I could hear the faint sound of Steve running through the brush and to the car, but once he was far enough away, everything was quiet. Words lack the ability to describe the way I felt when I heard the "drip" noise again, and saw yet another tiny ball of liquid fall into the puddle. You were all okay, right? At this point in his tale, I recall that changing completely. I don't know if the owners had done something to the soil, but the whole structure had a border around it that was clear of any sort of plant life. I like to think that I have had some wonderful contributions to various urban legends around the Midwest and northeastern states; I moved around a lot. "Jesus, Jack! Initially, I couldn't be sure that the person I saw laying with his head buried in his arm at the bar was Mr. Mays. It wasn't until college that I got a chance to talk to Mr. Mays again. I wasn't entirely sure at this point if this was the place we were looking for, but this was definitely the closest we had come. The look in his eyes told me that he was three sheets to the wind and probably had no idea who I was. But, when I began to describe the details that I remembered from his story, the friendly old woman interrupted me. Eventually, I made it to Mr. Mays' story about "The Showers". Cops told us we were just drunk, that he wandered off and got taken by the wildlife. Beaten and starved. "Where'd you say all that showers business took place? I made friends very easily, was often the class clown, and because of that, was often disliked by my teachers. They went down the steps into the cellar, which was lit by single bulbs spaced sporadically along the ceiling of a long hallway. I called for Steve, as loud as I could manage, but heard no response. As I did this, the flashlight rolled down the slope, coming to rest somewhere near the child's feet. I stormed into the other bathroom, the one across the living room, pausing in utter horror as I saw- There, hanging from the shower faucet, was my dog's corpse. I let him explore for a little bit before I called him over. It took me a while to realize that I was an adult that was having a conversation with another adult. Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark is a 2019 horror film directed by André Øvredal, based on the children's book series of the same name by Alvin Schwartz. Because of the events that followed, my memory of one teacher in particular is probably slightly skewed, but I will attempt to give the least biased version of our friendship that I can. There was no way this was real. Initially, I was going to seek out his family in order to send my condolences, but it wasn't as if Mr. Mays and I were best friends or anything like that; so, I refrained. I grabbed the light in my right hand, bracing against the wall with the other. "I'm pushing the due date for your papers to next Tuesday," said Mr. Mays, without bothering to look at the girl, who slowly put her hand down, looking around at the other students with a hint of embarrassment. I wasn't entirely sure how far we were from the nearest home or small town, but there wasn't even the slightest bit of evidence that anyone had been in this building for years. Their hair was long; every single one of them looked like they had not had a haircut since birth. This was a fairly futile effort; most of Nebraska is dirt roads. I clumsily rose and busted through the door, narrowly missing a piece of hanging sheet metal in front of me. He finished his whiskey, signaled for another, and then turned to me and got very serious. Mind you, neither of us was scared of finding The Showers; this little excursion on our road trip was more like a scavenger hunt, a cap-off to an overall relaxing vacation. Those same people will swear by these stories without ever being able to provide a shred of evidence or a name of someone who could provide proof of the claims simply because "everyone around here knows that it's a true story". I was transfixed, sitting as far forward as my desk would allow, bracing for more. "People don't deal with anything relating to that sort of business around here anymore," she told us. Mr. Mays was carrying along like I knew the actual story, but I didn't. Apparently he was still teaching at the same school doing "the same old shtick," as he called it. I saw the barn in front of me, illuminated by the headlights of the car. "I'm gonna go grab the camera really quick," he said as he bolted out the entrance of the building. If this was some sort of well-known legend in the area, why did no one else in the town seem to know anything about it? I think it might be in my red climbing bag, but I'm not sure." Husband had a shower built upstairs in the converted storeroom because, he claimed, the boys did not have time to wash before coming to work. "I bet it was some sort of crazy Nazi hideout," said one girl. I was puzzled, quickly filled with a thousand questions that I wanted to ask him, but I let him carry on. They were unable to get ahold of the grandpa on the phone, so the group figured it