>Be 2006, in Colorado.
>Fresh outta high school
>Parents demand I college up or move out
>Can't decide direction I want to take with life, opt for the move out.
>Parents honestly pretty cool about it, besides the kicking me out thing.
>No moonies for rent, no friends with extra space.
>Ask extended family for help.
>Crazy ass uncle lives out in the country in a little ranch house.
>Haven't seen him since I was 12.
>Apparently he has social anxiety and has panic attacks in crowded areas, so he moved out to the country.
>I still thought he was cool.
>Didn't even think to call him, but my other uncle informed him of my predicament.
>He calls me.
>"ANON! it's been so long blah blah blah you were always my favorite nephew blah blah blah heard you had to move out, blah blah blah, good news!"
>"I'm going on vacation for a few months! But I need someone to house sit for me."
>Uh huh, uh huh.
>"There's $5000 in it for you. Plus a roof over your head for a few months."
>Holy shit, what
>"Yeah" he says "Think of it as payment, and a late graduation present! You're gonna have to spend some of it on groceries, though."
>Like the good little jew that I am, I unquestioningly agree at the mention of money.
>Pack some clothes, some toiletries and shit, parents agree to let me keep the rest of my shit in the house for now.
>Head out into the ranch-tastic part of the state
I know I haven't gotten to the SPOOPY bit yet, but gimme a minute
>Arrive 3 days after the call with minimal baggage, uncle is full mountain-man mode.
>Huge bushy beard, 6'4'', layers of fat and muscle.
>We hug, kind of uncomfortably, he thanks me, congratulates me on graduating, offers some financial and life advice while he shows me around the house and grounds, and we talk for a few hours.
>"Now, about the house."
>"Haven't had a an animal bigger than a dog on this property for nearly 5 years. Honestly, I'm just living here for the scenery and isolation. So no animal care to deal with. There's a few stray cats, but they fend for themselves and don't hurt anything, so just leave 'em be."
>If there's no animals and no neighbors, why do you even need a house sitter?
>"Oh, there's always nosy kids looking for kicks. And spics."
>Uncomfortably laugh off the blatant racism.
>"Then, there're the coons. Digging through the trash, shitting on the porch. You wanna scare 'em off whenever you can."
>Oh thank god, he isn't talking about black people.
>"There hasn't been anything else weird, except..."
>Oh no, here comes the but.
>God damn it.
>"Some stuff will sometimes get moved around or carried away from the house. Garbage lids, shovels, old farming equipment. It's no big deal. Just don't freak out if you wake up and see a shovel laying out on the edge of the woods hah hah."
>Yeah, hah hah.
>He leaves that night.
>I sleep in a guest bedroom by the backdoor.
>Hear some rummaging around, figure it's just the raccoons.
>Yell at them.
>Wake up the next morning, all the shovels and shit that were in the shed, the door to which was shut tight (But not locked), are scattered around the front yard, a few even stuck into the earth.
>Figured it was just the uncle trying to fuck with me before he left.
>Stick tools back in shed, actually lock it up.
>Clean up mess by the garbage bins, presumably left by raccoons.
>Other than that, uneventful.
>Night 2: Decide to stay up a little later, watch a movie or two.
>Check Uncle's DVD library.
>Nothing but "Bob Ross' The Joy of Painting" DVDs and films made by either Michael Bay or M. Night Shamalamadingdong.
>Fuck it, decide to watch Signs.
>In the middle of the movie, around 11, I hear the rummaging again.
>Freaks me out, then regain my grasp on reality and shout at the stupid god damn raccoons.
>a minute later, it starts up again.
>Grab broom from closet, pause Signs.
>Muster my courage and swing back door open, wildly swinging the broom and wailing.
>Forgot to turn on porch light first.
>Trip on some trash, stumble forward and bash head on porch banister.
>Garbage bin lids clatter to the floor, hear something scurry off into the night.
>Regain composure, curse loudly, turn on light.
>Garbage is neatly piled beside the bins.
>Think to myself, these are some police ass raccoons. Put garbage back in bins, get some ice for my head.
>Go back inside, finish signs, fall asleep.
Gonna go By day/night number now, to help with the character limit and with the fact that I'm doing laundry while I type this and need to pay attention.
>Wake up, make some cereal.
>I notice the back door is open slightly.
>Could've sworn I shut it last night, but I don't remember locking it.
>Shut it tight this time, watch some cartoons in the living room, then gear up for a grocery run.
>Outside, the shovels are all lined up against the side of the shed.
>The shed door is shut.
>Lock still securely in place.
>What the fuck.
>Have minor freak out.
>eventually rationalize that there must be a hobo or something borrowing or stealing from the shed. It gets pretty cold at night, maybe he sleeps in there.
>But how'd he get inside? The door was locked.
