Even wat verhaaltjes..

Allereerst doe ik dit vooral voor mezelf, zodat ik ze nog een keer kan nalezen.
En voor de duidelijkheid, als je op een plaatje klikt, wordt het leesbaar.

A Few years ago, a mother and father decided they needed a break, so they wanted to head out for a night on the town. They called there most trusted babysitter. When the babysitter arrived, The two children where already fast asleep in bed. so the babysitter got to just sit down and make sure everything was ok with the children. Later that night the babysitter got bored and wanted to watch TV, But she couldnt watch it downstairs because they didnt have cable downstairs.

So she called them and asked if she could watch TV in the parents room. Of course the parents said yes. In the parents room they had a Big clown statue in the corner of the room, the babysitter ignored it and began to watch TV. Later that night the parents called to check up on her. She said everything was fine but had a request, she asked if she could move the clown statue into the closet because it was freaking her out. The phone line went silent and the father who was talking to the babysitter at the time said "Take the children and get out of the house, We'll call the police. We dont have a clown statue."

The police found all 3 occupants of the house dead within 3 minutes of the call. No clown statue was ever found.

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It has been reported that some victims of rape, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not WAKE UP. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren’t being raped. The only way that they realized they needed to WAKE UP was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to WAKE UP. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world and PLEASE WAKE UP.

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A young girl is left home alone with only her dog to protect her. When night approaches, She locks all the doors and tries to lock all the windows but one wont close.

She decides to leave it unlocked and goto bed. Her dog takes is customary place under the bed.

In the deep of night she awakens to a dripping sound from the bathroom. The girl is to scared to go check so she reaches her hand under her bed. She feels a reassuring lick from her dog and falls back to sleep. She reawakens to the dripping sound, reaches her hand down to the dog where she feels a reassuring lick and falls back to sleep. Once more she awakens to the dripping sound. She reaches her hand down and feels the lick of her dog.

Now she is curious about the dripping sound, She gets up and slowly walks toward the bathroom, the dripping sound getting louder as she approaches. She reaches the bathroom and turns on the light. She is greeted by a horrific sight; hanging from the shower nozzle is her dog with its throat slit open and its blood dripping into the bathtub.

Something on the mirror catches her eye and she turns around. Written in the mirror in her dogs blood is "HUMANS CAN LICK TOO"

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A young woman is at home, where she hears a report about a psycho killer on the loose. She then looks out the big glass sliding doors, and sees the killer, out in the snow-covered yard, looking at her with a gigantic grin on his face. She looks at him for a second, then shuts her eyes, then opens them.
The killer is closer. It takes a moment for something strange to register in the woman's mind, then it occurs to her. There are no footprints in the snow.

It's a reflection.

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You get a phone call from your Mother. Since her car has been in the shop, she asks you to go to the grocery store and pick up a few odds and ends for her. Bread, milk, cereal, and chicken breasts.

After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. The lady cashier makes an odd remark to you: "You know, we're in no danger of a milk shortage."

Upon arriving at her house you knock several times. No answer. You decide to try the door. It opens. You place the grocery bag on the counter. Strange. There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In a couple, the chicken and the milk has gone bad. "Mom," you call out, but no answer. You make your way through the kitchen and into the living room.

Sitting on the couch, with her head cut off and neatly resting on her lap, is your Mother.

Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime scene investigator. "It's not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into a series of repetitive behaviors," he says.

You think to yourself, "They can't be talking about me. Schizophrenia? No way. Repetitive behavior? Do they think I did this?" Suddenly your cell phone goes off. "Hello?"

"Hi hun, it's me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk. Ohh, and I need some bread and cereal too."

"No problem Mom. I'll be right over..."

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A few months ago a friend of mine, who is an up-and-coming nature photographer, decided to spend a day and night alone in the woods outside of our town. She wanted to get photos of the woods and wildlife as naturally as she could for her portfolio. She wasn’t afraid of being alone, as she had camped by herself many times before. She set up a tent in the middle of a small clearing and spent the day taking pictures. She filled up four rolls of film on that trip, but something was strange about them. What she saw in those pictures has stayed with her ever since, and she is still trying to recover from the trauma the have caused her.

