Things That Go Bump In The Night: UB/CP Edition (Posting 4 Stories A Day)

The Lonious Monk wrote: »

TayGettem wrote: »

THE RUSSIAN SLEEP EX PT 5
THE END

All three subject's restraints were reinforced and they were placed back into the chamber awaiting determination as to what should be done with them. The researchers, facing the wrath of their military 'benefactors' for having failed the stated goals of their project considered euthanizing the surviving subjects. The commanding officer, an ex-KGB instead saw potential, and wanted to see what would happen if they were put back on the gas. The researchers strongly objected, but were overruled.

In preparation for being sealed in the chamber again the subjects were connected to an EEG monitor and had their restraints padded for long term confinement. To everyone's surprise all three stopped struggling the moment it was let slip that they were going back on the gas. It was obvious that at this point all three were putting up a great struggle to stay awake. One of subjects that could speak was humming loudly and continuously; the mute subject was straining his legs against the leather bonds with all his might, first left, then right, then left again for something to focus on. The remaining subject was holding his head off his pillow and blinking rapidly. Having been the first to be wired for EEG most of the researchers were monitoring his brain waves in surprise. They were normal most of the time but sometimes flat lined inexplicably. It looked as if he were repeatedly suffering brain death, before returning to normal. As they focused on paper scrolling out of the brainwave monitor only one nurse saw his eyes slip shut at the same moment his head hit the pillow. His brainwaves immediately changed to that of deep sleep, then flatlined for the last time as his heart simultaneously stopped.

The only remaining subject that could speak started screaming to be sealed in now. His brainwaves showed the same flatlines as one who had just died from falling asleep. The commander gave the order to seal the chamber with both subjects inside, as well as 3 researchers. One of the named three immediately drew his gun and shot the commander point blank between the eyes, then turned the gun on the mute subject and blew his brains out as well.

He pointed his gun at the remaining subject, still restrained to a bed as the remaining members of the medical and research team fled the room. "I won't be locked in here with these things! Not with you!" he screamed at the man strapped to the table. "WHAT ARE YOU?" he demanded. "I must know!"

The subject smiled.

"Have you forgotten so easily?" The subject asked. "We are you. We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind. We are what you hide from in your beds every night. We are what you sedate into silence and paralysis when you go to the nocturnal haven where we cannot tread."

The researcher paused. Then aimed at the subject's heart and fired. The EEG flatlined as the subject weakly choked out, "So... nearly... free..."

This would actually make a good horror movie, except for the very end. That was kinda corny.

There's a movie called The Killing Room made in 07 it was based on this.... But this is a tru story or atleast based on one....the Russian got the location fenced off under heavy security it's kind of like the Area 51 of Russia

ABANDONED BY DISNEY



Some of you may have heard that the Disney corporation is responsible for at least one real, "live" Ghost Town.

Disney built the "Treasure Island" resort in Baker's Bay in the Bahamas. It didn't START as a ghost town! Disney's cruise ships would actually stop at the resort and leave tourists there to relax in luxury.

This is a FACT. Look it up.

Disney blew $30,000,000 on the place... yes, thirty million dollars.

Then they abandoned it.

Disney blamed the shallow waters (too shallow for their ships to safely operate) and there was even blame cast on the workers, saying that since they were from the Bahamas, they were too lazy to work a regular schedule.

I sincerely doubt those reasons were legitimate. Why don't I buy the official story?

Because of Mowgli's Palace.

Near the beachside city of Emerald Isle in North Carolina, Disney began construction of "Mowgli's Palace" in the late 1990s. The concept was a Jungle-themed resort with a large, you guessed it, PALACE in the center of the whole thing.

If you're unfamiliar with the character of Mowgli, then you might better remember the story "The Jungle Book". If you haven't seen it anywhere else, you'd know it as the Disney cartoon from decades past.

Mowgli is an abandoned child, in the jungle, essentially raised by animals and simultaneously threatened/pursued by other animals

So anyway, Treasure Island, the Bahamas. Disney sunk those millions in and then split. The same thing happened with Mowgli's Palace.

