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Post by Tweek on Jan 28, 2013 17:16:00 GMT -6
Short horror stories from around the internet. Grab a fork and dig in!
I did not write any of these, and I don't know who did. I will credit the author if he/she contacts me.
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Post by Tweek on Jan 28, 2013 17:17:31 GMT -6
Branches In The WindFinally, I’m home. After working a late night, I finally finished a project that my boss pushed on me. It was all worth it though, because I had a great day ahead of me. The part I was most excited for though, was seeing my son. I finally won the custody battle against my ex-wife, so now I actually get to see him. I fixed up my old spare bedroom for him, although it looked bland in all white. I figured we would have some spare time later and we could make any changes he wanted. I lumbered up the stairs, and when he finally heard I was here, he quickly called me into his room. “Daddy, I can’t sleep, there’s a monster in the window!” Monsters, huh, that’s original for a kid. “Oh don’t worry about that, it’s just the tree’s branches blowing in the wind, see?” I pointed and showed him the branch tapping against the window pane. He trusted me enough to calm himself down, and I kissed him good night. Finally, time for sleep, I could hardly even see straight at this point. I walked across the hallway, and collapsed into my bed. I had too much on my plate to be dealing with monsters. I had to go with him to school the next day to get him signed up in our district, I had to buy him school clothes, I couldn’t even think straight. That’s when I heard him calling again. Man, I love the kid and all, but I needed some sleep! “Daddy, the monster is back again!” he shrieked. I looked to the window: nope, nothing but the tree’s branches. I walked over, and to prove it to him, I opened the window and turned back to him. “See, it’s nothing but the tree, I told you, now go to sleep, you’ve got school in the morning.” He was still a little startled from what I could see, but what could I do, I was just too damn tired. Again, I fell into the comfort of my bed. Then I heard a cry, and I had just had enough. “Fine, I’ll just sleep in your bed with you, if you see any monsters, just hold tight to me.” I walked back into his room, pulled back his red blanket, and lay next to the kid. While I lay, eyes closed, my mind started wandering. Didn’t I buy white sheets for the bed? I looked at my son’s slit neck and realized my mistake. That’s when I heard the monster, except it wasn’t tapping at the glass; it was the footsteps from the opened window. I couldn’t help but laugh, how didn’t I realize I had no trees in my yard?
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Post by Tweek on Jan 28, 2013 17:20:47 GMT -6
Goodnight
She lived in a small apartment with her husband and two dogs. Since the building was old and the walls were thin, every noise made in the entryway and living room could be heard from the bedroom. Late one night, she decided to go to bed while her husband took the dogs outside for their last walk. After she went into the bedroom, she heard the jingle of the dogs’ leashes and the opening and closing of the front door. As she started to doze off, she heard the front door open and close as her husband reentered the apartment. She saw a small streak of light as he opened the bedroom door and then quietly closed it behind him. He silently climbed into bed and got under the covers. She murmured, “I love you,” and fell asleep before he could reply. A few moments later, she was awakened when she heard the front door open and close again. Then she heard the jingle of the dogs’ leashes and her husband’s hushed voice. By the time that she realized that her husband was not already in bed, she felt a cold hand caress her cheek.
