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10/18/2018 19:08:30



city-background-png-4



The
Eyes are Watching Me

I bought a new
house in the small town of Winthrop. The house was cheap,
but the most important part was that I needed to get away from the
city. A few months ago, I had a run-in with a stalker. While I had
managed to get him arrested, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes just
constantly watching me. I felt like there were eyes everywhere, at home
and on the street, so I decided to move out into the country to
somewhere with less people, just for peace of mind.The house itself was
big and somewhat old, but otherwise very welcoming. The agent who
introduced me to the house had been required to mention that a serial
killer had lived here in the past, which was why the house was so cheap.
However, he, and later, my next door neighbor Sarah, both told me to
pay the thought no mind. Four other owners had lived in the house since
then, and all of them were very happy with it.I loved the house. Its
interior furnishings were beautiful and very comfortable. The people of
Winthrop were friendly, often bringing over freshly baked pastries or
inviting me over for dinner. "Get-togethers," they said, "were the key
to making sure everyone who lived in Winthrop loved it there."Yet after a
week, I stopped "loving it." The feeling of someone watching returned,
worse than before. I tried to ignore it, but soon I started losing
sleep. Giant bags grew under my eyes and I began yawning almost as much
as I breathed. Sarah was kind enough to let me stay in her house for a
few nights.It was during this time that I heard the legend of Forrest
Carter, the serial killer who had lived in my house. While no one knows
his exact kill count, Carter, also known as the Winthrop Peacock, was a
man with extremely severe case of narcissism. Legends say that he
couldn't fall asleep if he didn't feel like he was being watched. He was
finally arrested for putting up a scarecrow to watch him during the
night. Only it wasn't a scarecrow. Carter had murdered a 17 year old
girl, just so her corpse could stare at him.The story gave me shivers,
and after I went home, I felt like there were hundreds of pairs of eyes
just watching me no matter how I turned.Today, however, was the first
day that I acted out. I was cooking breakfast, when I felt the eyes.
Instinctively, out of fear, I threw my kitchen knife, which lodged
itself into the wall. As I pulled it out, I found myself staring at a
pair of eyes, pickling in formaldehyde.I've been watching the police
peel away the drywall of my house for hours now. So far, they've found
142 pairs of eyes in little glass jars. The scariest thing is, each and
every one was staring at me.



4991577ed8e03f680e9b8210fd0881d6



Stoppin'
by with a little tale to close out the day...Have a wonderful evening
on your end dear friend...



246980769006212



10/18/2018 14:18:42



Enjoy your day~Hugs Lorribelle54



10/18/2018 08:22:17


10/17/2018 16:41:40



5-things-victorian-women-didn8217t-do-muchs-featured-photo



Fifty-Cent
Piece

There is a story told in Troy
and Albany about a couple returning
home from a trip to New England. They were driving home in a carriage,
and were somewhere near Spiegletown when the light failed and they knew
they would have to seek shelter for the night. The husband spied a
light through the trees and turned their horse into a small lane
leading up a hill. A pleasant little house stood at the crest, and an
old man and his wife met the couple at the door. They were in
nightclothes and were obviously about to turn in, but they welcomed the
travelers and offered them a room. The old woman bustled about making
tea and offering freshly-baked cakes. Then the travelers were shown to
their room. The husband wanted to pay the old couple for their lodgings,
but the old lady shook her head and the old man refused any payment for
such a small service to their fellow New Yorkers. The travelers
awoke early and tiptoed out of the house, leaving a shiny fifty-cent
coin in the center of the kitchen table where the old couple could not
miss it. The husband hitched up the horse and they went a few miles
before they broke their fast at a little restaurant in Spiegletown. The
husband mention the nice old couple to the owner of the restaurant and
the man turned pale. "Where did you say that house was?" he asked. The
husband described the location in detail. "You
must be mistaken," said the restaurant owner. "That house was destroyed
three years ago by a fire that killed the Brown family." "I don't
believe it," the husband said flatly. "Mr. and Mrs. Brown were alive and
well last night." After
debating for a few more minutes, the couple and the restaurant owner
drove the carriage back out of town towards the old Brown place. They
turned into the lane, which was overgrown with weeds, and climbed the
hill to the crest. There they found a burned out shell of a house that
had obviously not sheltered anyone for a long time. "I must have
missed the track," said the husband. And then his wife gave a terrified
scream and fainted into his arms. As he caught her, the husband looked
into the ruin and saw a burnt table with a shiny fifty-cent piece lying
in the center.