Construction was complete. Visitors actually stayed at the resort. The surrounding communities were flooded with traffic and the usual annoyances associated with an influx of lost and irate tourists.

Then it all just stopped.

Disney shut it down and nobody knew what the Hell to think.

I honestly didn't give the place another thought since hearing it closed over a decade ago. I live maybe four hours from Emerald Isle, so really I only heard the rumblings and didn't experience any of it first-hand.

Then I read this article from someone who had explored the Treasure Island resort and posted a whole blog about all the crazy ? he found there. Stuff just... left behind. Things smashed, defaced, probably ruined by the disgruntled former employees who had lost their jobs.

Hell, the locals from all around probably had a hand in wrecking that place.

Who wouldn't want to take a few swings at some merchandise after that?

Well, what I'm getting at is that this blog about Treasure Island got me thinking. Even though many years had passed since its closing, I figured it might be cool to do some "Urban Exploration" at Mowgli's Palace. Take some photos, write about my experience, and probably see if there was anything I could take home as a memento.

Over the course of that year, I did a lot of research on the Palace resort... or rather, I tried to.

Naturally, no official Disney site or resource made any mention of the place. That had been scrubbed clean.

Recently, I learned that corporations can actually ask Google, for example, to remove links from search results... basically for no good reason. Looking back, it's probably not that nobody spoke of the resort, but rather their words were made inaccessible.

So in the end I could barely find the place. All I had to go on was an old-as-hell map I'd received in the mail back in the 90s. It was a promotional item sent out to people who had recently been to Disney world, and I guess since I had been there in the late 80s, that was "recent".

But I DID find it.
I was in awe when I reached the front gates of the resort. Tremendous, monolithic wooden gates whose supports to either side looked like they must've been cut from giant sequoias. The gate itself had been gouged in several places by woodpeckers and eaten away at the base by burrowing insects.

Hanging on the gate was a sheet of metal, some random scrap, with hand-painted letters scrawled in black. "ABANDONED BY DISNEY". Clearly the handiwork of some past local or an employee who wanted to make some small protest.

The gates were open enough to walk through, but not drive, so grabbing my digital camera and the map, whose flip-side showed a layout of the resort, I set off on foot.

The inner grounds of the place were just as overgrown as the entryway. Palm tree stood untended and ragged among piles of their own coconuts. Banana plants similarly stood in their own stinking, bug-riddled refuse. There was this sort of clash between order and chaos, as carefully planted rows of perennial flowers mixed with obnoxious tall weeds and stinking, blackened mushrooms.

All that remained of any outdoor structures were broken, rotting wood and various charred bits of unidentifiable material. What was most likely an information booth or an outdoor bar was now simply a pile of assorted debris chopped up by past vandalism and ravaged by weather.

The most interesting thing on the grounds was a statue of Baloo, the friendly bear from the Jungle Book, which stood in a sort of courtyard in front of the main building. He was frozen in a jovial wave toward no one, staring into empty space with a silly, toothy grin as bird ? covered whole swaths of his "fur" and vines ensnared his platform.

I approached the main building - the PALACE - only to find the outside of the building covered in graffiti where the original paint hadn't peeled and chipped away.
Above the front doors, or the gaping maw where they had been, someone had once again painted "ABANDONED BY DISNEY".

The inside of the building was so stark, so bare, that I actually think people had stolen the molding off the walls. Anything that was too big to steal... counters, desks, giant fake trees... they were all resting amid this empty echo chamber that amplified my every step like a slow rat-a-tat of a machine gun.

The kitchen was as you'd imagine... an industrial food prep area with all the appliances and space, no expenses spared. Every glass surface was broken, every door knocked off its hinges, every metal surface kicked and dented. The entire place smelled like very old ? .

The huge freezer, not even remotely cool now, had row upon row of empty shelf space. Hooks hung from the ceiling, probably for hanging cuts of meat, and as I stood inside for a moment, I noticed they were swinging.