>The sheet metal that makes up the back wall came loose at the right corner, you could lift it up and head right in.
>Nail it shut again.
>Unlock shed, return shovels, lock shed back up again.
>Go back to the house, make sure everything's locked up, tight.
>Good to go.
>Head to closest grocery store.
>Cashier makes small talk.
>Mention I'm house sitting for [uncle name here].
>Cashier gets real quiet.
>"What's wrong?" I ask.
>Expect some bullshit local legend about his ranch being an Indian burial ground.
>"No offense, but your uncle is... really, really racist. And kind of an asshole."
>My sigh of relief disturbed him.
>"Yeah, I know, but he's family." I say. "Besides, I think there's a homeless guy living on the property, so someone has to watch the place."
>Cashier gives me a funny look. "Homeless?"
>Is that weird?
>"Well, kinda." He explains. "For one thing, there's a homeless shelter in town that's well stocked.And if any of those crazy ass rednecks out in the ranch land caught a hobo on their property, they'd probably shoot him on sight."
>Shrug it off as the guy having a bias against farmers and ranchers
>Return to the ranch, nothing happens for the rest of the week.
The rest of Week 1 was uneventful, not even any rummaging or tool scattering. Occasionally, when I was doing chores on the grounds or just hanging around outside, I got the eerie feeling I was being watched. I wrote it off as owls, cats, or maybe that hobo from before.
I arrived on a Sunday, I guess I should specify.
So, Night 1 is sunday night, day 1 is monday, night 2 is monday night, day 2 is tuesday et cetera, et cetera.
Realized that might confuse some people, so I felt the need to explain.
It wasn't for 5 or so more days that weird shit picked up again.
I'll put up the next little incident in another post real quick, then type up the next one when I can.
>Been getting more at home in the ranch, exploring other rooms, exercising in the exercise room, eating in the dining room, place feels nice and homey.
>That day I noticed the stray cats that my uncle had mentioned.
>They lived in a little dilapidated farmhouse on the edge of the property.
>Probably fed on mice or voles or some shit.
>I love cats, and I'm an idiot, so just before nightfall, I leave a saucer of milk by the front door.
>That night, I'm packing it in after a nice bubble bath, ready to hit the hay, when the rummaging returns, with a vengeance.
>It's louder than before, at first, then quiets down. Still, I can hear it. Just barely.
>Thoroughly tired of the 'coons' collective shit, I decide to go spook these motherfuckers.
>Brace myself by the backdoor.
>In one skillfull motion: flip on the porch light, throw myself out of the door, expecting the coons to scurry out into the field.
>No bin clatter.
>Pause for a minute, then lower the rifle and look at the bins.
>The lids are neatly placed on the porch banister.
>Most of the trash is still in the bins.
>Except for some plastic bottles, some aluminum cans, and a newspaper.
>All the stuff I usually separated out of the trash to put in the recycling bins.
>I had been lazy that day and probably missed some stuff.
>Glance around the grounds, taking in what I can see in the halo of the porch light.
>No coons, no cats, no hobos.
>I clean up the bins, stick the recyclables in the recycling bins, then lock up for the night.
>I don't sleep very well that night.
>Still thoroughly spooked by last night's garbage rummage.
>Shakily bathe myself, eat a nice pancake and hashbrown breakfast, watch the news, pretty much do as much "normal" stuff as I can, to calm myself down.
>Around 11 in the morning, I decide to get some chores done.
>Open front door.
>Forgot about my milk saucer from Night 8.
>Sweet, I think, the cats came close to the house.
>I take the saucer in, and do my chores.
>Take out trash, separate recyclables, clean out shed of any dust or trash, make sure nothing's leaking so nothing rusts.
>Clean the lawn of debris, wash my uncle's boat (Only had to do that once a week, but he specified that he really wanted it done, so I obliged.)
>Swing by the rickety ass farmhouse.
>Been 2spooked to check it out up until now.
>Besides, the place looks like it could collapse at any time.
>Cautiously open the door.
>Just dirt, some weeds, and a bunch of rotten wood and rusted old tools.
>Not a cat to be seen or heard.
>Or an owl.
>Or a rat or mouse or vole.
>That strikes me as somewhat odd.
>Other than that, the day went well, and I put out another saucer of milk at the end of it. For the cats.
>Enjoying the soothing sounds and calm demeanor of Bob Ross,
>when suddenly, the rummaging 3: Revenge of the rummaging
>Completely shakes me out of my happy place.
>Get kind of mad, honestly.
>Eye my uncle's gun cabinet.
>There's only an old rifle in there
>He used it to scare off or take down coyotes and shit when there were still animals on the ranch, apparently.
>It's just a .22LR varmint rifle. I think.
>It's unloaded, but well maintained.
