Saturday, July 23, 2011


Forgive me, i was far from cpu last time, but i am back now and i have something interesting for you...

I. Cordyceps.

Do you know what a Cordyceps is? I didn’t either until 20 minutes ago. It’s a family of thousands of different types of fungus, grows all around the word in various rainforests and jungles. The awful thing about them is they’re parasitic, they grow on other animals. An ant happens to run into some spores, and then it starts to colonize his insides, starting with his brain. At some point, the ant starts to act visibly ill; standing in place and shivering, or walking in circles. If a fellow colony member sees him in this condition, he will be dragged to the border of the colony and exiled.Then, when it’s almost over, the ant weakly climbs as high as he can up the vines, and locks his body on tight. Finally, he dies, and the fungus emerges from the back of his head, bursting forth like a long and foul fruit. After a short time, the little stalk spews forth its own spores, leaving the mummified and broken ant clinging to the stalk, his eye cavities filled with drying fungus.
I mention this because last night, when I was up on the roof of my apartment complex, I found my brother’s body. He’s been back from 18 months on duty in the Philippines for less than three days. This was the first I’d seen him. My parents called me up the day before yesterday to tell me that he was on his way up. They told me he’d stayed in his room since he got home, and then suddenly got up and announced he was on his way to see me. They thought he was drunk, I’d I thought he’d never made it.
He must have come straight up to the roof and died, by the smell of it. I was just finishing a cigarette, all torn up with anxiety and head throbbing, and when the acrid smoke vanished I caught a whiff of rot on the hot wind. It took me just a few minutes before I’d found him; face down behind the vents and fans. A slimy gray column rose up obscenely from the base of his skull, and a frozen waterfall of roots and tendrils was dangling from his eye sockets and mouth. At the top of stalk was small arrangement of feathery wisps, a white powder drifting idly from it tips.
The spores must have drifting over the north side of the building all day. My side of the building. I came down to my apartment to try to call up the police, and my headache was rising to a feverish throb. I got through the door, and the moment I reached for the phone, pain flared in my head, so bad I almost passed out. I’ve since tried three times and I can never get my hand up on it.
The same thing happens when I try to get up and leave the room; I feel spines of ice tunneling up into my skull and my limbs lock up and shudder.
The ants, in their last moments crawl as high up the vines as he can climb. This is so the spore will spread over more of the colony below. In the end, the parasite controls the ant with an almost intelligent drive. God help me.
The pain is almost blinding now, and a new thought has been rising up rhythmically in my head, like a record skipping. Up. Up. Up. It’s joined by an image of my office tower. It’s taller than my apartment, the tallest place I can think off and although the bulge on the back of my neck is the size of a peach, the skin stretched shiny, and I’m dizzy and my eyes are cloudy, I think I can make it there. Up.
No. I’m sick. I need help.
The building pulses again in my mind. The cold wind. The roof and the sky. These images and concepts dull the pain momentarily as they pass through my mind. I think I can get there. Up. Up.
If you live in downtown Chicago, I suggest you to get the f*ck out of there.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011


Have you ever think what cats realy see ? they can suddenly start staring at some point, without any reasonable reason, theres one story about cats, and few others without cats.

I. Cat eyes.
The eyes of a cat are windows to your soul. They can see other dimensions, they can see your aura, and what’s wrong with you. A cat knows when you are happy, when you are in bad health, when you are troubled, or when you are hungry. He knows when you are feeling magnanimous, and he knows when you are about to die.
It’s fortunate that cats can’t talk, because you have a lot of secrets. The cat knows.

 (short note about next story - sure, ull say its fake but just imagine - maybe it works, and would you dare to try it?)
II. 7 years.
When using Internet Explorer 3 for Windows (google around for a version that works on Windows XP), enter this in the address bar (do not copy-paste, you must input it with the keyboard):

Wait ~ 40 seconds. You will feel strange. Don’t fight the feeling, or you will be jerked out of it, and you have only one chance to do this.

A weblog will appear. It will contain events that will happen for the seven next years of your life.

Add /admin/ to the address bar. Try to guess the password your future self would have chosen. There is always a way - discovering it is never out of your reach even if it’s a meaningless string of letters.

Once you have access to the admin, you can delete any post you want, and that event will never happen to you.

However, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES you are to edit a post. JUST DON’T.

You have only one hour to do it: after that the connection will be lost.

III. White lady's lane
There is a stretch of road in Central USA that even seasoned truck drivers avoid. This road is called "White Lady's Lane". It is called that because while it was being paved, the workers raped and murdered a 17 year old girl and buried her bones in the road itself. Now, her soul remains there to take revenge on her killers. You will know if you are on that road when your headlights automatically die and you see something on your rear view mirror. What you see will be her, sitting behind you, with a grin on her face, ever ready to grip your throat from behind and choke you. If you don't have a backseat, you're even worse off, for she will appear right beside you. The only way to save yourself?