Each hook swung in a random direction, but their movements were so slow and small that it was almost impossible to see. I figured it had been caused by my footsteps, so I stopped one from swinging by clutching it in my fist, then carefully letting go, but within seconds it started to swing once more.

The bathrooms were in much the same state as the rest of the place. Just like the Treasure Island resort, someone had methodically smashed each porcelain commode with coconuts and other implements. There was about a half inch of rancid, stinking stagnant water on the floor, so I didn't stay there very long.

What's odd is that the toilets and the sinks (and the bidets in the ladies' room, yes I went there) all dripped, leaked, or just ran freely. It seemed to me that they should've shut the water off long, LONG ago.

PT2 Coming Up

ABANDONED BY DISNEY Pt3

As I made my search, I was jarred out of my sense of excitement by a loud electrical buzz. Rows of lights overhead suddenly flashed to life, flickering and fading in and out like the rest I had passed.

It took a second for my eyes to adjust, and it seemed like the light was going to just keep getting brighter until all the bulbs exploded... but just when I thought it would reach that critical stage, the lights dimmed a bit and steadied.

The room was exactly as I had pictured it. Various Disney costumes hung on the walls, fully put together like strange cartoon cadavers hung from invisible nooses.

There was an entire rack of loincloths and "native" clothes on hangers toward the back.

What I found odd, and what I wanted to photograph right away, was a Mickey Mouse costume at the center of the room. Unlike the other costumes, it was lying on its back in the center of the floor like a murder victim. The fur on the costume was rotten and shedding, creating bare patches.

What was even odder, however, was the coloring of the costume. It was like a photo negative of the actual Mickey Mouse. Black where he should be white and white where he should be black. His normally red overalls were light blue.

The sight was off-putting enough that I actually put off photographing the thing until last.

I took a picture of the costumes hanging on the walls. Upward angles, downward angles, side shots to show an entire row of frozen, putrid cartoon faces, some with plastic eyes missing.

Then I decided to stage a shot. Just one of the bedraggled character heads on the slick, grimy floor.

I reached for the headpiece of a Donald Duck costume and carefully removed it so the thing wouldn't fall apart in my hands.

As I looked into the face of the wide-eyed, moldering head, a loud clattering sound made me jump with fright.

I looked down at my feet, and there between my shoes was a human skull. It had fallen out of the mascot head and shattered into pieces at me feet; only the empty face and lower jaw remained, staring up at me.

I dropped the Duck head immediately, as you'd expect, and moved for the door. As I stood in the doorway, I looked back to the skull on the floor.

I had to take a picture of it, you know? I HAD to, for any number of reasons that may seem silly, but only if you don't think it through.

I'd need proof of what happened, especially if Disney was going to somehow make this go away. I had no doubt in my mind, right from the start, that even if it was just gross negligence, Disney was RESPONSIBLE for this.

That's when Mickey, that photo negative, opposite-Mickey in the middle of the floor, started to get up.

Beech Oss Neega wrote: »

TayGettem wrote: »

The Lonious Monk wrote: »

TayGettem wrote: »

THE RUSSIAN SLEEP EX PT 5
THE END

All three subject's restraints were reinforced and they were placed back into the chamber awaiting determination as to what should be done with them. The researchers, facing the wrath of their military 'benefactors' for having failed the stated goals of their project considered euthanizing the surviving subjects. The commanding officer, an ex-KGB instead saw potential, and wanted to see what would happen if they were put back on the gas. The researchers strongly objected, but were overruled.

In preparation for being sealed in the chamber again the subjects were connected to an EEG monitor and had their restraints padded for long term confinement. To everyone's surprise all three stopped struggling the moment it was let slip that they were going back on the gas. It was obvious that at this point all three were putting up a great struggle to stay awake. One of subjects that could speak was humming loudly and continuously; the mute subject was straining his legs against the leather bonds with all his might, first left, then right, then left again for something to focus on. The remaining subject was holding his head off his pillow and blinking rapidly. Having been the first to be wired for EEG most of the researchers were monitoring his brain waves in surprise. They were normal most of the time but sometimes flat lined inexplicably. It looked as if he were repeatedly suffering brain death, before returning to normal. As they focused on paper scrolling out of the brainwave monitor only one nurse saw his eyes slip shut at the same moment his head hit the pillow. His brainwaves immediately changed to that of deep sleep, then flatlined for the last time as his heart simultaneously stopped.