>There's some ammo for it.
>Decide against it, figure pulling a gun on imaginary ghosts is one step too close to the deep end.
>Flick the back porch light on and off and scream.
>Again, no bin clatter. No scurrying.
>Wait a minute.
>It starts up again.
>Audibly say "C'mon guys, just fuck off already."
>Rummaging stops again.
>Very faint sounds, kind of like... running water? I guess.
>Then, the lids bang down.
>I hear tiny movements, that slowly fade away.
>My eyes are wide as dinner plates as I hang out by the back door for 10, maybe 20 minutes, losing my mind.
>It fucking heard me.
>It heard me and it understood me and it wasn't a fucking person and it sure as hell wasn't a god damned raccoon.
>Finally peek out into the porch.
>The lids are on the bins.
>Shut the door tight. Lock it. Then lock it again, just to make sure.
>I toss and turn all night, imagining tiny fucking homeless gremlins rummaging through my trash.
Someone said varmint rifle?
Why don't you give it a shot, see if you can't hit those coons.
>The morning was hard for me, and I'm not just talking about my dick.
>I tried my best to pretend nothing happened, that nothing was weird, but I just couldn't do it.
>I ended up making another run into town.
>I didn't even do any of my chores before leaving.
>As I left the ranch, I noticed the milk saucer was cleaned out again.
>I smile, and imagine how stoked the cats must be to get some fresh cowjuice.
>My mind turns for a minute and suddenly I'm imagining little fucking goblins slurping up the shit as they keep the cats at bay.
>Shake it off, and even refill the saucer before I take off.
>I buy some more supplies, some more food, and even rent a few new DVDs.
>Bob's great and all, but I needed some stronger escapism.
>I talk to pretty much every buddy.
>It's only been a week and a half, but I feel like staying up there on the ranch all alone was making me go stir crazy.
>I end up staying in town for a few hours, just wandering around.
>When I get back in the car, I realize I'm anxious. I'm legitimately frightened of spending another night at the ranch house.
>Call myself a pussy bitch, since I am one, and psyche myself up for the return.
>You feel great, everything's fine, and even if there were little hobo elves going through your trash and drinking milk, who gives a shit, they're Americans, and that's their business.
>Laugh a little and head back up to the ranch.
>The milk's still in the saucer.
>I leave it out, disappointed.
>Stock the house up.
>Break out a bottle of whisky from my uncle's liquor cabinet.
>He said I could have one, just one.
>I'd had a drink or two before, but never really gotten drunk.
>Figure it's about time that changed.
>Honestly, I don't remember this night too well.
>I drank 3 or 4 shots of whisky.
>Had a swig of it straight from the mouth, just to see how it felt.
>Ended up drinking about a fifth or fourth of the bottle.
>I watched Meet the Fockers
>That movie was god damned awful, but I remember laughing at it.
>I passed out half way through, whisky still open, lights still on.
i need you now
ill be watching vids til you post more
starting to get spoopky af
Could've gone way worse than it did, I have to admit. Especially with an easily loaded gun in the house.
>Clean up the couch and living room.
>Popcorn everywhere, whisky spilt, drool all over the cushions.
>Feel like an ass.
>Also feel like shit, really irritating headache, mouth dry as hell, sore throat, and sore joints from sleeping in a stupid position.
>Get done, decide to pick up on my chores.
>Open front door, milk saucer is emptied.
>Makes sense, cats are nocturnal.
>Only seen them once or twice during the day.
>Oh well, back to chores.
>No reason to take the trash to the curb, garbage collectors won't be here for another 3 or 4 days.
>Clear branches and shit out of the lawn, notice it's getting kind of long, make a note to mow it.
>Carry branches and twigs to the edge of the wooded area out back of the house.
>Turn my back, when I get goosebumps.
>feels like I'm being watched.
>Turn into the woods.
>The sensation stops.
>I don't see anything.
>I relax for a minute, before realizing that I don't see anything at all.
>There's no owls or birds in the trees, no insects, no rodents.
>The only animal noises sound like they're coming from maybe a quarter mile away.
>Notice a little clearing in the woods.
>Just a few yards in.
>Stumble through the woods.
>There's a fairy ring in the dead center of it.
>A perfect circle of mushrooms.
>I get the "being watched" sensation again.
>Clear the fuck outta there, panicking slightly.
>Regain composure, head out to shed.
>Shovels lined up by the side.
>NO. I yell in my own head.
>NOOOOOO. YOU DON'T GET TO. I don't remember whether I shouted out loud or just thought really angrily in my own head.
>Lock still on shed door.
>Circle around back.
>The open flap was there again, and the nails I used to seal it up were stacked in a neat pile beside the shed.
>God DAMN IT.
>Pick up nails, put shovels in shed.