4us2



Stoppin'
by with a short tale to end the day...Have a wonderful evening on your
end dear friend...



barber-half-dollar



10/17/2018 11:47:49




       
       
       
       




Large-Transparent-Halloween-Pumpkin-with-Black-Cat-Clipart



Stoppin'
by with another great classic...Have a great day dear
friend...



10/16/2018 21:34:44



purepng-com-traffic-lighttraffic-lighttraffic-lightsred-lightgre



The
Accident

It was one a.m. and Guy
Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn't
moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing
over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry
and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right, and in a split
second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his
hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he
panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into
the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he
got home.Why did you run, you idiot? He'd never committed a crime before
this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone,
his family gone, his future gone.Why not just go to the police right
now? You can afford a lawyer.Then someone tapped on the front door and
his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me. There was
nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters
worse. His body trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A
police officer stood under the porch light."Mr. Halverson?" asked the
grim officer.He let out a defeated sigh. "Yes. Let me —"I am terribly
sorry, but I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your son's bike was struck
by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I'm very
sorry for your loss.



police-664092



A
bit of a twisted tale tonight...Be careful out there on your end
friend...



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10/16/2018 15:57:12




       
       
       
       


10/15/2018 20:39:03



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Good night & sweet dreams dear friend...



10/15/2018 11:11:21



Cup-of-Milk



There's
no Reason to be Afraid

When my sister
Betsy and I were kids, our family lived for awhile in a
charming old farmhouse. We loved exploring its dusty corners and
climbing the apple tree in the backyard. But our favorite thing was the
ghost.We called her Mother, because she seemed so kind and nurturing.
Some mornings Betsy and I would wake up, and on each of our nightstands,
we'd find a cup that hadn't been there the night before. Mother had
left them there, worried that we'd get thirsty during the night. She
just wanted to take care of us.Among the house's original furnishings
was an antique wooden chair, which we kept against the back wall of the
living room. Whenever we were preoccupied, watching TV or playing a
game, Mother would inch that chair forward, across the room, toward us.
Sometimes she'd manage to move it all the way to the center of the room.
We always felt sad putting it back against the wall. Mother just wanted
to be near us.Years later, long after we'd moved out, I found an old
newspaper article about the farmhouse's original occupant, a widow.
She'd murdered her two children by giving them each a cup of poisoned
milk before bed. Then she'd hanged herself.The article included a photo
of the farmhouse's living room, with a woman's body hanging from a beam.
Beneath her, knocked over, was that old wooden chair, placed exactly in
the center of the room.



wc0016m



Good
morning friend...Stoppin' by with a tale to start off your
Monday...Enjoy!



hillbilly-drawing-rocking-chair



10/14/2018 21:59:05



PNGPIX-COM-Birthday-Gift-PNG-Transparent-Image-500x436



My daughter woke me around 11:50 last night. My husband and I had picked
her up from her friend Sally's birthday party, brought her home, and put
her to bed. My husband went into the bedroom to read while I fell asleep
watching the Lions game."Mommy," she whispered, tugging my shirt
sleeve. "Guess how old I'm going to be next month.""I don't know,
beauty," I said as I slipped on my glasses. "How old?"She smiled and
held up four fingers.It is 7:30 now. My husband and I have been up with her
for almost 8 hours. She still refuses to tell us where she got them.



fingers



Stoppin'
by with yet another tale...Enjoy & have a great night out there on
your end dear friend...