The only remaining subject that could speak started screaming to be sealed in now. His brainwaves showed the same flatlines as one who had just died from falling asleep. The commander gave the order to seal the chamber with both subjects inside, as well as 3 researchers. One of the named three immediately drew his gun and shot the commander point blank between the eyes, then turned the gun on the mute subject and blew his brains out as well.

He pointed his gun at the remaining subject, still restrained to a bed as the remaining members of the medical and research team fled the room. "I won't be locked in here with these things! Not with you!" he screamed at the man strapped to the table. "WHAT ARE YOU?" he demanded. "I must know!"

The subject smiled.

"Have you forgotten so easily?" The subject asked. "We are you. We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind. We are what you hide from in your beds every night. We are what you sedate into silence and paralysis when you go to the nocturnal haven where we cannot tread."

The researcher paused. Then aimed at the subject's heart and fired. The EEG flatlined as the subject weakly choked out, "So... nearly... free..."

This would actually make a good horror movie, except for the very end. That was kinda corny.

There's a movie called The Killing Room made in 07 it was based on this.... But this is a tru story or atleast based on one....the Russian got the location fenced off under heavy security it's kind of like the Area 51 of Russia

Cool story but this ish ain't real

? play along part of the fun is letting peoples imaginations get the better of them...

RONALD MCDONALD HOUSE PT 1


I'm sure you've heard of the Ronald McDonald House charity. They provide housing for families of sick kids when they're in the hospital. Seems pretty innocent, right?

Well, there's another side to the charity. There's another type of Ronald McDonald House, one that not many people know about.

There's one in most big cities. You won't find it by looking for it. It doesn't have an address. It doesn't have a sign above the door. It doesn't even have windows.

No, the only way you'll find it, is if you're taken there.

That's how I found it.

—

I've never met my real parents. I've been in and out of foster families and group homes here in Detroit since I was a kid. I'm 15 now, and I'm what they refer to as a BAD KID.

Always causing trouble, always getting thrown out and placed with another unsuspecting do-gooder who thinks they can help me. I always prove them wrong.

My caseworker sat across the black metal table, looking weary and frazzled. On the table between us was a thick letter-sized brown envelope; my case file.

"Well, your reputation has preceded you," she said. "And now you only have two options; military school in Lansing, or the Ronald McDonald house, which has miraculously cleared you for acceptance."

I don't have the patience for drill sergeants and 5 AM reveille. And how bad could a halfway house named after a fast food clown possibly be? Ronald McDonald House, it was.

Dark clouds loomed above me the day I climbed into the back of my caseworker's town car. My few belongings in a backpack and the clothes on my back; that's all I could take. One of the few belongings I had was a photo album, filled with pictures of all the foster families I had been with. It was nice to remember some of them, even though I had royally ? it up each time.

"I've had a few cases who went through the Ronald McDonald House," the caseworker said from the front seat. "Things went so well for those kids, I never had to transfer them anywhere else. In fact, the House took over their case files and everything."

We drove into downtown Detroit, past all the familiar landmarks. I had been thrown out of one foster home just outside town because I snuck into downtown Detroit with some neighbor kids to sneak into a dive bar. Good times.

"Well, here we are." The car came to a stop.

I looked out the window. We had parked in front of a tall, gray, windowless building, sandwiched between two other industrial buildings on a narrow city street. I noticed there was an address on the building to my left, and one on the right, but none on this particular building. Not even a sign.