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Post by Tweek on Jan 28, 2013 17:23:33 GMT -6
Moonlight
Finally, after a day of boring canoeing and fishing I get to go to sleep. I can’t believe I got dragged along on this camping trip. I take one last look at the sky before I go into the tent, I can see through the trees that there’s a full moon, but it looks like the clouds are about to block it. Not like I care, I just want to go to sleep, so I crawl into the tent, get into my sleeping bag, and throw my head onto my pillow. Jake, my so called friend who is responsible for bringing me out into the middle of this lame forest, climbs into the tent, after me. We chat for a bit and then say goodnight, but I lay awake. I can’t help but notice just how quiet it is, I don’t even hear any bugs, I’m still thinking about it as I fall asleep. I wake up, but it’s still dark, in fact it’s darker than when I fell asleep, then I remember that the clouds were going to block the moon. I can’t figure out why I woke up, but then I hear it, a rustling. I look over towards Jake; he’s still sleeping soundly, not moving. The noise isn’t coming from him, but then I realize it’s coming from below the tent. I couldn’t feel it because I was on my air mattress, but the entire bottom of the tent was writhing. I wonder if an animal had pushed itself down there, I reach out to touch it and when I do I feel something thin, long, and moving, and there are a lot of them. I yell and yank my hand back, had we sent up our tent on a snake’s nest or something? My yell wakes up Jake, he begins to ask what’s wrong then he sees the issue. He lets out a yelp as well; he then calls out for his parents, who were in a separate tent a short distance away, but no response. We’re both staring at the tent floor when we hear it, the sound of tree branches moving, but the tent isn’t being flapped around, there’s no wind, so what is it that’s moving the trees? Suddenly the bottom of the tent stops moving, so do the tree branches. We both sit in complete silence, too scared to say anything. Then, right by me, directly outside of the tent, I hear a giggle. It shatters the silence, so do our screams. Once we calm down we hear more giggling, lots of it, more than one person could ever do on their own. At that moment the clouds clear, allowing the moons light to shine again. What it shows is the silhouette of a short, two foot at most, figure hunched over by the tent. We can see more of them dropping from the trees, all of them giggling manically. Then, all at once, the giggling stops, the one closest to the tent holds something up, it’s about the size of a soccer ball. Then, with a horrible sinking feeling, I know what it is, the head of one of Jake’s parents. I try to stifle a sob of pure terror, as the hunched figure, in complete silence, slowly walks around the tent, reaches the door flap, and begins to open the zipper.
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Post by Tweek on Jan 28, 2013 17:29:51 GMT -6
Stairs
In 1984, there lived an old widowed lady by herself in a two story house who was completely immobile and bound to her wheelchair. Ever since the mysterious death of her husband, she required the aid of a carer who would visit her daily to help her with everyday tasks. What made it even more difficult, was the fact that the two floors of the house were only connected by an old staircase inside. When the old lady needed to move between the two, the carer would have to carry her frail body like an infant, up and down the stairs. One day the police received a call from the widow. There had been a murder. Since police units were scarce at the time, and the murderer had already fled the scene, only one detective was sent out to conduct the initial crime scene report. He arrived to see the carer’s body splayed out on the floor with her vocal chords ripped out in a pool of blood on the first level of the house, with the old lady atop the staircase in her wheelchair watching him, still and silently, seemingly in shock. He could immediately rule her out as a suspect, due to her inability to move up and down the stairs, and because she was trapped up there the time the murder took place. It was similar to the death of her husband many years ago, who had suffocated in his sleep on the couch downstairs. The detective put on his gloves, took photos, swabbed for evidence, and covered the body until the coroner arrived later – all routine business. He scoped the house downstairs for any clues, then asked the old lady if he could look upstairs. She insisted that she was upstairs the whole time and no one apart from her had been up there that day, but regardless of this the detective ascended the staircase to which she hesitantly moved aside. Beyond the staircase, there was a narrow corridor, with three closed doors along it. He checked behind each of the doors, the empty bedroom – nothing, the bathroom- nothing. He became anxious as he slowly made his way to the final bedroom where the old lady slept. He opened it and everything looked normal. A bed, a wardrobe and a bedside table with a lamp. He checked every wall of the room in horror, as it was not what he discovered, but it was what he didn’t discover that made him stop dead in his tracks and slowly reach for his gun in its holster. It was a detail so minor that they had completely overlooked it on the last investigation of the husband’s death. There was no phone upstairs. He suddenly heard a noise as he withdrew his gun and rushed out of the room, only to find an empty wheelchair atop the stairs.
