The Gravedigger’s House is a funny scary story by Irish comedian Dave Allen about a night he spent in a haunted house and how he lost the tip of his finger on his left hand.
Many years ago I was rather foolish. We were in the west coast of Ireland and we were in a bar. We had a couple of drinks and somebody started to talk about the unknown and the spirit world.
The conversation came up about the gravedigger’s house and the locals started to tell us about it. This gravedigger was found in his bed, dead, with terrible marks on his neck and his eyes wide open. The doctor said the marks had nothing to do with his death but that the man had died of fright.
I scoffed, foolishly and it came about, with a few more drinks, that I accepted a dare or a bet that I would stay the night in the cottage beside the graveyard. I went there and we agreed that the door would be locked and I would stay in there until first light and I was locked in.
I don’t know really what happens, but I think a great deal of fear is in one’s mind. It was dank. It was cold. The effects of the booze began to wear off and I began to think, “What in the name of God are you doing here?”
And I felt… I dont know what it was. It was an instinct. It was something stronger than me that pulled me towards this bed where this man had died.
And I was drawn… I fought against it but… I was drawn nearer and nearer to this bed. And I was told somehow or other to sit on that bed. I didnt want to… but I did.
An unnatural drowsiness came over me and I became very sleepy… and I lay down knowing full well that I shouldn’t… and I went to sleep. A limbo sleep.
I awoke. What time, I have no idea. The candle had burned down. It was black. It was cold and I felt a presence. I was completely sober by then and utterly terrified. The hackles on the back of my neck had begun to rise. I was paralysed by a presence of fear and I felt something on my chest begin to move.
It crept slowly up my chest… and I couldnt move.
It came closer and closer to my throat.
I gathered all my willpower… as this thing came closer… and nearer…
And I grabbed it!
And it was wet and cold…
And I bit down on it!
Aaaaaagh!!!
I screamed in pain!
And that is how I lost my finger.
LOL the gravedigger choked himself and the guy bit off his finger xD
dat was funny lol
There is no way I am reposting that. Himi is right, these things are irritating.
Oh and Pls why are you people doing stuff like ” Repost this, that” on the comments column?? >:
It sure is irritating and no One is gonna hear noises or anything, okay? :)
Just enjoy reading stories… ^.^
Emily was a beautiful woman who lived at the Clark Road Mental Facility in Sarasota, FL since she was 7 years old, admitted there by her parents who knew Emily to be disturbed at a young age. Since she was a long time resident, hers was a life well-known. She had long, river-like, marble white hair that was barely tinted blonde and dark, beckoning eyes. This patient was difficult to say no to. If she wanted extra food at the cafeteria, so be it. No drugs that day, she got it. She was character disturbed, one of the documented symptoms as being “charmingâ€, and she was being carefully watched because of her condition. Her conditions were many including Schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder. The fire that closed down the mental institution was set by one of Emily’s alter-egos. Then, at age 32, she had attempted to escaped the asylum after by hiding out during the evacuation of the building. She died in the fire that day, so near to her escape, and never made it out. It is thought her spirit lives there still but wanders the entire Sarasota area. RE-POST THIS IN THE NEXT 12 MIN OR SHE’LL FLY TO UR LOCATION AND HAUNT YOU AT YOUR BEDSIDE THE NEXT TIME YOU’RE BEING TREATED FOR ANYTHING. SHE’LL SCREAM HER NAME, “EMILY,†FIVE TIMES IN YOUR EAR. YOUR EARS WILL RING AND YOU’LL BEG FOR YOUR DOCTOR TO FIX IT. IT DISAPPEARS AFTER 72 HRS.
Cooooool! He bit off ‘is own finguh!