26306-B-FB-A4-PP



10/14/2018 09:21:46



7a8dd989059a16eea7e9a5318f97f128



Guardians

He
awoke to the huge, insect like creatures looming over his bed and
screamed his lungs out. They hastily left the room and he stayed up all
night, shaking and wondering if it had been a dream.The next morning,
there was a tap on the door. Gathering his courage, he opened it to see
one of them gently place a plate filled with fried breakfast on the
floor, then retreat to a safe distance. Bewildered, he accepted the
gift. The creatures chittered excitedly.This happened every day for
weeks. At first he was worried they were fattening him up, but after a
particularly greasy breakfast left him clutching his chest from
heartburn, they were replaced with fresh fruit. As well as cooking, they
poured hot steamy baths for him and even tucked him in when he went to
bed. It was bizarre.One night, he awoke to gunshots and screaming. He
raced downstairs to find a decapitated burglar being devoured by the
insects. He was sickened, but disposed of the remains as best he could.
He knew they had just been protecting him.One morning the creatures
wouldn't let him leave his room. He lay down, confused but trusting as
they ushered him back into bed. Whatever their motives, they weren't
going to hurt him.Hours later a burning pain spread throughout his body.
It felt like his stomach was filled with razor wire. The insects
chittered as he spasmed and moaned. It was only when he felt a terrible
squirming feeling beneath his skin that he realised the insects hadn't
been protecting him. They had been protecting their
young.



Family-Big



insects-by-alexlandish-dcesvu0



Family-Big



Stoppin'
by with tale to help get you into the spirit of Halloween dear
friend...Enjoy & have a great day out there on your
end...



f50fe652b754230f5b84e68f5aa38fa9



10/13/2018 12:14:08



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giphy



2212075rkl3k2n3ym



Stoppin'
by to say hello friend & wishing you a great day out there on your
end...



dracula-drawing-simple-6



10/12/2018 16:14:21



blood-drip-by-moonglowlilly-d5pjsw2



Charlie
has to go away

I hate it when my
brother Charlie has to go away. My parents constantly
try to explain to me how sick he is. That I am lucky for having a brain
where all the chemicals flow properly to their destinations like
undammed rivers. When I complain about how bored I am without a little
brother to play with, they try to make me feel bad by pointing out that
his boredom likely far surpasses mine, considering his confine to a dark
room in an institution. I always beg for them to give him one last
chance. Of course, they did at first. Charlie has been back home several
times, each shorter in duration than the last. Every time without fail,
it all starts again. The neighbourhood cats with gouged out eyes
showing up in his toy chest, my dad's razors found dropped on the baby
slide in the park across the street, mom's vitamins replaced by bits of
dishwasher tablets. My parents are hesitant now, using "last chances"
sparingly. They say his disorder makes him charming, makes it easy for
him to fake normalcy, and to trick the doctors who care for him into
thinking he is ready for rehabilitation. That I will just have to put up
with my boredom if it means staying safe from him. I hate it when
Charlie has to go away. It makes me have to pretend to be good until he
is back.



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w7ozeuM



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Hope
you enjoy the tale & are having a great day dear
friend...



blood-puddle-by-moonglowlilly-d635lba



10/12/2018 11:24:31



claw-drawing-demon



The Piggy Back Ride

A
married couple fought a great deal and finally began talking about
getting a divorce. However, the wife discovered she was pregnant and,
for the sake of the baby, they decided to give the marriage another try.
The
boy was born and the family had a short period of tranquillity. Before
long the old problems resurfaced and the father and mother were fighting
all the time. One night, when the boy was about 5 years old, the
couple put the boy to bed and then got into an enormous fight. In a fit
of rage, the father put his hands around his wife’s neck and choked the
life out of her. Eventually, when he realised what he had done, he
began to panic. He knew he had to get rid of the body if he wasn’t
going to get caught. He bundled the body into the boot of his car
and drove out of town to a swamp. He took the body from the car, but
rigor mortis had started to set in and it was difficult to carry it. He
slung his wife’s body across his back, as if he were giving her a piggy
back ride, and waded out into the foul-smelling swamp. He let her go and
watched the stiff hands and wretched face recede into the murky swamp
water. The man went home, and got in the shower to clean up, but
he couldn’t get rid of the foul stench of the swamp. The smell made him
sick to his stomach. No matter how hard he scrubbed or how often he
showered, he could not get rid of the smell. It followed him wherever he
went. As the days passed the boy became anxious for his mother
and asked all kinds of question. The father told the boy his mother had
gone to stay with relatives. The smell remained. The man began to
ignore it as much as he could. One day the man noticed his son was
looking at him in a strange way. Every time he approached his son, he
recoiled in horror and would not let him touch him. One day, he walked
into his child’s room as he was playing on the floor. “Son, there seems
to be something bothering you. Is there something you want to say to
me?” “Yes, father.” “Is it about your mother?” “Yes.” “What is it?” “Why
is mommy’s face so pale?” “What do you mean?” “Why do you give her a
piggy-back ride every day?”



