#Ghoststories

[afraidparade]

pazu's the main character! and you have to like him :)

i've done a few silly shorter animations in the past but this was my first time making an amv for any of my g/t ocs! it was very fun and i would like to do it again, i'm just in a constant state of forgetting that i enjoy animating

youtube link if you so desire

[gtzel]

I drew pazu @afraidparade

[starrypawz]

AO3 So this has actually been something I've had the idea for for a good while and so here's a rare dip into angst adjacent territory. CWs for this include panic attacks, smoking and references to Mary Keay's death and blood.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” “With what?”

“Pinhole,” The sighed word is a bitter pill and he wishes he had something stronger than a can of coke to wash the aftertaste out. 

“Oh,” Nemo replies. 

Pinhole Books has sat empty for months now. Largely forgotten, a benefit of London’s panache for anonymity probably. Although the occasional whisper carries the ‘tragic’ events even if the spectres of police tape, white clad forensic officers and news reporters have long gone. 

The narrow stairs to the attic bedroom that had been both have not sung their creaking song to greet Gerry’s boots for a long while. Not since that one cautious visit to collect what remained of his belongings and he dared not even think about even risking one glance into the gutted corpse of the bookshop, and he swears that wretched copper smell still lingers.

“It’s just… sitting there… festering… rotting,” 

Gerry sighs, looks out over the cemetery, the days are starting to get shorter, the air cooler. Entering what he will admit as cliche as it is his favourite time of year. (But then what’s the point of being Goth if you don’t engage in a good cliche now and then… like sitting in a cemetery on a cool early autumn evening) And this… this is probably too perfect of an evening for this but even as Nemo places a hand on his back and he closes his eyes for a second as he tries to focus on that he can’t stop. 

“Maybe,” He chews his lip, “Maybe I should leave it to rot right? Leave it there, pretend it never existed,” He tenses up and Nemo leans into his shoulder and he sighs. 

“But… But fuck I can’t… I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist, that is… was…” He sighs and shakes head and swallows down the words stuck in his throat and takes another swig of coke to try and help them go down but the bubbles catch in the back of his throat. 

He tips his head back, “You know what… when I went to get my stuff I saw someone,”

“Someone?” “Yeah,” He sighs.

“It... wasn’t the police right?” 

“Nah,” He sighs, “Unless they were Special Branch?” He closes his eyes for a moment as he thinks back, “No… I don’t think so, the shoes?”

“Shoes?” “Yeah… low heels but not the sort you can run in,” He pauses, “Office wear, looked… very polished, green shirt… guess she was trying to look like she had a personality,”

Nemo snorts.

“She was taking photos, sent a text to someone,” “Council?” 

He thinks, “No… actually she was an… estate agent.”

“An estate agent?”

“Yeah… I saw… a logo on something the back of her car,” “Huh… I mean could be the Special Branch undercover as an estate agent?” 

Gerry snorts.

 “I guess it’s a hot property right?” He sighs, “For sale detached Victorian style house with attached shop, two bedroom, period features and a foreboding sense of doom to anyone who crosses the threshold, sight of one really fucked up occult murder don’t worry we cleaned the blood stains up as best we could,” He grips the edge of the stone under his hand and the texture bites into his palms, “Could probably get a decent amount of money from it right?”

Nemo’s quiet. But by this point he knows that quiet is the sort that exists to let his thoughts flow as he listens. 

“Yeah… sell it to some poor bastard, let them deal with whatever the fuck is lurking in there… they’d have to replace those floorboards that’d be so expensive… and then I’ll take the blood money and… fuck I don’t know,” 

“It wouldn’t feel right would it?”

“No,” Gerry sighs,

“No,” Gerry sighs, “Can’t leave it, can’t palm it off to someone else…” He swallows and mutters, “Instead of the cross, the albatross around my neck was hung,” 

Silence falls between them, this isn’t one of Nemo’s helpful silences to quietly unspool his tangled thoughts, it’s one of those tense ones where neither of them quite know what to do and maybe he should stop here, have this conversation another night, or maybe never again. 

Yeah, It’s getting late, they should go home, just go home, go home, go home, have Nemo put their sweet lips on his lips before they go to bed like they did most nights now. 

But instead. 

“I could burn it,” “What?”

“Burn it,” He grins and turns to them, “Plenty of books in there, they go up easy enough, turn it all to ash,” He laughs.