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Post by Tweek on Jan 30, 2013 19:38:07 GMT -6
A Parent's Love
We were all there that day. The day they released him. Me and Kent, Bonnie and Simon, Nora and Anthony, Dustin and Patrick, and Darlene. We didn’t bring the kids. I think it was Nora’s idea to leave them at home. And it was Patrick’s idea to go watch the release. Chad Lamb strode from the prison, wearing the smirk that had won us over six long years ago. He stopped at the gate, spotting us. Dustin waved. Darlene raised a finger to her throat and slowly dragged it across in the classic execution motion. Lamb scowled, exited the gate, and turned west, heading for the bus stop. There was an empty lot across from the prison where we waited by our cars. Lamb, I was happy to see, continuously checked over his shoulder as we watched him walk away. He wasn’t afraid, but he was cautious. When he disappeared from view, Nora said flatly, “It’s time. We need to go to her now.” Three years ago, the kids had started having nightmares. They woke up crying, but would refuse to say why. They’d started making up excuse to avoid going to school. And they’d reacted with fear around Mr. Lamb, their charming, engaging new teacher. Finally, over the summer, Patrick and Dustin had taken their adopted daughter Yuan to a consular, who’d convinced her to open up. Lamb had touched her. Had touched several other students. With a little more pressing, Yuan gave a few more names. Dustin and Patrick had gone to their parents, gone to us. It was hard. I didn’t want to believe it, but Stan had been so scared. He’d evaded us, refused to answer the questions at first, but finally broke down. He’d been convinced he’d get in trouble. So had Violet, Eddie, and the twins Tyler and Beatrice. Lamb had done a real number on them. The police had been wonderful. Slowly, gradually, the children built up their courage to testify. My stomach twisted as I recalled Violet breaking down in tears on the stand in court. Poor, sweet Violet. Then again, Violet wasn’t sweet anymore. She went from a shy, helpless seven year old victim to a ten year old black belt with a mean streak. Six year old Kayla had the meanest, toughest sister in school. If only Beatrice had been so strong. Once again, I thanked God it hadn’t been my Stan. Then felt horrible for the thought. I heard the car stop, and looked up. We were in front of her shop. I could see the other parents waiting in front of the emerald door. “Come on.” Kent said wearily. “She hates it when we’re late for our appointments.” The shop was crowded with books, animal bones, statues of gods and fairies, strings of strange plants, and several ancient weapons. The glass counter at the back separated the public shop from the private meeting room. Darlene trudged to the counter and hit the bell once. A black curtain, emblazoned with purple eyes, was pulled aside, revealing Coda. “Heya parentals! Today’s the day, ain’t it!” Coda was always cheerful, no matter what. He had long, sharp teeth, and nails to match, with eyes as yellow as candle flames. If I’d cared, I might have wondered what he was. The boy wasn’t human. She had confirmed that. “I’ll get The Bone Woman, ‘kay?” Coda offered, disappearing back behind the curtain. “Come on!” He called, and we followed. As we always had. Nora had found her. I never asked how. The Bone Woman’s might had been proven to me, and her effectiveness was all that mattered to me. We each took our usual seats around The Bone Woman’s table, and waited. Eventually, Coda returned, leading his master by the hand. The Bone Woman’s glass eyes gazed sightlessly over us as Coda gently helped her into her massive, throne like armchair. She had a thick book, bound in a shining white material. We’d seen the book before. She’d shown it to us the first time we’d visited her. The Caligo Veneficus. The Darkest Magic. One of only thirteen in the world. Bound in the flesh of a murdered priest, the stitching done in human hair, taken from a mother who died in childbirth, and the ink it was written in mixed with the blood of a hanged man. “Are you sure?” She asked, breaking the silence. “We’re sure.” We said in unison. She nodded grimly, flipping the book open to a page near the center. The Iratus Motuus. The Angry Dead. Nora and Anthony looked grim and determined. Bonnie put her hand on Nora’s shoulder. “Are you sure, honey? Completely sure?” “This is the only way to put things right.” Anthony said, and Nora nodded. The Bone Woman shooed Coda away. “I will need the item.” She said as he left. Nora reached into her pocket, and removed a silver necklace. A heart shaped chunk of aquamarine winked cheerfully in the fire and candle light. Anthony swallowed, tears in his eyes, as soon as he saw the necklace. I remembered that necklace. Beatrice’s favorite. She’d been wearing it even when they found her in her room, hanged by her belt. A news article proclaiming Chad Lamb’s coming release from prison clutched in her hand. Nora regretfully handed the jewelry to The Bone Woman. The shaman took it, inspected it, and nodded. “Her soul has left a mark upon this object. It will work. It will call to her.” Coda came back, holding several bottles, cans, and herbs. He dropped these unceremoniously onto the table, and then turned to a shelf in the room, fetching