Almost every picture was accounted for, save for one picture in each roll of film. These pictures were of her, asleep in her tent in the middle of the night.

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A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there. Especially no one should look inside the room, under any circumstances. So he followed the instructions of the woman at the front desk, going straight to his room, and going to bed. The next night his curiosity would not leave him alone about the room with no number on the door. He walked down the hall to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. He bent down and looked through the wide keyhole. Cold air passed through it, chilling his eye.

What he saw was a hotel bedroom, like his, and in the corner was a woman whose skin was completely white. She was leaning her head against the wall, facing away from the door. He stared in confusion for a while. He almost knocked on the door, out of curiosity, but decided not to. This disinclination saved his life. He crept away from the door and walked back to his room. The next day, he returned to the door and looked through the wide keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn’t make anything out besides a distinct red color, unmoving. Perhaps the inhabitants of the room knew he was spying the night before, and had blocked the keyhole with something red.

At this point he decided to consult the woman at the front desk for more information. She sighed and said, "Did you look through the keyhole?" The man told her that he had and she said, "Well, I might as well tell you the story. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in that room, and her ghost haunts it. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which were red."

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And I am always with you.

I was there from the time you were born. I stood in the delivery room, staring down at you before you could even open your eyes to see me. Your parents, relatives and doctors couldn’t see me there, in the corner, watching you with cloudy eyes, but I was there from the time you were born.

And I followed you home.

I was with you always, your constant companion. You played with your toys alone while I stared from all angles in nearby mirrors; my matted, clotted hair with oily sweat that hung off my dented forehead like glue. I was always your constant companion, drifting behind your mother’s car on your ride to preschool. You alone in the bathroom, but I was on the other side of the door, wind whistling through the bruised hole in my throat. My arms twisted and hanging in their sockets as I stood hunched on the other side of the shower curtain. I wait and follow you. I follow and drift behind you.

I’m not seen. I’m almost not-there in light. You never saw me that morning as I sat across from you at the breakfast table, a shiny red clot hanging from an empty tooth socket as I gaped grotesquely at you. I wonder sometimes if you know I’m there. I think you are aware, but you’ll never understand just how close I am.

I spend hours of your day doing nothing more than breathing in your ear.

Breathing – gagging, really.

I crave to be close to you, to always wrap my crippled arms around your neck. I lie near you ever single night, cloudy eyes staring at your ceiling, underneath your bed, at your sleeping face in the dark.

Yes. You caught me staring occasionally. Your parents came running down to your room one night when you screamed. You were just beginning to talk, so you were only able to cry out “Man! Man in my room!” You thought you’d never forget the sight of me, with my collapsed jaw hanging to my chest, swinging back and forth. I sank back into your closet and your mother was unable to see me though you pointed and pointed and pointed. You thought you’d never forget when they left that same night. You saw the closet door crack so softly and me crawling across the floor to your bed on all fours, shambling in jerking movements as I pushed myself under your bed on disjointed limbs.

You learned a new word for me: boogeyman. Not quite the monster you thought I was. I’m just waiting and following you always, touching your face with my knotted fingers as you sleep.

You’ll see me again soon. Any day now, I’m coming, blunt and brutal. One day you’ll walk across the road and – I believe I’ll plow into you with loud roar and a screech.

You rolling on the pavement, rolling under wheels, bluntforce metal fenders and my fingers touching your face again and again.

As you stare up from the cold pavement with cloudy eyes; your matted, clotted hair hanging in your face and your jaw unhinged and swinging to your chest.

You’ll see me approaching.

No one else will see me. You will stare past them into my eyes and I’ll leer down at you. For the first time in our life, something like a smile will come over my face. You’ll swear you’re looking into a mirror as clotted red bubbles from our mouths.

I’ll lean down, past the doctors and the oogling people and pick you up in my crooked arms.

Our faces will touch. My wings will unfurl. And then you’ll have to follow me.

And I am always with you.

I am your guardian angel.