>Freak out. Head back into house.
>Don't leave for the rest of the day.
I'm not trying to piss on your parade or anything, but mushrooms growing in circles are normal and not paranormal. They grow in rings because the mycelium is spreading in all directions at once.
I never said anything about the existence of faeries, I was just talking about the mushrooms.
Still not trying to disprove faeries, I've seen danish gnomes(nisser) so who am I to discount faeries?
Nah that part of the story definitely is weird, not trying to disprove anything. I just wanted to elaborate on the mushrooms.
>For the rest of the week I barely leave the house.
>I just didn't feel safe anymore.
>I watch movies, watch the news, eat.
>Whenever I was out there, I felt watched.
>I was really unhappy and considered bailing on my uncle, or maybe not doing the chores, but decided against it. He gave me 5000 fucking dollars and I was gonna do my god damned job.
>I perform my chores with MAXIMUM EFFICIENCY.
>I spend no unnecessary time outside. I take out the trash when it needs to go out, clean the shed, wash his boat, and clean the lawn of debris.
>The only thing I don't do is take the twigs and branches out to the woods. I just can't bring myself to go out there. I pile them up off the back porch.
>The only events that occur are rummaging on the back porch every few nights.
>And every time it happens, I eye the rifle and have to talk myself out of loading it and firing randomly into the dark off the back porch.
>During this time, I slowly drink the rest of the whisky.
>I even consider opening a new bottle, but manage to control myself.
>Eventually, I realize I haven't left milk out for the cats in a while. I imagine the little kitties out there with whatever the fuck else was out there. I imagine them thirsty or hungry. I can't deal with that guilt.
>On day 15 or so, I decide it must be done.
>I leave out a saucer of milk.
>The night is uneventful.
>That morning, I get ready for my maximally efficient chore run.
>I open the front door.
>Sitting there, piled neatly beside the empty milks saucer, is a bunch of shiny pebbles, bottle caps, and random coins.
I used to collect gnomes while wandering the wastelands
>I stare at the pile of items beside the milk dish
>Couldn't believe my eyes
>Start screaming at nothing
>DON'T COME NEAR ME OR MY PLACE
>I'LL KILL YOU I HAVE A GUN
>Go to my uncles case and grab the gun
>I'm ready, never fired a gun in my life but I'm scared and it's my only protection.
>Just then hear rummaging again in the trash bins
>Open up the back door and shoot
>Hear something collapse against the outside wall
>I open the door
>get on the floor
>Everybody walk the dinosaur
Not much of a story really. I was taking a walk in some woods near my home, that weren't used much by other people. I decided to go off the deer trail I was on and I noticed a little green pointy hat moving about in the undergrowth. I stood very still and just looked at it move about. Another little green hat joined it and they both poked their faces out between the leaves. They looked at me for a bit and then they ran off. I didn't know how they'd take me seeing them. So I just spoke out loud in a calm voice that I meant them no harm and that I wouldn't be bothering them again.
Yeah, I know there's a natural explanation for them. I mean, I didn't at the time, which is why I freaked out so badly, but I did some research after and realized. There was something off about the forest in general, though. I didn't like it. It was silent and still. The fairy ring was just what my spook-riddled mind focused on. Thank you for trying to calm me down, though.
>The previously stated happens, but I'm more confused and curious than scared this time.
>Something about receiving what seems like compensation for the milk made me think that whatever I was dealing with had some sort of almost human rationality to it, assuming something spoopy was actually happening (which I honestly did at the time)
>I don't let it get to me.
>I do my chore run.
>Eventually get to the shed.
>I had been putting it off, worried about what might be there.
>The answer was... nothing.
>No shovels, no anything.
>I check the back of the shed.
>I had nailed it up again about 2 days after my shovel freakout.
>Nails still in place.
>I sit there for a minute, then decide something more drastic must be done.
>I end up spending 2 hours soldering the flap in place and making sure there are no other weaknesses in the structure.
>Then, I walk around the edge of the property.
>I examine the farmhouse, the wooded area, old, discarded equipment, whatever I can find.
>There's no signs of a human dicking with any of it.
>Aside from the sticks I chucked into the woods, the whole perimeter seemed to have been untampered with for years.
>No broken twigs, no stamped down earth, no adjusted branches, no turned over equipment.
>I head back to the house, and leave out another saucer of milk.
>Then, I sit by the front door.
>Pull up a chair.
Same principle as gnomes really, they are from Irish/Scottish folklore. They tend to help out around the house and are fond of food gifts. If you thank them or give them new clothes they will get angry and leave. If you really manage to piss them off they make sure stuff goes missing and cause accidents.
>Brownies are domestic Fairies. They are good-natured generous folk who are happy to lend a hand to those in need and ask for nothing more than a little milk and bread in return.
