From Donaldson's Dairy

Responsible and mature female roommate. 

Must be able to handle strong smells, hovering, and the sickly taste of copper.

Must be vaccinated.

No pets.

Rent no less than $350 /mo.

Vicious is one of the most incredible short horror films I’ve ever seen! I definitely got chills. Please support the people behind this short! They’re doing some incredible stuff!

cloningmycat submitted:

I’m not a religious person. My beliefs are really quite different than most peoples’. I won’t go into details, because they aren’t important, but I will say that I personally don’t believe in God. 

When I lived in Germany on a small army post with my dad, there was an old abandoned train station two minutes from my house. Admittedly, it was probably a little stupid to break into it and hang out in there all the time, but my group of friends and I loved to do stupid stuff like that. What can I say? We were teenage idiots. 

One day, my parents had kicked me out and I decided to stay with a friend of mine, aged 28 at the time with four children, two of which were only toddlers. Since I was in a wretched mood that night, she told me that she would let two friends of mine, a brother and sister both of whom I was incredibly close with, stay the night as well and we would have a Harry Potter marathon. Be it far from me to object. 

Sometime during Prisoner of Azkaban, the two year old daughter began crying from her room, and I was sent to get her. I found three long scratches down her back and told her mother, who knew the house they lived in was haunted.

Around this time, my memory becomes a little hazy, so the details aren’t all clear to me. She wanted me, her, and the brother and sister I mentioned, to sit around her dining room table with a candle lit. Something having to do with getting rid of the spirit. I remember her leaning over and telling me that should the flame start to lean towards her, I was to grab the cross around her neck. Lo and behold, the flame from the candle moved to her and I quickly gripped onto the necklace. 

That was the last thing I remember, and the rest was told to me from the woman and the brother and sister pair. Apparently, my face softened and I smiled to everyone, looked at the cross in my hand. “This is a beautiful cross. Don’t worry, the lord will guide us through this frightening time, have faith.” Moments later, I dropped the cross and began screaming that there were bugs in my hair, cockroaches crawling all over my body. Someone thew a baby down the basement stairs. Hooks, so many hooks, my friends were on those hooks and no one could save them, so much blood, damn those hooks.

The next thing I knew, I was watching the scene where Dobby died in Deathly Hollows Part One, simply sitting on the couch and watching a movie, as if nothing had happened. Apparently, I hadn’t spoken since the screaming stopped either. 

While still shaken from the story, most of which I thought was exaggerated greatly despite the assurance that it most certainly was not, a couple friends of mine, not the brother and sister, went to the train station, the way we did everyday. We walked down the stairs and into the basement, and into the only room that had any light in it, a small windowful of the outside world. I had suddenly felt compelled to look up. I’d never looked at the ceiling while I was in that room before. 

Imagine my shock and surprise when I saw one straight row of butcher-style meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. 

haunted locations in wyoming

The children at “The old haunted graveyard” have been crossed over.

I prepared well for this one, it was quite an effort to do. Here’s how it went:

I used the pendulum and walked around the graveyard asking which souls needed to crossover. I found 9 children. I then went around asking which ones were the malicious ghosts and spirits that needed to be trapped inside their graves. I found Margaret Jones, Selena Skidmoore and a tombstone that simply had the name Norman on it. These were the troublesome entities this time around. There was also the “hag” Mary Lounsberry and Harry Hollins that needed extra reinforcement on their graves.

For 2 weeks I went to the graveyard early in the morning and sprayed the children’s graves as well as the malicious ones with Holy water. I also spread witches salt over the malicious ones as well.

I then made Devils traps, concealed them under garden stones and placed them on the malicious ghosts and spirits graves.

I made witches bottles and set them around the graveyard. I trapped 4 ghosts in them. I can tell when I’ve trapped them because the holy water and vinegar in the bottles get brown and foamy.

Many of the witches bottles were knocked over during the night so I would have to place new ones there the next day.

I also protected myself, my home my friends and family everyday making spells for protection and also made witches bottles for outside of my home.

Every night, I made a spell asking for protection from the ancient ones (Bast, Anput and Hecate).

The day before the crossover, I used a spray bottle filled with holy water and sprayed the entire perimeter of the graveyard while also praying to keep all malicious hosts and demons inside. I put a witch bottle in each corner, North, South, East and West of the graveyard as well.

I put a devil’s trap under a garden stone as well as iron nails around the entrance.

During this 2 week period I had recorded (during the day) ghost activity:

1. At the priests grave, I captured a voice I believe to be the priest, praying the ‘Our Father’ and 'Hail Mary’ with me.

