幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 Comments on: 9 Tips on How to Tell the Scariest Story Ever (Halloween or Any Time)

幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 By: How to tell a scary story | The Proof Angel

How to tell a scary story | The Proof Angel — Thu, 12 Mar 2015 10:12:22 +0000

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幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 By: Bryan Hutchinson

Bryan Hutchinson — Thu, 30 Oct 2014 05:51:00 +0000

In reply to Joy Lennick. As if WWII wasn't bad enough! :)

幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 By: Bryan Hutchinson

Bryan Hutchinson — Thu, 30 Oct 2014 05:40:00 +0000

In reply to Adelaide Shaw. Uhmmm, is that a true story? If so, I hope you got back on that bike and peddled like crazy away from there! Great story, Adelaide. Thanks for sharing with us.

幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 By: Bryan Hutchinson

Bryan Hutchinson — Thu, 30 Oct 2014 05:37:00 +0000

In reply to Renia Carsillo. lol yeah, I've heard some true stories that I wish were made up! He'll do fine, he's got a good story to share. Enjoy the evening!! Tell some stories...

幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 By: Bryan Hutchinson

Bryan Hutchinson — Thu, 30 Oct 2014 05:32:00 +0000

In reply to Joan Hall. It's always a Halloween favorite to watch! Yep, same here about cemeteries... always wonder about the caves below. :)

幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 By: Joan Hall

Joan Hall — Wed, 29 Oct 2014 23:17:00 +0000

This is hilarious (but I know it wasn’t funny when you experienced it.) The Dracula movie with Frank Langella is a favorite of mine. And I have my own experience after watching it. To make a long story short, my mother-in-law, two sisters-in-law, and me visited a rural cemetery. Maybe I’ll write about it for my Halloween story next year. 🙂

幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 By: Renia Carsillo

Renia Carsillo — Wed, 29 Oct 2014 21:35:00 +0000

I am not a big fan of scary stories, but these are great tips Bryan. I particularly like the idea that the truth is usually WAY more terrifying than anything you can make up. It’s a good reminder. Let us know how your friend does with his horrific tale!

幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 By: Adelaide Shaw

Adelaide Shaw — Wed, 29 Oct 2014 17:43:00 +0000

We are on La Digue, one of the small islands in the Seychelle group, exploring on rented bikes. New to riding a bike I am wobbly and fall several times. After falling four times, I tell my husband to go on and I’ll sit and wait for him. I rest the bike by a tree along the edge of the road. About twenty feet in, there are the decaying remains of a small house. Open to the sky the stone walls collapsed, the chimney stands erect, the only testament to someone’s dream. I wonder who lived there; why did they leave it; did they die. I continue walking through the brush and trees toward the sea and sit on a sand dune with my back to the trees. The day changes. Clouds build up behind me. I gradually become aware of a sudden chil and a shushing sound, more than the sound of trees gently blowing in a soft breeze. The clouds become darker, changing shapes as they change from comforting white to a mournfull black. The wind, if it is the wind, creaks and moans, harsh and loud one second, then becoming softer, but even more menacing
with its sibilant hissing as if sneering at me for leaving the safety of the road. The sea below is foaming and cresting on rocks, sending up spumes. I feel cold pin pricks on my face, my bare arms. I hear my name. A low, stretched out calling, the last syllable lost to the wind. I turn toward the sound and try to rise but am stopped by a leg cramp. There it is again, but from a different direction. I sneak a glance at the stone house. Shadows within shadows as the wind continues to whip and lash the trees. I hear a rattling,
like bones shaking. No. Get a grip. It’s only dried palm fronds. I’m sure of it. Shivering and ignoring the cramp, I pull myself up and feel a stiffness throughout my body. Again that sound, calling, calling. It must be my husband. it must be! “I’m here. I’m here,” I want to say, but can’t open my mouth. Again and again I hear the calling but can do nothing except wait for that voice to find me.

幸运飞行艇官方开奖记录查询 By: Joy Lennick

Joy Lennick — Wed, 29 Oct 2014 13:04:00 +0000

“I was maybe eight or nine. WW11 had been declared. I was an evacuee; my mother (pivot of my existence) working in ammunitions, father in the Royal Air Force, serving in France. In my foster aunt’s house in Wales, we had only gas mantles downstairs, so went to bed by candlelight. Romantic at dusk; frightening when dark. Aware of the disturbing, leaping shadows on the walls as the candle guttered, I blew it out, so the dark pressed on me as if tangible. Immediately, four cackling witches appeared holding ropes and proceeded to tie me up like a trussed chicken. They then dragged me to a large street corner metal water-tank, tied bricks to my arms and legs and threw me in. I screamed but took in water, and choking and terrified, my heart hammering, thought I would drown.