(This isn’t his normal laugh) 

“Gerry,” Nemo shakes their head, “That… that has got to be the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard,” 

“Is it?” He sighs, “Is it really? Seems the best fucking idea I’ve had for a while actually,”  

He laughs again, “Just burn it down… burn the fucking albatross,” 

He laughs again

He laughs again

He laughs again

“Gerry?” He just about registers Nemo’s concerned face. 

His eyes are wide, his hands shake, breaths fast and shallow. 

Shit.

Can’tbreathe

Nemo swallows, and once again he witnesses them slip into instincts from a past life. They urge him to look at them, place his hand on the arm, see how soft the fabric of this hoodie is, ok take a breath in, hold it, hold it, now out, easy slow… now again… again… see you’re ok you’re ok again, it’s just us here, nothing can hurt you, you’re safe, you’re safe. 

“Fuck,” Gerry sighs, and lightly presses his forehead to theirs, “Thanks,” 

Nemo rubs his back and he groans softly as he realises just how tense he is. And oh here comes that tension in his jaw again, ow fuck. 

He reaches in his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter, 

“Shit… still shaky need-”

Nemo steps in, and takes a drag on the cigarette once they’ve lit it. 

“Hey… no that’s fair,” He chuckles weakly before Nemo slips it into his mouth. 

Nemo leans into his shoulder and he watches as the too perfect of an evening for something like this takes hold. 

“Fuck,” He sighs, cigarette between his fingers, “This is becoming a really big fucking problem,” 

[generativetenebrousautomata]

[urbanghoststories]

The Curse of the Crying Boy

Many of you might have heard about the infamous painting that has caused a stir in paranormal circles. The Crying Boy is a haunting portrait that depicts a young child with teary eyes and a sorrowful expression. It gained its notoriety due to the urban legend surrounding it—an alleged curse that brings misfortune and disaster to anyone who owns the painting.

Legend has it that the original artist, Giovanni Bragolin, made a pact with the devil, imbuing the painting with supernatural powers. The story goes that a fire broke out in a house, destroying everything except for the Crying Boy painting, which was left unscathed. Since then, tales of fires, accidents, and even death have been associated with those who possess the cursed artwork.

The lore surrounding the painting has grown over time, with many claiming that the boy's eyes follow them, or that they can hear the faint sound of crying when in its presence. Such eerie occurrences have left people mesmerized and fearful at the same time.

But is there any truth to these spine-chilling accounts? I've dug into the origins of the Curse of the Crying Boy, so lets shed some light on the matter.

Firstly, it's important to note that the Crying Boy painting isn't a single artwork, but rather a series of prints created by Bragolin. The artist himself denied any involvement with curses or supernatural elements, stating that his intention was to capture the melancholic expression of a child. The fame and subsequent rumors surrounding the painting came as a surprise to him.

Many experts believe that the curse is nothing more than an urban legend fueled by fear and superstition. The alleged string of misfortunes associated with the painting can be attributed to coincidence or simple statistical probability. After all, the more popular the painting became, the higher the chances that someone who owned it would experience misfortune, regardless of any supernatural involvement.

Moreover, skeptics argue that people's imaginations can play tricks on them. The perception of the painting's eyes following you or the sound of crying might be nothing more than our own minds projecting fears onto the artwork.

Nonetheless, it's fascinating how the Curse of the Crying Boy has managed to capture our collective imagination and send shivers down our spines. It serves as a reminder of the power of urban legends and the allure of the mysterious.

So, whether you believe in the supernatural or not, the Curse of the Crying Boy remains a captivating tale that has stood the test of time. As with any paranormal phenomenon, it's up to you to decide where you stand on the matter.

[skyaghast]

[robinsheldonillustration]

🍂🧣🧦🍁🥧 Feel the Chill 🍂🧣🧦🍁🥧

Happy Autumn everyone! Where I am, autumn has finally begun and it is the perfect chilly weather.

I am baking bread, brewing a stew, and all of my windows are open! I am also digging into some ghost stories, paranormal podcasts, and drinking lots and lots of coffee from my pumpkin mug.

Robin Sheldon Illustration

[thelastdancemacabre]

🎥✨Dive into the macabre with @LastDanceMacabre! Explore chilling videos and eerie stories. ✨📽️

Follow for your dose of the dark and mysterious:

[memoirsofamonsters]

Memoirs of a Monster Societ episode 1. The Devil of Algiers.

