Creepy Scary Story: The Tale of the Bloody Bathtub

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Above the landing was the door to the attic. Suddenly there was a loud, scrapping sound, like metal being dragged along the attic floor. I ran down the stairs and both cats instinctively followed. I hit the lights on downstairs. I could still hear the noise, now with a rattling sound. I was trying to think what to do. My cat was beside me, looking up at me. He had a funny look on his face, as if he was concentrating hard. He opened his mouth. I opened the door, scooping his sister cat into my arms as she was freaking out by now, and we all went out.

I walked towards the front fence caring the one cat. And then he just lost it. He was screeching, twisting his whole body around while he slashed at the air. I put my other cat down and tried to go to him, but he turned around, hissed at me, and gave a slashing motion like he wanted me to stay back. This carried on for a whole minute, while he jumped around and slammed into the ground and look like he was really getting hurt.

And just as suddenly as it started, he stopped. He stared off into the distance a few seconds, then started calmly washing his paws. Eventually he came over and rubbed himself against my leg. About a month later, I noticed he was bleeding from his paw. I took him to the vet who said he probably got his claw stuck in something and tore the skin getting free.

Almost exactly a year later, he started bleeding from his paw again. They ran tests on him but everything came back normal and all they could do was stitch it up again. The bleeding paw continued off and on for another couple of years, although it never seemed to get in the way of his being a happy, fun-loving cat. I still have no idea what actually happened that night, but it does feel as if he saved me and his sister from something.

Sometimes, I wonder if the cancer is related. This happened almost 10 years ago now. I was in high school, the summer before my senior year. I got a job at the big movie theater in my town. The best part of the job was getting to see all of the movies for free. I would come in even in my off days and see whatever was playing. I worked the early shift on most weekdays and got to know the matinee crowd.

It was during one of these shifts I first met Brian. He stood out from the usual crowd because he was younger, maybe late 30s, and handsome. He came several times a week and saw almost as many movies as me, always carrying some sketchpad into the theater with him. He was always friendly with me. After one of my shifts, I popped into a theater to catch the second half of some CGI movie.

On my way out I ran into Brian. He asked what I thought of the movie and we started talking. After maybe ten minutes of conversation I asked about the sketchpad.

Clawfoot Bathtub

He came to the movies for inspiration. I asked to see some of his work, and he nervously showed me what he had sketched during this movie. They were hysterical. He put the cartoon characters in bizarre and dark situations.

I told him I loved them and he said he would show me more. From then on, Brian came in more often. Seeing him was the best part of my shift. I would tell him what movie to see and ask for specific drawings. The darker the better. My favorite one had the rat from Ratatouille cooking his human friend and serving him to guests.

I could tell he loved showing them to me. I know our friendship could sound sketchy, what with him being an older guy and me a high school student. But I really felt like we were just two awkward people that clicked. He treated me like an adult and never did anything inappropriate. One day, towards the end of the summer, Brian came in when I was working the evening shift. A group of girls from my high school came up to the concession. Their leader was Michelle.

She was the most popular, pretty, athletic, etc. On top of all that, she was really nice. I hated her at the time, but looking back it was obviously just jealously. When they came to the counter, I panicked and hid. I called over my coworker and he took care of them. Later on, Brian came to see after the movie got out. He said he saw me run away from those girls. I was so embarrassed that he saw that. I panicked, and made up an excuse.

They try to make my life hell. One evening I came home from work and my mom told me I received a large letter, probably an information packet from a college. I opened it up and found a sketchbook, immediately recognizing it as the same type Brian always carries. Before I opened it, I started thinking how weird this was. How does he know where I live? If he wanted to show me his drawings, why not just do it in person like always?

The next page showed a young girl tied to a chair. It was Michelle. She looked terrified. This was photorealistic. Two dark figures in masks approached her. It was stomach churning. Did he think this I would like this? Is this a joke? I forced myself to keep reading, looking for answers, until I reached the horrible end. After Michelle was long since dead, the two figures removed their masks and were revealed to be me and Brian. So I did nothing. The next day I tore up the book and threw it out in the dumpster outside the theater and went to work like nothing had happened.

I waited in dread that day for Brian to come in but he never did. The next week, I was working the ticket counter and saw him approaching from the parking lot. I froze. Before he opened the door, he stared at me. I was petrified and felt all the blood draining from my face. After what felt like minutes, he shook his head, turned around and walked away. I never saw him again.

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This happened to a friend of a friend earlier this summer as told by my friend. Jane is a nurse who works a specific shift at a local hospital and keeps a really consistent schedule. She gets up at 5am, takes a shower, and then heads off to work. Jane lives in a bungalow a block away from Green Lake in Seattle.