a brass pot from it. He set this on the table too, and vanished again. As we watched in silence, The Bone Woman went to work. She seemed to not need eyes to identify what was what. She seized a decanter of dark, red wine, pouring it into the pot, and began to chant. Three yellow rose blossoms, a pinch of salt, seven rabbit bones, a lock of red human hair, a handful of grave yard dirt, snake fangs, on and on and on. The brew began to smoke and steam without being boiled, and The Bone Woman’s chanting grew faster and louder. I heard Beatrice’s name sprinkled in the foreign chant. Lamb’s name as well. Finally, she reached the finally stage of it. “Arise, my child, arise, arise, arise! Your killer now walks free, and justice has done not its duty. The time of justice is gone, now comes vengeance. Arise, my child, arise, arise, arise!” There was a burst of sound, and lavender smoke poured from the pot, filling the room and blinding us. A tortured, horrified scream split the air. The smoke cleared, and The Bone Woman looked at us gravely. “It is done. She shall be waiting for you at the agreed upon place. Go to her. But, Nora, Anthony, be warned. This is not your daughter. This is an instrument of revenge and unholy justice. Remember that.” The coffin stank. And the body was disgusting. Why did she get this gig? She’d wanted a fresh corpse. The body slowly reassembled, stitching itself back together via the Shamaness’ dark magic. The Bone Woman. Ah. Her. One of the strongest. Soon, the hands were fully reformed, and she’d slammed upwards, tearing open the coffin’s cherry wood lid. She pushed up, up, up, through the soft, icy Earth, and into the midnight air. The throat fixed itself, and she gulped down oxygen. She didn’t need it, but it felt nice for the body. She pulled herself up, settling her feet on the frosty grass. She knew where to go. She rolled her still repairing shoulders, and walked. Heading for the iron gates, down the dirt road, towards an abandoned barn that her master had ordered her to proceed to. “They, shall, be, waiting.” He rumbled. The white dress was tattered, torn, the lace slightly yellowed. She’d lost a shoe on the trip up, and the another on the walk down the hill the grave was on. It was two hours to the barn, and the legs were stiff. The arms swung limping, the feet shuffling and shambling. It grew to be too much effort to keep the mouth closed, and she let it fall open, the tongue lolling out. She felt restless. She wanted to rip, tear, kill, devour. She wanted to get the job over with and go home to the fiery, sulfur-scented fields of home. The crumbling barn appeared, and she vaguely spotted several cars parked. She grimaced. Damn. Late. As she approached, she heard shouting. “The damn witch cheated us! Nothing’s here! God damn it Nora, how could you—“ She got to the door, reached up, and ripped it open. Nine living humans looked over at her, startled. One of them took a hesitant step forward. “Be-Beatrice?” The human whispered. She said nothing. Only a raspy moan for an answer. The human drew back, gathering together, whispering. “What did she say for us to do?” “Uh…We send her to Lamb, I think. Yeah.” “Okay, okay.” They broke apart, and another one approached. “Es…es vos iratus…mortuus?” He fumbled out uncertainly. His Latin was awful, but she nodded once. She pulled back the blackened lips, showing the sharp teeth granted by the spell. She held up the hands, the black, claw like nails casting shadows. She gave another raspy, hungry moan, and one of the humans burst into tears. “Send her away, send her away.” She wailed. The one before her pointed back out into the night. “Chad Lamb.” He said firmly. “5831 Carmen Lane. Soon. Within a week. Understood?” She nodded, moaned, and turned, shambling away. Some instinct, evolved from the earliest days of her people, led her back outside, towards town. She did not run. She had time. So much time. She took back roads, moving like a shadow through trees and backyards, quickly approaching Lamb’s house. She got hungrier with every step. She needed to eat! Good, she was sure the nose was picking up his scent. Finally, thank you high dark master, there was the house. There was her meal. Chad was still up. On his computer, surfing his ‘special’ sites. Thank God that the American government still hadn’t started monitoring what registered sex offenders looked up on the web. He was so engrossed in a newly posted video, that he didn’t hear the back door open. Nor did he hear the sound of dirty, cold feet padded across his kitchen floor, through his front hall, up his stairs, down his hall, stopping in front of his closed office. He did finally hear the office door open, and looked up. “WHAT IN THE HELL??!!” Beatrice Mastin was standing in his doorway, standing in at him with puffy, sticky eyes. She smiled at him, her dirt stained fangs filling her mouth. She shuffled through the door, holding out her arms, curling her claws in and out. Chad fell off his chair, his pants around his ankles, scrambling backwards, until her ran into the far wall. Beatrice reached him, and stopped, staring down at him. The girl, from far away in another world, asked her to say something, and she complied. After all, fear made the meat taste better. “I’m hungry, Mr. Lamb.” The man’s screams were almost as sweet as his skin.