Welcome to Memoirs of a Monster Society, where we delve into the chilling tales and mysterious legends that haunt the darkest corners of our world. In this inaugural episode, we unravel the spine-tingling story of The Devil of Algiers, a terrifying urban legend from New Orleans that has intrigued and terrified residents for nearly a century.

The Devil of Algiers takes us back to the 1930s, a time when the quiet neighborhood of Algiers was suddenly thrust into a state of fear and paranoia. Witnesses described seeing a creature with bat-like wings, glowing red eyes, and sharp horns. This entity, dubbed the Devil Man, was said to leap great distances, attacking unsuspecting people and then vanishing into the night. The legend created such a panic that the community lived in constant fear, dreading the moment when the Devil Man might strike again.

[helmort]

🎃 𝗜𝗢𝗪𝗔 𝟭𝟵𝟯𝟬 🎃

In the vast, desolate Iowa countryside of 1930, Charles Reynolds toiled as a humble farmer, his weathered hands nurtured the stubborn earth to yield a meager livelihood. Life was hard, but it was honest, and Charles was content. That was until the day the thirst of his barren land drove him to dig a well.

The endeavor commenced innocently, as most tales of malevolence often do. With a determined clench on his shovel, Charles thrust it into the ground, beginning the excavation that would plunge him headlong into the abyss of his own undoing. The first day yielded an assortment of old coins, their tarnished glimmer reflecting in his greedy eyes, igniting a covetous fire that would soon consume him. Beside the gaping hole, his wife, Agnes, implored him to return home, her voice tinged with a sense of foreboding, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Greed, that malevolent whisperer, had begun to weave its seductive spell over Charles, drowning out the loving concern of his wife.

The second day of his descent into darkness brought forth glistening treasures of gold. His greed grew insatiable as he continued to delve deeper into the earth, convinced that his relentless pursuit of riches was worth any sacrifice.

On the third day, the bowels of the earth divulged a mysterious find—a corroded plaque with old British words inscribed upon it warned to stay away from the place, a caution that should have been heeded. Yet Charles, his mind shackled by greed, scoffed at the notion of halting his excavation. It was an act of defiance that would soon unravel his world. As night draped the land in a shroud of inky darkness, Charles's shovel struck an object of unfathomable dread. A golden ring, tainted by the hands of time, lay perched on a skeletal finger, the fragile remains of an old woman. He hesitated, then removed the ring and plundered the deceased woman's body for other golden treasures, forsaking his humanity for his insatiable lust for wealth.

His hand brushed against something out of place, a small piece of aged wood, fragile and brittle. Faded letters carved upon it formed a haunting message: "Beware of the Witch."

In the dim light of a flickering lantern, Charles's eyes widened with realization. Panic surged through him as the very walls of the earth trembled, closing in on him with unrelenting force. The ground shook and before Charles could react, the walls crumbled, sealing his fate in a suffocating tomb of soil and stone.

The weight of the earth bore down upon him, crushing him into the annals of history. The townsfolk, alerted by the terrible sounds that had resonated through the night, could do nothing to save him. The cursed well, now a gaping maw of darkness, held the secrets of Charles Reynolds and his insatiable greed for ever.

💀☠️💀☠️💀

[afraidparade]

i'm sick off my ass with covid rn but i powered through just to make this

[svilleg6]

Campfire Horror: Lost in he Woods (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/366504253-campfire-horror-lost-in-he-woods?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=Svilleg6 Campfire Horror Get ready to experience a spine-chilling selection of horror stories that cover a wide range of camping themes. From encounters with the supernatural to psychological torment, each tale promises to scare you. Crafted from the most horrifying nightmares, they say it's both unsettling and eerie. Between reality and nightmare, be prepared for a thrilling ride. From cursed cabins to encountering restless spirits by the shore. Horror Stories You Won't Forget

[starrypawz]

AO3 psspsssts if you want some gentle dom Gerry with a dash of hurt/comfort but Gerry's the one needing the comfort more.

Nemo is caressed in red rope and blac leather right where he wants them. (Tonight that is kneeling, wrists to the bedpost with rope, threaded through their cuffs to bind their wrists to their knees, spreader bar to keep their legs apart)

And they shake as they ride out another climax (That was the fourth one) that they’ve been slowly brought to by the wand tied to their thigh. (and helped along with the dildo and the plug). 

He twitches against his sticky stomach. His own arousal had been secondary tonight but he’d only been able to ignore it for so long and the way Nemo had begged as he had sat there just out of reach as he’d taken himself in hand and urged them through with soft praise about how good they were and what they’d done to him had been pretty fucking amazing really.  