"Are you sure?" I asked, hesitating as I opened the car door and climbed out of the back seat. I slung my backpack over my shoulder, clinging tightly to the strap, and followed the caseworker up to the windowless metal doors. She pressed a buzzer and spoke to someone inside, and the doors clicked to unlock. We walked in.

As soon as the metal doors closed behind us, I noticed the pin-drop silence. It was that sort of silence that is so oppressive and empty it almost deafens you.

Across the dimly lit lobby, there was a glass window with someone inside. A secretary. She was turned away, typing something intently. We walked over to the window. The caseworker rang a bell on the counter, and the secretary spun around in her chair.

Her face was painted like a clown.

Like Ronald McDonald, in fact.

She even had the short, curly red hair. Otherwise, she wore a typical white nurse's dress.

ITS RONALD MUTHAFCKIN MCDONALD ? PT 3
They surrounded me. Grabbing me as I thrashed and screamed and tried to tear myself away. Laughing as I kicked and squirmed. They slammed me onto the rolling table and strapped me down.

I looked around wildly. I was surrounded.

"LET ME GO!!!" I screamed, twisting and turning and pulling at the restraints.

They rolled me through the open doorway and down a seemingly endless white hallway. They laughed and laughed and laughed. They waved their shiny scalpels and razors and needles mere inches from my face, just to make me flinch and scream. This made them laugh even harder.

The last thing I remember, before one of them finally injected me, was the hands. Gloved fingers prodding inside my mouth and pulling at the sides of my mouth, distorting my screams and forcing an unnatural grin onto my tear-streaked, sweaty face. Hot, rancid breath in my face. And the whispered, perverted voice speaking the words, "We love to see you smile!"

Then, as the maniacal laughter seemed to warp and wind down like a dying record player, everything faded to black.

—

I opened my eyes, and I was blinded by bright lights above. Shielding my groggy eyes from the fluorescent bulbs, I turned on my side and looked around.

A cell. Tall white walls, covered in scratch marks and stains. A small drain in the corner of the floor; my toilet perhaps. A door with no windows. And on the floor by the door, my backpack.

I tried to sit up. My body ached and the moment I sat upright, my vision started spinning. Wonder what they drugged me with.

I realized I was shivering. I looked down. I wasn't wearing my own clothes anymore. I was wearing a ? , ripped hospital gown, bright yellow with a pattern of Ronald McDonald heads all over. Nothing underneath.

I heard faint, muffled sounds from somewhere in the building. It sounded like screams.

I tried to stand, but couldn't keep my balance. My vision was beginning to stabilize, but my body still felt like rubber. I sank to my knees and crawled over to my backpack.

Before I got there, I tried to open the door. As expected, it was locked.

I slumped onto the floor beside my backpack and unzipped it.

All that remained inside was the photo album. They had taken my notebooks and pens and my cell phone. Of course they did.

I wearily opened the photo album. But instead of the photos that had been in there....photos of myself with my previous foster families, photos where I had attempted to look happy and hopeful even though I knew I wouldn't be there for long.....instead of those photos......they were like crime scene photos. And in each one, I recognized one of my former foster families, brutally murdered and covered in blood.

My heart raced and my stomach churned. I began to turn the pages quicker. Each page, a new photo, a new family, new carnage. I recognized their faces and the inside of their homes. I had lived with all these people. And now they were all dead.

I came to the last few pages. A photo of a house at night. Then a window of that house. Then inside the house, a dark hallway with light coming from one doorway. Then, a photo of my caseworker, brushing her teeth at her bathroom mirror. Then a photo of her looking at the camera in horror. Then a photo of the caseworker, naked, covered in her own blood, contorted into an unnatural position in her bathtub.

I turned to the last page. Written inside the back cover of the photo album were three words.

YOU
NEVER
EXISTED

RONALD MC HOUSE PT 5 END

And the hanging wires...they weren't wires. They were intravenous tubes attached to the kids' wrists. Tubes sucking out their blood.

I almost vomited again right then and there.

