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*shivers*

  • Oct. 5th, 2008 at 8:01 PM
toomuchplor: (Default)
Today I woke up to deep fog and the quiet that it brings, and it wasn't until after noon that it finally burned away. Now it's dark again, raining and not so much cold as holding the promise of cold, still and dark and hushed. It's perfect ghost story weather.

Tell me your scariest stories -- personal or second-hand or invented on the spot, I don't care... I'm in the mood for goosebumps!

Comments

beet: a beet (Default)
[personal profile] beet wrote:
Oct. 6th, 2008 03:15 am (UTC)
Scariest or stupidest? You decide!
When I was in India the first time I was only 21 and got sick of my cohort of study-abroaders. When our three-week break came around I decided that I needed to get the hell away from every I knew in the country. Ever.

So, I lied to my mom and set out to travel on my own for three weeks with no itinerary. After a fairly nervous first three days full of dehydration and trying to get further from the group heading in vaguely the same direction, I decided to make a bigger effort to push myself. Rather than getting the name and number of the rich woman with the tea plantation on the bus, instead I booked myself a bus ticket from Delhi to Dharamsala (where the Dalai Lama lives) on a private company.

With an one-room office hidden in the third floor of the bus station, indicating zero legit connections to the travel industry. After making out a hand-designed "ticket" I was told to meet the "bus" at an intersection at 10pm in a part Delhi I knew nothing about. Of course, I went there and waited in the gathering dark with 4 other men. The proceeded to get into the back of a jeep with 6 other men. Did I mention they had chains around their necks when I climbed in?

I arrived at an actual bus to my acute relief. I had 45 minutes to reflect on how extremely stupid it was to climb in in the back of jeep with 6 men with chains, where I would not be able to let myself out if things went pear-shaped.

So, on the bus, I enlisted the help of two nice young men who put my bag on the bus roof and sat with one of them on the bus. I enlisted the "brother" analogy as often as possible, but still didn't manage to get off the bus without getting completely, utterly, frankly propositioned by the guy who kept "falling asleep" on my shoulder and trying to get his head on my breast. ("Do you want to have sex?" being que suave in the lower class Delhi crowd.)

Ditched them at the arrival point and stayed in a monastery! Then (*koff*) made a point of traveling with foreigners back to Delhi after. Yeah. Racist or not, sometimes it's just easier than trying to figure out what the basis of trust is.

If you are looking for a scary-ass story, check out Martha's "The Fall of the House of Sheppard". Waaaay scarier than my story!

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