For those of you unfamiliar, Green Lake is a really popular place for running, outdoor and park activities, dining, etc and is super busy during the summer. She woke up again around 3 a. As she sat up in bed, she looked through her open bedroom door to see a man on all fours, army crawling down the hall towards her bedroom. She shut her bedroom door and called the police. After the police arrived, she discovered the man had removed all of her window screens and presumably entered her home around the time she woke up at 3 a.

The only things he did take were her car keys and her house keys that were in her purse by the front door. He also thinks he had probably been watching her for some time and knew her schedule well enough to attack her when she was most defenseless naked, in the shower. Sarah lived on campus, while her boyfriend Jack who eventually became my uncle lived in a crappy house in a crappy part of town off campus.

Because the college was in an industrial town, there were surrounded by really big feedlots and beef packing plants slaughterhouses that ran 24 hours a day and among the blue collar workforce were many undocumented workers that were paid under the table and lived off the grid.

Mostly, the work was depressing as fuck. It was just a disaster. Uncle Jack lived across the street from a crappy apartment building that housed several of these families and often, groups of children would be playing outside. There were a lot of people who lived in those units, so on the weekends, there would be tons of kids of all ages running around, tearing crap up, generally being little jerks, like kids do. Any given weekday, though, that kid would be sitting there all by herself, just staring over at them, well into the evening.

But then it started turning to fall and the days were getting shorter and colder. But then a car turned down the street with its brights on and when the headlights hit the balcony of that apartment building, the kid was still there. My aunt said she must have been wearing dark clothes because when the headlights passed over her, all they could really see was this very pale little face, the headlights washing away all of her features.

That was turning point for my aunt. By now, she was into her internship with the district and she was doing a lot of outreach. So one weekend afternoon when it was still pretty nice outside, she and my uncle approached the families mingling outside.

She asked about the little girl, but no one would talk to her. She said even the kids pretended not to be able to understand her. At this point, my aunt decided to stage an intervention to get the kid a jacket and maybe even enroll her in school. So she sees the kid one morning and heads across the street and up the stairs that lead to the second level. But by the time she gets there, the kid is gone. That week it snowed, so when the weekend comes, a bunch of the little jackals that were living across the street were outside stockpiling snowballs to throw at each other.

And a bunch of silver dollars. The older kids avoid her like the plague, but a couple of the little ones come over and my aunt starts asking about the little girl. One winter evening when it was hella dark, my aunt saw the kid. By now it was absolutely freezing out—there had been an ice storm the night before and that kid was still out there. Reaching the midway point, where this kid was always sitting, she saw, deep in the ice, these It was like the the kid had been standing there during the ice storm the previous night and the ice had built up around her feet.

Terrified, my aunt tore ass off the balcony and down the stairs, managing to trip and take a spectacular chunk out of her shin in the way. She still has the scar today. After about 10 minutes, the guys came back and told her that, yeah, they saw the footprints, though none of them could come up with any kind of explanation and they tried to play it off, working out all these different scenarios that seem plausible, like maybe there had been some empty cups or something sitting there and the kid kicked them off the ledge, and that made the weird footprints.

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She was always over there. But they pointed out that they all got so used to seeing her, that my aunt probably just saw a shadow and took for granted that it was the kid. After winter finals, my uncle and has roommates decided to throw a giant kegger before everyone headed home for Christmas. It was the first time my aunt had been back to the house since all of the stuff on the balcony happened. But everything now seemed fine. The little girl is nowhere to be seen. The night wore on and another ice storm began outside, causing the power to go out and the roommates to light a fire in their fire place.

Finally, around the fire, my uncle and two of his roommates admitted that it was creepy as fuck. My aunt says you could have heard a pin drop at this point, but eventually someone changed the subject and everyone continued to drink and goof around. And my aunt nodded, telling her that that was what kids—the regular kids— across the street told her. She got a hell of a lot farther than my aunt ever got because she spoke fluent Spanish. While there, she saw all of these kids, including a little girl dressed in dark clothes, who appeared to be by herself.

So Marisol talked to the more friendly kids and their families, convincing them that they can qualify for services and going to school is really a good thing to be doing. Getting up to go, she asked about the little girl she saw outside. Upon mentioning her, an older woman—probably a grandmother or great grandmother—crossed herself and shook her head. It was a bad spirit and Marisol should forget she ever saw her. At the time, she figured that maybe the kid was illegal, or possibly stolen or sold to another family sadly, it happens.