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Post by Tweek on Jan 30, 2013 19:45:16 GMT -6
Unknown Number
“JESUS!!” I cried. Being jolted from a half dose at a quarter to midnight by my new ‘Halloween theme’ ringtone didn’t do wonders for my heart-rate, especially since I’d momentarily forgot I’d changed the tone at all that day. Took me a while to find my phone stuck down the side of the armchair I was sitting in, not helped by the fact that the only light in the sitting room was the static on the widescreen TV. “Unknown Number.” I answered it, there was no-one there. To be honest I was expecting heavy breathing on the other end as I was still a little freaked out, but there was no noise at all. I hung up, took a deep breath and frowned- Maybe I just pocket dialed myself. My old iPhone could make a fake ‘self call’ designed to create a diversion, so if I was having a boring conversation with someone I could pretend mom was ringing or something , although I wasn’t familiar at all with this ‘new’ piece of crap. Dad bought it from a gas station for twenty bucks a few days ago, as I’d lost my iPhone on a trip to the city last week. I flicked through the features on the menu screen trying to find the fake call option, but didn’t have much luck, for one thing the screen was about half the size of a credit card. I cursed and decided to watch T.V. instead to take my mind off things. I tried using the light of my cell to find the remote with little success. Groaning out of laziness, I hauled myself out of the chair to get to the light switch. Stopping halfway, I registered the fact that I had the T.V. on the satellite channels when I fell asleep yet now: static from the analogue Ariel. I ran the rest of the way to the switch and basically punched it. Light flooded the room and my darting eyes saw nothing. After another deep breath, my moment of fear passed, guess I was a little unused to having the whole house to myself. Mom and Dad were only gone for the night, but it was quite a treat for me since they rarely went anywhere, even during the day. Nowhere to go but fields around this part of the country, so them going to a friend’s wedding meant I finally had some solitude. I still couldn’t see the remote so I decided to recheck the sides of the armchair. I threw my phone on the seat and reached deep down either side. The Phone rang again at full creepy blast with my ear pressed right up against it. I angrily grabbed it- “Dammit WHAT!??” Again, there was dead silence. Cursing, I threw the phone back on the seat hard. POP!! At that moment the lightbulb blew out violently and the power went out, thrusting me into total darkness. With a shriek, I scrambled to grab the phone again and found it after an instant of blind terror. Using the tiny screen light to see, I panicked and bolted down to my room as fast as I could, jumped into bed and pulled the covers. I curled into a fetal position. I was panting hard, from both the run and the fear. I couldn’t form any thought for about 5 breaths, until I decided to call dad. Looking at the screen, I saw I forgot to hang up the last call. My breath caught in my throat as I saw that this time, it wasn’t an “unknown number”- It was mine. My old number from the phone I’d lost. As I hit the red button my terrified mind began to race through a thousand horrible implications until I realised something else. My bed was already warm. BEEP BEEP. The message tone nearly gave me a heart attack. “It’s under your pillow” Ever so slowly, my trembling hand slid underneath the pillow- and found the T.V. remote. From under the covers I heard my bedroom door close, then lock.
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Post by Anarchist86ed on Feb 2, 2013 11:51:19 GMT -6
I thought this was about creepy looking pasta like Hulkaroni
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Post by Tweek on Feb 2, 2013 11:57:42 GMT -6
Those are creepy too. Bet they don't taste good either.