>I stay up all night.
>All fucking night.
>I only leave to use the bathroom, or make myself a pot of coffee.
>Early on, I have a moment of brilliance.
>I get some flour from the pantry.
>Take a deep breath and open the door.
>Milk saucer still full.
>Not a cat, rat, or fucking hobgoblin in sight.
>I sprinkle flour all over the porch.
>I mean fucking everywhere.
>The rest of the time, I sit there, in still silence, and I listen.
>I hear owls hooting far away, and rustling of trees in the wind.
>No crickets, though.
>I jump at every louder than average hoot and every gust of wind.
>All night, I sit there and wait.
>Sunrise comes. I stand up and I am nerve wracked, and tired.
>I open the door.
>Milk saucer empty? Check.
>Pile of random shiny crap? Nope.
>But one thing was off about the porch.
>The flour was gone.
>I don't mean like the wind shifted it or something.
>I mean it was completely gone, cleaned off the porch, without a trace.
>I didn't leave the door alone for more than 4 or 5 minutes at any time.
>They didn't make a god damned sound, and they didn't leave a fucking trace
>>Not a cat, rat, or fucking hobgoblin in sight.
When you say thank you to them, you are basically insulting them. They do work around the house because they feel connected to the house and the people living there. When you thank them it's like you're saying they don't belong there and that they aren't doing chores like a person who belongs to the household.
Did she have some cool stuff to add on the subject, I only know what I've read about them.
That sound be Night 16, not Night 15, my bad. I knew I was going to fuck that up at some point.
>I don't go back to sleep.
>I do my chores, then make a supply run into town.
>Supply run is uneventful.
>Return is, too.
>In fact, the rest of my stay is almost completely uneventful.
>I don't leave out any more milk.
>I leave no chores undone or incomplete.
>I separate the recycling.
>The rummaging happens every few nights, and when it does I remain silent and let it or them or whatever the fuck have its way with the trash.
>The next morning, the back porch is always clean of debris, and the trash bins are exactly how I left them.
>The shed remains unmolested.
>The porch is left largely alone.
>I make supply runs as frequently and for as long as I can.
>I end up spending extended periods of time in town, just dicking around wherever people will have me.
>It's refreshing, and it's the only time I don't feel like a fucking crazy person.
>The return always fills me with dread, since I still feel almost perpetually watched on the grounds, but I always go back.
>Uncle even calls to check in.
>I tell him everything's fine, except that some weird stuff had happened with the shed.
>He says it must be a really dedicated hobo, and that he'll have the sheriff check it out when he gets back.
>"Best just to ignore it and lock up tight every night." he says.
>"Yeah," I say, nonchalantly.
>Only one other creepy thing happened.
>but it was what fucking broke me and made me swear to myself that I wasn't coming back to that fucking ranch ever again.
Out of character, and I would like to say very good story, OP.
Now, back I. Character it's pretty clear you have Brownies or some such British shit, or maybe Kobolds. You could leave a not by the saucer asking for chores to be done, because this far it looms like they're just stealing your milk and lining up shovels in return.
Unless the shovels are being used for something?
>I have become the ultimate automoton.
>All I do while I'm on the grounds is do chores, eat, and watch Scrubs, Seinfeld, and Bob Ross, then I go to sleep.
>I've started calling out to the cats when I see them.
>I coax them towards me with slices of chicken or turkey.
>They never come close enough to pet, but sometimes I leave the sandwich meat down, and walk away, then get to watch them take it.
>There's 3 or 4 cats, that all look kind of similar.
>I like them, but they're probably close to feral, and shouldn't be treated like pets.
>Too bad I'm an idiot.
>I manage to coax one within arms reach of me, and offer it the turkey.
>It takes it, and I am so fucking stoked.
>I reach out to scratch it behind the ear.
>As soon as I touch it, it flips the fuck out, and claws my hand.
>I bolt straight up and yell, and kick at the cat.
>I should've seen that coming, I know, and it's not the cat's fault, but I was pissed.
>I curse and scream about rabies as the cat darts off towards the old farm house.
>I feel bad for the rest of the day.
>The guilt really gets to me.
>I resolve to leave some milk out one last time, this time right next to the barn to make sure the cats get to it before... whatever has been digging through my trash and leaving me shekels does.
>In the evening, I leave the milk next to the barn.
>I check on it every once in a while through the kitchen window, but the cat never comes out.
Night 51(ish) wasn't eventful. Day 51 was when I couldn't take it anymore.
nigga i swear u best be fukn serious about shit happnin soon
>I open the front door.
>There's the cat, the same cat that scratched me the day before.
>It's laying on the edge of the porch with its head crushed in.
>There's no blood on the porch or the walkway or in the grass.
>I freak out.