2. Walking past 2 of the children’s graves I recorded a voice saying “you need a ring of salt for protection.”

3. Walking up to the hags grave I recorded a woman saying “Let me out.”

4. Walking near the Norman grave I recorded what sounded like a church congregation singing.

5. Near one of the children’s grave I recorded what sounded like a child laughing.

The morning of the crossing, I made a spell for myself asking the ancient ones to make me a “Supernatural warrior”. Also I asked to cast a shield of protectionover me and my husband so that we would be protected physically, mentally and psychically. That afternoon, I also made a spell for both of us to be invisible to malicious spirits and demons. That all they would see looking at us would be fire and that they would flee immediately from us.

Before going to the graveyard that night, I took a spiritual spell bath of blessed salt for protection, lemongrass for psychic power, rose petals and allspice for witches powers.

All these tactics worked together to create a very peaceful crossover for the children. My husband and I went into the graveyard, me praying, and walked to the center of the graveyard. I rebuked the devil and said a exorcism in Latin. I made communion for the children and baptized them in Jesus name. I called out each child and told them it was time to crossover. I also said if there was anyone else that wanted to crossovers they should do it now.

It was a very clear night, the moon was full (a supermoon) but the graveyard became cloudy and ominous when we arrived. However, the crossover was peaceful. No rocks thrown at me, no tripping over tombstones banshee cries or 'hounds from hell’ this time.

Hopefully, I will not have any retaliation from anything or anyone of the inhabitants of the old haunted graveyard.

THE PARISIAN CATACOMBS

The Paris catacombs are a maze of tunnels and crypts underneath the city streets where Parisians placed the bones of their dead for almost 30 years. prior to the creation of the catacombs in the mid-1700s, residents buried their dead in cemeteries, but as the city grew, they quickly ran out of space.

I’m still not sure where the Ouija board came from, but I first remember seeing it out of the corner of my eye as I smoked a Pall Mall with my bare feet dangling off the porch. It was the kind of boring early fall day that makes you wish something supernatural would happen, the kind of slow afternoon that’s so peaceful and sun-dappled you can easily imagine serial killers lurking just out of sight behind oak trees and in pickup trucks roaming the streets. Maybe you had to be there.

I was living that post-college summer in a mess of a house my mom called the “locker room.” Two of my roommates were a pair of Catholic twins who had grown up on a horse farm in Ocala. Sean was a runner who had just started his graduate degree in urban planning; Dylan was a Sasquatch of a dude who had knocked out a front tooth during a drunken tumble while pissing off the porch and never bothered to get it looked at. He was so fixated on the flatscreen television, which was constantly playing ESPN, day or night, that when it had blown out months before he screamed hysterically and then broke into my room through a window to steal my tiny set, claiming he couldn’t sleep without it. He was basically a troll guarding the entrance to our kitchen; there were times I swore he hadn’t moved from his throne in the living room for weeks on end. He often slept there and snored.

As different as they were, the two boys had been raised with the fear of God in them, and whatever the status of their Christian faith, they were loaded to the gills with superstitions. While I had assumed the only deities they recognized were the University of Florida Gators, their upbringing had instilled in them an unshakable belief in curses and demonic possession as well—or so I found out when I mentioned the Ouija board on the porch.

First they panicked, then they instituted a moratorium on touching it. This was broken a few hours into the night, when the normally sedentary Dylan made a dash for the porch while Sean and I and our third roommate, Michael, looked on.

Dylan fiddled around outside with the board while Sean appeared to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Get back inside, goddammit!” he would periodically wail.

After what seemed like an eternity, he did. Then Dylan sat in his well-worn recliner, took three shots of Evan Williams, and started to weep.

If you have never seen a man the size of a linebacker wail with guilt and drunkenness and dread at being a sinner in the hands of an angry God, let me tell you: It’s no fun at all. Meanwhile, Sean was rocking himself in the corner and repeating, “this isn’t right, this isn’t right” over and over.

“WHAT DID THE OUIJA BOARD TELL YOU?” I finally screamed.

Dylan poured another shot, wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his Gators shirt, and inhaled the whiskey.

“Sixty-nine devils,” he replied.

“Oh my God,” Sean screamed before collapsing on the floor.

At this point, Michael interjected, possibly figuring that someone had to be the voice of reason and there wasn’t anyone else around.

“Come on guys, he has to be making this up,” he said to me and Sean. “What does ’69 devils’ even mean? There are devils? Sixty-nine of them? There are two devils doing a lewd sex act? Like, the clothing company the Gap has devils?”