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Post by Tweek on Feb 2, 2013 22:14:33 GMT -6
To Whom It May Concern
To Whom It May Concern: If you are reading this, it is for a good reason; I promise you. You didn’t stumble upon this by accident, this isn’t just a cool story I thought you should read, and no, I’m not trying to sell you anything. Nothing like that. Just know that it is for a damn good reason. Now, I’m going to preface this whole thing with a disclaimer: If this has reached you in error, if you’ve stumbled across this in error and this doesn’t seem to apply to you…I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to bring this on you, because once you’re in, you’re in. Once you know, you know. This can’t be undone. You’re a little skeptical about the paranormal. You’ll always say that you’re a believer in it, but your mind is always trying to explain away whatever’s been happening to you, even if the experiences seem to speak for themselves. I’m not going to go into the specifics of these experiences; you know what I’m talking about. This, though, this doubt, is good. It’s normal. It’s the mind trying to keep you calm, keep you sane, and keep you living on as free from fear as possible. The mind is really good for that. The mind is really good for a lot of things. Remember that night you got into the car and it was raining? Do you remember that well? You’ll know what I’m talking about. Think about getting into a specific car, on a specific night, and it was raining. One is going to stand out to you. One in particular. Focus on that one. Think about EXACTLY who was in the car with you. Picturing it? Now think about the way the other cars’ headlights looked in the windshield. If you’re having trouble picturing it, please don’t read on any further, for your own well-being. You’re not ready. If you’re picturing it, think about when you reached your destination safely. It looks a little different, doesn’t it? That’s because this part is completely false. Try to remember the impact. Try to remember when the red Ford pick-up collided with your vehicle, the flash of pain as your head smacked into the window, and then nothing. Think very hard about that. Think back to that exact moment, because that’s the most crucial. All of those experiences you had, think of them as being the nurses, doctors, and your family members visiting you in the hospice; that’s what they’ve been: The real world leaking in. That’s all they’ve been. Ghosts are a concept you invented yourself, to keep yourself comfortable in this world; they’re a self-made convention, and you need to give them up. Think really, really hard about this. As I said before, your reading this is no accident. That night was an accident. Everyone tries to get you to wake up every single day, but you won’t. It’s been months. They don’t think you ever will. Go back to them, please. Wake up. They’re begging you to wake up. If you’re still reading this, I really am sorry; you are never going to wake up. Sincerely, You
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Post by Tweek on Feb 2, 2013 22:18:01 GMT -6
The EnigmaDo you hear it? That near silent thump, thump, thump that can be heard when all else is quiet? No? Listen, strain your ears for the slightest sound. Do you hear it now? That is the heart beating in the chest of the Warden. He watches, always he watches, looking for that one moment of weakness, waiting to strike. Do you hear it yet? Don’t turn around. If he sees your face he’ll know your fear. Then he will strike. Before I go any further you must know something; the Warden does not exist. The mind is a very curious thing you see. Two fears grew in your mind just now; the fear of hearing the thumping, and the fear of not hearing it, even though it is there. So in order to protect yourself you heard something that was not there. What power the mind possesses, that it can create sounds! But it is more than that. There is a darkness in the mind of every human being. It lies trapped in the darkest depth of our souls. For the most part the darkness sits, reaching out into your mind, spreading its influence. You have probably heard it, edging you on, telling you to steal, to hurt, to kill. But more then anything else this darkness, this evil, seeks a shape. And while your brain, fearing the existence of monsters and demons you read about, begins to create them. From that creation the darkness takes its form. Listen, do you hear that? The thumping is back. The darkness has found its shape. Maybe you will be lucky. Maybe all you hear is sound. But if the darkness has escaped then you will be dead before you even reach your light switch.
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Post by voke on Feb 11, 2013 4:33:10 GMT -6
The Portraits
'There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached, and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning.
As he looked around the inside of the cabin, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by several portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred and malice. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.
The next morning, the hunter awoke — he turned, blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.'
Easily one of my favourite pasta's! Keep them coming!
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