greenslime



outdoor-survival-feature



greenslime



Stoppin'
by with a tale to start your weekend off with...Enjoy, and have a great
day on your end friend...



happy-quotes-2083



10/11/2018 21:42:34



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punchbag-teamx



Stoppin' by to say hello & have a great night friend!



10/10/2018 20:36:47



red_scifi_arc



The
Oneirophag

In the late ’40s of the
last century, after a decade of private
research involving experiments with binaural beat brainwave frequencies,
extrasensory cognition, and rare extracts of a South American vine, Dr.
Tomás Roessner perfected a technique whereby one could actually intrude
into the psyche and “see” another’s thoughts. Despite having
exhaustively documented his rigorous work, he could find no institution
that would even offer to review it. Forced to sell his invention, he
found by word of mouth among those through whom he procured narcotics a
prospective buyer, the bête noire of an old New York family, Mr. John M.
Dunn, a voyeuristic connoisseur of the supernatural and the obscene,
who had squandered his idle youth in the great libraries of Paris, those
catacombs of departed authors, rummaging among their hordes of dusty
and obsolete works; a literary ghoul who disturbed with profane fingers
the charnel-houses of decayed philosophies. He readily agreed to the
Dr.’s asking price without haggling, delighted at the prospect of
exploring such a bizarre novelty. Once adept at the operation of the
apparatus, Dunn paid Dr. Roessner
off and under an assumed name rented a shabby house within view of Sing
Sing prison. In the timeless night, while the convicts fitfully slept,
with the aid of a set of stolen blueprints and his new mind reading
device, he raided their memories cell by cell at liberty to savor the
forbidden thrill of thefts, molestations, moonlit homicides, in secret,
without remorse or consequence. Within a month, the prisoners, telling
each other about the
nightmares from which they had all begun abruptly to awaken, discovered
they shared striking similarities: first, processions of alligators and
tortoises filed through a swamp crowded with faceless people and
shrieking orchids; next, a shadow man, at whom they looked directly but
could never quite see, would watch them in utter stillness from an empty
house while invisible hands probed behind their eyes as they had to
stand naked, legs locked in place, unable to run away. Their compared
descriptions of the house were identical, including its location just
outside the walls. By mutual agreement, it was planned that the first of
them to receive parole or be released would search this house out to
find if it really existed, and investigate the source of their troubling
dreams. A few days after being freed, their chosen spy was able to
inform
them with a smuggled message in code that not only was the house real,
but he had broken into it at night and found a gaunt, mustached man in a
silk smoking jacket seated bolt upright, head thrust back, both eyes
gaping, mouth stuck open in a stiffened gasp, clenched hands gripping
the arms of his chair, in front of a “scientific machine.” A handwritten
journal on the desk told the whole story of his adventures prying
unconstrained through their psyches, plundering the haunted memories of
criminal after criminal, seeking ever more shameful and audacious
experiences until finally he wrote, on July 7th, of his overwhelming
desire to witness telepathically the next execution in the prison’s
notorious electric chair.



red_scifi_arc



Dash-undergoing-_Wallys-mind-probe.-_Minority-_Report-_Pilot-_Review



red_scifi_arc



Just
stoppin' by dear friend with yet another srory to get you into the
Halloween spirit...Enjoy!



transparent-brain-electric-1



10/09/2018 20:32:52



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I
loved this show as a kid and to this day I still do...Enjoy & have a
great night dear friend...



