1 Burst results for "Lois Stokes"
"lois stokes" Discussed on Haunted Places
"Brief. All the men were grim after Stark's death, but none were so Lois Stokes, he took hard to the very drink. Stark had been looking for making himself sick for weeks to follow Stokes, wandered the halls as to pity officers came down the hall toward him. Stokes reached for them grabbing one by the front of his shirt with tears, running on his face. He tried to explain to them how it had all been an accident that he hadn't meant any harm that all he wanted was forgiveness with their eyes, cast down the two other men push Stokes away and left him alone. One night Stokes was roused Madryn stupor by strange sound outside his room. It sounded as if some were suffocating in the hallway, he threw open the door, but no one was there. Just an empty gin bottle on the hallway floor with trembling. Hands. Stokes picked it up the meaning of the bottle cut through his trunk. In Hayes, Stokes was not forgiving. The next day Stokes was found dead at his room wrists slashed with broken Jim bottle. To this day, the specter of stark is seen wandering the captain's cabin and the main deck people report hearing horrible, choking sounds. And when they investigate find no one. After the war, the Queen, Mary returned to transporting civilians across the Atlantic including many war brides and their children, but by the nineteen sixties emerging air travel made ocean liners increasingly absolute. On December ninth nineteen sixty seven after being sold to the city of Long Beach, California for three point, four, five million dollars the Queen. Mary was permanently docked once a luxury ocean liner and lest raise military vessel. She was transformed a third and final time into a luxury hotel and museum. After nearly three decades traversing, the vast waters of the Atlantic the Queen, Mary would finally get the rest. She deserved, but the trail of dead. She had left like a noxious oil slick inner wake caught up with her and the dead had other plans. Will visit these spirits right after the break. Now back to the story. You're overwhelmed by the grandeur of the Queen. Mary's interior red carpet staircases marble pillars, and the long polished wood hallways leading to a seemingly endless series of hotel rooms. You had no idea that a boat could fit so many rooms but alone, all the history that your tour guides been rattling off with their practice, slightly bored tone. But as you descend into the metal guts of the ship fifty feet below the surface of the water, all the glamour, and refurbishment gives way to a labyrinth theme root system of rusty iron walkways and heavy watertight doors, huge pipes worm their way overhead. The tour guide explains that they once carried the high pressure steam needed to power the ships, industrious Motors. You can imagine them hissing, Mike angry, pythons. But chill runs down your spine, and you shake it off. A sudden sound makes you jump low, moaning echoes down a corridor, twenty peeling off the tour. You make your way toward it. But as you approach the moaning gets louder deeper, clearly, man. You round the corner in the moaning suddenly stops. You're at a dead end facing door with a number thirteen painted on it, the hallways empty. You feel the chill return. Maybe leaving the tour wasn't such a good idea. The huge gears above the door. Remind you of a giant camel. You should her to think of what might happen to a finger unfortunate enough to slip between those thick metal teeth. That's when you see it a handprint, smeared in some dark substance across the door Greece, you try to blink immature way, convince yourself, it's just a shadow or chipped paint, but you can see the imprint of a hand distinctly the walls of the fingers in the lines of the poem. A low moan behind you, bills your belly with ice slowly. You turn to see a man standing behind you. Young, almost a boy dressed in old fashioned overall stained with grease something is wrong with him, and it's not just as choice of clothes. You glanced down from his face, realize this man isn't standing. He's hovering. The entire lower half of his body is gone is midsection crush pulp of blood and torn flesh, dizzy with fear. You look at the man's our full face. He reaches for you. You turn to Ron and see that somehow door. Number thirteen has swung open cold breath, hits your neck. There's no time to think. So you leap past the door into the next room, your feet land in a puddle of something, and you go sprawling to the floor heart hammering. You reach out, desperately searching for anything to grab hold of your hand closes around something soft and wet lying in front of you is a pair of legs in white overalls, dark red blood steadily oozing from the ragged stump of torso. Turning you see bone white fingers, curl around the edge of the door. The man's face emerges is Sarah replaced by a mad glee. As he floats past the door. You see that in his other hand, he grips a rusty handsaw. A burst of adrenaline, shoots through your body, forcing you to your feet, but in your eagerness to get away, you slip again in the pool of blood. This time your feet slip out from under you completely and you fall on your back hitting your head hard. Everything goes dark for moment in the blackness.