>I grab the rifle, load it and scream off the front porch for an hour, aiming it at anything that rustles or moves but never pulling the trigger.
>Finally, I calm down.
>I head to the shed to get a shovel to dig it a grave.
>There's a hammer propped up against the edge of the shed. Completely clean.
>I check by the farmhouse.
>The milk saucer's empty again.
I slept with the rifle loaded and within arm's reach for the rest of my stay there.
>no green text
>2 secs later, no fucks given
>write green text story
>go to door
>annoying neighbor kid
>“wat do u want?
>”I need about tree fiddy"
>notice kid is actually 8 stories tall from the palezoic era
>walk back in the door
>get on the floor
>everyone walk the dinosaur
>remember I’m a dog
>hot girl I know walks in
>huge dog boner
>go hump her leg
>she pushes me off
>remember I’m a human
>spaghetti starts flying out of my pockets
>use spaghetti to jump rope
>Guard breaks down door
>“Stop right there, criminal scum!”
>Shrek runs in
>“This is so ogre”
>Beats Guard to death with an onion
>Guard beta as fuck
>Shrek alpha as fuck
>he then runs off
>have the weirdest boner
>Go eat some giga pudding
>use max revive
>tax master runs in
>kill it with fire
>stop coming in my house
>see niggas tonging my angus
>don’t know what to do
>so fucking beta
>moot banned OP
>moot banned everyone
>just me and him
>realize I’m in the Matrix
>Realize I’m turning into an agent
>wake up IRL
I dunno dude, it sounds like something was trying to help you out with the chores without exactly knowing how to do it. It acted protectively of you when it killed the cat. It's not like it did anything aggressive towards you.
Hobo thought the milk by the barn was a message to clean it out. Clean it out he did. You should go back, even though its been years. Get naked. Then just go spend the night in the wood line. I'm sure nympho nymphs will greet you.
>trying to sleep, can't
>middle of the night, no rummaging so far
>Almost falling to sleep when someone's knocking on the door
>grab the rifle
>Open the door, everybody get on the floor
>walk the fucking dinosaur
your post is uneventful just like this faggots story
>>Muster my courage and swing back door open, wildly swinging the broom and wailing.
>>Forgot to turn on porch light first.
>>Trip on some trash, stumble forward and bash head on porch banister.
HOW FUCKING STUPID ARE YOU?
He even killed a cat for you. You're a homogay.
That was it. Sorry if you're dissatisfied with it. I rushed out the ending post because people were getting really antsy in anticipation.
I slept with the rifle the rest of the stay. My uncle came back 8 or so days later. I told him what happened. He still blamed a hobo, but he was shocked and said he'd go to the police as soon as possible. I don't think he ever did.
I got my 5k though. The experience fucked me up, though, and I haven't told anyone else in my family or friend circle about it for fear of them recommending psychological help.
I know it wasn't as dramatic or drastic as some of the other stories you here about... creepy, supernaturalish things.
Everything that happened probably could be explained by animals and one very persistent hobo.
But the feeling... the feeling I had during my stay there made everything feel fantastical and unreal, and it was frightening. I've never gone back, but I still talk to my uncle reasonably frequently.
We've never talked about the incidents during my stay there, especially not about the cat.
The closest we ever came was about a week after I left, and rented an apartment in my hometown. He called me and asked how well I thought I'd soldered the back of the shed. I told him pretty well, I sat around for 2 hours making sure it held. He told me it was opened up again.
Don't take it too harshly op. People were expecting scary monster and didn't get it, then they got butthurt. For whatever it is worth I found your story interesting. I would've probably acted different from you, but if you don't grow up hearing about this stuff it can be pretty scary.
Dude, didn't you realize that the "thing" was your friend? The guy even cleaned your front porch after you fucked it all up with flour, do you know how hard it is to do that?
That's bro love if I've ever seen it
OP here, I just got it off of google images. I was trying to find the closest thing to the actual house to give people a good idea of what it looked like, but I didn't feel comfortable posting a literal picture or address for it. That's probably just me being paranoid, though.
I know that... whatever it was, be it hobo, goblin, fairy, or fucking recyclcabra, was trying to help me. I recognize that it appeared to be doing me "favors," and when I look back on it, I know I overreacted and regret not doing... something. Experimenting, I guess.
But it was so unsettling at the time. I'm pretty much a normalfag. I don't do scary stuff besides occasionally browsing /x/. Being waited on by some seemingly invisible force in exchange for saucers of milk was interesting, but fucking scary. It was something unknown, so I panicked. When it killed the cat, I realized that it was... my fault. I got the cat killed. I don't blame whatever the hell lives out there, I just don't want it anywhere near me, because if it can misunderstand my anger and attempt at penance for "He wants me to beat that furry creature to death with a hammer, and I will do this, because we are friends." then I don't want to be responsible for any more "misunderstandings" it and I have.