051d5f9ea4a998ba8bccbd709d21dd5b



10/08/2018 07:47:17



rear-view-mirror-png



Darkness
in the Rearview Mirror

In the summer
of 2013, I found myself driving home alone on highway
902 from a party. It was almost midnight, and needless to say it was
pitch black. As was usual at night, I was on edge. I had the radio off,
and could hear nothing but the muffle roar of tires on pavement and the
dull hum of the engine. I stole a glance into the middle rear view
mirror, and saw nothing but darkness through the back window.  I know
that I looked backward and saw nothing. I’m sure of it. Just
the seemingly endless blackness of the night. I remember it so clearly
because not 10 seconds later a car passed me to the left. Headlights on.
I had one of those sudden adrenaline rushes like when you think you see
a person outside your bedroom window when it’s just a tree, or when you
start awake at night with the feeling of falling. Ten seconds earlier,
nothing had been behind me. Suddenly, a car. I drove the rest of the way
home shivering and knowing something was off.   The next morning, I
found two sets of scratches near the back of my
van. One was on the left rear, one was on the right. The car was pretty
old. They could have been there for months, but that was the first time
that I distinctly remembered seeing them.  In hindsight, there are two
possibilities for what happened that
night. Possibility one. By some glitch in reality, or something
paranormal, this other car had somehow appeared behind me within 10
seconds of me checking my mirror. Like some weird ghost crap or
something. However, the second option is what makes my blood run cold
whenever I consider it.  It didn’t even occur to me until months after
the fact, but it makes
me dread driving alone at night even more. Possibility two. The car was
normal. It had approached me from the rear and passed me to my left.
However, something large, and wide, and as black as the night had been
clinging to the rear of my car, obscuring my view through the window and
leaving deep scratches on the sides.  And I had inadvertently driven it
home with me.



rear-view-mirror-png



Concrete_Offbeat_Europeanpolecat-size_restricted



rear-view-mirror-png



Just
stoppin' by to start your day off with another tale in light of the
Halloween season...Have a great day out there on your end dear
friend...



pp_550x550.u5



10/07/2018 19:38:49



1280px-_Ford_logo.svg



Little Deuce Coupe

Little deuce coupe

You don't know what I got

Little deuce coupe

You don't know what I got



Well I'm not braggin' babe so don't put me down

But I've got the fastest set of wheels in town

When something comes up to me he don't even try

'Cause if I had a set of wings man I know she could fly



She's my little deuce coupe

You don't know what I got

(My little deuce coupe)

(You don't know what I got)



Just a little deuce coupe with a flathead mill

But she'll walk a Thunderbird like she's standin' still

She's ported and relieved and she's stroked and bored.

She'll do a hundred and forty with the top end floored



She's my little deuce coupe

You don't know what I got

(My little deuce coupe)

(You don't know what I got)



She's got a competition clutch with the four on the floor

And she purrs like a kitten till the lake pipes roar

And if that ain't enough to make you flip your lid

There's one more thing, I got the pink slip daddy



And comin' off the line when the light turns green

Well she blows 'em outta the water like you never seen

I get pushed out of shape and it's hard to steer

When I get rubber in all four gears



She's my little deuce coupe

You don't know what I got

(My little deuce coupe)

(You don't know what I got)

She's my little deuce coupe

You don't know what I got

(My little deuce coupe)

(You don't know what I got)

She's my little deuce coupe

You don't know what I got



1280px-_Ford_logo.svg



189594_Front_3-4_Web.jpg



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1280px-_Ford_logo.svg



Stoppin'
by to say hello dear friend & have a wonderful evening and new week
ahead out there on your end...



18027-11x14-purple-monster-red-hot-rod



10/06/2018 18:39:07



Spy_vs_Spy_HQ_HD



Black_Spy



1st_Meg_Casey_Spyvs_Spy



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Spy_V_Spy



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Spy_vs_Spy_HQ_HD



Stoppin'
by to wish a wonderful Saturday evening out there on your end dear
friend...