Gerry reaches out and brushes their collarbones and Nemo’s whimper from that light touch is music to his ears before he gently cups their chin and wipes away a tear. 

“Still green?”

Nemo nods. 

“Good,” 

He kisses them softly and Nemo moans into his mouth. 

Nemo squirms and whimpers under his hands as he slowly teases his way down their rope caressed skin until he’s between their legs. 

“Gerry,” Nemo whines as they rut against his hand. 

“Easy,” he soothes as he hooks a finger through the o-ring on their collar as he toys with their clit, before he places his slick fingers against Nemo’s bottom lip. Black lipstick long smudged by this point (not to mention the eyeliner around their lust darkened eyes) and gives an aroused chuckle as Nemo moans around his fingers as they take his fingers, “You’ve been so good for me,” He sighs softly as he teases before he pulls them in for a kiss that’s so soft and slow it’s painful.

Another night he could’ve taken things rough. There’s a part of him that would quite happily do that right now. 

But…

There’s something about this, something about  Nemo apart with soft touches that are no less of a hedonistic torture than if they’d been in a mood to play rough.

Besides, the world outside of this room has been too rough lately, he doesn’t need to add to it. 

He’s lightheaded when he breaks the kiss. And is rewarded with a moan that makes him twitch when he lightly presses on the slight bulge in Nemo’s stomach.

“Look at you…” He chuckles, “All filled up and it’s still not enough for you, is it?” He ruffles their hair and feels a rush of affection as Nemo leans into his touch and bites down on their lip. “Do you think you can give me one more?”

Nemo nods.

“Good,” Gerry sighs, “And I think… my prince deserves a special treat,” and shifts his attention to their tits as he cups and pinches, “What if I suck on that cute little cock of yours?” 

Nemo’s eyes widen, “Please!”

“Please what?” He pinches harder

“Please… Gerry,” “Almost,” 

“Please… Princess Gerry,” 

He chuckles and presses a kiss to their flushed, freckled nose, “You’re so fucking cute,” 

“Are you still ok like this?” Nemo nods. 

It’s a little awkward for him to slip into position but he soon has Nemo above him and he reaches up to run his hands over their ever sensitive (and now slick) thighs and Nemo whimpers above him and then moans as he presses on the base of the ever faithful blue dildo before he slowly pulls it out. 

“Gerry-” Nemo whines and then gasps as he slips in a couple of fingers.            

Fingers and tongue draw out begging whimpers as Nemo shakes above him as he pulls them apart slowly, so slowly.

The world outside of this room has been too rough lately. Left him feeling flayed and raw. And maybe another time he would’ve needed gentle hands to soothe him, hold him as they falls apart after being pulled apart with aching softness but right now.

Right now.

He needs to be the one with gentle hands (although his hands were never meant for gentle things) as he makes someone fall apart after pulling them apart with aching softness  and is soothed as he holds them. 

Nemo trusts him, truly truly trusts him (for better or worse) enough for this willing surrender as he gently pulls them apart over and over as he just needs a chance to gain some control over… 

“Gerry!” 

This time it’s a sobbing scream as Nemo comes apart above him once more, his hands on their hips as Nemo slumps forward as he takes his fill as he finds himself blinking away tears.

He shudders as Nemo’s fingers work along his tattooed spine as they sit behind him on the floor of the shower, the bathroom bathed in warm, damp air. “Feeling better?” Nemo asks softly. 

He blinks, and he’s pretty sure that’s just water from the shower, “Getting there,” 

“Good,” Nemo sighs as they rub his back and he’s pretty sure the knots are the only thing keeping him together at this point. 

“Are you ok?” 

“Yeah,” Nemo sighs, “You always take good care of me,”

“Do you need,” He groans as Nemo kneads into a particularly hard knot, “Me to-”

“Just let me look after you,” Nemo mumbles as they press a kiss to his shoulder. 

Gerry sighs and tips his head back as he gives himself over to Nemo’s gentle hands.           

[journalofthelongsincedeseased]

The Day to Begin

I am sure I have said this many a time, but the time is now. If I am going to tell my story it is in dictation to one whom I trust.

Mary Ann Winslow. I have known those of her name since long before her own birth and I shall know what children's children may yet be. With that said, where to start if not my first bite?

[morbiuseggheadxpolitics]

Haunted Apartments in Vallejo, California.

[skyaghast]