In the very center of the room, amidst the rows of hanging crosses, I could see where the rhythmic pulsing sound came from. A huge steel cylinder, which seemed to be collecting the blood from all of the tangled tubes that dangled from the kids' wrists.

I opened my mouth to....to scream? To cry out in anger?

All I could say was, "What the ? ?"

That's when the alarms began to sound. Loud, piercing, like the police sirens of hell. They must have realized I was missing.

I shut the doors and frantically glanced around the hallway to see if anyone was coming. No signs yet. I ran for the stairwell.

As soon as I entered the stairwell, I heard laughter from above. Echoing and reverberating throughout the stairwell. The clown nurses were coming.

I stumbled down the stairs as fast I could. I must have gone down another three stories before I reached the basement. I found myself running through a dark, sewer-like hallway, with small light bulbs overhead every 10 yards or so. The smell of decay and rotting flesh grew more and more pungent as I ran.

The laughter continued behind me. I managed to glance behind and see a group of them running after me. I saw them come into the light and then become silhouettes again, their smiling faces and gleaming knives and needles pushing my adrenaline to the max. I ran past alcoves full of stacked, rotting corpses. But I couldn't stop. I couldn't think of anything but escape.

I turned a corner and found myself facing the metal rungs of a ladder in the wall. I climbed until my head smacked the ceiling.

Below me, the shadows and laughter grew closer. Their footsteps slowed. They were close and they knew it.

I pushed at the ceiling above me, heaving upward and panting and screaming. The clowns were below me, laughing and waving their scalpels. Something cut my leg. I screamed and pushed one last time--

The ceiling gave way as a manhole cover slammed onto asphalt above. A circular opening. I climbed out and frantically pushed the manhole cover back over the hole, blocking out the laughter of the clown nurses below.

I laid there on top of the manhole cover for a few minutes as I caught my breath. Rain fell onto my skin. The turbulent night sky above was a welcome sight.

I looked around. Abandoned buildings, broken glass. No lights. No cars. No signs of any life at all.

A police siren somewhere in the distance. Then, silence.

I climbed to my feet. Pain shot through my leg. I looked down and saw the cut on my ankle where a clown nurse had slashed me. ? .

Limping the best I could, I started to walk.

"Hello?" I called out. The only answer was a distant roll of thunder. "Somebody HELP ME PLEASE!!!"

My foot fell on something soft and mushy. I looked down. A newspaper. I peeled it off the wet asphalt. Most of the ink had faded, but I was able to make out the date: July, 13, 1992.

I dropped it, an icy dread filling my stomach. I kept walking.

"CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!" I screamed. "PLEASE!!! Anyone.....please...."

My words faded into delirious sobs. I stood still for a moment. The rain had soaked through my thin hospital gown. I shivered as the wind blew.

Then, I saw a light in the distance. It was a big, yellow "M" in the sky. A McDonalds. Of course. I limped toward it.

When I came to the McDonalds, I saw that apart from the M, the rest of the building was completely dark. I walked cautiously toward the broken windows and looked in. Darkness.

I turned and surveyed the PlayPlace outdoor playground. Ten foot tall structures of colored tubes for kids to crawl through. Sitting at one of the benches was a familiar figure. The Ronald McDonald statue. You know, the one where you could sit beside him and it looks like he's got his arm around your shoulders. Every kid has seen it.

I shuddered at the sight.

The doors were unlocked. I walked in, out of the rain. Silence. Darkness.

I noticed that the decor wasn't like the modern McDonalds' you see. It was still the same as it was in the 80's, with the white plastic booths and the red and yellow tiles. The wind seemed to whisper through the broken windows.

I noticed something on the front counter. A black rectangle. I got closer. A laptop. A nearly new laptop. I let out a soft, delirious laugh. I knew what I was supposed to do.

So I took the laptop outside and sat beside the Ronald statue. I opened the laptop and began to type this story. The rain is falling on the keys but I don't care. There's nothing left to do now but wait.

Because I've been noticing, out of the corner of my eye....Ronald is trying to look over my shoulder.

He's laughing now.

All I can do is join him