Unable to assuage us with jokes about jeans, Michael grabbed one of the axes lying around the house (it was that sort of place) and took the board on to our front lawn, where he reduced it to kindling.

“It’s going to be OK, I’m banishing you from the spirit world,” he announced as we cried. “Fuck ghosts!”

After it was completely smashed to bits, he started peeing on the remnants. We then all took turns ritualistically peeing on the remnants, for reasons I cannot recall but made sense at the time.

Immediately I felt better.

Sean, however, was not satisfied. He got a weird look in his eye and, as a final flourish, doused the surrounding area with almost an entire bottle of lighter fluid, then lit it on fire. This turned out to be a terrible idea. The flames got dangerously close to our house before we fought them off with water and dirt. By this time the four of us were all crying—out of fear of the fire, panic in the face of the supernatural, smoke filling the air, or some combination of the four.

When the fire was out we went back inside the house feeling extremely unsettled. No one spoke; Dylan was practically catatonic. We figured it was best to go to sleep and forget the whole thing.

Years later, wondering about that “69 Devils” business, I asked Dylan what the fuck had happened to him out on that porch, and whether he had been fooling us. His answer: It was a prank.

“I thought the 69 would’ve been a dead giveaway, but [you all] were more focused on the devils aspect,” he explained.

I don’t know if that’s true—that crying of his was pretty convincing. Perhaps he had gotten spooked and was now trying to play it off as if it had been a prank all along. And whatever the spark that set it off, that was an intense evening that drained all of us physically and emotionally. Michael got the worst of it, however, because of a strange coincidence that almost ended in murder.

To back up: When I woke up the next morning there was a person asleep on the porch—not an uncommon occurrence back then—and Michael looked like he’d had the roughest night of his life.

Apparently, after we all went to bed, Michael woke up in a panic. “I was staring at the ceiling, because I had this weird feeling, this intense feeling, that there was something next to my bed,” he recently confessed. “I told myself, ‘It’s fine, you’re OK, you’re having a bad day because your friends are acting emotionally funny, and there’s no inimical spirit next to you.‘”

He refused to look so as to even humor the thought that there was something evil afoot. The plan was to stare at the ceiling, count down from ten, and close his eyes at zero. But when, he got to “two,” he could sense that whatever was next to him had moved.

“I had no idea what was going on and so I jumped out of bed and on top of whatever it was,” he told me.

“I’m sorry officer,” the thing apparently said as Michael grabbed for the axe, which he’d brought into his room after getting spooked by the Ouija board incident. “I’m not drunk, I swear.”

According to him, a completely fucked up college student had wandered into our house while we were running in and out dealing with the fire and had eventually tried to pass out in Michael’s room, where he came about two seconds away from dying from an axe blow.

I don’t believe in the power of curses, or so I tell myself, but when I look back on that night and what we did, it seems impossible to explain our actions without resorting to the supernatural. What if that drunk kid had been mauled by Michael’s axe and we had to explain ourselves to the cops and the courts and the media? What would we have said when asked why we thought it was OK to light our yard on fire? (“To kill the ghosts real good, officer”?) Why was Michael’s first instinct, when confronted by the unknown, to kill it with an axe? Why was our house full of axes in the first place? Even if it was intended as a prank, was there something ominous in the phrase “69 devils” that infected us?

The Jamaica Inn in Cornwall UK is one of the most haunted pubs in the country. A range of spooks are said to haunt this old inn with the most famous being that of an unknown man.

The story goes that he was drinking quietly at the bar one night when an unknown person peered round the door and beckoned him outside. The man’s body was found in the moors the next day. His identity and that of his assailant have remained a mystery.

During the early 1900s the Inn was used as a temperance house, but there have always been spirits of a different kind at Jamaica Inn. Previous managers of Jamaica Inn have heard conversations uttered in a foreign tongue. Some have suggested this ‘foreign’ language could in fact be old world Cornish.

On a moonlit night, when all is still, the sound of horses’ hooves and the metal rims of wheels turning on the rough cobbles can be heard in the courtyard. Yet there is nothing to be seen! Who can explain the uneasy footsteps heard pacing the corridors in the dead of night? Who is the strange man in a tricorne hat and cloak who appears and then walks through solid doors?

MURDER AT THE INN

Many years ago a stranger stood at the bar enjoying a tankard of ale. Upon being summoned outside, he left the half-finished ale and stepped out into the night. That was the last time he was seen alive. The next morning his corpse was found on the bleak moor, but the manner of his death and the identity of his assailant still remain a mystery.

Previous landlords, upon hearing footsteps tramping along the passage to the bar, believe it is the dead man’s spirit returning to finish his drink.