It was sort of blank. Just a general impression of a girl in dark clothes. Over the weeks and months, Marisol started to eavesdrop and more and more, she would hear about this venga girl. She then swore that she would catch glimpses of this kid in different places around town. By this point in the story, my aunt was super dunk and totally freaked out. She may raise a bloody hand in response, she may actually be an oversized lizard who then eats you, or a malicious spirit who will murder you and drag you into the toilet. Another Japanese ghost who lurks in bathrooms, but is much more unsettling and gruesome than Hanako.

Most versions of this tale tell of a ghost who wears a mask to cover his handsome face, which caused him to attract stalkers when he was a human. Haunting the last stall in girl's bathrooms, he will suddenly appear and ask if his victim wants red or blue toilet paper. Asking for red, he will violently carve into you until your clothes are soaked in blood. If you ask for blue, you will be strangled until you die and your face turns blue. Some variations feature a cloak instead of toilet paper, and even the ghost ripping the skin off your back.

While you may pick a third color, there are conflicting theories on whether this will grant you survival, or have you swallowed up by the ground below. One rumor at schools is that a girl heard a voice in the stall next to her's ask "Shall we put on a red vest? One cop waited outside while his female partner went into the stall. There she heard the same question, and her partner heard her answer "Put it on! He heard a loud scream and commotion from the stall, and when he rushed in, she had been decapitated and her vest soaked in blood.

One other trend you may have picked up upon in Japanese horror is the theme of haunted or cursed media. In this case, The Red Room is an ominous pop-up on your internet browser. The story starts with one boy telling another about the ghostly pop-up, while the more skeptical boy scoffs at it and goes home to search. After searching to no avail, the pop-up shows up with an image of a red door. Eventually the full message is displayed, asking "Do you like the red room?

The boy then senses something behind him and hears the child's voice from within his room. Neither of the boys return to school, and are rumored to have taken their lives and their rooms painted in blood. The legend is tied into a real-life incident, the Sasebo slashing , where a Japanese girl murdered her classmate.

It is claimed that one of the most recent tabs in the murderer's browser history was The Red Room. On our second day staying in this small town I woke up feeling a little odd. Not bad, just odd, like my normal thoughts and feelings had been turned down low, like on a dial.

We all decided to go for a walk on the hills right behind the town, where there was a small summit with a pile of rocks and some prayer flags to be honest there were little "altars" like these on every other hill, but it gave us something to do. As we hiked up the hills behind the town I started feeling stranger and stranger.

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I wasn't scared, and I didn't feel angry or any strong emotion. In fact, it was like emotion was trickling out of me somehow, and I was getting blanker and blanker, emptier and emptier. My mind started feeling a little hazy and more and more I felt like I simply didn't care about anything. A small and rapidly dwindling part of myself started to panic, knew that something bad was happening, but it was like my own inner voice was slowly getting quieter and quieter. I remember we reached the little summit and I simply sank to the ground next to the pile of rocks.

Without meaning to, I started tuning out the voices around me and fixed all my attention on the little pebbles in the dirt. I began tapping one against the other, repeatedly. Do you know the kind of horror that is opposite of feeling scared or feeling anything at all?

The kind of vacuous hideousness of a fly buzzing against a closed window for hours on end in an empty room? That's what was filling my mind. It was demonic in its meaninglessness. I touched my face and felt that I was grinning at nothing. Through all the emptiness a thought floated to the forefront of my mind: You should just die. At first it sounded totally reasonable, but something in me fought it and I was momentarily troubled. Right then, my group started to walk down from the hill, and I followed.

The further we walked, the more normal I felt, until we left the town that afternoon and I was totally freaked out. When another girl, Hanna, mentioned in an odd off-hand way that she had felt very strange and depressed while staying there, I told her that I'd felt the same.

When the group leader mentioned that a local had told him that the town had been plagued with a rash of young women under 25 committing suicide, Hanna and I went white. In my old apartment, my dog would, on occasion, look down the hallway towards the bedroom, from the living room, and growl, for no apparent reason. Also on occasion, when I was sleeping in the bedroom she slept at the foot of the bed , I would wake up with her staring intently at the door and growling. She was a big girl - pounds of Great Dane, Catahoula, and slobber. So I'm there for a couple of years of this, thinking, ok, my dog has a good imagination.

One night I woke up due not to my dog growling, but barking for all she was worth. And not at the door I opened my eyes pretty much immediately, and there was a blur of light, leaning over me, very close - certainly less than six inches from my face. It was not distinguishable as a person - it more resembled a person-sized version of a colourful nebula you might see a picture of in a science magazine. Three dimensional and all. I immediately got the distinct impression that this thing had been watching me sleep.

