Welcome to the Generally Just Fucking Creepy Stuff Thread with V3 capabilities!
Exciting stories, riveting images, hyperrealism, PHONES!!!

Who is this?!
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V1
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Want some thread music?
Someone uploaded it before I could do so myself (fuck I'm lazy)
HAVE SOME CONTENT FOR YA, GENTS!
The Medic
In the winter of 1944, with overtaxed supply lines in the Ardennes, a medic in the German army had completely run out of plasma, bandages and antiseptic. During one particularly bad round of mortar fire, his encampment was a bloodbath. Those who survived claimed to have heard, above the screams and barked commands of their Lieutenant, someone cackling with almost girlish glee.
The medic had made his rounds during the fire, in almost complete darkness as he had so many times before, but never had he been this short on supplies. No matter. He would do his duty. He had always prided himself on his resourcefulness.
The bombardment moved to other ends of the line, and most men dropped off to sleep in the dark, still hours of the morning - New Year's Day, 1945. The men awoke at first light with screams. They discovered that their bandages were not typical bandages at all, but hunks and strips of human flesh. Several men had been given fresh blood transfusions, yet there had been no blood supplies available. Each treated man was almost completely covered, head-to-toe, with the maroon stain of blood.
The medic was found - sitting on an ammunition tin - staring off into space. When one man approached him, and tapped him on the shoulder, his tunic fell off to reveal that large patches of his skin, muscle, and sinew had been stripped from his torso and his body was almost completely dried of blood. In one hand was a scalpel, and in the other, a blood transfusion vial. None of the men treated for wounds that night, in that camp, saw the end of January 1945.
Dents In Your Wall
Do you have dents in your wall?
I do.
I knock the wall occasionally when I'm moving furniture or stumbling around drunk and falling over. Small concave abrasions on the animate wall.
...*inanimate. Sorry, it's cold and my fingers are shaking. Can't type too clearly.
There's a spiritual belief known as Animism, asserting that everything has a soul and a mind and, in particular, emotions.
Do you get angry when people hit you? What about if they do it repeatedly, over long periods of time? If you couldn't stop them, would you want to die? Would you want to end your pain?
Would you want to take your abuser with you?
I would. I would crush my abuser as a final act of revenge.
I would pour all of my rage into a sudden, desperation motion of freedom, of defiance.
Does your house groan and moan at night, when you are in your bed and completely defenceless?
Does it ever shudder randomly?
Mine does.
Arthur
You volunteer at the mental health clinic. Given the dangerous nature of the residents, they assigned you the rooms of the less violent patients. The suicidal. Those who hear voices. Those that don’t say anything at all.
You become close to a mute man named Arthur. He is a rapt listener, willing to nod his head for hours as you tell him the story of your life. You mention your past, your present. The people involved in both. Your hopes for the future.
And Arthur just nods.
After several months of listening, you figure that you owe it to Arthur to get him out of the clinic. He can’t be happy sitting in a room by himself nodding at interns everyday. You talk to the supervisor of the clinic. You argue that he isn’t harming anyone. That he grooms and feeds himself with no problems. That perhaps his condition is a physical aliment.
The day comes when your arguing pays off. The supervisor has agreed to let Arthur go. You rush to his room to tell him the news. “You’re free!” You shout. “Isn’t that great?”
And Arthur just nods.
You write your name and address on a piece of paper. Hand it to him. “I’m going to miss having someone to talk to.” You say. “But now you can write me. I can learn all about you. Like why they were so insistent in having you in here, pal. I had to fight Dr. Thanner everyday to get you out.”
He looks at you and takes the paper. Just nods.
You go home, feeling good about yourself. You brag to everyone you can tell, friends, family, classmates, co-workers, about how you came through for Arthur. You even fall asleep with a smile.
That night, your eyes snap open. Screams, unearthly screams wake you up.
Then you see them. Your mother. Your father. Your friends. Your classmates. Your co-workers. Lying on your floor, their blood soaking into your carpet. Your walls stained with carnage. Their heads bashed in, their eyes missing from their sockets. Everyone you know dead or dying.
You whimper and see a man standing in the doorway.
It’s Arthur, holding the piece of paper you gave him.
Your entire body shaking, you choke out. “Are you here to kill me?”
And Arthur just nods.
Now, as the thread title says,
LET THE BRICK SHITTING BEGIN, GENTLEMEN!
And afterwards, when your mind has been raped harder then ever before, you can sing THIS!
-- Music posted by Goodthief --
AND NO MOTHERFUCKING GORE. It's not creepy, it's just disgusting.
AND NO FUCKING JUMPSCARES, THEY AREN'T SCARY, THEY'RE JUST STARTLING AND RETARDED.