Share a creepy personal experience?

We were camping out in a tent at Sam Houston National Forest, way off in the woods beside a small lake. It was a familiar campsite I had used several times before and far enough off the beaten track that most weekends I never saw another human.

I was awakened some time early in the morning by sounds outside my tent. They were grunts and whistles and other noises that I could not identify and although I can’t swear to it, it sure sounded like there were more than one of them. It didn’t sound like an animal snuffling around, it sounded like something big walking around and looking into my stuff.

Instead of raising all kinds of hell like is his wont, my dog Chibo, a catahoula hound mix, was shivering in fright and trying to hide under my sleeping bag. He is normally fearless when it comes to protecting his family and what he considers his property. This is a dog that has been know to take on a full grown hog one-on-one and come back smiling. I figured if he was not interested in going out and confronting whatever it was, I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it. Shortly the noise drifted off away from my camp and Chibo crawled out from under me and lay with his nose to the tent zipper snuffling and growling quietly to himself.
Since he seemed to have settled down, I finally fell asleep some time before dawn.

When the sun came up I got out of the tent, Chibo let me go out first. I looked around and could see where things had been moved around and I found my day pack about twenty feet from the tree I had laid it against but could find no tracks or sign so to this day I have no idea what was going through my camp that night.

I have camped out in the same area several times since and have never had a repeat experience.

Back when I used to live in a hotel, the door to my room didn’t shut cleanly so you had to kind of forcefully push it shut. One night, I guess I was just so tired that I didn’t think of this and just went right to bed, leaving the door slightly ajar. Later on that night, I woke up to someone who had opened the door into my room. The guy was drunk or something, but after I said something like “What do you want?!” he realized he was in the wrong room and left.

@rojo Bigfoot. Or, in this case, Bigfeet. ;)

@dxs Scary, but at least he decided to leave.

Ok, I once moved into a house where I would here knocking along the outside wall. It was an even rap the full length of the wall from the kitchen to the living room. It happened the same time each night. At first we thought it was pipes but found out the pipes were overhead. It couldn’t be a squirrel in the wall because it was too even and why the same time each night. It couldn’t be a person playing a practical joke because my husband ran outside once to see and there was no one as I heard the knock continue.

I told my friend who didn’t believe me and when she heard it, she demanded to be taken home. She was terrified. She agreed it was too even of a knock for it to be an animal.

I was pregnant at the time, and had a hard time sleeping with the 24 hours morning sickness and the trillion of trips to the bathroom and then the worry that it was someone mischievous playing some weird sick joke and my husband was working nights. I was so annoyed that I yelled at what I assume was a ghost or some sick bastard and told it, that it was not welcomed if it was going to disturb my sleep, especially since it did not pay any rent. If it chose to stick around it would have to be quiet. The raping stopped half way through it’s usual path and never resumed again while I lived there. I believe I raged for some time. Hormones were through the roof.

If it was some weird joke, we never figured out how anyone could’ve carried it out. This was over 33 years ago.

I thought it was amusing that even the dead fear a tired pregnant woman. LOL But only much later. After finally getting some proper sleep.

Once I hear story about girl in Chaplygin. She was asleep in her bed, when she feel lick on her hand. She thinks it is dog and goes to sleep. Next morning, she finds note on dresser with dead head of dog. It says “Capitalists can lick too.” She screams.

Father comes upstairs, takes belt off and beats her. Moral of story is daughters should not yell in house like peasant. House is not Siberian pigsty. I worry daughter will never find good Russian husband.

About twenty-five years ago in Central Florida, an area thick with miles and miles of orange groves, word got out that bee keepers had been producing the most beautiful blue honey of confectionary quality. I’d never heard of Blue Honey. So, the following April I drove out there to see and smell the blossoming of the citrus orchards. It’s magnificent. The air fills with the sweet aroma of oranges for miles and miles. Along the roads there were old farmers selling their honey and, after hunting throughout the morning, I finally found one that had the rare Florida Blue. It really was beautiful to look at—crystal clear, ice-blue. I opened a jar and received a concentrated blast of the sweet smell of the orchards. I couldn’t believe I’d never heard of this before.