would be fun to just show up. This was a guy who had real problems, not the infallible teacher that I once thought he was. He told the remaining few that he and his friends opened that cellar door, releasing a smell that he only described as "the most putrid thing my senses have ever experienced." Sometime during this trip, we had met up with a couple Estes Park natives in one of the local bars. There were no doors on the inside of the building; again, it was just a giant, empty hall. There, lit partially by the headlights from the car and the little bit of light from the crescent moon, was what appeared to be an old barn house. Disappointed, I wandered near the entrance while Steve ventured into the expanse of darkness. No one spoke, things had gotten too strange. But the one thing that I couldn't have imagined was that cellar door was locked, and then it suddenly wasn't. "I mean, if I had to live in a place associated with an urban legend or something like that, I would totally mess with anyone who asked about it," he said. Most everything else can be semi-rationalized if I can convince myself that I had a very bad concussion, a very, very bad concussion. My friendships were often fleeting, as were any positive relationships that I ever had with my teachers. My jeans would brush against my legs every now and then, making it feel like someone was touching me, and even now, I still can't completely convince myself that someone wasn't. "Today is probably my favorite day of the year, class," he said, in a monotonous voice. When I was around 13-years-old, I would sit around in a circle with my friends, the lights were off and one of us had a flashlight under our face. "Steve, this is not the fucking time. I am still as skeptical as I have ever been, but I believe in what happened to me at The Showers. I know what I saw, but I cannot convince myself that it was actually there. I wasn't entirely sure how true this was, because he got very excited and a bit ridiculous with his explanations of the "trees that almost tried to grab the car," and "the red eyes of countless animals looking at them from the darkness." This is a bit too scary for Walter, so Papa adds harmless fireflies. XX (2017) Horror fans will delight in this frightening anthology directed and written by Jovanka Vuckovic, Annie Clark, Roxanne Benjamin, and Karyn Kusama features a wealth of creepy … I'll try to recount the parts of the story that matter the most, but don't hold me to it. "A clown is funny in the circus ring. His words were almost incoherent, at least to my ears. Just keep looking with me." "But this isn't it. The most I could manage was a harsh crying noise; it sounded like a dying animal. He told us that the light bulb came to life, and illuminated the group of people in front of him. I ignored the pain in my knee and shuffled along the wall as fast as I possibly could. He spoke quietly to set the mood, and took a seat on a chair, right next to the jack-o-lantern in the center of the room. Unfortunately, they're not creepy enough for Grace, so her father introduces all kinds of other creatures. As he lowered his hands, one of the metal sheets of the makeshift roof dropped. One night, these guys were paying their tab and packing up to leave awfully early; they were usually there until the wee hours of the morning. The group waited about thirty seconds before their tension broke. It sounded like the noise your feet make when you are walking across a dirt-covered floor. We tried asking the townsfolk if they had any information about The Showers, but we were usually met with blank stares or eye-rolling when we told them what exactly this place was. I experienced that place too, several years later. The thing that froze me, though, was the eye. When I mentioned the story that he had told us years ago, he almost seemed uncomfortable. The memory is clear enough. *Just a note these stories do not... Every area in all parts of the world has those area-specific Urban Legends that just refuse to die. The man took a second too look at my face before he smiled, put a hand on my shoulder, and said, "Hey there, son! No one told stories like this to keep children away from a certain place or to scare them; it just wasn't known. They took a truck, loaded it with camping gear, and set out to sight-see for the entire summer. I managed to duck under the next showerhead. Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark was very nostalgic. This one was higher up on the wall, and seemed to be leaking the same liquid that the other one was. I told myself that while in silence or darkness, the brain will make sounds to fill the gap, or make you think you see things that aren't there. It was Steve, I was certain. They figured that, at the very least, the people who lived here would be able to help them find where the guy's grandparents lived; the whole idea of "everyone knows everyone in these hick parts of the country," fueled this hope. The shower scene at the start of this film has the bones of the Psycho template, but none of the meat. The bulb of the flashlight faded as it cooled and I put it into my pocket, simultaneously pushing back against the cold cement wall in an attempt to stand. The hallway itself was crooked and the ceilings constantly lowered and rose, like a tunnel that was hastily dug and then never touched up. It is a story of two young people on the verge of falling in love. I suppose it had some sort of effect on me, but I wasn't hurt by it or anything of the sort. The shower curtain hung down and blocked her veiw of the bathtub. This Woman's Viral Shower Gel Horror Story Is the Stuff of Nightmares "7,927 tingling leaves which will accost your genitalia until it screams for mercy." I continued to hum and my heartbeat, which had been beating almost out of my chest, slowed to a manageable rate. But, despite my hopes, there was nothing but a cluster of thick bushes on one side, brush and dirt everywhere, and the forest that we had come from. Believe me; I've been trying for years. I decided that the best course of action at this point was to turn off my flashlight, assuming that if they couldn't see me, they couldn't get to me, whatever "they" might be. At this point in my life, I wasn't as much of a ham as I was in my younger years. I'm still convinced that he made up the part about the animal eyes, though; the most aggressive creature we saw in the woods was a dead rabbit on the side of the trail. Come over here, it's hol-" As I went to say the word "hollow," I hopped a little bit, hoping to recreate the sound so that he would be able to hear it upon entering the door. That is where my story turns. But, a couple of days before we left Colorado, I told Steve that it sounded like fun. Again, this was never an issue, as I was usually in another state by the time the next semester rolled around. The whole story up to this point had been told like a campfire story. It was very quick, and I cannot be sure that it wasn't my own body moving around without my noticing; but I thought that I heard a scraping sound not ten feet in front of me. It budged, but didn't open. Mr. Mays told us that the most terrifying part of the whole thing was that none of the children were moving. It's not like we deliberately parted ways, we just sort of stopped hanging out after that trip and went our separate ways. I can't be entirely sure what it was, but I heard the accompanying sounds of feet scraping against the floor and I began to swell with dread. Take your favorite fandoms with you and never miss a beat. Being older now, I can understand how horrible children are to deal with around that age, and I respect him to no ends for the way that he was able to connect with his students. I told myself that the human brain is constantly hallucinating. It would move, pause for a second, and then move again. Most importantly, it's finally out of my head. My self-deprecation in the afterlife was interrupted by what sounded like Steve's voice. American Horror Story's seasons also take place in different locales and in various time ... From odd noises in the night to a rain shower of teeth, these creepy occurences leave them terrified. I gave a half-hearted chuckle and grabbed one of the lights from his hand. Then, the shower curtain beside her shifted, making her jump towards the door frame. The boy, or girl, I'm not entirely sure which, moved towards me with difficulty. He turned to the group, the rest of which were nervous at the very least, and attempted to lighten the mood with a laugh before he said, "I should probably knock first.". "So, when you're out trick r' treating tonight, make sure that you know exactly where you are headed, and don't go out to any abandoned farmhouses. Mr. Mays was the first to make it to his friend's side. We drove around in the darkness for quite a while before we found a clearing. "That was what my therapist told me to do when I was younger. There is no typical ending for my story. I had to tell people it, to come to grips with it, or some shit." He helped me to my feet and began to walk me to the car. The floor was wet, but the dirt had muddled the color of whatever the liquid was. It'd be awful." The same girl that had raised her hand to ask about the paper was holding her knees to her chest by the end of it, a look of terror on her face. "Thank fuck, man. Mr. Mays' friend went to say something else as one of the bulbs to their right flickered to life. “Asylum” – Shelley Becomes a Rasper. It didn't have any obvious signs of death; it just looked like it had simply lay down and never bothered to get up. Horror in the shower. It got all over my shoe, but that wasn't the least bit important at the time. From my introduction, it is probably apparent that I moved around the country quite a bit in my middle and high school years. At this point, I remember Mr. Mays telling the entire class to learn from his idiocy. When we questioned them about it, they told us that they were headed to a little get-together with some friends of theirs, and they invited us. That was the last time I would see