26-spy



10/06/2018 12:16:41



wavel



Kids
in the Dark

Growing up poor in the
Deep South meant sharing a lot with my little
brother, Ollie. Most often, we'd pass toys, clothes, and skin conditions
between us. Up until he was six, we even shared a bed. Neither of us
was happy about that. It was my 10th birthday when that changed. I got
one present that
year, and it was a bed of my own. Ollie was jealous right away, and I
could understand why. He had to keep that half-broken down frame with
the worn out mattress. The one I'd gotten wasn't much better, but not
being broken and worn was enough. Sleeping apart was a great feeling. It
was freedom. No longer would I
have to suffer the sudden and inexplicable kicks to the stomach. No
longer would I wake up with Ollie's foot pressed into my neck like he'd
stepped on Dracula the night before. At least, that's what I'd thought.
Right away, right after I got the new bed, the shriek started. At first I
thought Ollie woke up in the middle of the night and
screamed because he'd gotten scared. Then, the sound echoed through the
tiny room again and I knew it wasn't a normal cry. The room was always
black as pitch after sunset. The one window we
had was pressed against a long leaf pine and even the biggest, brightest
moon cast no light inside. The shriek just about drove me crazy. Every
night, probably at the
same exact time, these sharp yelps would knock me right out of my
dreams. It wasn't my Mom or Dad yelling, either. I knew what that
sounded like, believe me! Most worrying of all was the fact I could
never tell where it was coming from. It seemed completely random. One
night it'd come from somewhere near the closet. The next, it'd shoot out
from a corner of the ceiling. Any hope I'd had of having my own space
would get dashed every time
as Ollie would silently slip into the bed with me, shaking like crazy.
He'd clasp onto me and wouldn't let go until it was almost daybreak.
Most times I'd take his hand and tell him everything was going to be
okay, that it'd be over by morning ... but I was never really sure. Over
time, the shriek started changing. At first it was only by small
degrees, but eventually it took on the primal hooting sound of a
primate calling out its fierce warning. I had to clasp pillows to my
ears just to keep from going deaf. Mom and Dad never believed me or
Ollie, basically because the thing
... whatever it was ... refused to make a peep when they were in the
room. Apparently they couldn't even hear it through the walls even
though it was damned sure loud enough! The shriek just got worse and
worse until I felt like I couldn't take
it anymore. Me and Ollie were doing really bad in school, and we just
had no energy at all. I could sleep more deeply with my head propped up
and eyes open in the middle of class than in my own room at night. Then,
thankfully, we moved out of the house nearly a year later. I
had contemplated all sorts of things, even a child's clumsy concept of
suicide, to get away from the horrific nightly noise. There was no
problem at the next house. It was a nice white
cookie-cutter home on a dead end street, and I welcomed the normalcy.
What's more, when we moved in there was a bunk bed waiting for me and
Ollie. No more broken bed, no more second bed I ended up having to share
anyway. The only problem was deciding who'd get the top bunk. I told
Ollie I deserved it. After all, I had gotten a new bed way back, and he
ruined it by climbing in every night. "What?" He shook his head, "I
never did that."  I had always wondered why the noise stopped the second
I was sharing my bed. Now I had the
answer.



wavel



giphylb



wavel



Just
stoppin' by with another little tale to get you into the spirit of
Halloween...Enjoy dear friend!



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10/05/2018 17:44:15



a_divider_by_ucurmi-d587m8c



Seaweed

My
grandmother grew up in the slums of Prohibition-era Chicago. Her
family lived in a small house near the harbor, and one of her earliest
memories was of a particularly hot summer when, seeking respite from the
heat, she and her sister discovered a seldom-used section of boardwalk
near an abandoned warehouse. Every night for several weeks, the two
girls would make their way down to the docks and sit together on the
edge of the pier as the sun went down. My grandmother vividly, and for a
time fondly, recalled the feel of the seaweed between her toes as she
and her sister dangled their feet into the murky water. It wasn’t until
years later that she returned to the pier and found
that the warehouse had been demolished. Curious, she made an inquiry
with the Department of Planning and Development. Apparently, the
warehouse had been owned for a time by the Mob, who was using it as a
base of operations for a local prostitution racket. It had only been
uncovered when an associate began ‘disposing’ of rival hookers by
fitting them with concrete shoes and dumping them into the harbor.
Investigating officers had recovered nearly two dozen bodies from the
waters of a secluded pier nearby. How had the bodies been discovered? A
passing fisherman spotted some
of the victims’ hair floating near the surface of the water, like
seaweed



a_divider_by_ucurmi-d587m8c



Hateful_Flamboyant_Bushbaby-size_restricted



a_divider_by_ucurmi-d587m8c



Just
getting into the spirit of October with a spooky tale...hope you enjoy
it...have a great evening on your end dear
friend...