I think we can all agree...
The culprit was Mrs.Doubtfire!
I mean if you think about it, her job is to clean shit up, she is a maid after all.
I hear tale from night at pub yesterday in Moscow. Sorry for Badly english.
Mother and father get little tired from building communism so they want to go to Moscow to buy vodka. They call most trusted babysitter. When babysitter arrives children already sleep in beds. Babysitter just sits around and make sure everything good with children. Later that night babysitter gets bored and goes to read Marx but she can't read downstairs because there's no electricity. So she calls parents and ask if she can get candles to read Marx in their room. Of course the parents say it okay, but babysitter has one final request. She ask if she could cover Lenin statue outside bedroom window with a blanket or cloth because it makes her nervous. Phone line is silent for moment and father who say "take children and get out of house. We will call militia. We do not have Lenin statue." Militia find all three of house occupants dead because KGB kill them for trying to cover Lenin statue. Then militia rest parents for not having Lenin statue. Such is life in Moscow.
OP you're fucking dumb
the creature thing was cleaning your shed
paying you with coins and shekels for the milk
and killing your enemies
HE JUST WANTED TO BE FRIENDS
He has a wife and young son now. Which is good for him, I suppose. But it means they don't really vacation anymore. If they ever did... I would probably take the job. See if I can get similar results to my last stay.
I did save some of them. It's just a bottle cap and some old coins, though.
I thought about taking pictures but I ended up deciding against it. I guess in m head the whole thing was too easily faked, so there was no point in trying to "prove" it happened.
There used to be more little pebbles and stones, and a few bent up bottlecaps, and an old aluminum Altoid's container, but those weren't in the box when I opened it up. I think I must've thrown them out or misplaced them at some point.
Man, that picture is crap.
Just for clarity's sake, there are 2 quarters in there, one from 1980, the other from 1976. There's a penny from 1995, and a dime from 1991.
There's a balled up gum wrapper, two heavy screws that used to very really shiny but have turned brownish black with rust and tarnish. There's a brighter little screw.
A little metal disk, a bent up spring, 6 pebbles that are all reasonably shiny and I think came from a riverside.
Then there's a key, which didn't go to anything on the ranch grounds, and an old coin with a cartoon lion and some... Japanese? I guess. On it.
Story was oddly fascinating OP,
I will use your anus for leaving my cum
Perfect story. Not shit-your-pants scary but I definitely felt your whole train of thought throughout the stay and the major events of each night were just enough to be on the border between realistic and peculiar, especially the cat thing. If you can swing it, try to visit your uncle for dinner or something and leave a note with some sort of job along with a saucer of milk. Get a final test in there.
This would make a hilarious movie, OP. Also good story telling, was hoping for a better ending, but not every scary incident has a great ending.
>OP comes in green, flails over garbage can in dark with broom in hand, causing a ruckus
>By end of movie, OP is bloodshot, hardened to this new world of living next to a recyclabra drinking his cats milk
>clutching his rifle in his pale shaky hands, rocking back and forth behind door while Bob Ross can be heard in the background to juxtapose the situation
>pan out of property with semi-spoopy music as uncle hands over $5000
>Camera pan out stops to a small clearing, where a few pebbles, coins and paperclips sit in neatly piled circle, as if some autistic goblin has been making its home there
>footsteps approach.. dust kicks into camera
>OP neatly stacks his $5000 next to his other little treasures and smiles into camera
mfw i am m night shamalan
I'd watch it. Honestly, this would be really cheap to make. One actor, set is just a farmhouse, no effects needed. The only difficult part is getting a god enough actor to sustain the entire movie. Get on it, /x/.
I've got some bottle caps, pennies and a paper clip. I will film it too.
I'm not nearly nimble enough to pull off those stunts though
Yeah, it's pretty obvious that OP's bear uncle's farm is inhabited by fairies, or a hobo who thinks he's fairies.
The fact that so many people immediately said fairies, or brownies, or some other fey-type creature makes me wonder... does anyone ELSE have any stories related to fairfolk or other, similarly "folktalesy" cryptids?
Despite the lackluster final bit, I really liked the story.
>don't know basic european peasant folklore
OP if not full of shit (implying) has legit, IRL brownies being little pissants all over his property and accidentally brought them in line with an inadvertent gift of milk. They're harmless unless you piss them off; then they're still harmless but they fuck with your stuff.
I just personally have a fear of shit like brownies or fairies or that fucking albino monkey thing from "tales from the dark side" slitting my throat as i sleep, so OPs story kinda has me on edge.
THE FUCKING MONKEY THING
I couldn't sleep for a week after the fucking Inside the Closet episode.