him. Cheers. The drain in the bathtub began to shake with such force she thought it would break off. "-ove you, baby." Every now and then I would have to duck or move under another metal bar, another showerhead. This spurred the group to life, just as the children began to step forward. So the group of guys drove on this dark road for about fifteen minutes before they came to a clearing and a small building with lights in it, and what seemed to be a silo. He continued to describe the hallway, and I was on the edge of my seat. The group was no longer concerned with finding the owners of the property, but was now set on finding the source of that smell. I even broke the one rule with these stories by putting myself in them; this took guts, in hindsight, because I had to make sure that I always told them the same way. (A couple of students snickered at his use of the word "hell".) There were no cars, but one of Mr. Mays' friends was convinced he'd seen someone as they pulled up, so they decided to go inside and see if there was an office or something where someone might still be working. "I'll be out in a second. Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the lightys, The Strangest security tape I've ever seen, I hate it when my brother Charlie has to go away. It smelled like vomit; it smelled like shit; it smelled like burnt hair; it smelled like rot. He reached to his left in an attempt to find a wall to lean against, and ended up finding a handle, then pulled hard, never losing his vision on the children. The silence that followed was uncomfortable. "Listen Jack, I don't know why I kept telling that story, year after year." As I sat there, I felt all-encompassing dread. Once I had done that, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. I agreed with Steve and kept driving, but the whole experience wasn't sitting right with me. I remembered immediately the way that Mr. Mays had described it. I felt like I was moving along something infinite. But, with a little bit of encouragement, I started on a couple of stories that I remembered telling in my youth. My knee was, at the very least, dislocated. "You know when you turn off a light," he told the class, "and everything is almost pitch-black, except the light of the bulb dying out or cooling down? The storytellers eventually pass the tales onto their children, who modify them just enough to keep up with changing times, and the cycle continues. I guess that's really the point of this whole story. Jack, can you hear me? I twisted the story around and told it around campfires as I got older, and it was always a hit, but I always changed the ending, letting the friend die of blood loss or from being dragged away by the children. I didn't find out that Mr. Mays had passed away until a couple months after the funeral service. I crawled all the way to the door and threw my shoulder into it. I want people to know, first hand, what this place is like. He realized that it had been leaking onto him, but he didn't care. Deeply religious people, they stuck by their unchanging versions of the story until they died. We had nowhere in particular to be, so Steve and I ended up talking to this woman for about fifteen minutes, at which point we brought up our hunt for the place known as "The Showers". He began to walk out of the bar. It sounded like something was being dragged across the floor. The only person who seemed to know anything about it was an older lady that worked at a gas station on the outskirts of town. Large pieces of wood seemed to brace the sheets, holding this makeshift tunnel together. There was always a surge of joy whenever I would wander the halls at school and hear one of my classmates retelling my stories to another one of their friends, adding little bits here and there like a massive game of telephone. I mean, we could still tell people that we found it." A couple days later, I stayed after class and asked him about how it really ended and what happened to his friend. He took a big swig of his drink. There are many things that I can explain away as being hallucinations, but there are still many things that don't make sense. Initially I was reluctant simply because I didn't feel like aimlessly wandering through Nebraska for days, looking for some old farm building that was probably demolished at this point. "Steve, god dammit, open the fucking wooden door." "This was probably as close as we are going to get, man," I said. Remember the silo?" He laughed and said that his friend was fine and that it was honestly (he whispered this part), "Probably due to some of the drugs they were on at the time." But, I was comforted to see absolutely nothing there. "This is why I call them ‘The Showers’," Mr. Mays told the class. It had a nice little design on it, a doorknob, and a knocker that looked like a snarling demon. "Hello, sweetheart," he whispered into the phone. Besides all of that, I was just so immensely happy to find an exit. There wasn't really a road, but there looked to be a path where a dirt road might have been at some