need to let it go. Stacy told me later she had one more dream where her and Tammy talked and Stacy said she would not be mad. They hugged and said goodbye.
Neither one of us has dreamed of Tammy again.
Last edited by a moderator:
