Unprecious Moments - Your Personal Lovecraftian Adventures

[JazFusion]

Strangely enough, I'm from Houston and lived in Louisiana for a while (Ponchatoula and Hammond). My mom still lives in Ponchatoula, on a couple of acres, and right in front of a swamp. The mist shrouding the cypress trees at twilight is eerie enough. I think the only dangerous things I encountered while living there were gators and Katrina.

Never had any scary paranormal experiences until I moved up here in the Northeast. We're knee deep in Lovecraft country.

[Inner Prop]

Yikes, this morning, just a few hours ago I was biking in to work I had a scare.

Do you remember the old movie, Them?  It was about a colony of radioactively enhanced ants who grew to the size of elephants.  They made this high pitched screaming sound like a swarm of locusts on a really good amplifier set to 11.

It was about 4:30 am and I was about half way through my ride, in a poorly lit residential area.  Suddenly as I was riding along, out of the dark behind me came that giant ant sound.  I pedaled faster and said out loud, "What the hell is that?"

An old pickup passed me.  There must have been something seriously wrong with that thing because I have never heard a motor vehicle make that KIND of sound before.  It wasn't the normal squeeling of metal on metal.

[T. Kelly Lee]

Never had any scary paranormal experiences until I moved up here in the Northeast. We're knee deep in Lovecraft country.

Yes growing up in Texas I would say that our variety of horror is certainly "Southern Gothic."  I was always creeped out by the tumbledown old houses that looked abandoned until you'd see someone moving inside there as you went by.  Maybe it's too damn hot to be scary. 

But now that I divide my time between Maryland and Pennsylvania, I seem to have no end to proper thrilling locations.  Everything just seems more ancient and lurid. 

[Inner Prop]

Cold is scary

[JazFusion]

Never had any scary paranormal experiences until I moved up here in the Northeast. We're knee deep in Lovecraft country.

Yes growing up in Texas I would say that our variety of horror is certainly "Southern Gothic."  I was always creeped out by the tumbledown old houses that looked abandoned until you'd see someone moving inside there as you went by.  Maybe it's too damn hot to be scary. 

But now that I divide my time between Maryland and Pennsylvania, I seem to have no end to proper thrilling locations.  Everything just seems more ancient and lurid. 

It makes sense. Going deep into swamp territory is scary, but there's something about old, creepy houses. I used to work an overnight shift for an elderly woman and her house was built in the 1700's. It was still beautiful; very well manicured. But all the pops and creaks and groans in the night kept me awake. It would be dark, and I would see shadows in my peripheral vision and I would just feel very isolated. That, coupled with the monitor I had to leave on in case she needed help going to the bathroom at night. Sometimes I would pick up interference from other signals. And she would frequently talk in sleep; oftentimes she would whisper. That was unsettling.

[Bob Lovecraft]

Do you remember the old movie, Them? 

Weird that you should reference a movie. When I was in my mid twenties, I was moving from one shitty apartment to another shitty apartment. I had most of my stuff moved out and was lingering in my soon-to-be old place when I heard, and I shit you not, a Gremlin. That movie had scared me as a kid, and as an adult, I still thought the idea of it was creepy, though no longer scary. Well, I'm here to tell you that when you are standing in the middle of a bare apartment, getting ready to walk out the door and you hear the sound of a strange, evil little monster coming from somewhere in the kitchen nook and the thought crosses your mind that "I wonder how long that thing has been in my house with me?" you get a bit more than creeped out. To this day, I have no idea what the noise was. For all I know it may have really been a Gremlin. But I was damned if I looked for the sound TOO hard.

Bob

[Robert W]

My biggest Lovecraftian adventure would have to have been my pilgrimage to the Old Gent's final resting place.

[Bob Lovecraft]

My biggest Lovecraftian adventure would have to have been my pilgrimage to the Old Gent's final resting place.

Did you sit on his grave and read any of his stories out loud? Legend has it that if you do that, then at the stroke of midnight when the moon is waxing gibbous, he will completely fail to appear, thus proving the futility of your meaningless existence, and the hollowness of your petty beliefs about the afterlife, a caring god, and a sympathetic universe.

Bob

[T. Kelly Lee]

Old houses are delightfully creepy.  My house in Penn was built about 1870 and it's a large four story "town house" of the Empire Revival style like you see in Philadelphia.  It's a very noisy house.  When you walk on the stairs the board bend down and then pop back a little later making it sound like someone is walking on the stairs.  When it shift it actually gives off a sort of soft moan that is the foundation rubbing on the living rock in the basement.  It actually feels like a living being. 

When we were in Austin my wife and I built a huge suburban "golf course" house and immediately hated it.  We'd always lived in old homes and decided to get a "dream house" as an investment.  We HATED living there.  By comparison, the whole house felt cold and dead. 

We named our house in Penn "Ghost Light" (after a Doctor Who episode) and when we come home on the weekends it feels like we're visiting an old friend. 

[Renegade]

I have had two instances of having some crazy hallucinations while camping at night. The first was during a simple overnight in northern Massachusetts. I was having pounding headaches and light-headedness due to dehydration (despite it being rainy the whole weekend). The early, hot summer rains of New England create quite an awkward situation when trying to sleep. Even if your tent is dry it is still around 95% humidity which makes the night's chill cling to you, so you naturally huddle inside your sleeping bag. You then start to sweat just because its so damn damp and you wake up in a puddle of sweat and condensation. Compound knowing this dismal fate awaits you with a terrible headache and you start to get to where I was, psychologically.
I decided to step outside to relieve myself and get fresh air. Despite it being wetter it was still nicer than in the cramped tent. It was a fairly bright night with half of a silver moon hanging above the trees. A million tiny puddles cradled in the underbrush of dead leaves blanketing the forest floor gave the sense of countless other moons peeking out. My skin steamed as I trudged out to find some hapless tree and some peace. Somewhere I got lost. I don't remember much but at some point I came to, soaking wet on the ground with the rain still playing it's deafeningly percussive symphony all around and on top of me.
It's not very action-packed but my experience was just that; an experience, not a story. It was everything about the time, place and my mental state that made it really weird and disorienting.