My dad finally calmed me down by making me watch it with him, again, in broad daylight. Whenever the monkey thing came on screen, he honked a bike horn and went "HURRR DUUHHH," I was just a stupid kid, so that shit was hilarious and it made me feel safer, I guess.
so your crazy uncle paid you $5000 to do his chores while he camped out in the woods behind the house and fucked with you for a few months?
that's cool I guess. better than any of the things my crazy uncles tried to pay me to do.
so much for sleeping tonight. Gonna put on a pot of coffee and get my gun
What part of Colorado was this, OP? I live in CO, even met up with a few fellow faggots from this state to wander around the woods and wonder when the raping will begin.
So, checking out this cat killer is no problem.
>"Then, there're the coons. Digging through the trash, shitting on the porch. You wanna scare 'em off whenever you can."
>Oh thank god, he isn't talking about black people.
Yes he is.
>You feel great, everything's fine, and even if there were little hobo elves going through your trash and drinking milk, who gives a shit, they're Americans, and that's their business.
i like your story op.best new thing i read tonight
Well I tried and failed.
Its clearly appreciative of you. It left you a gift for the milk, and killed the cat that it saw hurt you. It doesn't wish to hurt you. This is probably fake but still, quit being a bitch.
Gonna contribute to the thread with something similar I went through a few years ago that spookled my bookles.
>2008 or so
>Live in Britbong land
>Me and my girlfriend (now wife) decide to get a house together
>First night there we unpack our sofa, and most of our livingroom shit before calling it a day.
>Sleeping on the mattress in the living room because fuck building a bed in the middle of the night.
>Awoken at about 3am to what sounds like the wheeliebin we had outside being tipped over the step, and I think "fuck, the wind must have caught it"
>I get up to walk to the door, and can hear the fucking thing scraping along the gravel we had on the driveway
>Suddenly hits me that someone is dragging my bin along the gravel, meaning that they'd have to either be really short, or crawling to drag it along.
>Nope, fuck this, I'll deal with it tomorrow.
>Get back into maximum comfy mode with girlfriend and fall asleep.
>Go to investigate where my bin has gone, expect the local chavs to have stolen it and set it on fire or some shit.
>Find it at the end of my driveway, ready for collection day. I filled it with plastic wrapping and shit off of the furniture we bought.
>Think not much of it, and choose to shrug it off.
Fast forward about a month or so.
>I've noticied a pattern emerging, and so has my girlfriend.
>Every night before bin-collection, between 2am, and 3am, we hear our wheelie bin tip over, followed by the scraping sound.
>Nickname the bin-bros the trashmen, they freak us both out because we have no idea what the fuck is doing it.
>Just try to ignore them.
>Girlfriend likes gardening, so she puts out food for the birds, usually bread and stuff like that. Birds being the messy cunts they are, they drop bread everywhere under the feeders.
>One night after the trashmen visit, I wake up to find a small pile of sticks stripped of bark neatly lined up under the bird feeder, they came from nowhere in our garden. We don't have a tree that matches these sticks.
>Girlfriend practically shits a brick because she thinks it's some blarewitch tier shit.
>I kinda do as well, but keep trying to convince myself that it's not a big deal.
I know this shit isn't really as long drawn out as OP's story, but the trashmen used to constantly leave these stripped sticks for us under the bird feeder where bread would fall. They'd always move the bins, and whenever you went out there to try and catch them in the act, the bin would just be left in the middle of the driveway on its side with nobody around it.
We moved out in 2011, and I haven't ever had something like that happen since. I kinda miss it to some degree. It's neat to know that they might have been these "brownie" things some other Anon mentioned.
Also, I apologise for the lack of detail, but it's about 05:30am, and I'm typing this up from a phone. I'll maybe rewrite in detail later in case I didn't make any sense.
Again though, always stripped sticks. Always lined up in order from largest to smallest. The sticks they left for us were always incredibly straight as well is something strange I noticed, they were about as naturally straight as you could get with clean cut ends that looked like they'd been sawn off, or chopped off with something. I think my girlfriend might still have one of them at work in her desk. I'll ask her about it, but I can't promise anything.
Night anyway, /x/
I would have told that faggot cashier to shut his whore mouth.
>your uncle is a racist asshole
Stand up for your family, goddammit. Just because he says racist shit doesnt mean hes a bad person.
stopped reading right there. Your uncle had a soldering iron laying around? Did you take an extention cord and some flux out there too? Nobody solders a fucking shed. You claimed to be fresh out of highschool. Why do you know how to solder things anyway? It wouldnt hold sheet metal together for shit. Youd be better off using jb weld or that putty you can kned together and it gets hard as shit.
None of this shit happened.
This is the most retarded post I've seen all year and that's saying something. Guess what EEfag, soldering had many uses long before people started sticking resistors together.