Honk the horn. Honk it like there's no tomorrow. If you don't, you'll never get to where you're going. 
IV. Franc poison.
If you take any Swiss Franc note and expose it to microwaves, it will curl up and ignite. Once it's cooled down, you'll find a fine powder that, when ingested, will kill you painlessly. A 10 franc note has enough poison to kill a family of four. 

Sunday, July 10, 2011


I brought something more for you...

I.The Red Wristband

When you are admitted to a hospital, they place on your wrist a white wristband with your name on it. But there are other different colored wristbands which symbolizes other things. The red wristbands are placed on dead people.

There was one surgeon who worked on night shift in a school hospital. He had just finished an operation and was on his way down to the basement. He entered the elevator and there was just one other person there. He casually chatted with the woman while the elevator descended. When the elevator door opened another woman was about to enter when the doctor slammed the close button and punched the button to the highest floor. Surprised, the woman reprimanded the doctor for being rude and asked why he did not let the other woman in.

The doctor said “that was the woman i just operated on. She died while I was doing the operation. Didn’t you see the red wristband she was wearing?”

The woman smiled and raised her arm “something like this?”

II. The Abandoned Train Station

There is a chance that while on a railway journey across country you will pass a
darkened station, the platform will look as if it has been deserted for years. The
train will have to slow down due to the condition of the tracks but it will not
stop. There are some conductors who will go much faster than they should just to
get past the station causing the train to feel as if it will shake apart.

If you ask one of the personnel on the train about the station they will tell you
not to worry about it and to go back to your seat. If you ask a second time you and
all your things will be unceremoniously dumped at the next station whether it is
your destination or not. There you can wait for as much as a day for another train
to come by.

There have been a few curious folks who have made the five mile long walk down along
side the tracks to see this abandoned station for themselves. No one knows what
happens what happens when they get there. Some are never seen or heard from again
and others jump onto the tracks in the path of the next oncoming train.

The only thing of any interest ever to happen along those tracks was back in the
early 1900’s when a train headed west derailed near that abandoned station killing
sixty one people on board and injuring others. The incident was blamed on Conductor
error and on the fact the rails were misaligned due to shifting of the ground after
a heavy rain storm.

There is no known connection between the derailment over one hundred years ago and
the events that surround the area today.

Friday, July 8, 2011


Today i have for you only one story, but trust me, its delicious.

I. Blind man reading.
If you saw him, its probably too late. He sitting at night on park bench, under the flickering latern, dark glasses hiding his eyes, on knees he holding open book. Next to him on a bench lays his staff reaffirming his blindness.
His lips movings as he pronouncing the words he read. His finger draws a path from the top of a sheet to bottom. He not capsizing pages. You noticeed that he doesn't looks at you, but at a point slightly above you. You are trying to follow his gaze, but realizing that, after all, he is blind, so how he could look anywhere ?
  If you're lucky, you'll walk away and forget that you saw him. But if you're curious, you'll watch his mouth trying to guess what he said. You discovering that he whispering, leaning over him that much, that your ear almost touching his face.
When you stays that close, suddenly you understand what he keeps saying.
He repeats over and over: ''Do not read this book''.
You look down and noticing that the pages are clean. But under his finger draws a name. It belongs to you. And now you belongs to him.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011


Welcome strangers, I am grateful that you have reach this place.
In this first note ill post some well known 'creepy pastas'
In the future i will show you some urban legends and rumor stories
from my region.
Now enjoy.

I. The Portraits.

The hunter, after a day of hunting, was in the middle of a huge forest. It was getting dark, and he was completely tired. He decided to go in one direction, until he would be sure about his location. After a few hours, he found a hut on a small clearing. Since then, it was already very dark, he decided to spend the night inside and went into the hut. The door was open. Inside, there was no one. The hunter lay on the bed wich he found in, deciding that he would explain everything to the owner of the house in the morning.
  He looked around the interior of the cottage. Suddenly he saw several portraits on the walls, painted with great attention to detail. All portraits, without exception, seems was staring on him. Their faces were twisted in hatred and anger grimacing.The hunter felt strange. Trying to ignore the portraits at all costs, he turned his face away from the wall and fell exhausted into a deep sleep.
Hunter awoke in the morning. He turned and blinked at the unexpected light of the sun. He saw that the hut has no portraits, just windows.

 II. It's probably not good idea.

 With every exhale, a small part of your soul coming out of your body. Fortunately, almost always we inhale it in back before anyone will do it for us. Almost always.
 Have u used to covering a mirror with your own breath ?
For your own good, dont do it again.

III. Coffin. 
 Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. Harold, the Oakdale gravedigger, upon hearing a bell, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time it wasn’t either. A voice from below begged, pleaded to be unburied.

“You Sarah O’Bannon?”

“Yes!” the voice assured.

“You were born on September 17, 1827?”


“The gravestone here says you died on February 19?”

“No I’m alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!”

“Sorry about this, ma’am,” Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. “But this is August. Whatever you is down there, you ain’t alive no more, and you ain’t comin’ up.”