Hooyaah

November 7, 2023

Schranz => Shuffle Dance :hooyaah:

November 6, 2023

safety => DANCE :dance2:

November 5, 2023

On 11/1/2023 at 7:19 PM, Flix said:

Actual calaveras are made with a mold, into which you'd put either sugar or sometimes just plastic for the decorative ones.

In my case I took a basic (yes that's actually kind of basic for a sugar skull) design and drew it onto the pumpkin before carving it.

I came in 2nd place in the contest. No one else carved theirs, the rest were all painted or decorated some other way. I think the cold fluorescent office lights did me in. The difference between lights on and off is stark but they needed the lights on to see everyone else's designs.

Your craftsmanship is quite professional, indeed! Perhaps if it had been displayed, all lit up inside a dark black box the judges would have received the full effect. You are indeed a man of many talents, Ben! :big_boss:

November 4, 2023

3 hours ago, gogoblender said:

Aaaaand.... that would absolutely not be my choice of horror prose poetry before bed... would chill me for the entire month of Halloween well into christmas!

Did your family ever tell ghost stories during this time, Hooyaah, any kind of oral tradition?

gogo

Gogo, our family tradition was to watch some Halloween-themed cartoons, like Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang's The Great Pumpkin. :flix:

On 11/3/2023 at 4:14 AM, chattius said:

First lines

If it would be me living mid in a forest: a badger dug through the patchwork into the cellar, a racoon or marten climbed the roof and found a way in, a boyfriend of a daughter isn't trained to leave silently, ...

The rest: in German I would name it a Poltergeist.

Then I suppose that Edgar Allen Poe's Telltale Heart would be just a subwoofer left plugged into an amplifier in the basement next to water dripping nearby? :3lmao:

November 4, 2023

rich => opulent

:MG_18: :MG_19:

November 4, 2023

Semolina cake => Baklava :drool:

November 3, 2023

My apologies for being late for Halloween with this. It's something that I wrote several years ago.

I am never alone anymore. There are no visitors here in my home, but yet I feel some unwelcome presence.

The bumps, footsteps, and shuffling sounds are always in another room or from somewhere above me.

Why am I am being watched; for what sinister purpose? I do not know.

I heard voices yet again today. They can’t be talking about me, I said to myself. Yet, I know that I caught my name being muttered softly in my ear moments ago.

I bravely peeked through the narrow passage to the attic today, the sultry, musty air rudely shoved by me as I opened the portal.

It seemed apparent that there was nothing amiss there. But, I sensed a presence peering back at me from deep within the dark foreboding shadow in the corner.

Alas, it has become bitterly cold since those fearsome moments; but a mere hour has passed since Fall began to surrender to cold and uncompassionate Winter.

I rest in my bed devoid of companionship, warmed only by my thick quilt; I am so very weary. Yet I struggle, from fear of sleep’s inevitable embrace.

The room grows ever darker and bitter loneliness overtakes me. I hear the voices yet again; they're calling my name.