I asked the guy how it was produced. He said that back in the ‘50s his old man, a local citrus farmer, decided to branch out into vanilla. But pollination of the vanilla orchid is very difficult. It must be done during the short time that the vanilla orchid vine bears fruit, the vanilla bean, and requires the Melipona bee, found only in Mexico and Central America, to accomplish this. Otherwise, humans must pollinate each flower with small sticks and this is extremely labor-intensive and becomes very expensive. So, his dad smuggled in a few hives of Meliponas to pollinate his orchids.

However, the bees didn’t gather honey only from the vanilla vines, but also gathered it from the orange groves surrounding them. The resultant blend was this beautiful and delicious blue honey.

On my way back, I stopped at a roadside ma and pa place for some good, southern home cooking. I told the old man at the counter about my purchase and he laughed his ass off. He told me not to eat it. He explained that the orchard I’d bought from was surrounded on three sides by a huge, new federal construction project and the blue in the honey was the result of the bees being attracted to the chemical in the hundreds of Port-O-Lets put out there for the workers to relieve themselves while on the job. The color of the disinfectant is blue, thus blue honey.

“It’s shit, son. Don’t eat it.” He said that the song-and-dance about the Melipona bees was a new one, pure genius made from the same shit as the honey. Not knowing if I was the victim of some poisonous bastard or a local vendetta, I played it safe and tossed the honey in the dumpster outside the restaurant.

A couple of weeks later my local paper broke the story on blue honey. The FDA had come down on the grover like a cluster bomb. The man in the restaurant had been telling the truth and grover went to jail and lost his land in the legal process.

Interestingly, there were no recorded instances of people getting sick from this. But the idea still sends waves of nausea up from my gut whenever I think about it.

That poor beekeeper. another victim of oppressive socialist government regulation.

@rojo , maybe these have survived, and migrated.
http://unmuseum.mus.pa.us/sloth.htm

A few days ago, I was playing my music and I like it loud. But I look out from time to time to make sure no one else is open to get pissed at me. So I look out of my office and there’s a nice looking lady out in the hallway, but she’s just looking at the wall. And then she walks through it. No shit, I really saw this.

@Adirondackwannabe , sweetie, you are late taking your pill again.

@Pandora , Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha peeeeeee oops ha ha ha.

@Here2_4 Sweet lady, I’m still trying to figure this out. And I didn’t pee. She was there.

@DrasticDreamer You still have to tell us about what happened around your house! I really want to hear.

Pics or it did not happen.

@dxs I have a lot of them.

One of the creepiest, however, is one of the very first things that happened to me here. I went to a room to grab something, bent slightly over to pick it up, and when I stood up, something just felt off. I was standing in the middle of the room trying to figure out why the heck I felt so strange out of nowhere, when, for some reason, I decided to look at the ceiling. Which is when I saw that a big chunk of my hair (about the width of a palm and a good handful) was standing straight up in the air above my head, but not being pulled tight. What made it even creepier was that part of it drooped down, like it would normally, if someone was pinching part of it.

I was standing there in complete shock, just staring at it. Finally, I got the courage to run back outside where everyone else was and on the way out, very clearly, I heard someone loudly say my name.

@DrasticDreamer Cool! Reminds me of a show called “A Haunting” that I used to watch as a kid.

@Espiritus_Corvus , you know, you just about had me ready to go out looking for blue honey. Grrrr.

I lived in an apartment carved from the 3 master bedrooms on the second floor of a Victorian home. From bed, I could look out into a slice of my living room.

Early one morning I heard a pretty loud noise in the house. I rolled over, opened my eyes, and there was a man standing in my living room. He just stood there. I sat up in bed, looked right at him, and said, “Can I help you with something?”

By the time I got up, there was no sign of him, and he hadn’t crossed me to the door.

Turned out the handymen were there doing some work on the house. He had climbed a ladder to the wrap-around porch roof, opened my living room window, and climbed over a hump-backed trunk to get in. Worse yet, when I left for work (on foot), he blocked my path and demanded to know if I was going to tell the landlord.

@ibstubro At first I was thinking it was a creepy paranormal story, but I think how it ended up was even creepier. Did you tell your landlord?

Yes, of course I called the landlord as soon as I got to work, @DrasticDreamer.
If I had any doubt about it, him blocking my path cinched it.

They were huge old windows with no storm windows, and I don’t think they locked. It was on the second floor, for gourd’s sake.