scarey stories

blah956

Member
Aug 16, 2009
6,339
5
I check into small hotel a few kilometers from Kiev. It is late. I am tired. I tell woman at desk I want a room. She tells me room number and give key. "But one more thing comrade; there is one room without number and always lock. Don't even peek in there." I take key and go to room to sleep.

Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red.

Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. "By the way who is in that room?" She look at me and begin to tell story.

There was woman in there. Murdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red.

I tell her I don't give a poop. Stop the water trickling or give me refund. She gave me 100 ruble credit and free breakfast.

Such is life in Moscow

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Walking home one night, you notice all the candles in personal shack are lit.

You finish vodka bottle as you approach your door.

House is empty, and you made sure not to feed guard dog, but candles still go out.

You check your pocket watch, small hand on 4, big hand on 1. You relise you'll be late for unpaid community service.

At service, you find letter on floor. It's signed to you, from you. You open the letter, confused.

Inside reads "the out for watch watch"

You look at pocket watch. big hand on 4, little hand on one. You look at note again, it appears the 4th and 1st words have swapped places.

"Watch out for the watch."

You look at pocket watch again.

You realise watch is broken, and decide you must get it fixed. You also decide to cut back on vodka, so as to not send letters to yourself anymore.

Such is life in mother Russia.
 

blah956

Member
Aug 16, 2009
6,339
5
"Father, I had a bad dream"

You take a sip of vodka and roll over. You stare at the clocktower on Sobornaya Square it's 3:23. "Go back to sleep, there is work tomorrow."

"No, Father."

The familiar warm buzz of vodka starts to sink in. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness. "Why is that, devochka moya?"

"Because in my dream, when I was about to go back to sleep, the thing wearing Mother's skin sat up."

You pause, and face your daughter and look at her intensely. The figure behind you begins to stir.

"Don't talk that way about your brother, it is not his fault we have no money for coats. Such is life in Moscow."
 
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