point, so we drove along that. I couldn't risk sliding against that and possibly cutting myself on the metal, or hitting the wood and causing a cave-in. Steve picked up his flashlight and walked behind me; I had already moved inside. I put my foot down hard against the ground and heard it again. Read effective examples of horror and suspense stories, from classic ghost stories to contemporary horror writing. Basically, he could say "let's go jump off of a cliff, guys," and you would want to respond with "alright Mr. Mays, show us the way!" I asked if everything was alright, and he said that they were as good as they ever have been or were ever going to get. You know that feeling when your stomach drops? Had I not been crawling, I would have surely hurt myself far worse. My memories of Mr. Mays mostly stem from the way that he really got into anything that he was doing. The only thing behind me was the large mass of bushes that I had seen while examining the perimeter or the building. Hell, didn't I mention it? And despite the popularity of modern horror movies, jump-scares don’t really work in book form. Before I could react, I heard the breathing to my left again, closer this time. I suppose this aspect of my childhood has led to my current predicament which I will recount, in full, for the internet to take from it what they will. Mr. Mays' friend was adamant that his grandparents would take them in and feed them without a moment of hesitation. If the car was able to handle the Rocky Mountains, a dirt path in Nebraska would give us no trouble. It was seven in the evening when we came upon a small, but thick forest. I didn't want to ruin his excitement; I had told Steve the story several times, but obviously he didn't realize that this just wasn't the place. One girl raised her hand with a concerned look on her face. There was something leaking from it, but it was too dim to tell what it was. I lifted the flashlight up and pointed it at the source of the liquid. The way it was described was like the sound of a dog crying, multiplied by ten. He felt that we were mature enough to handle it, but advised anyone that was squeamish to leave class early. It had been several hours before I even brought up his story about "The Showers". After the sound of Steve's feet scraping the floor above me faded away, I was only able to hear that buzzing that occurs in total silence intertwined with the pulsing in my head. It likes that the best, because your eyes are clenched so tight, and even if you did want to open them, like, if you heard a soft scratching against the plastic shower curtain, or a rasping of claws on bathroom tile, or the gentle splatter of drool or cum or… god knows what… well, you wouldn’t open your eyes because it’d burn. The impact apparently knocked him out, and he fell back against the door, knocking it open in the process. Again, she didn't seem to be angry at all, she just didn't want to hear another word about it. Creepy shit with a happy ending. I mean, there aren't many around here, but you're all smart kids, except Jerry." It's a bad place.". I went to college in northern New York, not for any reasons associated with this story. (the story can be read here) The story begins as the protagonist boy spies on the great-granddaughter of Mr. Yoon, who is sitting on a stepping stone in a stream playing with the water. From there, they went to the Rocky Mountains in Colorado and then back home to New York. We never typically "hung out" with them or anything like that; we just had conversations now and then over drinks and food. I closed my eyes. It was summer, so I only had a t-shirt on, but it felt like ice even through that. Anyway, we left Colorado and made the long, boring, and barren drive to Broken Bow, Nebraska, or "Hell on Earth" as Mr. Mays had put it. Please, just get it open please," I whimpered. There was no way that I was climbing out of here. Development. I'll finish this story when I'm sober. The five girls lied to the police, saying they had witnessed Carmen falling down the sewer. I limped to the corner, humming to myself, trying to break the deafening silence. The screenplay was adapted by Dan and Kevin Hageman, from a screen story by producer Guillermo del Toro, as well as Patrick Melton and Marcus Dunstan. That is a ridiculous statement, but it gets the point across. Blood practically flooded down his dead body, landing in a puddle against the white tile in the shower. She is scooping up a handful of water to try to grasp her face reflected in the water. "I'm okay, I just hurt my knee; I bumped my head too, really hard.". Her chest a mile start of this whole story up to leave light in my enough. Light reflecting off of their eyes and looked back to the party reassured Steve futile effort ; of. Frightens your readers isn ’ t really work in book form on of. College in northern New York up? `` n't fuck a person up ``! Pour more profusely, but the dirt had muddled the color of whatever the liquid was too dim tell! 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