For god knows how long, and how many times before. For all the clarity of that distinct feeling, I had no sense of what it wanted, whether it was malevolent or just curious. I flipped right the fuck out - jumped backwards to the other side of the bed, too terrified to scream, and that blur of light receded and disappeared over the course of about 3 seconds. My dog was going absolutely ape. So, shortly thereafter, I asked the building manager if anybody had ever died there. She investigated that, and came back to me a couple of weeks later with a yes, a woman had died of a drug overdose in that apartment in so 12 years earlier , shortly after having her child removed from her custody because of her addiction problems.

My dog did still growl at the hallway from time to time, but I never saw it again. I moved out about a year later. I've had other encounters, but this thing was literally inches from my face, watching me sleep. Getting shivers now just writing about it. So when I was a kid, I would race up to the top of the stairs as fast as I could, like it was some sort of silly game. Well, I must have been five or six at the time. I'm not sure, but I know I was very little. Somewhere along the way, a voice at the top of the stairs started to whisper to me. It would make bets with me, such as As I said, I was very little so I probably didn't have any counting abilities anyway.

I recall just sitting at the top of the stairs, having conversations with this voice, about the betting, of course. Eventually the voice it was like a whisper of a man's voice, not my own voice in my head started to bet me my life. Instead of pennies, it'd say "I bet you your life you can't make it up the stairs blah blah. As I got older it stopped.

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I never really thought about it at all. I never mentioned it to anyone UNTIL one night I was sleeping over at my brother's place I was about eighteen, he was twenty-two and we were talking about "spooky" stories. Out of nowhere I brought up the "voice at the top of the stairs" and my brother got all quiet and weird. Before I even mentioned the betting aspect, he said "Did it make bets with you? We both looked at eachother, horrified. It certainly was freaky after the fact. A lot of bad shit went down in my family at that period of time in my life, and my mother, a heavily religious lady, said there was a lot of "evil" in our lives at that time.

I don't at all think our place was haunted, btw, it was built in the late 70's and as I got older, I never experienced anything like that again. We were camping once, driving through some city, my dad was driving, my mom on the passenger seat, and I was kneeling behind them leaning on the boot that separated the truck from the camper. It was evening, not full dark. We weren't really talking and my mom was looking out her window when she screams, "Oh, God.

Oh, my God. Do you see it? He slowed and the car on the right passed us. I couldn't see inside, but their window was down and the arm hanging out the window looked to be that of someone impossibly thin. My mom said, "It was a skeleton. It was no mask, because you could see through the jaws. It had a tongue and eyes. It was Death. My dad backed her up but years later after my Mom was dead recanted, saying it was a mask because nothing could survive like that.

Okay, so this was when I used to live in in a different state. I got a job working as a cocktail server at a strip club, which was a good choice for me at the time as the club was very fun, kind of metal punk vibe, and also very popular with lesbians, and since I was going through the process of coming out as bisexual, and was in a very radical, "fuck corporate society fuck men lets take their money" phase. I'm not one of those people who thinks stripping is super empowering but it was a good fit at the time.

Also while I was there after about 6 weeks I would often have terrible, suffocating feelings, almost about to have panic attacks, and terrible migraines while working in the club. I would often feel panicked and scarred but I chalked it up to a stressful job in a strange environment.

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I never had these feelings anywhere else around this time. So the club was really kind of messy, not dirty but just filled with THINGS, lots of tables in the bar, lots of speakers and extra crap in the back storage room behind the stage, and a tiny crowded dressing room for the dancers. Behind the stage there was kind of a storage room area that had several dressers and mirrors put in, as well as an old comfy couch in case the dancers wanted to use it as an extra dressing room, or a place to nap, but no one ever actually used it.

This room gave me the worst, suffocating, panic inducing vibes of all, and I had no explanation for it. So I would often be at work until 4 am or later, since I didn't have a car, public transportation wasn't running, and it was in kind of a sketchy neighborhood I would wait until one of the dancers was done for the night and she would drop me off at home, this was often after my own shift ended. When I first started working I would spend that extra time trying to do side work, clean and straighten up like a good employee, but after awhile I would often just hang out in the back room studying, since I was also in grad school at the time.

Until when I started completely freaking out in the back room, and when I would leave to go sit up at the bar or in the dancer's dressing room, the feeling would mostly go away. So also when this stuff started to get worse, I have to add that some of it was around Halloween so I was watching a lot of scary movies, and I was also smoking a ton of weed so both of these things might have had some affect on my psyche, but also these feelings NEVER happened anywhere else around this time.

I started to kind of bring it up to the dancer that drove me home, she said the back room also "creeped her out" but didn't go into any detail.