[Inner Prop]

Did you faint?

[Elphantasmo]

I have a couple fun ones.

I was born in Oregon, and we used to go back fishing on the rogue river every year when I was growing up (Navy brat, moved to florida when young),
One trip back while I was in high school, it had been a wicked hot summer that year, and in one of the camp grounds we normally go to (given, we had only been to this particular spot once or twice in a 3 year period), some of the trees across the river had died and were basically just the trunks.
We set up, were there for almost 3 hours before any of us noticed the house across the bank that had obviously been hidden by the trees. It wasn't big, probably someones fishing shanty, but the way the doors and windows were set, it looked like it was watching us.
By the end of the night, my Dad made us pack up and head out to go a couple miles down the road, it freaked him out that we noticed the house, at the same time in a usually great spot, we hadn't caught a single fish in 8+ hours of fishing.

Also, my wife is from Maine, we go back once every few years to visit family. And Maine is inherently creepy at night thanks to reading Stephen King novels. We were staying in Bar Harbor (holy monkey what a beautiful town), and we decided to go hiking in Acadia, which Bar Harbor sits on the edge of. After about an hour of walking through the woods to find a secluded rock beach my wife told me about, my son and I came across an old foundation to a house, just bricks and steps, nothing else. And there is nothing around it for miles. He refused to go near the house.
After we got back, I asked our Aunt who we were staying with about it, and I kid you not, this woman, who has never read a single lovecraft story and hates horror and sci-fi stories looked at me and said in her maine-esque accent. "Oh, that place used to belong to some terrible old man."
It was kinda hard explaining why I laughed.

[Bob Lovecraft]

"Oh, that place used to belong to some terrible old man."
It was kinda hard explaining why I laughed.

Nice. don't you love it when the Mythos pulls in unsuspecting innocents?

Bob

[Eric Lofgren]

An old pickup passed me.  There must have been something seriously wrong with that thing because I have never heard a motor vehicle make that KIND of sound before.  It wasn't the normal squeeling of metal on metal.

I know the sound. It's probably just a pulley belt that's loose, which can eerily sound just like the ants in Them

[Graf von Altenberg Ehrenstein]

Old houses are delightfully creepy.  My house in Penn was built about 1870 and it's a large four story "town house" of the Empire Revival style like you see in Philadelphia.  It's a very noisy house.  When you walk on the stairs the board bend down and then pop back a little later making it sound like someone is walking on the stairs.  When it shift it actually gives off a sort of soft moan that is the foundation rubbing on the living rock in the basement.  It actually feels like a living being. 

When we were in Austin my wife and I built a huge suburban "golf course" house and immediately hated it.  We'd always lived in old homes and decided to get a "dream house" as an investment.  We HATED living there.  By comparison, the whole house felt cold and dead. 

We named our house in Penn "Ghost Light" (after a Doctor Who episode) and when we come home on the weekends it feels like we're visiting an old friend. 

Always strikes me funny when you Americans speak about your ancient houses. My dogshed is older! Sorry, just kidding. Dealing with old houses professionally and living myself in a cottage with foundations dating from the 1500s I totally see your point and I feel the same way. Sometimes my job includes even a bit of ghost-hunting because from time to time there are actually people who believe their house is haunted in some way. Generally those are more „proud“ of that than scared and one feels almost sorry to tell them „Well, that `s not a Poltergeist, it `s just your staircase. We could easily fix that...“
„Oh no, no! Leave it that way.“
The only one who was really frightened was a lady who was totally convinced there was a ghost in her sleeping room. She always heared whispering voices at night and that drove her crazy. Of course it turned out to be just an old chimney that had been walled up decades before and nobody remembered. But there was still an air draft. Togehter with tiny holes in the bricks and the wood paneling – argh! Whispering ghosts!

But the craziest thing I ever found in an old house – and that might go for a Lovecraftian or  more precicely Withchhouse moment (Get to the bleedin`point already!) - was the following. We had to restore a baroque townhouse in the city of Bamberg. The whole place was really messed up. Dust and rubbish everywhere and the stench of … a witchhouse of course. It was really terrible. We had to wear gas masks to clear that stuff out. The floor was just some kind  of primitive pvc plastic stuff nailed to the wooden planks. Those were half rotten and we had to rip them out. All kinds of things are to be found in those places. Old coins, clothing, shards, forgotten „treasures“ like drugs (a preserving jar full of speed might be the most valuable thing I ever found) or, most commonly Nazi- stuff...
But the find of that day was unique. What we unearthed there was the cleanly picked skeleton of a big dog. The skull had been smashed but otherwise it was completely intact. A veterinarian identified it by pictures I had taken as most probably a German Shepard but he was not sure. That moment of discovery with us still in our protection suits, damp-fogged gasmasks, the muffled noises and the dust in the air was one of the most unsettling moments of my live. For a while all three of us just stood around gazing stupified into that „grave“ incapable of saying a word. Just like a bad movie.
So someone must have hit his Fido in the face with an axe or something and then buried it under his living room floor! And possibly lived there for who knows how long with that rotting carcass under his feet. For a while I was so keen to find out what the hell had happened there, but all amateurish investigations led to nothing. Only thing I can say is, the unfortunate dog had been lying there for at least three decades. So speculations are still running free...