seaweed-clipart-aquarium-castle-1



10/04/2018 13:56:17

1e5a74370359a10f6f0dde22d16b1b37

Crazy-crazy-mad-straight-jacket-smiley-emoticon-000187-facebook

Just stoppin' by to say hello friend & have a great day!



10/03/2018 13:57:28



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I
Sat On The Bus

I sat on the bus, on my
way to school. Listening to music, and paying little to no attention to
the other students. At one of the stops my mind snapped back to
reality. I looked towards the small house. Tommy’s house, I thought. A
hand slipped through the drapes of the window and waved the bus driver
to move on ‘He’s sick’, I thought, paying no large amount of attention
to the situation. The day flew by. I watched the local news channel
after school, and what I heard paralyzed me. Tommy’s entire family was
murdered that day by an unknown suspect. After hearing this news, I
moved back up to my room and quietly fell asleep. The next day, I sat on
the bus. We drove past Tommy’s house and the bus driver, unaware of
Tommy’s families fate, stopped at his home. As I was about to get up and
explain to her what had happened, something caught my eye. A pale hand
slipped through the drapes of the window, and waved the bus driver to
move on. I sat on the bus, terrified.



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school_bus



butter-dripping-png-2



Just
a little tale to get into the spirit of October. Have a great day on
your end friend...



765b7f0baed7a571ba6061160ef74fa5-school-bus-school-bus-by-vexels



10/02/2018 11:34:11



water_droplets_on_a_transparent_background_by_prussiaart-dasoeg



It Started As A Leak

The rainy season began in early summer, and June had been no
exception. It did not surprise the man when he discovered rainwater
dripping from his dining room ceiling. Shrugging it off, he placed a
tall pot beneath the leak and expected it to stop on its own. However,
it continued to rain, and before he knew it, the pot would threaten to
overflow. He had to dump the water out first thing in the morning and
straight after he returned home from work. Eventually, he began to notice water damage at the source of the
leak. The white ceiling had discolored, turning a dull shade of brown.
He checked the weather and realized that it would continue to rain
sporadically over the next 10 days. The man was worried about the
ceiling mildewing and becoming an expensive repair, so he called a local
handyman. Unfortunately, the man could not sign to have the repairs done–only
his landlord could. It was a frustrating policy. The man called his
landlord but could not reach him. He left him a few voicemails,
detailing how the damage was becoming progressively worse. The man was
clueless as to why his landlord would not return his calls; they usually
kept in touch, speaking at least twice a month. Finally, he reasoned
that he would not be held accountable for any damages sustained. One night, the man was startled awake by a massive thump. He quickly
turned on his bedside lamp, and just vaguely, he could see an overturned
table and a large shape laying across it. He sprinted out of his
apartment and called the police, gagging at the smell. The man sat in the police station with a blanket wrapped around his
shoulders and a coffee mug resting in his hands. He did know one thing.
There had been a dead body in his ceiling, and the water had saturated
it so badly that it caved under the weight. So far, the body was
unidentifiable due to the rainwater and was being autopsied. While the
man waited, he called his landlord and finally reached him, panicking as
he explained the situation. His landlord was just as alarmed, and the
man pleaded for him to come to the station while he made his statement.
The man paused as a detective crossed over to him, and he lowered his
phone, wondering if the body had been identified. His blood ran
immediately cold, and he shook his head with terror. The body belonged
to Richard Thompson, his landlord, and he had died over a year ago.
That’s not what disturbed him the most. If his landlord was dead, then
who was pretending to be him?



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73271466_XS



water_PNG50196water_PNG50196water_PNG50196



Just
tryng to get into the spirit of the season of October. Hope you enjoyed
the tale. Have a great day dear
friend!




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